Abbie of the Warm Heart and Warm Bottom

(Part 1 from 2)

“Abbie, Abbie, Abbie, my God woman what have you done now?” I’m Abigail Dunsmore (nee Warton) and my loving husband Richard is reading the mail and he certainly does not like what he’s just learned. It seems our mortgage payment to the Home Loan Society is two months in arrears. And of course I’m at fault, I manage our household finances.

“Abbie, how could this have happened, where’s your sense of responsibility? I supply you with sufficient funds to meet our obligations, the expenses of running the house and adequate money for your personal needs, what have you done?”

“Where’s your head dear, why do we have days like today? This morning I had no shirts ironed; you ironed one after I complained but as a consequence I was late getting to the office then I came home to the odor of a burning roast and now this, please explain.”

“Oh Dickie, I try to be responsible but I guess I’m just a flighty girl, I’ll try to do much better in the future, I really will.”

I can explain it to myself; I’m a conniving little bitch. I know what I want and now I think I’m going to get it. It’s not something I want all the time, every day, but every three or four months I need it. Of course I’d not ironed his shirt, to burn the roast I’d set the oven temperature to 450 degrees and the money for the past due mortgage payments was in my bank account. I’d catch up on the ironing and post the payments tomorrow. Unfortunately the roast was beyond the help of medical science.

“Abbie, I know you’ll try, you have my confidence but, perhaps a little reminder’s in order, please go upstairs, I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“Oh please Dickie, no, I really do mean it, I’ll do better in the future, I promise.”

“Abbie, please, go and wait for me,” Richard ordered.

With a forlorn fearful face I trudged up. The look was for Dickie’s benefit, it wouldn’t pay for him to know all of my secrets, my knickers were damp. I was going go get a spanking, a well deserved spanking.

I’d learned at my father’s hand. W. Wallace Warton could be a severe man and he certainly was a believer in corporeal punishment. Please, I’m not implying that he was brutal, he wasn’t. He gave me the strap on two occasions but his punishments were appropriate to the transgression. I got the strap for coming home intoxicated when I was fourteen and again when I was suspended from school for being caught smoking marijuana in my junior year. They made their impression; I’ve not gotten drunk again although I do truly enjoy an occasional cocktail or a glass of wine and I’ve smoked nothing, marijuana nor cigarette since that day.

I don’t remember when he didn’t spank; I guess I was five or six the first time I went across his knee. It was on my bottom, over my dress. He gave me four or five good whacks then stood me up and explained why the discipline was necessary. That was Daddy’s way. The spanking then the lecture but you knew what was expected of you.

The more serious the deed the less protection I was afforded; over the dress, dress raised and on the panties or panties down; and always the lecture. I think I managed to average one a month until I left for home for college.

Mother wasn’t immune either, I’m sure Daddy still takes her in hand occasionally. She does have a penchant for mischief once in a while; I think I inherited my perverse desire for a warm bottom from her.

Initially I tried to avoid punishment. It hurt, oh not terribly so, the lectures were worse but I really didn’t look forward to a spanking. Then at age twelve, I’d just had my first menstrual period and I’d done something particularly devilish. He took me to his den, that’s where punishment was administered, and I lay across his knees. I never knew until I was in place which of the three ways I was going to get it. He lifted my skirt over my back and lowered my panties to my knees. I though, oh, oh, it’s on the bare.

He never gave more than ten whacks, usually less. This time I got the full ten. After five something happened to me, my tummy felt funny and I felt a tingling between my legs, a wonderful tingle then I felt wet and gooey down there, I lifted my hips up to accept my next five and I moaned. Daddy thought he’d hurt me, but no, it wasn’t pain.

He stood me up raised my panties and lowered my dress then explained why the spanking was necessary. I never heard a word. My legs were weak and I wanted to get to my room, why was I wet and what was that feeling?

Mother was just coming out of her room as I walked by. She stopped me saying, “Abbie, you look a little dazed, is something the matter?” She led me to her bed and we sat side by side.

“Mummy, Daddy spanked me.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied, “But that’s hardly the first time. What happened?”

So I told her. I told her how my tummy had roiled and I told her how I’d tingled, how I felt wet and gooey, but how nice it felt.

She reached under my dress and felt my panties then smiled at me, “Abbie I do believe you just had your first orgasm.”

We had our first discussion about the birds and the bees. She even explained sexual intercourse but she also pointed out the potential consequences, loss of reputation, pregnancy and such. She encouraged my to protect my virginity until my wedding night. She told me I’d have urges and explained self-gratification; masturbation if you will.

I went to my room and she went down stairs. I heard dished shattering and she swore. Loudly and clearly she swore. Not at all like my mother, we didn’t use foul language in our home. It simply wasn’t accepted.

Daddy tromped down the staircase. I heard him, he could be loud when he was angry, shout, “Mildred, the dishes can be replaced but the language is totally unacceptable, please come upstairs with me.”

And I thought, gosh, that was intentional, she wanted hers.

He took her to the den, the door closed but I could hear the muffled whacks, five of them.

When she left the den she stood in my doorway, she had tears in her eyes but a smile on her face. “Five on the panties,” she winked, “I always give him a few tears, it cuts down on the lecture, you should try it,” Like we were co-conspirators and, I guess we were. I took her advice, a few tears, for Daddy and now for my Dickie.

For the next six years, ‘til I left for school I was a willful girl requiring discipline at least once a week. Mother was better behaved or maybe it just took more for her to get to Daddy. She got hers every two or three weeks.

I met Dickie while I was in college. He’s a manager in my father’s firm and he’s so like Daddy he could be his son. Dickie’s father, as with my father believed in disciplining both his children and his wife. Dickie grew up in an atmosphere much the same as I and he accepted it as the proper way to conduct family life.

