+++
title = "Old Fashioned Wife 2"
names = ["Anon"]
date = "2018-08-30 14:14:47"
tags = ["unf"]
spankers = ["Anon"]
spankees = ["Pinkie Pie"]
posts = ["32873817"]
+++

I want to take Pinkie over my knee. I want to hold her in place while spanking her round pink tush, just smacking and smacking her bum on and on and on and on. I want her to get progressively more desperate, starting with pitiful little whimpers of guilt and embarrassment and progressing to little shrieks of pain and heartfelt sobs. I want her to become increasingly kicky and wiggly, trying to dance her naughty butt off my lap but failing to do so. I want to keep spanking her until she's blubbering, her ass is hotter than an oven and she is drenched in sweat from exhaustion. 

Then, I want to stop for a moment. I want her sobs to become breathless as she cries her first tears of relief, mutters an almost incoherent "s-sorry Anon, I'll be g-good, I'll be good..."

Until, I reach under the bed, and take our her hairbrush. I pat her still squirming, helplessly positioned butt with the flat end, and after a moment of silence, Pinkie begins to sob all over again. 

Pinkie has been a bad girl. A very, very bad girl. She almost burned the house down after leaving the oven on, again. She knows she deserves this. 

Pinkie slumps down, crying freely but obediently setting her hips down in the middle of my lap, positioning her poor butt for its demise. I put my arm down over her croup, hold down her tail, and deliver the first loud spank with the big, heavy hairbrush. 

Pinkie blubbers breathlessly. She arches her back, wriggles her raspberry red rump, and hoofy kicks and kicks her adorable little hooves. But it does nothing to stop the constant smack, smack, smacking of the brush on her bare bottom. There's nothing she can do but take it all, whack after whack. 

Halfway done, and now the next half is just beginning.
Owws and howls, shrieks and wails and bawls keep coming from the pink pony pinned over your lap. But you don't let up. You're upset and worried by her forgetfulness. You already did this once before, only this time, you actually wanted to do it. And this time you were using her hairbrush, just the way her daddy, Igneous, used to. 

Pinkie had talked to you after last time. She had told you the truth... her daddy spanked her much harder than you did the last time you punished her for the same misbehavior. 

And now it happened again. She left on the oven again, only half a year later, and smoke had filled up the kitchen and living room. You could still smell it hours later, but now the fire alarm shrieks had been replaced with Pinkie's. 

And the crazy thing? Pinkie was the one who came to you, sitting silently with your teeth grinding against each other with frustration at what your wife had just done, with the hairbrush held in her mouth. 

It had been agreed months ago. You had both talked plenty about this until you had both convinced each other of how things would go. 

One, you were her husband, and her boss. And if it was what she wanted, you would spank her when she was way out of line. 

And two, she no longer had to stay motionless over your lap while you tanned her hide. She could cry and writhe as much as she wanted and you wouldn't consider it a problem. After all, you were the stallion, and you were the one with the muscle. Nothing she could do would create much of a problem for you once she was bent over your lap.

And now, it had led to all this. You kept a firm grip over your wife, but despite her heavy breathing and sputtering, you do what she had instructed you to do for situations like this, all those months ago.
You keep spanking. The hairbrush wood, which used to be cool to the touch, is now just as heated as her rapidly reddening bottom. Pinkie Pie may be squirming, her hips may be gyrating and her legs may be scissoring and kicking, but your sobbing sweetheart nonetheless keeps her butt more or less centered on your lap. She might buck it away on reflex on the occasions when you spank her reddened "sit spots" but Pinkie otherwise keeps her blazing bare bottom right in the line of fire. Despite the agony she is clearly going through, despite the tushy wacking that just won't quit, she still cooperates with the punishment she knows she deserves in spades.

You feel a twinge of sympathy, and for a minute the sick feeling you had before when you first punished her is coming back. But you hear her voice in your head, that silly but somehow profound statement you've heard her tell you over and over again with a warm smile and understanding eyes. 

"I know I cry, but I'm ok Anon! It's just my butt."

