Inspired by artwork of old, a professor creates a special gift for his domme wife that helps them make history — together.

Most academics will not freely admit this, but when you spend enough time prowling around archives, sex always ends up creeping into your studies. I know. I’m a professor of medieval history at a private university and have a number of colleagues who’d agree with me. One specializes in Victorian England and the social history of medicine but has a secret pet project dedicated to the history of vibrators; another who works on the antebellum South can spend all night talking about courtesans and brothels. I guess it’s only natural to ponder how generations before us got off.

As a medievalist, though, I think I can “out sex” and generally “out freak” them all! To start off, my lecture slides can look like a death metal video, thanks to the etchings of obscure demons such as Sitri and Dantalion or agonized martyrs, like St. Anthony. And then you also have creepier depictions of plague victims, and portrayals of the apocalypse.

But these days, my most favorite engravings — which don’t make it into my usual European history survey — are medieval birching scenes. They typically depict a shocking view of a bare bottom anticipating a blow in an otherwise conservative scene. I especially love one I have of a busty milkmaid getting the switch from a monk. I love the voyeuristic nudity — and the looks of shock and shame on the faces of those being whipped. Check the web if you don’t believe me — “medieval spanking scenes” are a legit art history thing!

Inspired, I even made my own cane recently out of some reclaimed birch wood — it was a present for my wife. You see, I never realized quite how much a good spanking could add heat to our sex life until she insisted we go there — really go there.

I guess I find that pain in many life circumstances makes pleasure that much better — and I really delight in the chance to serve her. It’s like I have a “white knight complex” on steroids, but I love dropping anything and everything to take care of my woman. Unfortunately, when I was younger and less mature, that predilection led me to many relationship disasters because of women who’d taken advantage of me — but never sexually, alas.

My first real experience with spanking and sex came when I was in college. I’d dated a foreign exchange student from the Czech Republic, Andulka, who used to slap me hard on the ass when I’d be on top and thrusting inside her. She was a platinum blonde, too, with the pubes to match. The harder we fucked, the more she hit me — and I loved it — I remember coming like crazy! But then, when she went home, and I went back to seeing “regular” American girls, I stopped getting my sex-associated spankings. Plus, we never really contextualized the spankings as part of a larger BDSM lifestyle either — but we were young.

Unfortunately, I realized shortly after Andulka’s departure that vanilla sex was becoming unsatisfactory. I would never say no to a good, old-fashioned fuck, but that cocktail of pleasure and pain had gotten me higher than any drug. Of course, as any newbie can tell you, coming out as an eager participant of the BDSM lifestyle is not always easy — and I had to figure this out well before decent social networks for kinksters existed and BDSM became trendy.

Plus, there are just so many misconceptions out there to overcome regarding submission, especially for men. Let me say that just because I like to be spanked and enjoy servicing my domme wife doesn’t make me less of a man. If anything, I’m man enough to serve her — and man enough to know exactly what I need.

Which brings me back to my post-college adventures. I met my wife, Ingrid, while doing research in Cologne, Germany, and we eloped shortly after returning to the States.

She’s a translator for a large tech company, but she tolerates my love of old books. Sometimes she’ll reward me with a prized volume, or punish me if she finds I’m not keeping my study tidy.

In public, Ingrid is the most pleasant and mild-mannered woman I’ve ever known. She’s petite, with silky shoulder-length black hair and kind blue eyes. She never raises her voice, and some people think her tone is downright soothing. But when sex is on the table, a switch flips, and my Ingrid becomes a ruthless succubus. When she’s unleashed, a night with her is a completely wild experience. It’s all I can do to try and ride the waves, undulating between my own vulnerability as a submissive and my need to keep pushing the boundaries of my lust.

In any case, I am a lucky man for finding her. She picked up quickly that I wanted her to take charge, to mount me, to tell me exactly how to please her. And discovering additional dimensions to her dominant side together has been pure joy. We are both in our early 40s and don’t have children, so we are free to pretty much go anywhere and do anything — and our sexual escapades definitely reflect that freedom.

One night, before we were even engaged, she made me crawl completely naked through the house, gathering any laundry I’d left on the floor while she spanked my bottom with a hairbrush — a wooden one with real boar bristles. I almost came on the carpet, and after I admitted I nearly lost control, she forced me to suffer an extra hour without release.

My domestic duties after marriage include my careful cleaning and maintenance of her dishes. I always tidy up after breakfast, and if so much as a single smudge distorts Ingrid’s favorite clear glass plates, I gladly suffer punishment. Of course, reward in the form of a pre-work blowjob is also an excellent morning motivation.

When we return home from work each day, I immediately open a bottle of wine and pour two glasses. I don’t touch mine until she’s tried hers and approves it. Then we speak freely, and usually I’ll have the pleasure of massaging her feet. But like any normal couple, we have our share of stress and our own ways of dealing with it — and our sex life is vital to releasing our tension.

