by Megan McCoy
“Jerome’s never said even jokily that he’d like to spank me,” Holly said gloomily. “The closest he’s got is that he’d like to tie me to the bed.”
“Oh?” Erika said. “That sounds promising.”
“Yes, I thought that.” Holly lowered her voice. “I got all excited thinking ‘I’d like to tie you to the bed’ was going to end with ‘and give you a good spanking’. But no, he said ‘and tickle you with a feather.’”
Erika snorted, spurting wine. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her mouth with a tissue. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”
Holly grinned ruefully. “I know, right? Tickle me with a feather. I ask you!”
“Anyway, back to this proposal,” Erika said. “How do you know he’s going to propose to you?”
“Well, a couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t find one of my rings,” Holly said. “I was going to a work function and it matched what I was wearing. I turned my jewellery box upside down looking for it, spent ages trying to remember the last time I’d worn it, and eventually gave up and wore a different ring. Then last week, when I was looking for something else, I found it buried beneath some beads.”
Erika refilled her wine glass. “Go on.”
“Then last Saturday, Jerome and I met up to do our Christmas shopping together. Because of his trip to Bulgaria–”
“He’s going to Bulgaria?”
“Yes, he left on Sunday morning. He’s due back the day before Christmas Eve. Anyway, we arranged to meet at ten o’clock last Saturday morning, but I got there early. I was about to pop into Waterstones to buy a book for my dad, when I spotted Jerome going into a jeweller’s. He came out about five minutes later, looking very pleased with himself.”
Erika grinned. “Sounds like he borrowed that ring from your box to make sure he got the size right.”
“Yep. I didn’t say anything to him, but when we were having lunch at a café, I snuck a look in his jacket pocket when he went to the toilet. I found the little gift box. I didn’t open it, because I didn’t want to totally spoil the surprise.”
“And of course, you may simply have mislaid the ring and he’s bought a necklace for his mum,” Erika pointed out.
“Except when he left for the airport on Sunday morning, he told me to keep Christmas Eve free, because he’s taking me to Jonathan’s,” Holly finished triumphantly.
“Jonathan’s. Hmm, now you’re talking. You’re right. He’s definitely going to propose,” Erika said.
Jonathan’s was a swanky seafood restaurant by the River Thames, run by a former winner of the TV show, MasterChef. Holly had never eaten there and her eyes had widened when Jerome had said he’d booked it, as it was renowned for being ludicrously expensive.
“Well, if we’re going to eat out on Christmas Eve, I thought seafood would be a nice change from all the turkey and Christmas pudding we’ll be gorging on for the rest of Christmas,” he’d told her.
“Well, I’m in total agreement with you,” Erika said now, brushing imaginary crumbs from her immaculate skirt. “He’s going to propose. And you, my dear, are going to have to tell him about you-know-what.”
“Oh, Erika, I can’t.”
“Let me put it to you this way,” said Erika, “how’s your sex life? Satisfying?”
Holly lifted her glass to her lips to hide her blushes. “He gives great tongue, I can’t deny that.”
“There’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“But when it comes to actual sex, I fantasise that I’m being spanked all the way through it. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have an orgasm if I didn’t fantasise.”
“And has your desire for spanking decreased during the time you’ve been dating Jerome?”
“No.” Holly twirled the stem of her wine glass before admitting, “It’s increased.”
Her desire to be spanked made her restless rather than satisfied after sex with Jerome. Her clit throbbed every time she read a spanking scene in a domestic discipline novel. Sometimes the desire for Jerome to take her over his knee overwhelmed her so much that her heart ached.
“It’s not going to go away, you know,” Erika said gently. “The desire is a part of you that’ll increasingly demand to be satisfied. If you’re going to say ‘yes’ to Jerome, then you need to tell him about it.”
“And what if he recoils from me in horror?” It was Holly’s greatest fear, the reason the words stuck in her throat every time she’d considered mentioning the ‘s’ word to him. She picked up her glass and tilted it to drain her wine.
“Then he’s not the right man for you. However much you might love him, if he can’t satisfy you that way then you’ll end up seeking it elsewhere.”
Holly almost choked on her wine.
“What?” Erika prompted.