You remember when you asked her when you were supposed to stop a punishment. How could you tell, how could you know, and what did her father used to do?

You remember Pinkie blushing, a big frown on her face, and a pause. Then she picked up a big, dark red pair of cherries out of a basket and put it on the counter. 

"W-when... it looks like that, A-anon. Daddy said that... if a spanking didn't have to be that h-hard, then there didn't have to be a sp... spanking, at all. But when there did have to be one... that's what it had to be."

And right now... it wasn't that color. But her squealing and tears were ever increasing. And now that your momentary anger with her was subsiding, you suddenly find yourself having a hard time blocking her cries out.
There was no begging, though. Pinkie wasn't pleading with you to please stop it, and she wasn't even shouting how sorry she was. She was simply crying her eyes out and accepting this very harsh punishment. The spirit of the matter was the same as when she didn't dare kick or writhe the spanking before. She submitted to you, and whatever you gave her Pinkie was still willing to take every bit of it simply because you were her husband.

Your hoof is starting to tingle a little from the vibration of the hairbrush whapping her plump bottom cheeks. Pinkie's back arches with four good whacks to her sit spots, and she howls up at the cieling. Her face is a sticky mess, and her mane is not as puffy as it usually was. Her butt looks like it moves by itself when four more spanks ripple her sorry cheeks, but after a split second of wriggling away from your lap, Pinkie seems to stop it, and then, instead her hips buck up and down on your knees with very little shaking from side to side. 

Your heart goes from aching to hurting. Despite all her pain Pinkie is still focusing on where her burning butt is so she can give your hairbrush easiest access to her. Why? Because that's what she feels like she has to do. 

You return to spanking the middle of her buttocks, alternating left to right, left to right at the steady pace from before. Pinkie's higher pitched wails from when you spanked her sit spots change back to more steady crying and sobbing from the belly as you spank her at a relentless, one spank per every second pace. Pinkie changes which side of her face lies on the bed, and it looks like she is trying to look over her shoulder at her helpless, continuously spanked butt. She can't get a look at it, though, since you have your arm on her lower back, holding her down. Her hoofy kicks go from rapid ups and down to little thrusts out in both directions, like she is trying to buck a tree with each leg, but it doesn't change where you've got her rump positioned.
But after a few more seconds of kicking, Pinkie is starting to slide off your knees. Her kicking combined with how drenched in tired sweat she is makes her slippery, and with a second to force your sympathy down deep inside you, you command her firmly with a good hard whack right in the middle of both cheeks. 

"Pinkie sweetie, you're kicking too much. Stay more still, okay?"

Wow. It's immediate when she complies. Pinkie weeps out something you don't understand, though you assume it's an apology, but as if you barked the order like a drill sargeant at her she right away brings her legs together with a loud gasp and crosses them together tight. She also slides her hips back to your lap, once again centering her bottom over it and even bending slightly at her back legs to arch it up. "S-s-sorry, Anon..." She sobs. 

You had to be amazed by her obedience to you for a second. Poor mare, not much longer to go. 

"It's okay, Pinkie. It's okay..."

You spank down again and bring things back to tempo. Pinkie resumes her crying just as loudly as before, but even though her cheeks are still rippling and reddening the same amount, Pinkie is now laying almost motionless. You sigh inside. You guess that "stay more still" in Pinkie's mind meant "stay completely still." Poor thing.

Except for rubbing her back hoovsies together, you can see her clenching her buttocks with the supreme effort to not move on your knees. Your hairbrush is walloping her rear cheeks pretty harshly, but through her weeping she not only keeps her butt still, but arched up high. It is like she is scared that her moving too much disappointed you or made you angry, and now she is trying to be extra obedient and cooperative for you. It's both amazing and brave... but sad, too.

But you still take advantage of her new position and keep spanking her steadily while she has made herself so vulnerable. This was just as much about what she felt she deserved and needed as it was about what you felt.
You never realized but you are realizing now, since Pinkie is keeping so courageously still, how long this spanking has been going. Not seeing her bottom wiggle or her hooves shuffle around due to your hard thwacks means the only sight you have left to focus on is the flattening of her fiery hot cheeks every time you deliver a spank. It's just thwack, whack, smack, crack, and your poor Pinkie Pie's bawling.

