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© Big Billie 2005

My name is Bill Doyle. I am an academic, aged 26, specialising in Shakespearean studies. I was recently appointed as a lecturer at a Teacher Training College attached to one of our big redbrick universities here in England.

I have just been awarded my doctorate, and I am currently preparing my thesis for publication, some of it in book form, and the rest in two or three academic articles that I am hoping will be accepted by refereed journals.

While I was a graduate student I got married. You have probably heard the old proverb, "marry in haste, repent at leisure." Well such, it seemed, would be my case. I am a very bookish sort of a chap. I am also a committed Christian and a regular churchgoer. These two character traits, taken in conjunction, seemed to put off females, both at school and at university. Thus, what with working hard at my studies, and playing an active role at church, I arrived in my early twenties without even a girlfriend, let alone a lover. I was, in short, a frustrated male virgin, and a bit of a geek.

All of this, however, changed abruptly a couple of years ago. One of my fellow graduate students was an older, divorced lady and she had a daughter. This daughter, who was called Mandy, was eight years younger than me, and just sixteen when I first met her.

It was, in fact, hard to avoid meeting Mandy. She used to come along to most of the graduate social events and parties, and she always stuck to me like glue. I was amazed, but she really seemed to like me. To say that she threw herself at me would, perhaps, be overstating the case, but she left me in no doubt at all that she wanted a romantic relationship.

Well, to cut a long story short, a few months into our acquaintanceship, when Mandy was just seventeen, she and I began a whirlwind romance. I know that I should not have let it happen. Mandy had been badly upset by her parents' recent acrimonious divorce, and she needed time to get her emotional house in order. But, oh, forgive me, God! Mandy is the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen, and she was only 17. She encouraged me, and what could I do to resist?

Luckily, Mandy's mom welcomed our relationship. She told me that Mandy needed a steadying influence. It was as well, she added, that I was older than her daughter, and a practising Christian. Mandy's father was now living with another woman who disliked her. Her world had fallen apart. She needed support, and a safe pair of hands, to help her to pick up the pieces of her life. Well! The "safe pair of hands" crack was a bit strong. Definitely out of order. But OK, I thought, let's give it a go.

Thus, before I was twnty-six years old, I found myself married in a modest church ceremony. In the weeks before the wedding I was challenged by almost insufferable temptation. Nevertheless, I successfully confronted the Devil, in the guise of the deadly sin of Lust. I managed to stay a virgin until the honeymoon.

For the first few months of our marriage it was hard for us living on my student scholarship. But, despite my previous sexual inexperience, our love life was idyllic. I was besotted with my stunning bride, my "trophy wife" as I called her. I wanted so badly to please her. I read up on all the sex manuals, and I watched sex education videos. I then put every ounce of my ingenuity and effort into giving my young wife as good a time in bed as I could manage.

Mandy reciprocated my efforts with gusto. She is a redhead, fairly small, but very buxom and curvaceous, and with the most gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair. Her eyes are bright blue, her skin is milk-white, and she has the most delicious little freckles all over her face and upper body that fade in the winter and then come out into beautiful, glorious deep russet brown spots when heated by the summer sun. Her figure is breathtaking. Her breasts are full and firm. Her bottom, for a girl with quite a small bone structure, is beautifully meaty. And she is so young. She exudes youth, freshness and charm, like a playful, skittish kitten. Oh, praise to you, oh Lord! What beauty is in your Creation! If Eve was as stunning as this, no wonder that Adam followed her out of Paradise. How I loved my Mandy! All that I wanted to do was to live with her until death, and have some lovely little babies.

Oh, yes, dear reader! But, you see, you are more worldly wise than I! "What an ingenuous fool" I can imagine you thinking! And so I was! I was besotted with my Mandy, and I did not see the clear warning signs. But I was soon to learn that playfulness and skittishness can all too easily turn into temper tantrums, fights and violence. My Mandy was beautiful and charming, but she had a stormy and violent temper that was a lot more than I could handle. Young as she was, she could be a spitfire, a wildcat from Hell.