Once, after Ingrid lost a really important and lucrative freelance client, she was nearly brought to tears. I went to the bedroom and retrieved the paddle we keep in the nightstand. Without saying a word, I handed her the implement. She stopped crying, and an instant look of calm washed over her face, which then hardened into that of the wicked mistress I know and love.

“Get up,” she commanded, “and take off your pants.”

I struggled with the zipper in my nervousness.

“Faster!” she snapped.

My dick was already hard before the first blow of the paddle struck my bare ass. I stood there, letting my sweet, stressed-out wife spank my bare butt until she had worked out her frustration. I might’ve grunted or groaned, but I never cried out. Though, of course, I have a safeword if I really needed her to stop, but I’ve never had to use it in all our years together.

By the time Ingrid was finished with me that night, my bottom was probably the color of a tomato — but how I relished that burning warmth that consumed me.

As I stood there catching my breath and feeling my ass throb, Ingrid got on her knees and serviced me, letting me come down her velvety throat.

As she toyed with my flaccid cock, waiting for me to get hard again so we could fuck, we laughed together. What a way to forget a horrible day!

But back to the present. I was inspired to make my own implement after we went for a drive through the gorgeous roads of Amish country. During our trip, we stopped at a farm stand, and when I saw some raw wood for sale, I couldn’t resist picking out some whippy birch.

It took me several tries to create the perfect cane for her; woodwork is definitely not a hobby for the impatient! However, I finished polishing it up just ahead of our anniversary at the end of May; and the night we finally tried it out remains etched in my memory forever.

Leading up to our special night, I cleaned the house and pre-prepared my wife’s favorite molten chocolate dessert for afterward.

When she arrived home, I knelt in the foyer and removed her shoes for her. I kissed her feet and worked my way up.

“Happy anniversary,” she said with a smile.

I grinned and picked her up, carrying her down the hall to where I’d prepared her a bath with her favorite jasmine vanilla salts. I massaged her shoulders and neck while she filled me in on some mundane, non-sexy details of the day. But then as I kissed her neck and worked my way down to her breasts, all of her daily frustrations disappeared — replaced by anticipation of what we were about to do.

She shifted position so I could shave her legs for her, and then we wrapped up with a soothing head massage and shampoo. But don’t think that being a submissive husband means I get nothing in return. There’s always a method to my madness; when my wife is relaxed and in the mood, sex can last all night.

Still fully nude, she sat down in front of her vanity as I brushed her wet hair. Unfortunately, though, I pulled a little too roughly on a tough knot.

“Ouch!” Ingrid grimaced.

“Sorry,” I immediately apologized.

Ingrid raised her eyebrows. “Give me the brush, and pull down your pants.”

“My dick was already hard before the first blow of the paddle struck my ass.”

She walloped me at least a dozen times. And then, as further punishment, I had to resume my work with an aching hard-on. She made me brush her hair until it was perfect. And once she was satisfied, our evening really began.

“Walter, go get the paddle.”

I shook my head.

“Are you defying me?”

“No, Ma’am. I have a surprise — one that’s much better than the paddle.”

Ingrid folded her arms and stood up. “Very well, bring it into the bedroom.”

I rushed down the hall to retrieve my newly made cane from the den. I had wrapped a single black velvet ribbon in the middle of it. I walked into the bedroom and knelt down before my magnificently nude wife, offering up the thin swishy piece of wood like a knight would offer tribute to his lady.

The faintest corners of her smile turned upright. “What’s this?”

“I finished it. For you. For us.”

Ingrid stripped away the velvet ribbon and stroked the length of the cane. Both ends were softened and rounded off, and I’d branded our initials in the very middle. “Oh wow — you polished it beautifully. It’s so smooth.” She leaned down and kissed me. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Ingrid stroked the cane some more, tracing her manicured nails up and down the length of it. “Maybe I should make you watch me stroke this, while you wish your cock was getting stroked, hmm? How should we take care of your punishment today?”

“Please use it on me.”

“Ditch your clothes. And put them in the laundry hamper, or so help me… ”

I obeyed immediately.

Standing nude before my wife as she coolly appraised me, I felt like a prized racing stud. She traced one rounded end of the cane over my body, making me shiver. The teasing touch of the wood, so ticklish and gentle, did not betray its fierce bite, but I knew I’d soon feel its wrath — thanks to Ingrid.

I obediently stood still as my wife poked and prodded my balls with the cane, making me inhale sharply Then she placed the tip of it underneath my cock, as if to prop up my erection for her inspection.

“You’re definitely hard. But I need you harder.”

And with that, she reached around and a sudden blow came down across my ass. The sound of the polished wooden switch whistling through the air and striking my flesh was so very different from the paddle. Its impact left a stinging line of fire across my defenseless cheeks, as if I’d been branded by a bolt of lightning.

“Already a red streak,” Ingrid said, looking impressed. “This is going to be fun. Get in your bonds.”

“She snapped the leather against my thighs until my skin was humming.”

“As you wish.” I put my hands in our jury-rigged bungee cuffs that we keep at the corners of our four-poster bed. They have Velcro fasteners, so there’s no worry about losing a key, and it’s easy to change position in the heat of the moment.

