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Future Father-in-law
Part 17

by Graham

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 19 Dec 2012


After the spanking at home the evening of the day when I'd skipped school to go to Loon Lake with friends, almost everything was out in the open now. My wife, Kim, knew for sure her Dad spanked me on my bare bottom and upper legs, and she soon knew he did it on a regular basis, weekly, to keep me in line. She never belittled or treated me with lesser regard or respect for this fact, but continued to be as supportive and passionate with me as ever.

A lot of the deep, mortifying chagrin and embarrassment about being spanked at 24, like a naughty kid, by my father-in-law, lessened and faded from immediacy. In truth, however, I never, ever fully recovered from my own deep-seated feelings of self-deprecation and diminished self-respect. Most of the time, though, my life with my wonderful wife helped eliminate those feelings from my conscious awareness.

Whenever he reprimanded me, the mere sound of her Dad's admonishing voice forced me instinctively and automatically to sit up straight and lean forward, to pay attention to every word he uttered. When he barked a command, like "Look at me, Christopher! Look me in the eye, young man!" it hit me like a slap in the face, and invariably I jumped. At those moments, my stomach would churn and feel hollow and empty, I felt myself becoming nervous to the point of panic, and my breathing became short and rapid.

I may be 24, a young adult, married, graduate student; but the long history of experience over my father-in-law's knees demanded – inescapably compelled – the admission that I was still a boy – especially in relation to him.

Each time I found myself denuded, up over his lap on the spanking chair, the feelings of complete and utter helplessness, and being subjugated to his authority and discipline, overwhelmed me, driving me farther from a sense of adult manhood, to realizing I was still a boy to be taken in hand by him, and delivered a harsh spanking, when I misbehaved. The cumulative effect over the rest of the spring semester reduced me to a far more subdued, respectful, and deferential demeanour whenever he was around – which was most of the time.

Nevertheless, I tried to conduct myself in our household as an adult man, Kim's husband, and her Dad's adult son-in-law, but also to comply with his demands and conditions. Having sold a business he had started years ago, he was fully retired, to manage his investments constantly. That also meant he was always around to keep on eye on me: to oversee my attitudes, actions, comings & goings, compliance or non-compliance with the requirements and rules he laid down.

In the day or two leading up to each week's regular maintenance spanking, and the ravishing pleasures following, and for a day or so afterward, invariably my behind tingled, and I felt anxious, awkward, tentative, and unsettled.

Partly, it was the now, all-too-familiar pain of being spanked sternly, upside down, bare, elevated over his lap in the spanking chair, and the inevitable crumbling and collapse of all self-control into submissive, miserable, crying sobs. Partly it was the humbling reality I had to accept – submit to – this juvenile treatment by him. He expected it; and I had no option but to obey.

Always, for a couple of days, whenever I bent over or sat down, my bottom and thighs felt singed and scorched, I walked stiffly and somewhat mechanically, and winced from the subsiding pain and shame of another spanking from my father-in-law.

Overall, though, life was good. I knew I was the luckiest guy in the world to have met and won over Kim, to be in love with her, and married to her. We almost never disagreed, and I was truly blown away with her love and devotion to me. Nevermind how strange a family relationship I had: How did I ever get this beautiful, loving, passionate and hot girl for a wife?! Most of the time, I was supremely happy.

 
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