I remember that once, for no very good or obvious reason, Mandy hurled a scalding hot cup of coffee at me with tremendous force. The cup was made of thin, fine bone china, and it smashed to fragments against my skull, inflicting several open, gaping wounds that bled copiously and needed lots of stitching up. Then, when they healed, they left permanent, ugly, nasty scars all over my forehead. As for the scalding hot coffee it cascaded all over my face delivering extensive burns. I shut my eyes quickly, and they, luckily, did not get damaged. But most of my face was cut, red and sore for more than a week. Worst of all, I had to go to the local medical centre to get my wounds dressed, and I was forced to endure the interrogation of a young nurse as to exactly how I had been hurt.

Our tempestuous relationship continued for several months. Sometimes we were locked into the most violent and ecstatic sexual couplings, and sometimes Mandy was spitting and fighting like a hellcat. As for me, I just could not cope. If she had not been so stunningly beautiful, and so engagingly youthful, and if I had not been so madly in love with her, it would, perhaps, have been easier. But as it was I was on a fast, uncontrollable roller coaster ride between elation and despair.

When the end came I did not know whether to be relieved or sad. One night Helen, Mandy's mother, came around to our flat. Then yet another violent argument broke out, this time between mother and daughter. It ended with Mandy storming off. We later learned that she had gone into the bar at the Student's Union (our flat was on the edge of the campus), and had picked up a first year undergraduate. That night she slept with him, in his Hall of Residence, and she went on sleeping and living with him for several months.

Well, dear reader, what was I to do? I had been a complete fool. I had been swept off my feet. I had married a beautiful, youthful girl without taking anything like enough time or trouble to get to know her. Within a very short period, the relationship had broken down and a divorce looked inevitable. But yet, I did not want that. I was still besotted with my wife. We had sworn our vows to God, for life, and I took the old-fashioned view that, even if we never again lived together, our contract was still an eternal bond. I decided that I would search for no other woman, that I would live my life alone. Well at least that is how I saw it at the time. Whether I would have felt the same 10 or 15 years later I do not know.

Anyway, for 3 or 4 months I eked out a solitary and miserable existence, morosely pondering on my fate and pouring all my energies into my researches. At the same time, I ruminated on the way that I had been treated. I was already steeped in Bible studies, and I reflected upon what the scriptures say about marriage, about the authority of husbands, and about the duties of wives. How, I thought to myself, would those Patriarchs in the Pentateuch, or St. Paul, deal with a wife like this? As you can imagine, the answers that I arrived at to these questions did not fall within the currently fashionable, politically correct, liberal consensus.

Then, one Friday evening, the doorbell rang. I opened the door and standing there, looking very dejected, was Mandy. Her call was completely unexpected, and I was knocked off balance. When I saw her, my mouth went as dry as sandpaper, and my heart began to knock fiercely against my ribcage. For a few moments, I thought that I would fall, and I had to steady myself against the doorframe. "Hello, Bill," said Mandy dully. "Can I come in?"

Twenty minutes later we were both drinking cups of coffee, and engaging in polite and embarrassed small talk. I could sense, however, that Mandy had something to say, and I tried to help her. Over the next half hour or so, prompted by me, this is what she said.

Her relationship with her first year undergraduate had broken down. For the last 6 weeks she had been living with her mother. Helen had promised, however, that she would not tell me where my wife was, if Mandy would do something in return. "Oh!" I replied with interest. "And what was that?" At this point, Mandy gave me a leaflet. It detailed the meetings and the other activities of a Women's Therapy Self Help Group. Here is a quotation from the leaflet: "The therapy sessions are led by Mary Michaels. Mary is an experienced and respected volunteer therapist who follows a novel method of marital reconciliation. This is based upon the ideas of Laura Doyle, the best selling US author of Surrendered Wives, and a self-styled "former shrew." Laura believes that women's nagging, controlling behaviour prevents emotional intimacy, and that in order to achieve marital success a woman must give her husband her money, hand over management of their home and submit totally to his sexual desires." Well, as you can imagine, my interest was immediately aroused! "Have you attended these sessions, Mandy?" I asked. Mandy said that indeed she had. They were held twice a week, and she had been to 12 of them. "Oh, Bill," she said, shaking her head sadly, "All of the other ladies there were far older than me, and they had some harrowing tales to tell. Lives have been wrecked, marriages destroyed, and children left fatherless and broken. Mary guided us through it all. It was not always the ladies' fault. Some of them were married to right bastards who were cruel, thieving or adulterous. But that was not what happened in our case. You did nothing wrong. You just loved me and tried to look after me. And I acted like a spoilt, vindictive bitch. Oh, God! Help me Bill! Please don't let me end up like some of the other members of our group. They have had wretched, miserable lives. They had it in their power to change things, but they were too stubborn and too stupid to try. Give me another chance, I beg you. I'll do whatever you say if you will only have me back."