But you keep picturing those cherries Pinkie showed you in your mind, and you compare them with the color of the butt now bent over your knees. And every time you do, you almost groan with frustration at how much lighter red Pinkie's rear end still is. She told you that was all that mattered, that was when you should stop and not before...

But you've been spanking her forever! She's howling and her voice sounds shrieky and hoarse. Even her effort to keep still is slipping now. Her legs go first, squirming and hooves hit the bed in desperate kicks. Pinkie's rump, which by now has to be the sorriest rump in all Equestria, is however still somehow kept centered and sticking up slightly in the air, presented for spanks, by nothing else other than Pinkie's sheer willpower. 

The pink pony's face lays in a puddle of tears. They're pouring down her face onto the bedspread. She gasps like she's coming from underwater to get a breath and squeals when the brush returns to light her slightly pudgy sit spots on fire. Like the other times before it, that is when the poor thing flinches her bottom away from you. But a mere moment later, Pinkie huffs and puffs while crying nonstop and wriggles her rear back to the middle of your lap, and yet again pushes her butt back in the air. You feel chills on your neck at the display of bravery.

Second thoughts are now entering your mind. The cherries, that shade of red, were they... figurative? Did she really, really mean it? The feeling of guilt is like a knife and it's starting to dig in.
The heat from her blazing bumcheeks could sizzle a drop of water. You feel it from your hoof just for the brief time window when you land each new spank. To be honest you would have stopped this Pinkie's punishment many minutes ago, but for some reason the fact she can so quickly put her butt back into optimal spanking position on your lap eases your worries just enough that you reluctantly keep going. 

The sheer length of this spanking, simply spanking each buttock right, left, and right, left over and over again inevitably leads you to start changing things in an attempt to speed up the reddening of Pinkie's bottom. You switch up and smack her from high to low to middle, spank spank spank up and down one buttock before switching to do the same on the other. Then, back to several left and rights. Then, you paddle one spot on her right tushy cheek many times in a row before doing the same thing on the other. 

The noises Pinkie makes change with the different techniques you do. When you work one whole buttcheek at a time, she squeals and almost seems to slur out words from another language, and her hoofies thump the bedspread in scissor kicks. And when you spank the same exact spot, over and over and over, Pinkie starts to cry with more exhale, breathing a puffing through her gaping mouth and actually pushing her upper body up on the bed with her sweaty front hooves. The longer the spank goes on that spot, the more her hips start to flatten out and her butt pulls forward and away... until of course, Pinkie notices it and valiantly sticks her butt up high in the air yet again, even as the hairbrush continues to roast that same spot on her poor, sorry bottom. 

The redness of her well whacked rump is getting finally more intense. Pinkie you notice is latching on to the bedspread and she's moving her upper body up and down off the bed, blubbers and profuse weeping coming from her. The joyful, happy pink party pony, bawling. Your heart hurts.
A few cycles of this go by, choosing new spots to concentrate several spanks in a row, switching between which of her buns is next to be toasted from top to bottom. Pinkie’s cries are breathless, and her bottom which was so centered and sticking up in the air before starts to wiggle more once again. There is, of course, no problem you have with her need to squirm, but your holding arm is suddenly having to work harder than before. It takes you off guard, and you grit your teeth in sympathy when Pinkie’s squealing picks up. 

You need to make things more secure again. Momentarily halting the spanking, you pull and slide her exhausted, sweat soaked body in closer so she’s laying right over your upper thighs, further from your knees. Wasting no more time, Pinkie’s gasping and whimpering is once again drowned out by the harsh WHACK, WHACK, WHACK of the hairbrush going back to work on her ever reddening rump, and her squealing cries of pain return. Your mind is basically on autopilot and your arm is, too, but for a fleeting instant it scares you how fast you resume the punishment...

