The Girl Who Cried Wolf

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1995-2009 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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The Girl Who Cried Wolf

(****, M/F, Serious, fable, humor)

A frustrated husband discovers the cure for his shrewish wife. (Approximately 948 words. Originally published 1999-04.)

There once was a woodcutter who's pretty young wife was a shrew. When he was gone from dawn until dusk engaged in backbreaking labor to bring home a little money for the couple's livelihood, she accused him of dalliances with other women. When he came home early to be with his wife, she berated him for being lazy and shiftless, and bemoaned their meager living conditions.

The woodcutter knew exactly what his wife needed. She needed to be turned over his knee for a thorough old-fashioned spanking. Once the shewishness was paddled from her, he knew she'd return to the sweet girl he'd married. The problem was how to do it.

He threatened it a few times. The first time she'd laughed in his face and dared him to do it. She was so brazen in her antagonism that his will failed and he departed for the pub to drown his sorrows in drink. The second time he was more determined, actually swatting her backside to show her he wasn't kidding. She shrieked so loudly she alarmed the neighborhood. Then she ran naked into the night screaming that he'd assaulted her. After that, his threats were hollow and they both knew it.

So the woodcutter stewed. His wife certainly needed to be taken in hand. Her shrewishness was growing worse, and kindness only seemed to increase her arrogance and confidence.

Desperate, he nevertheless determined to do something special for his wife on her upcoming twentieth birthday. For months he scrimped and saved, enduring with saintly patience the barrage of insults and criticisms his wife poured on him for bringing home less than his usual miniscule amount of income. Then, on the special day, he revealed the modest but beautifully crafted silver necklace he'd managed to purchase. Instead of being grateful, however, the woman was incensed. Why the mayor's wife had a _gold_ necklace -- surely the woodcutter's wife was as good a woman as her?

The woodcutter exploded. In a blind rage he tore off his wife's gown and proceeded to do what he'd dreamed about for a year: he smacked her plump backside with a heavy palm. With the first spank the girl burst into a raucous screaming that awoke the valley.

At first the woodcutter tried to ignore her cries, but the moment he heard the shouts of the neighbors he grew ashamed of his outburst and worried what others would think. He stopped the spanking and started to put his wife down when a strange thing happened. As he stared at his wife's writhing naked body, he found himself eager to couple with her. Ignoring her cries and protests, he slipped a hand between her legs and began to touch her in the way he knew she enjoyed.

The reaction was immediate: the girl's protests doubled in volume and she struggled even harder to escape his grip. But he was strong from years of physical labor and there was no escape. He continued his manipulations and when the neighbors burst through the door expecting to find a girl being murdered, they were shocked to discover the couple deeply engaged in marital activities. The woodcutter's wife was crying softly in protest but couldn't deny the passions of her body.

"Is everything alright?" asked the mayor, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.

"Oh yes," sighed the woodcutter's wife.

For the next month, the woman was a different person. She was kind, polite, and thoughtful to her hardworking husband. But gradually she fell into her old ways, criticising him about this or that, often in the public market where everyone could hear her list of complaints about the man.

Two months to the day after that aborted spanking attempt, the woodcutter took matters in hand again. He stripped her and began to paddle her rump with a stout wooden board. The woman's cries echoed around the valley and the startled neighbors hurried to her aid. Once again they burst in on the couple's passionate mating, the woman protesting in a tone that told everyone she didn't mind her situation in the least.

"Is everything alright?" asked the mayor, his voice rough with irritation.

"Oh yes," sighed the woodcutter's wife.

A month later, the neighbors were again aroused by the dreadful screams from the woodcutter's hut. This time they were slow to arrive, allowing the woodcutter to deliver a number of cuts of the long switch before being interrupted. Even the mayor's eyebrows rose when he saw the red stripes decorating the wife's behind. But the couple were happily doing what happy couples do.

"Is everything alright," grunted the mayor rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Oh yes!" sighed the woodcutter's wife with a huge smile. "Everything's fine!"

A few weeks later, the woodcutter found it necessary to take his wife in hand again. This time, though she screamed for help and howled the until the roof trembled, not a single neighbor showed up to assist her plight. The woodcutter delivered an admirable thrashing, reducing the wife to a humble weeping child. She begged for forgiveness and promised to behave, and in return, the woodcutter did his manly duty and consoled the sorry girl in that way only men can.

From then on, the couple were the happiest in the village. The girl was the sweetest and most respectful wife of all the wives in the village. She couldn't say enough nice things about her admirable husband. And every week or so, when her cries disturbed the villagers' slumber, no one paid any attention, for they new that the woodcutter's wife didn't need anyone's help but her husband's, and he had things well in hand.

The End

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