Well, dear reader, what was I to do? Fine generous words, spoken in the heat of the moment, are all very well. But will they stand the test of time? There was a good chance that the coffee cup that Mandy was holding at that precise moment might not end up wrapped around my skull. But would that also be true of other cups, and of other potential missiles, in the future, when Mandy's blood ran hot again, and her temper boiled over?

"OK, love," I said, kindly. "But I need time to think about this. Give me a week to ponder things over. In the meantime, you can live here. You are welcome to my table, and to my bed, but until this thing is sorted out I will sleep in here on the couch. I will give you my answer next Friday night."

"OK, Bill," replied my wife gratefully. "Whatever you say."

For several days, I prayed hard, and I thought hard, about what I should do. The more I thought, however, the less prayerful and Godly, and the more lascivious and kinky, my thoughts became. I wanted, and I thought God was telling me, to take back my wife. But for all my Bible study and my church attendance, I am, I fear, a poor, inadequate Christian, a sinner unworthy to call myself by that title. Oh, yes. I knew exactly what I was going to do, and I knew that it did not come from God, and that it was wrong. And it was not only the condemnation and punishment of God that I feared. Mandy would surely be appalled and outraged at my proposals, and it would almost certainly end in partings and tears. But I was so sexually excited by my fantasies that I decided to go through with my audacious plans.

The next Friday night I made my offer to Mandy. Yes, I told her, I would have her back. But there were conditions. The way that she had treated me was outrageous, and she would have to be punished for it. And as for that vicious temper of hers, well, it would have to be sweated and tamed. All the adultery and the violence would have to be purged out of her, and I warned her that this would be a long and, for her, painful process. So here, I said, was my offer.

Firstly, the wearing of a wedding ring on its own was not enough as a sign that she belonged to me. I also wanted her to take a tattoo on her arse, like a branded heifer. Secondly, I wanted to physically prevent further acts of adultery. I wanted both of her labial lips pierced right across the opening to the pussy, and a lock to pull them together and secure her chastity. Finally, to keep my boisterous and stroppy wife in order, I wanted a system of physical punishment. This would employ a slipper and a cane. Oh, and the victim must subject herself entirely to my discipline, and must take whatever was dished out with silent humility, thanks and good grace, upon pain of incurring further penalties.

As I unveiled my plan to my spouse, my blood raced and my cock stood rock hard in my crotch, pushing and leaping within my tight underpants. Meanwhile, I gazed into my young wife's beautiful freckled face and translucent bright blue eyes. Oh, God! She was gorgeous! I think that if she had rejected my preposterous proposals there and then I would have relented, claimed that I was only joking, and had her back on whatever terms she would accept. But, to my amazement, Mandy assented to my offer.

"Oh, Bill," she cried in a weak, pathetic and submissive voice. "I love you. You can do what you like with me. But please don't hurt me too much. Please don't be too cruel."

"Never fear, my love," I replied. "You must be chastened. And your punishment must be effective. You have wronged me. You have betrayed our marriage and your wedding vows. And you have physically injured me. For all of that you deserve to be punished. You must be made to tingle and smart. I will make sure that you feel it, and that you regret the wrong that you have done. But, on the other hand, my discipline will be measured and appropriate, not excessively cruel. Always remember that you are my beloved wife. I will always look after you, and I will never desert you."

Eight days later, on the Saturday morning, Mandy's chastening began. I had phoned during the week to set up an appointment at a parlour run by a locally famous tattoo artist who was also a specialist in body piercing.