It’s apparent that Pinkie has given up trying to be ultra still and cooperative, and that makes you worry. Her hind legs splay out, and she kicks them up and down and strikes the bed and leaves little wrinkles and dents in the comforter. Her body rolls just the tiniest bit in your hold, which shifts her butt in all directions. The hairbrush has no trouble finding its target, however, following her ruby red behind up and down, left and right, back and forth, and side to side, leaving her burning cheeks unable to escape their tormentor no matter which way they went.
Her butt waggles and shakes on your lap. Her hoofies rub together, kick apart, crisscross, curl, and pry at the blankets. Her tears of misery form a puddle, and they trickle off the edge of the bed. Pinkie Pie is surely the most pitiful, helpless mare in all of Equestria right now, with the reddest, most spanked behind in Equestria.

And red, her cheeks certainly were. Burning like an inferno. But still… they weren’t as dark red as the cherries she showed him before, he noted with total exasperation. A red glow like neon, and a heat that you could surely feel radiating off her buttocks from across the room, sure. But what the hell was it going to take? Was it even possible? Was she being figurative, are you... Should you…

You don’t even realize that you’ve stopped swinging the brush at first, lost in thought and feelings of doubt. But it comes to your attention, though, when you hear Pinkie Pie’s sob filled voice, hiccups of misery included. 

“S-sssory, I’m s-sorry…I’ll s-stop, Nonnyyy...” squeaks Pinkie, and her struggling suddenly halts. 

But then she does something that makes you freeze in place, and your heart melt. She unsplays her hind legs, and in her forelegs, she hides her tear filled eyes. And then, defying all reason, Pinkie stamps her rear hooves in to root herself in place, straightens them out with a great deal of quivering, and pushes her battered, throbbing, blazing red bottom high up in the air, swaying slightly right under your nose. Beads of sweat trickle down her legs and onto her hoofies.
“Ssorry, Nonny, I’m s-soorry, aahh” She moans out in agony. It was like the pain was reverting her back to a time even before you had agreed struggling was ok. She winces simply from the effort to bend such a harshly spanked behind so high up in the air, but somehow, Pinkie Pie, the mare of your life and the sweetest wife in the world, is still awaiting more. Still expecting…

Your hoof moves by itself. It grips the hairbrush tight, and the doubts from before swirl away in your mind. Pinkie told you to spank her. Pinkie told you when to stop. Pinkie told you what her rump needed to look like. 

And most of all, Pinkie told you nothing else mattered but the color of her rump when she was being punished by you. And she had shown you two, dark red, almost overripe cherries. 

And so, with your wife held over your lap, you had yourself two bare bum cheeks up in the air, aimed at the ceiling, that were STILL not red enough, to take care of. And take care of them, you would. 

Gritting teeth in determination, you raise the brush and swing it down with nothing held back. 

SSSSMACK! “MMMFFFOOOOWWWWW!!!!!”
You give the hardest spank yet, rippling the skin twice over with one harsh thwack. Pinkie howls into the blankets and her own hooves, which muffles it only slightly, and her presented bottom twitches from the pain. You raise the brush again. SSSMACK! SSSSMACKSSSSMACKSSSMACK!

Pinkie’s howl turns into a loud, shocked wail of anguish. Her back legs bend and snap back and forth as she tries to deal with the pain, unintentionally bouncing her plump bottom up and down. The spanks you are giving her now actually make you flinch, just hearing them POP on her buns, but you are doing it on purpose. It’s all in the hope to finally, finally get to the correct shade of red, and based on the redder ovals left behind on her buttcheeks now, this is how you will do it. 

Pinkie Pie amazingly keeps her quivering flanks raised while the brush wallops them hard enough for the neighbors to hear. And while her butt is so hot you could practically cook an egg on it, you still somehow are not done spanking her.

It’s going to be alright, Pinkie, it’s going to be alright… SSSMACK, SSSMACK, SSSMACKSSSMACKSSSMACK….