After we became engaged I’m convinced that Daddy had a talk with him about me and how he’d dealt with my strong headedness.

Dickie and I had a large church wedding and a fantastic two week European honeymoon. I was a virgin and his experiences were very limited. We might have been a bit clumsy in our love making but we made up for it with enthusiasm. For the first year of our marriage sex was bountiful, at least five or six times a week. We wanted children and we worked hard at getting a family started. I have nice wide hips, ideal for child bearing and full breasts, I wanted a baby to nurse on them. It didn’t happen.

After the first year and after my failure to conceive we both got physical examinations. There was nothing wrong with either of us. It just didn’t happen.

Perhaps it was the fact that our family wasn’t started, I’m not certain exactly the how or why of it but our sex life changed, from active to very pedestrian, from almost daily to once or twice a week. And my little itch came back.

Dickie’s not nearly as authoritarian as Daddy and it took a lot to finally get his goat. I over spent and he paid the bills, I was argumentative with him and sassy and he accepted it, I stayed out late with girlfriends and he forgave me. I wondered what it was going to take.

I sought the wise counsel of my mother.

“Abbie, if all else fails, embarrass him before friends, careful though, don’t go overboard, just enough, maybe a little sass or a bit of back chat, ok, let me know,” was her advice.

As it turned out we were having Jack and Jennie Newton to dinner the following Saturday evening. Jack was another manager in my father’s business and Jennie and I had been classmates at college. We’d all been friends for some time.

Dinner had been a success and we were in the living room. The guys were having cognac; Jennie and I were sipping wine. I was on my third glass. Maybe I needed it, a little “Dutch Courage” for what I was going to try to do.

My tummy was quivery when I contradicted Dickie the first time. He looked at me strangely; it was out of character for me. I was strident and a bit loud when I did it a second time. This time I got what I’ve learned is “The Look.” I think it was even a little embarrassing to Jack and Jennie. Our evening ended on a low note.

After the Newton’s had left I poured myself yet another glass of wine. Dickie commented, “Abbie I believe you’ve had enough.”

In a voice dripping with sarcasm I replied, “Whatever do you mean Dickie dear?”

“Abbie you embarrassed me this evening. I think Jack and Jennie noticed.”

“Now how did I embarrass you?” I asked.

“Abbie, you contradicted me on several occasions, you were loud and you were a bit obnoxious, that’s how you embarrassed me.”

“You mean because I didn’t agree with you, I’m not permitted to speak my mind now, is that it?”

“Abbie, of course you are entitled to speak your mind but there is a time and place for it and tonight was neither the time nor the place. I’m afraid you spoiled a wonderful evening with our best friends.”

“Oh pooh,” I scoffed.

I’d gone too far, from his expression I thought he might physically strike me. But Dickie’s not that sort of man. Instead, he took my hand and, saying, “I think we need to go upstairs,” he led me to the bed room. He sat on my vanity stool and stood me in front of him. He reversed my father’s process, I got my lecture first.

“Abbie, I deserve more respect than was shown this evening, please let’s not have a repeat performance,” he said and he bent me over his knees.

My cocktail dress came up and my panties came down and I got ten of his best. He hit harder than Daddy, the tears in my eyes were real but so was the tingle, I was wet.

When he’d finished he stood me up but instead of replacing my clothing as Daddy would have done, he lifted my dress over my head, turned me and unfastened my brassiere and took me to bed. Dickie was more aroused than he’d been since our wedding night and so was I.

We fell on each other, kissing passionately like young lovers. Dickie kissed my breasts, my nipples were hard as marbles and he sucked them, nipping and tweaking them. I could hardly stay still; I was squirming under his attention. He kissed down my body, licking and nibbling at first my tummy then my pubic hair, finally he opened me. He laved my slit, snaking his tongue into my vagina, tasting me then he tugged at my labia with his lips. At last he sought out my clitoris, I could feel that it was swollen, engorged, awaiting his mouth.

I was lubricating, I had been since the spanking and now it was heavier. When he took my clit between his lips and sucked me into his mouth, I came. The orgasms rolled through me, rippling my tummy, spasming my vagina, one before the next and Dickie was taking it all in. He’d always been hesitant about giving oral sex but now he was drinking from me like I was the fountain of youth. He laved me until I couldn’t take anymore, I was twisting and turning on the bed moaning, “No more Dickie, no more, oh, oh, oh, please no more.”

He rose between my thighs, God his erection was enormous, he grinned at me and mounted me. He rode me hard, gashing deeply into me, grunting with each throbbing thrust, fucking me like I’d never been fucked before. Damn, it was fantastic; I wrapped my legs around him and hung on for dear life. And he seemed insatiable; he went on and on, longer than he’d ever lasted before. Rutting me like he was a wild animal.

I felt him swell within me, I screamed, “Ooooooooh yessssss,” as my pussy erupted, my cum gushed, contraction after contraction forcing my fluids out and Dickie roared as he exploded into me; pulse after scalding pulse filled me.

Sunday mornings started early at our house. Breakfast at seven; Dickie had a standing tee time at eight. He, Daddy, Jack and another of the managers were the Sunday morning foursome.

As soon as he left I drove over to Mummy’s, I wanted to tell her how successfully her idea had worked.

“Good morning Abbie,” she greeted me, “What brings you out so early on a Sunday morning? Would you care for coffee?”

“Please Mummy; yes I’ll have a cup.”

She poured and said, “So tell.”

“Mummy, it worked perfectly,” I told her how our evening had gone.

“I thought perhaps it would. I know it certainly works with Wallace. I’ve had many a morning when I could hardly sit when I’ve done something like that.”

“Mummy, he beats you that hard?” I asked in amazement.

“Oh Abbie, you know how he spanks, no, it’s not from the spanking.”

“Mummy, tell me.”

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