The tattoo that he inflicted on Mandy was a big one for a bum that, like its owner, was small and pert. It was positioned on the inside undercarriage of the right buttock, just above the thigh and a short distance from the protruding auburn hairs of Mandy's hirsute pussy, right where the pussy meat was at its plumpest and sexiest. First, the tattoo artist cut a thick, very black, lined circle, with a diameter of 2.5 centimetres, or just over an inch. Then he added a second thick black lined circle, inside and concentric with the first circle. This second circle had a diameter of just less than 2 centimetres. Inside the smaller circle the artist etched the legend "Prime Rump". Then, in the space between the two concentric circles, he added "Property of Bill Doyle". I could see that the tattoo artist was hurting Mandy as he pierced her skin. She seemed shocked by the unexpected sharpness of the discomfort, and winced and gasped at the pain. But our man was very talented, and he did a beautiful job. "Lovely," I thought. "Yes, my girl! I bet you will not be wearing any more high cut shorts or bikini bottoms! That is, not unless you want the whole world to know that your arse is mine!"

Hot on the completion of Mandy's tattoo came her second operation. The artist pierced both of her labial lips with two adjacent holes, right across the middle of her cunt. These holes were much bigger than the usual holes made at a piercing. For the time being, two thick studs kept the holes open. The artist sprayed the labial lips, on both sides, with local anaesthetic, but this only deadened the surface pain. Then the first stud was shot from the gun, and pierced my wife's right labia. She let out an anguished squeal of pain.

"Oh! Oh!" she gasped. That hurt. Oh, God! That really, really hurt. Oh! No! Wait! Stop! Not again! Please!"

The artist, however, was pitiless. He showed his victim no mercy. He was a professional, and he had his living to earn. (I also suspect that he was rather enjoying himself!) While Mandy was howling from her first wound, and begging to be spared from having to take another one, he gave it to her. He deftly shot the second stud right through her left labial lip.

"Wow," I thought, "that is beautiful. Those studs are exactly opposite each other, and positioned exactly over the centre of the cunt hole. That is just what I need for the next stage of my plan!"

Meanwhile, as the second shot bit through her, Mandy cried out again, much louder than before. "Aaaagh! Oh my God! This is awful. I cannot take it! Please! Please! Not again! Not that again!"

But, even now, Mandy's ordeal was not over. On the way to the tattoo artist I had revealed another little secret to my spouse. It was not just her pussy that was getting pierced. Her belly button was down to be punched as well. In her agony, Mandy seemed to have forgotten this. But she was soon reminded of what was to come when her tormentor carefully marked the spots on her midriff that were about to be joined up by a hole. Then he sprayed painkiller in and around the belly button.

"Oh, no!" cried out Mandy, outraged. "Not another one! This is ridiculous!"

But our man deftly pinched her tummy meat between the pincers of his gun, and phut! He shot a third stud right through the flesh and out the other side.

"Aaaagh!" yelled Mandy helplessly, far louder than any of her other complaints. Then, at last, she subsided into silence. The artist smiled courteously.

"There you go, madam," he said. "That's it. Thank you. You were very brave." (A bit of a false statement, that one, I thought, but then, I suppose that he has to keep the customers happy.)

A week later, on the Saturday night, I completed my plan for Mandy's pierced pussy. I had purchased a small, high quality security lock with a thin clasp. I now took the studs out of my wife's labia, and carefully threaded the end of the opened lock through both of the holes. Then, with a flourish, I snapped the lock shut. The result was that my wife's honour was now protected by a discreet but highly effective chastity lock. Mandy has a tight little pussy, and there was not an erect cock in the world, no matter how modestly endowed its owner, that could force itself either in front of or behind that lock and into her honey pot. Perhaps, I mused, my darling would storm off again. Perhaps she would throw herself at another callow first year undergraduate. But this time, when he got her into bed with him, he would be in for a very sexy and frustrating little shock!