It is everything Pinkie can do to keep her backside still. She shifts her weight, left hind hoof and right hind hoof, elevating one cheek at a time in rhythm with the fast, vicious spanking pace you’ve adopted. Open mawed sobs of desperation leave drool on the tear soaked blankets. You concentrate harder, and just make it your mission not let up and just get this over with, and you spank every spot on her round bubbly tush indiscriminately with barely any pattern. Right cheek, right cheek again, left sit, right sit, middle, middle, right cheek…

Pinkie’s hoof slips, and her butt falls down on your lap with a soft thud. She yelps and you feel her scramble right away trying to get back to place, weeping. “AaAA, S-SORRY N-NON! SS-Sorry, I’m-m-m---”

“It’s OK Pinkie! Sweetie, w-wait j--”

You can’t even get the words out, before Pinkie is already sticking her butt back up high. Poor dear, she’s so upset by this, and you didn’t even ask her to do it! And then when you see her petite little hooves, covered in sweat, slipping in the two indents where they were placed before, you just decide that this wasn’t going to be a thing anymore. You were going to keep her still until this was finally over. 

Before Pinkie can “fix” herself, you push down on her back, above her tail, and force her back down on your lap with a little “oof” from the crying pink pony. Her pelvis lands on your lap and lightly bends her scarlet red bottom over your thigh. Pinkie squeaks and you once again feel her heavy labored breathing and puffing as she lays over your lap.
You know you need to reassure her that she’s ok, and you do so right away. “Pinkie, no no! You don’t need to do that, sweetie, ok? I can see your bottom just fine already, it’s okay! Here…”

You adjust her some more, and Pinkie just lets you do it, sobbing and looking over her shoulder. There are her wide, expressive and beautiful eyes, now bloodshot and red, staring back at her bottom which has got to feel like sitting on burning hot coals by now. The pangs of guilt make a momentary return, but you push them away and go back to business mindset. Pinkie sniffs and sobs through the brief respite.

“S-S-Sorry, Nonny… I w-wanted to be g---good…” 

That pretty much impales your heart to hear. You feel the stab of sympathy full force, and you freeze for a second and your mind goes blank. But it’s for an instant, and you shake your head slowly with sadness and amazement. “You are good, Pinkie. You are so good.” 

She watches you pick her lower half up around her waist, and lift her back end up and over the bend of your knee, while leaving her top half on the bed. Pinkie Pie’s butt is now assisted by your knee into an upright, spankable position, and you bring your legs together to lay over her right hoof. This effectively pins her hoof down on the bed side, and her other hoof which is pointing away from you and almost dangling over the bed can now barely kick at all. No more slipping.
Pinkie feels and sees what you just did, and she gives a heartfelt whimper. She hides her face again, and she does a wimpy and ineffective little kick and wiggle of her unrestrained hoof. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and pick up the hairbrush yet again, but not before you picture the two cherries color in your mind. Then you rest it on Pinkie’s twitching rump. You feel her instinctively try and fail to flinch her red lava hot butt away from the wood’s touch, and she squeaks. You’ve got her held down, and now nothing can interrupt the final leg of this punishment.

You speak to Pinkie one more time, soft voiced, and her flopped down ears perk up. “Ok, sweetie. From here, I’m not stopping until your rump is the color you told me to make it, ok? We’re just gonna stay here until then, ok?”

Pinkie Pie doesn’t actually respond at first. Which is odd since she always tries to reply right away... But she sobs after a long delay, and she stammers. “I-I… I......b-bu...’Non, I...aah… y-yes, Anon, y-y-yes, I... un’erstand…ow...” she moans, and you feel her start to shiver and her heartbeat is felt through her chest as she lays down over your lap. Pinkie flops her ears back, and she whimpers, which somehow still sounds different and worse than all of the howling, bawling, and weeping she’s been doing this whole time. 

Your heart aches, but you have your duty to do. You swing the brush down, and it claps her sore, blazing bum for a countless time again, the smacking and popping sounds of the wood meeting against her bare buns fill the room just before the sounds of Pinkie Pie’s crying join them.

SSSMACK, SSSMACK, SSSMACK...

-----Appendix:-----

>still working on it, lets see if I kill the thread again haha