Bartholomew would blush like a bashful boy when I scolded him or made him answer my inquiries, but he always obeyed. Actually, he fell right in line and obeyed my every decision. I grew to like his compliance quite a bit. In fact, I grew to expect it.

I suppose that is why I finally decided to show Bartholomew who was the boss one Saturday night. He had spent the afternoon with his pub chums yelling over an important football match. (That's soccer to you Americans.) I'm sure he joined his chums in beating their manly breasts and downed a few pints, but he wasn't sotted when he came to pick me up. He was, however, all too bold and cheeky for his own good.

My mum and dad were out for the night, and Bartholomew insisted on staying at my flat instead of going to the flick we'd been planning to see. He wanted to pet me up, you see, and I wasn't having any of it. I really did want to go, and wasn't at all pleased by his ungentlemanly approach. His pub chums had had a very bad influence on my normally well-mannered man!

Bartholomew sulked and pouted like a spoiled little boy denied a piece of candy, and kept at it until my patience was completely gone. Without really thinking about it, I grabbed Bartholomew by the ear and hauled him to his feet.

"You've gone and earned yourself a good smacking now, lad!" I said as I marched him over to the nearest straight-backed chair.

Bartholomew sputtered protests and resisted as much as a lad being tugged by his ear can, but straight away I sat down on one of the chairs and tugged him down across my knee.

I had completely lost my temper and started to smack Bartholomew's bum through his trousers as though he was a boy, not a 20 year-old young man. I smacked him vigorously until my hand hurt, but Bartholomew didn't cry or carry on like I expected him to. He whined and ouched, but I knew from what he'd told me that he needed to be kicking and carrying on to make the smacking a memorable success. And I was determined to make Bartholomew's first smacking at my hand very memorable indeed!

I stopped smacking and ordered Bartholomew to stand. His face was as red as could be, but his bum wasn't, so I ordered him up to my bedroom with the promise that I was going to take my hairbrush to his bare bum for the real smacking he had earned!

Bartholomew pleaded and protested as he followed me upstairs, but follow me he did. I knew then that I could give him the thorough smack bottom I planned that night, and whenever I decided to in future. It was quite a delightful feeling of power!

Bartholomew lingered in the doorway while I gathered up my hairbrush and went to sit on my bed. He was blushing furiously, his eyes peeking at me quickly as if he didn't want to look but couldn't help himself. He really did look like a big, naughty boy about to get a bare bum smacking. I felt dizzy as I looked at my naughty man, but I was anxious to proceed, so I crooked my finger at him and pointed at my feet. He came, very slowly and whimpering for me to let him off, but he came.

I was giddy and nervous as Bartholomew obeyed my command and took down his trousers. I blushed a bit when his manhood appeared before my eyes, but I liked what I saw for the instant it took my embarrassed man to dive over my lap. His bum captured my attention then. It was beautiful! I had to play with it for a minute, but Bartholomew wasn't over my lap for a diddling. I remembered everything he had told me about his mum's smackings and my own unpleasant smacking memories.

"You're in for a jolly good smacking, my boy!" I scolded as I picked up my hairbrush. "How dare you be cheeky with me!"

Bartholomew was crying bitterly by the time I stopped smacking his bright, bright red bum. I actually smacked him harder and longer than I had intended to, but I couldn't help myself. Something came over me as I smacked Bartholomew's bum. I heard him howling and felt him wriggling. I saw the brush smacking into his bouncing bum and the redness that bloomed all over both cheeks. I felt flushed with power and sexiness. I wanted to smack his bum forever!

Bartholomew collapsed across my lap when I stopped. He cried loudly and reached back to rub his bum. I felt a touch of guilt and fear while we both calmed down. I worried that I might have gone too far, but as soon as he could speak again, Bartholomew began apologizing and promising saintly behavior in future. His words made my heart fly! I had just smacked my naughty man's bum and he was begging me for forgiveness! The love I already felt for Bartholomew blossomed tenfold. I decided then and there that he would be my husband. And my lover. Bartholomew and I actually became betrothed that night, and shared each other's virginity as well. After his bum cooled, it turned out he was as sexed up as I.

My mum-in-law and I became good friends before Bartholomew and I exchanged vows. We talked about him a lot, of course, and eventually the subject of his upbringing came up. His mum told me that he had always benefited from her firm hand, but she was hesitant to tell me that Bartholomew was still smacked over her knee straight away. I knew what she was hinting around, and so I told her what I knew, and that I had already followed her example several times! She seemed relieved and laughed heartily. We chatted about smackings, and then his mum told me that Bartholomew's father had not been immune from the very same treatment until his passing! He didn't take smackings any better than his son, she said, but she thought smacking him had been a major reason for their happy marriage.

Bartholomew got a jolly good smacking on our wedding night because he'd behaved quite badly with his pub chums and the doxy they hired to toast his last night as a bachelor. That was the first official smacking of our marriage, but most certainly not the last! Bartholomew has spent many hours crying his way through smackings over the years, and we couldn't have a happier marriage. He knows where the line between marital partnership and punishment is, and that when he crosses it, he will be taken to our bedroom to have his bare bum smacked like a bad little boy.

I've made sure that Bartholomew's fearful respect for smackings has remained healthy. He hates being told he's earned a hand smacking and gets positively wide-eyed when I pick up my hairbrush or a nice paddle I found in a small shop some years ago. I have taken to slapping Bartholomew's thighs for serious transgressions, and have him stand in the corner after a smacking when it suits me. I am the woman of the house, and in our house, this woman rules. I am pleased to say that because of that and my belief in smacking my husband's bum, I have a well-mannered mate who loves me as dearly as I do him. I really think that more women should try smacking their mates for punishment, or simply for play if their sex lives have gone sour.

Bartholomew and I have also enjoyed play act smackings for many years (he especially since they're all pleasure!) but I'll leave them for another time and letter.

We both look forward to seeing future issues of your excellent publication. I do hope you will be sending more to England now that you've appeared here?

Yours sincerely, Beatrice, N. Yorkshire, England

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Thank you for the fantastic letter, Beatrice! It's a huge pleasure to hear from a Lady Spanker from across the pond, especially one who so truly appreciates the punitive and pleasurable benefits of a good, old-fashioned, bare bum smacking included marriage!! Of course, I totally agree that more women should consider smacking their mates for punishment and/or pleasure, and hope that your testominal just might help coax one or two more to give it a try. I also hope you'll write again to tell us more about your enduring marriage to Bartholomew and the old-fashioned methods that have made your union a happy one. I'm sure you've many smacking stories to share after so many years together. And to think it all started with Bartholomew's very wise mother... A very wise woman if you ask me! Thanks again!