"I shall, of course," I told my wife imperiously, "Be removing this myself from time to time in order to use and enjoy my property. But you will never remove it. The key will be kept around my neck, and the spare key in a security safe at the bank that only I can access. You will, I think, be able to pee without problem as long as you hold the lock out of the way. You will also be allowed access to your pussy as and when necessary for cleaning, and in order to attend to your monthly cycle. Oh, and one more thing. For my delight and gratification you will from henceforth remove you belly stud and wear a piece of jewellery in your midriff. Here, fit this please."

I then pulled out of my pocket a large, showy belly ornament on a gold wire, inset with a large, semi-precious stone that sparkled with all the colours of the rainbow. Mandy removed her belly stud and gave it to me for safekeeping. Then she threaded my gift into her navel and fitted it neatly into place. Wow! She looked gorgeous! Mandy's tummy is beautifully trim and voluptuous, and her new belly ornament set it off beautifully. For what seemed a long time I stared at her, transfixed.

"OK," I said at last, "You may go to the bedroom now. Please contemplate what has been done to you, and how richly you deserve your humiliating pussy bondage. Your pussy offended and your pussy has been punished. But I am not finished with you yet. We will leave this now, but you will report to the bedroom for physical chastisement at bedtime on Monday."

On Monday night I told my wife to strip naked and stand by the side of the bed. I stood in front of her, and eyed her up admiringly from top to toe.

God, but she is beautiful! Her medium length hair is slightly curly, and somewhere between auburn and strawberry blonde. It is thick and luxuriant, and cut off in a neat, straight line just above her shoulders. Mandy is about 5 feet 4 inches tall, with quite a small body frame. But, my goodness, it is beautifully packed! Her breasts are big for such a small boned girl, voluptuous and bouncy, but pert and firm with the suppleness and elasticity of youth. Her waist and tummy are beautifully thin and tapered. As I gazed in admiration, her big rainbow stone sparkled invitingly from her trim navel. Mandy's pussy hairs are thick, bushy and crinkly, and a slightly darker shade of auburn than the hairs on her head. Then, clearly visible through the middle of this inviting and hirsute clump were the thin, delicate, serrated coral pink edges of her pussy lips, and the discreet silver coloured chastity lock that pinched them together. Finally, below this, Mandy's thighs, nubile and shapely, bulged out invitingly.

I grinned roguishly as I told Mandy about the first instalment of her corporal punishment. "Your initiation will be gradual," I said. "I will be using the slipper. It is one of my favourites because it stings effectively without doing any real damage. Tonight, you will take 2 slaps across your bare bottom. Tomorrow it will be 4. Then on Wednesday it will be 6, on Thursday 8, and on Friday 10. On Saturday night you will take 12 of the best, so that by the Sabbath it will all be over. I promise that I will never ever punish you, but only love and cherish you, on the day of the Lord. Right, stand on that mat, face the window, and touch your toes keeping your legs straight."

At this stage, I was deliberately brusque and brisk, and the rapid build up of my disciplinary initiative disconcerted Mandy. Nevertheless, she obediently did as she was told, presenting me with a fetching view of her derriére, with that delicious clump of auburn pussy hair sprouting and protruding from the back of her crotch.

My wife stretched and strained to bend over, and, with straight legs, pushed her fingers to her toes. The muscles and tendons in her thighs rippled and twitched, and she displayed two delicate, white, concave hollows on the inside tops of her legs, filled with thick, wiry auburn locks of pubic hair where they met her vulva. Despite the restraining force of my chastity lock, Mandy's labial lips pouted ever so slightly open, revealing the tantalising glimpse of coral pink inner pussy flesh that I have already alluded to, its pale red tones in sharp and fetching contrast to the colourful orange tinges of her pubic thatch.

"Right," I said. "Now I want you to take this openly, generously, and without resentment. It is meant to sting, and it is meant to humiliate. It will almost certainly annoy you. But I want you to sweat your temper. Accept what is coming with humility and gratitude, because from now on every temper tantrum, every spat of rage, and every outburst of anger and violence, however justified you may think it is, will be punished with one or more cuts from the cane. Is that clear?"

"OK, Bill," replied Mandy obediently.

