Serena was lying on her back beside the swimming pool which she and her husband Stuart had had built in their garden. She was wearing sunglasses, so that she could watch the clouds, and a skimpy bikini so that she could get as near to an all-over tan as was possible.

“That bikini doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination,” Stuart had growled when he first saw it.

“You wouldn’t want people imagining things about me, would you?” Serena had quipped cheekily.

She was met with ‘the look’ which was Stuart’s way of giving her a warning. It consisted of a sharp glance from under raised eyebrows and it could be followed by an uncomfortable episode – uncomfortable for Serena, that is.

Stuart’s jealousy and prudishness, coupled with her own desire for self-preservation, caused her to take the bikini off and tuck it into a drawer on that occasion. She donned, instead, a sensible one-piece bathing costume that didn’t even ride up her crack.

But she was wearing the semi-forbidden bikini today because Stuart wouldn’t see it. She had the day off but he was at work. The neighbours who might have overlooked the pool from their upstairs windows were at work as well.

If she lay on her front, she could take her bikini top off and still be decent. With a quick glance at the neighbours’ upstairs windows, she turned over and untied her bikini top leaving it in place underneath her. If she did this often enough, she could get a nice even tan on her back.

It felt good. She could swim on her front like this as well and no-one would be any the wiser. She slid into the pool and swam a languid couple of lengths of breast-stroke with the cool water sliding through her cleavage and tightening her nipples. She knew now how a mermaid must feel.

After a while, still in the water, she took off her bikini bottom. To have the water floating in and out of her pussy felt even better. She persuaded herself that as long as she didn’t swim on her back and show her dark pubic hair, it would look as if she had a flesh-coloured bathing costume on.

It was so seductive to be naked. The sun felt as good on her skin as the water – better, in fact. If she lay on her front by the pool with nothing on for just an hour, her bottom wouldn’t be quite so white. Perhaps it wouldn’t be quite so sensitive, either.

Unluckily for her, she hadn’t realised how tired she was. With her head pillowed on her arms, she fell asleep.

She woke in a panic. What time was it? She hadn’t got her watch with her. She couldn’t hear the neighbours’ children kicking their football around on the other side of the fence so it might not be that late …

She grabbed her towel, clutched it round her, and made a dash for the house. As she sped along the path, she saw that there was a car on their little gravel parking space – Stuart’s car.

Why the hell was he back so early? What had he seen? He might not have seen anything. Please God let him not have seen anything. Sometimes he came home and just hung around till she realised he was there, if she was engrossed in something herself.

She ran up the stairs, light as Bambi on her bare feet, and scrambled into a sun dress. As an afterthought she put on a pair of knickers. Then she shut the bedroom door loudly, leant down the stairs and called out:

“Hi, darling! How long have you been home?”

“Oh, just a few minutes,” said Stuart casually.

“Would you like a drink?”

“I’ve got myself a beer, thanks.”

“Are we having a barbecue tonight?”

“Could do.”

My laconic Stuart, Serena thought. It looked like she might have got away with her exhibitionist behaviour.

Stuart had very little to say as he turned the sausages and the chops, and even less as they sat opposite each other on their little patio for the meal. By the end of the meal it was dusk, with just a faint glow from the embers of the barbecue.

“It won’t be much of an exhibition,” Stuart remarked.

“What won’t?”

“I wouldn’t like it to be too much of an exhibition – in a visual sense.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the main entertainment of the evening,” Stuart said, without a glimmer of humour. “Your spanking.”

 “My spa …?” Serena began. She had almost asked why – why was she going to be spanked - but she knew. Of course she knew. She had disrespected her husband by sunbathing naked and he had caught her at it.

“The neighbours will have seen plenty of you today and so I think, for a change, we’ll make sure they hear plenty of you tonight.”

“I’m sure they didn’t see me.”

Even by the light of the barbecue Serena saw her husband’s eyebrows shoot up. “And that’s your defence, is it?”

“I was really careful not to stand up or anything. I was discreet! That’s what you didn’t see!”

“Which is why we’re doing this under the cover of darkness, discreetly.”

“I’ve never done anything like that before. You have to believe me!”

“I prefer to make sure you’ll never do it again.”

Stuart stood up, seized his wife by the arm, led her to the garden bench, and sat down. He spread his legs and with the sudden force of his strong arms, tipped her over one knee, afterwards trapping her in position with his other leg. He flicked up her sundress, hooked his fingers in the back of her knickers, and slid them down in one fluid movement.

Serena felt the soft material of her knickers pop off her bottom and rush down her legs, ushering the cool night air onto her skin. It was sensual and arousing, like the cool water of the pool on her nakedness. If only it could stop there.

But the lowering of his wife’s knickers was only incidental to Stuart’s main business of the evening. He now lifted his hand and delivered the first carefully-aimed, symmetrical slap onto her buttocks, just where they began their curve round to her legs. The sound was very satisfying. He slapped her again on the same spot and noticed that she jumped slightly. Good. Even at this low level of force he was making her feel it.

One of the neighbours said from inside a lighted window, “What was that?”

Then someone leant out, withdrew their head quickly, and said in a stage whisper, “I don’t know! I think next-door’s spanking his missus!”

Meantime Stuart’s smacks had reached double figures and he considered that the warm-up was complete. He had no objection to the neighbours knowing that he was spanking his wife: when she made an exhibition of herself by the pool she renounced all rights to privacy and besides, so what? Women should be kept in line by precisely this means.

Stuart gripped his wife’s legs more tightly between his own, at the same time elevating her bottom slightly, and began the spanking proper. His hand, oblivious to its own stinging, formed a hard instrument to be slammed repeatedly and at speed against the buttocks which glimmered faintly in the light provided by the dying barbecue and the windows above. He was so intent on the punishment and the crescendo in the cries of ‘Ow!’ from the figure over his knee, that he was startled to see a circle of light playing across the target: someone was shining a torch onto Serena’s bottom.

He whispered fiercely in her ear: “I dare say you like being viewed but I don’t. We’ll continue indoors.”

So saying he hoisted her to her feet and led her into the house. She was whimpering softly, and stumbling because her knickers were round her knees. He proceeded straight to the sofa.

She made a move as if to pull away but he lifted her bodily and arranged her so that her bottom was over his knees and the rest of her body lay on the cushions. He kept a paddle always behind one of the cushions and now drew it out. He would make it a more severe spanking to make up for the fact that it was no longer a public one.

The first stinging impact of the paddle caused Serena’s bottom to buck. She tried to shield herself with her hand but Stuart gripped it and folded it into her back. He used the paddle, which was larger than his hand, to cover both buttocks with each strike, and he concentrated on the lower part which would affect her ability to sit. This was a punishment he intended her to remember physically for several days, and mentally for the rest of her life.

Now that she was no longer in the arena of the patio, Serena began to make more noise.

“Yeeeow!” she screeched as an extra hard blow landed on the same spot as several previous blows. “That’s enough! Please!! I’ve learnt my lesson!! I’ll never do it again!!”

“Damn right, you won’t,” Stuart growled.

The bottom in front of him was turning from pink to crimson. Serena’s protests had transformed themselves into loud and stormy weeping.

She’s a pretty little thing, Stuart thought suddenly, with a rush of compassion – just that he wanted that side of her to be all for himself. She didn’t really flirt – he wouldn’t have married her if she’d been that sort. She was just thoughtless, careless. His last two strokes were little more than pats before he put the paddle down, lifted her as she was in his arms, and laid her back face down across the width of the sofa.

“Cup of tea?” he asked her.