hold back,’ I urged him. ‘I’ll tell you if it’s too much, I promise.’
‘Well, OK.’ He tried again, and this one made a most satisfying echo, his hand falling quite heavily across the meat of my right cheek. Oh, it hurt, but not too much. Really, just enough. I wondered how much it would take to get my arse really bright red, because that was what I wanted. No half-hearted blush pink, or rapidly fading warmth. I needed the full effect.
‘Harder,’ I said. ‘I’ve been bad.’
‘Have you now?’ More deliberate, forceful smacks landed on my rear. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about that. What have you done?’
‘I had bad thoughts,’ I gasped, starting to feel the burn spread through my lower body. ‘When you were on night shift, I thought about things you could do to me. All the time. And it made me touch myself.’
‘Oh, you naughty thing,’ he tutted, spanking steadily. ‘Perhaps we should have a rule. No touching, except by me. What do you think?’
‘Yes, yes.’ I grasped on to this eagerly. I had often fantasised about being punished for masturbating.
‘So we have a genuine rule break to address,’ he said. ‘I think that calls for no knickers, don’t you?’
He paused and pulled the stretchy lace down to my stocking tops, baring my now rather warm bottom.
‘You’re wet,’ he said, crouching to inspect my exposed pussy. He prodded at the lips, holding them aside for a better view of the hidden guilty secrets. One long finger glided easily up inside me. ‘Very wet,’ he amended. ‘Not much of a punishment, is it, if it’s turning you on?’
‘I can’t help it,’ I protested. ‘My body does it for me.’
‘Perhaps we’ll have to think of something else. Something you really won’t enjoy. A nice big pile of washing up, maybe.’
‘Perhaps you’ll just have to spank harder,’ I prompted. This wasn’t funny, no matter what he thought, chuckling away up there with his finger shoved inside me.
‘Well, it’s worth a try, I suppose.’
He emptied my pussy and reverted to heating up my arse, but this time his technique was different, much faster and less predictable. It was infinitely more difficult to take and I was quick to squirm and yelp and try to pull my legs out from under him. He was having none of it, though, and he held me down, his fist in the small of my back like a human paperweight.
‘Feeling it now, are you?’
‘That. Really. Hurts,’ I complained, jerking my hips as best I could.
‘Do you want me to stop?’
I shook my head. The heat was building beautifully and I didn’t want to call time until my skin was tight with it.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure about this to begin with, but I think I like it now. I think I could take to this.’
I stuffed the cushion into my mouth, suppressing a howl as he laid a particularly wicked volley on both cheeks.
Be careful what you wish for.
‘Your arse looks gorgeous, all lit up and glowing,’ he gloated. ‘I think you might have created a monster, love. And we haven’t even got to the belt yet.’
‘Ow,’ I said. It seemed to encapsulate my emotions.
‘OK, let’s temper justice with mercy, shall we? I think that’ll do for your first time. Now.’ He put his forearm under my stomach and encouraged me gently on to my knees, with my face still buried in the cushion.
I heard the business of trousers being unzipped, fabric falling behind me.
‘Poor little pickle,’ he crooned.
I felt the tip of his cock butting into my juices.
‘God, you are so wet!’ he exclaimed, obviously impressed. ‘This’ll be like a knife going into butter.’
And it was. An exceptionally blunt, thick knife, right into my slippery slick butter dish, so to speak. I couldn’t get enough of him, pushing myself back on to him, especially when he rammed himself right up against my hot cheeks. He held my hips tight and I felt taken, owned, mastered. God, it was the hottest thing ever. When I came I bit into the cushion to stop myself screaming.
Afterwards, lying on the sofa all rumpled and hot and tired, he picked the belt up off the floor.
‘Didn’t even get to use this,’ he said, yawning. ‘But it’s coming to you. Happy Anniversary, love.’
I can’t wait.
We’ve had a busy few weeks, lots of overtime for Dan, and I’ve been trying to put together some summer-holiday workshops for my adolescents. Some additional family stress surrounding my mother-in-law (who else?) has also been ongoing, taking our attention away from our marriage and sex life to an extent.
We’ve fooled about a bit, but any kinky stuff has been spur-of-the-moment and limited to a few smacks with the wooden spoon while I’m making dinner or whatever.
And, while I like the fun aspect of it, and can’t complain at how it seems to have pepped up our bedroom activities, I can’t help craving something a little more. Do I mean more? Or do I mean different? I don’t know.
The thing is, I’m not good with stress. In my day job, I have to model absolute patience and absolute tolerance, but this has always made Dan laugh because he knows that I’m actually extremely impatient and intolerant a lot of the time. I nearly ruined our relationship in the first year of marriage by constantly blowing my stack over the slightest little thing. I kept blaming him for everything – if I couldn’t find the scissors, he must have put them in the wrong place, though half the time it was me who’d done it.
I did this so often that we ended up having a blazing row that must have kept the neighbours awake, with him threatening to move into the section house. Since then, I’ve tried to work on my temper, but I’m not sure my strategy of passive-aggressive stomping around and silent moodiness is really the best one.
Ever since he spanked me on our wedding anniversary, I’ve had this mad fantasy about him doing it as a genuine punishment. Not in an overbearing, patriarchal sort of way, but from a desire to help me overcome my faults and be a better person. Loving discipline, if that makes any sense at all. I’m tired of feeling guilty about my outbursts, or simmering and keeping all the resentment and irritation inside me. Perhaps, if he spanked it out of me, I’d be able to address my petty annoyances with openness and honesty, like a proper adult. Not that I’ve ever felt like a proper adult. Does anyone, ever? I constantly feel that events are spiralling out of my control and I want someone to take that control for me. I want it to be him.
But I’m afraid to broach the subject with him. I think he’ll feel weird about it. So I’ve kept it to myself so far.
I’ve ordered a book, though. The Guiding Hand – A Disciplinary Manual for Loving Husbands. Sounds like some kind of crackpot 50s-throwback thing, doesn’t it? But the blurb alone turned me on so much I had to order it.
So my new book arrived and it’s fascinating. I can’t stop reading it.
I mean, I fundamentally disagree with nearly all of what the author thinks about male and female roles; a lot of it’s horrifically sexist, not to mention homophobic, but if