"Yes, my girl," I pondered lasciviously. "You are compliant enough at the moment. But just you wait until I have finished with you! I will stir you up! I will inflame your sense of outrage! By the time I have finished with you, you will be hopping mad! If this goes to plan tomorrow night you will be feeling the cane, and not the slipper, across your meaty little bum!"

I then took up my stance next to Mandy's bottom, with my slipper in my hand. The slipper itself is a gym plimsoll. It is a size 10 and very flat, well-worn, light and floppy. I lined it up in the centre of Mandy's bum, with its bottom edge touching her thick clump of backwardly sprouting auburn pussy hair, and the top end of the sole covering her big, newly etched, circular tattoo. I then removed the pump for a few seconds to get a strategic overall view of the target area. One thing that I noticed again was that, like a lot of redheads, Mandy has very white, delicate skin. I knew that she had to be very careful in the summer sun, because it did not tan brown. It just went red and sore. I looked at Mandy's plump, meaty little milk white bottom and my cock began to stiffen up in my underpants.

"Wow!" I thought to myself. "That is gorgeous. I bet my slipper will make beautiful, sexy red indentations on those globes! They are as white as alabaster, and the marks should show up beautifully."

Then I had another sexy thought. Although Mandy's bottom was plump and meaty it was, like her, really quite small. And my slipper, in contrast, was very big! In fact, when its flat sole was placed against her pussy meat it looked enormous.

"Ah, what a shame!" I thought to myself in mock sympathy and outrage. "It isn't fair to welt such a pert, pretty little bottom with such a huge, serious instrument of correction. And the young lady is so youthful and tender! The poor girl! It is an inhumane, cruel and unusual punishment!"

I grinned wickedly. "You bet it is! And she's got it coming to her!"

I then lined up my slipper again onto the target area, gently pushing it into the soft, plump, nubile pussy meat at the base of the buttocks, just above the upper thighs and right across the back of the twat. I wriggled my wrist to get the pump absolutely flush with its target. Taking careful aim, I pulled back my right arm in a big arc, holding the plimsoll high in the air.

I brought round the slipper with all of my strength and whacked it home, right across Mandy's plump, meaty, milk white pussy meat. There was a gentle swish as the pump descended towards its target. Then it hit home. My aim was true, and the pump struck absolutely flush across both bare buttocks with a sharp, almost deafening crack.

I had given it my best shot, and the undercarriage of Mandy's pert, juicy little bum quivered and wobbled deliciously, and the protruding auburn pussy hairs were scattered and rearranged by the force of the blow.

Immediately, at the other end, Mandy let out a mighty, high-pitched scream of anger and outrage: "Aaaagh!!!"

Wow! They must have heard that in the student bar on campus!

I gave a smile of satisfaction, and drew back my pump for the encore. I waited 4 or 5 seconds, for the bare bum to fully feel what had hit it. During that time, a deep red indentation mark appeared across Mandy's bare buttocks, dramatically displayed against the milk white flesh of the rest of the bottom. It stretched across her left buttock, and covered most of the sharply etched tattoo on her right buttock. Oh, yes! My pump had really bit into Mandy's arse, and, where it had landed, it had left a sharp, clear impression, as if her rump had been branded with a red-hot iron.

Well, dear reader, you may, jesting, ask, "Did Mandy like it?" Well, I think you know the answer to that one! No, she did not. She had not been expecting anything as sharp or as sexy as that, and she was caught completely on the hop. She was shocked, angered and outraged at what had been done to her, and, as the initial sharp sting was supplemented by a keen and infuriating tingling, she started to scream and yell in the most urgent and vituperative fashion against the injustice which had been inflicted upon her.

"Oh! You bastard! Oh, you utter swine! You complete rotter! Oh, that stings! That really, really stings! How dare you do that to me! I'll get you for this, you absolute sod! You just wait! You'll live to regret this!"

And so on.

I listened in amused satisfaction to Mandy's ravings for a few seconds and then, just as her stinging and tingling reached a crescendo, just as she was at the height of her vexation and fury, just when the last thing that she wanted to take in the entire world was another one like that, and the last place in the world that she wanted to take it was across her bare, nubile arse, I gave her another one.