"Ten thirty-four," I told my sniffling husband, standing scarlet-bottomed in front of me, "So your reminder session will be at bedtime Monday."

His tearstained face blanched. "Sixty hours."

My left hand caressed the striking surface of the ultraflexible whipping strap; unlike the skin of Paul's deeply-glowing derriere,  the smooth leather remained cool to the touch. "More time for your blistered bottom to recover, honeybun."

His expression was crestfallen. "But now I'll dread it for an extra day, Please, can't we--"

"No changing our rule," I interjected firmly. "Use the time to contemplate the situation while anticipating your punishment, that's the point of a reminder spanking."

"Yes, ma'am." He knew better than to argue. "Will Brittie be there?"

I nodded. "She'll be invited to participate, along with Pam as well since you woke her up on a Saturday morning."

"Brittie did that," Paul protested, "I said she didn't need to use a nylon cane but she insisted."

"Her call to make then, she was your disciplinarian." My palm patted his face. "The cane marks across your behind are quite striking, darling, in hindsight I've got to agree with her choice of weaponry." The same hand slipped down behind to squeeze my mate's right buttock. "Ahhhh...Caning weals overlaid with fiery heat from the licking I just delivered, it feels so entrancing." I chortled lightly. "Perhaps it doesn't feel quite so appealing from your perspective, sweetie, does it?"

Focusing his attention on the intensive stinging sensation engulfing his posterior caused my handsome husband to wince. "No, ma'am." His lips pouted. "Miss Pamela's already planning on punishing me at this month's sisterhood meeting, how much discipline do I need for being slightly overcompetitive during a tennis match?"

Looking upward into his pale blue eyes, I gave his right bumcheek a hard pinch, "It must've been more than 'slightly' to earn you an extensive caning from Brittany. How many strokes?"

"Thirty-six." He sighed. "That's my sentence from Miss Pamela too, with the nylon cane, at the chapter meeting." His chin quivered. "It hurts so very much." (Given that thin black cane's whippy fiberglass core, I believed him--thankfully with no personal experience of enduring a bare-bottomed caning.)

"That's the whole idea, honeybun, so appreciate the sixty hours you'll have to recover before the three of us administer your reminder session." I smiled brightly. "Will Brittany be chastising you at our meeting too?"

Paul nodded glumly. "Five dozen swats each with her belt and the Spencer paddle."

I tittered. "My, that sounds like an extremely strenuous evening for you, honey. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes--well, actually your spankybriefs--during public punishments that night." I affectionately patted his sizzling seat. "How fortunate that this resilient rump is designed to absorb plenty of hard-hitting corpoal correction."

He shivered, obviously aware that there would be an intense short-term cost, in terms of teardrops shed and a flaming firestorm raging on his naked hindquarters, even though he'd experience no lasting damage--absorbing extended chastisement hardly meant openly enjoying it, although there was subtle, subconscious anticipation apparent in his demeanor. "It's just that I'm getting so much..."

His point had validity: Two chastisements already, a very lengthy three-spanker session at bedtime Monday and two more thorough 'ass-whuppings' at our Sisterhood chapter's meeting two weeks after that, all applied quite emphatically atop his exposed posterior by enthusiastic feminine disciplinarians. In effect he was facing Quintuple Jeopardy for what likely was marginally temperamental behavior on the tennis court--and it was at my insistence that Brittany was expected to severely spank my spouse for even minor offenses occuring in her presence.

However, I reminded myself, Paul's unprotected asscheeks being energetically worked over by a retributive woman at least once every three days had clearly improved his behavior, made him a happier husband and gratified me immensely--I loved knowing that his seat was constantly sore and tingling, especially when an impending reminder spanking was looming in his awareness.

My right hand, gripping the leather strap's handle, raised up to his face. "Go ahead," I instructed.

Taking my hand in his, he softly kissed its back. "Thank you for soundly spanking my bare bottom, ma'am, I deserved my discipline. Please administer additional corporal correction Monday night to remind me not to misbehave."

"If you insist, darling, I want to help you become a good boy." Smirking smugly, I handed him the strap. "Hang this back in my closet before pulling up your pants. Do you have a consolation match coming up?"

"Yes, ma'am.," he affirmed, "At eleven-thirty."

I kissed his lips. "You'd better get cleaned up quickly, I don't believe that Brittany would appreciate any tardiness on your part...So scoot!" My palm forcefully smacked his left buttock as he waddled away, shorts around his ankles and deeply-reddened rear end aesthetically framed by his white jockstrap bands.

Showered and attired in clean tennis clothes, Paul kissed me goodbye at eleven-ten.

"Good luck, sweetie, don't let that sore bottom inhibit your play," I teased. "Maybe Brittany's extra practicing, her wrist-snap with the cane and blistering forehand with the paddle, will elevate her game. Promise to show sportsmanship?"

"I really wasn't that--" He reacted abruptly to my frown. "Yes, honey, I will."

He would too: Rather than being sullen and resentful toward Brittany over his extensive chastisement, he'd be all sweetness and consideration--he was a wonderful persom while his behind was warmly smarting.

Soon my account of Paul's strapping and its causal background,  reinforcement of the lesson Brittany had taught him about competitive sportsmanship, had been e-mailed to his cousin Miriam, webmistress of the Sisterhood's internet site. The narrative used codenames--''Sunshine,' 'Crimson' and 'Beauty' --but such pseudonyms were available to all members and affiliates (sororial and spousal). Miriam's confirrmation reply indicated that she'd already received Brittany's account of my mate's caning and that she'd expect his addendum (apoligizing for his misconduct and thanking us for disciplining him) that night.

My message also included the additional upcoming bare-bottomed 'ass-whuppings'  Paul would be facing, both Monday night and at the monthly chapter meeting, meaning that those readng--sisters and sororial affiliates, especially his academic colleague Candy--would know of his recent and impending butt-blisterings.

For my beloved spouse. an anxious sixty hours...