“I had been thinking of perhaps seeking out a disciplinarian,” Holly mumbled. “Someone I could see every week, confess my shortcomings to, and get the spankings I crave. It’s no different to seeing a personal trainer to get fit, or going to a therapist for any other kind of problem, is it?” she added defensively.
“In some ways not, but wouldn’t you rather give Jerome the chance to satisfy your needs first?” Erika asked her. “What’s the worst he can say – no, he doesn’t want to spank you.”
“He might look down on me.”
Erika picked up the wine bottle and refilled Holly’s glass. “If he looks down on you, you’re not right for each other. You’re a kind, generous woman, you’re hard working, you’re a great friend. If he doesn’t want someone as awesome as you in his life because you like being spanked, then he doesn’t deserve you. Tell him. Tonight.”
“He’s in Bulgaria, remember?”
“So, email him. That way he has a chance to think it through before he proposes on Christmas Eve.”
“If he still proposes.”
“That’s his decision to make once he knows the real you. Be honest with yourself and with him, Holly, and find out whether he’s really the man for you. It’s better for it to end now, than in five years’ time when you have a couple of kids and you suddenly meet the man of your spanking dreams.”
“You’re right,” Holly said. “I’ll do it.” She took a long slug of wine, as if to give her courage.
“And you know what I’d do,” Erika said, “I’d give him some links as well, so you can show him what you’re talking about by wanting him to spank you. Some men think a spanking means a couple of slaps on the backside before sex. Give him links to your favourite online videos and stories, the ones that really turn you on.”
Holly grimaced. This was really going to be mortifying if Jerome decided he wanted nothing more to do with her. “I’d better send him some of your books then,” she said. “They turn me on the most, they always have.”
Erika rested her hand on Holly’s arm. “Let me give you two pieces of advice, though, Holly. One: introducing domestic discipline isn’t a one-way street. If he’s willing to give you what you want, you need to make sure you’re meeting his needs as well. Maybe you can manage kink that works for both of you; maybe involving bondage, spanking and a feather!”
Holly laughed. “What’s the other piece of advice?”
“Domestic discipline isn’t like the books I write or the blogs you’ve read. Jerome might be willing to give it a go, but he mightn’t take to it like the proverbial duck to water. Sex may not go through the roof just because you’ve got a sore bottom. And a real spanking doesn’t feel like it does in fantasy either, okay?”
“It is worth trying, though, isn’t it?” Holly asked, alarmed. “I don’t want to risk losing Jerome if domestic discipline isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Oh, yes, it’s well worth trying,” Erika assured her. “Just don’t expect a magic wand, you’ll both have to work at it. Matt and I have been doing this for years and we still get it wrong sometimes. Unlike in my books, where my men are perfect.”
The noise in the pub suddenly decreased as the crowd around the bar headed off to the
ir office party. Now the strains of Mud’s “Lonely This Christmas” filled the pub. Holly hoped it wasn’t an omen for when Jerome got the email and dumped her.
“Drink up,” she said to Erika. “I’ll get us another bottle. If I’m going to finally ’fess up to Jerome, I’m going to need it.”
2
Plucking Up Courage
Dear Jerome,
First of all, I’m sorry that I’m telling you this by email. I should have told you in person a long time ago. But I find it difficult to talk about – in fact I’ve never told anyone I know about it before. But I think it’s important that you know this before our date at Jonathan’s on Christmas Eve.
I am what’s known as a ‘spanko’ – someone who fantasises about being spanked and would like to be spanked in real life. But before you think I just want the occasional slap on the bottom before sex, you need to know that there’s a bit more to it than that.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve longed to be spanked by someone who truly cares for me. I yearn to be held accountable for my actions by someone who wants me to be the best that I can be.
I’ve spent a lot of time online, reading people’s spanking blogs, watching YouTube videos by ‘spankos’, and I’ve also read a lot of spanking romance novels. I’ve actually become good friends with one of my favourite spanking writers, and we meet up occasionally, because she lives in London. I will provide some links at the end of this email, so you can find out a bit more about my desires and needs – should you want to, of course. I understand that this might put you off me completely. And if it does, I want you to have the opportunity to break off our relationship now, rather than suddenly finding out about it when we’re married.
What I’m looking for in a relationship is called ‘domestic discipline.’ It means that one person takes the role of head of the household, establishes household rules, and then punishes the other person if a rule is broken.