Once I was properly situated, facing our wall mirror so I could watch her face, my dear wife set about caning my bare ass without mercy. Hot damn! That biting switch took me to another level.

After delivering several serious blows to my bottom, Ingrid decided to rough me up some more with her cat-o’-nine-tails. She snapped the leather against my thighs until my skin was humming and my cock was brutally erect. That’s when Ingrid brought out the paddle, slapping it against my already abused ass and occasionally reaching around to give my cock a stroke of her hand.

“Don’t you dare fucking come,” she growled.

“No, no, I won’t,” I promised on a groan.

“Good — because I need you to save it. Do you know where I want you to come?”

“Where?”

“In my pussy — deep in my pussy.”

Ingrid untethered me and pointed to the rough, jute-weave throw rug on our hardwood floor. “Get your ass down on that.”

I may have whimpered as I obeyed and felt the scratchy jute meet my sore bottom. My dick felt like it was practically in another dimension. Ingrid stood over me, taunting me with a view of her wet cunt — so close and yet so far.

“Sit on my face,” I begged shamelessly. “Oh please, let me taste you now.”

She smirked right before she squatted over my mouth, practically smothering me with her snatch.

I went wild, tonguing every crease and fold, breathing in her musky scent.

“Oh yes,” Ingrid moaned, jerking her hips forward. “Lick my ass, too.”

I eagerly obliged. Ingrid and I were late bloomers in the anal department, but we were enjoying making up for lost time. Sometimes she would peg me, but more often than not, when it came to her asshole, she liked to submit and receive — especially when it came to oral worship.

I tongued her ass and played with her clit until she climaxed, glazing my face with her juices. Of course, my poor cock was desperate for relief, hoping my cruel mistress would be kind and not forget its needs — and she didn’t!

Ingrid slid down and slipped my cock inside her warm, wet pussy. She began to ride me cowgirl-style, and her rocking motions forced my sore bottom to grate and scrape against the scratchy rug. Oh, what sweet agony it was to feel my ass on fire as her molten cunt seared my cock.

“You better stay hard and make me come again,” she ordered on a moan.

I sure did my best, but in due time, I couldn’t help but beg her: “Let me get on top.”

Ingrid grinned. “Is it too much for you?”

I nodded. “I want to last.”

“Every time she slapped me with that switch, she edged me closer to heaven.”

My wife allowed me to mount her, missionary style. Ingrid wrapped her gorgeous legs around me but let her hands wander down to administer an occasional slap to my ass until we were building up to an explosive crescendo.

“Harder,” I begged.

“Where’s that paddle when I need it?”

I managed to reach the cane and give it to her. And God bless my wife — every time she slapped me with that switch, she edged me closer and closer to heaven. Those freaky medieval wood carvings had nothing on us!

I reveled in the electric sensations and started powerfully thrusting into her to the point where we were moving that jute rug across our polished wooden floor in the throes of passion.

“Yes! Oh fuck me, Walter!” Ingrid screamed. “Faster!” She dropped the switch, and we just went at it like animals, with Ingrid coming more times than I could count.

I tried to last for as long as possible, but with so many sensations ricocheting back and forth, eventually I felt my climax threatening to burst.

Quickly, I pressed her legs back against her chest to intensify my penetration and blew my load deep inside her. She came again, too, and sprawled out on the floor in exhaustion.

Eventually, we each caught our breath and smiled at one another.

“Thank you,” she said, kissing me.

“You’re welcome. Just please don’t ask me to quit my job and become a woodworker just yet.”

We laughed, and then took a little breather. Ingrid got some soothing mint salve and gave me the most incredible ass and back massage — because a real domme loves and cherishes her submissive.

“Chilly… I like it.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I mean, I really — really like it.” I cleared my throat. The cool, tingly ointment — and her expert hands — had given me goosebumps. Suddenly, my dick was hard again.

“What are we going to do with you?” Ingrid said teasingly as she reached between my cheeks to tug my scrotum.

In no time, she was on all fours. And after lavishing her with another rimjob, I fucked her in the ass at her request.

In the months that followed, Ingrid took such a keen liking to my homemade tool that she demanded I make her another one — and I did.

I procured some bamboo wood from the campus garden, and with a little time — and some useful YouTube tutorials — I managed to outdo myself. My latest creation was smaller, almost like a scepter, but with a red silicone dildo mounted at one end. She actually likes letting me use that one on her. She’ll lie in bed with her legs open wide and demand I pump her with the dildo. While she enjoys herself, I’m not allowed to play or come until she gives her permission.

Sometimes, she lets me give her a few light smacks and then takes the dildo in her ass while I fuck her pussy. Ingrid really loves to be pumped in both holes these days. But go figure — even when she’s stuffed with cock, she’s totally in control, like a real domme should be.

Ingrid kept my ass warm as the chilly spring ended — and she’s promised me that summer is going to sizzle! She swears she’s gonna heat up my ass so much between the cane and the paddle that I’ll be melting whole trays of ice cubes on it while we are sitting by the pool — and I can’t wait.