Of course, this doesn’t mean I’m asking you to come up with a set of arbitrary rules. I’m not looking for that at all. It means I want us to sit down together and work out what I need to work on, what things should be a spanking offence. But I do need you to spank me when I break those rules or don’t meet the standards set for me. And because I’ve never been spanked before, I’m guessing I might protest about it at the time, and beg you to stop. I am going to need you to ignore my protests and give me the punishment we both agree I need.
I know this will come as a shock to you. But I’ve read enough to know that this deep desire is not something that is going to go away. Indeed, I’ve had this desire since I was a little kid, and if anything, it’s become more urgent and demanding as I’ve gotten older. In fact, I’ve thought about seeking out a disciplinarian to satisfy this side of me, but if anyone is to spank me, I really want it to be someone I love and who loves me.
If you don’t want to stay with me after this, I’ll understand. All you need to do is tell me that Christmas Eve is cancelled – you don’t have to explain anything to me. I shan’t hold it against you, because I know that a lot of people find spankos weird and don’t want to be in a relationship with them.
I’m putting some links below.
Even if I never hear from you again other than a text to say Jonathan’s is off, I do love you and hope we’ll be able to work this out.
All my love,
Holly xxx
Holly woke up early next morning and reached instantly for her phone, to see whether she’d received a text or email from Jerome. She hadn’t.
She checked the time – six o’clock. Bulgaria was two hours ahead of England so Jerome would probably be having breakfast now. He always made an early start on his research trips, making sure he had enough time in the day to fit everything in.
He usually checked his emails over breakfast so she’d surely hear from him soon.
“A watched kettle never boils,” Holly’s grandma was fond of saying. And Holly agreed with that, the more you checked your phone, waiting for a text or call, the less likely it was to come through.
So, she padded through to the kitchen, brewed coffee, then headed for the shower. She was more than a little hungover – her mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage – so she was in desperate need of both.
Holly adored her tiny rented flat in the attic of what had once been a grand Victorian-era house in Clapham, in southwest London. She loved the sloping ceiling and the view of treetops from the sash windows. The one-bedroomed flat was only a short walk from a tube station, restaurants, bars and shops, as well as the large park known as Clapham Common. It suited her well.
She breathed in the smell of her lime and coconut shower gel as she showered and thought about the email she’d sent Jerome last night. She felt nervous about what his reaction would be, and wondered whether adding those links to the email had been wise. How would he feel about the video of a man spanking a woman who’d been caught smoking despite her health problems? And how far would he get into Erika’s perma-free Christmas holiday novella on Amazon before deciding neither spanking nor Holly was for him?
She wrapped herself in a towel and wandered through to her bedroom, where she’d left her phone on the bed. Her mouth went dry and her stomach did a little roll when she saw the notification that she’d received two texts.
One was from Erika.
How did you go with the email? Hope you hit the ‘send’ button. I’m here for you whatever his response is.
The other was from her mum.
I did tell you to be here at 12 on Christmas Day, didn’t I? Your dad just told me he thinks I said 1 o’clock and now I’m worried. Let me know. xx
Holly perched on the bed to respond to both messages.
Yes, I sent it. Haven’t heard anything back yet, though. I’ll let you know when I do.
Yes, you told me 12 o’clock, don’t worry! Looking forward to seeing you and Dad on Christmas Day. xxx
She and Jerome were spending Christmas Day with her parents and Boxing Day with his. She wondered whether he’d mentioned anything about his planned marriage proposal to either of them beforehand. Was he old-fashioned enough to have asked her dad’s permission first? She didn’t think so. Jerome had always been surrounded by independent women – his mother was an artist, his sister a barrister – and was even more of a feminist than Holly was!
She really struggled to envisage him setting rules for her and punishing her when she broke them.
She checked her emails – one from her boss, nothing from Jerome. She read her boss’s email about a meeting for a project they’d be starting in the New Year, and put her phone aside to get dressed.
No, she thought, remembering spilling coffee on her skirt yesterday. She’d have breakfast before she got dressed. Today she planned to wear a smart woollen grey dress, and if she had an important meeting, she didn’t want to stain it.
When she left her flat at eight o’clock, she still hadn’t heard from Jerome.
She didn’t hear from Jerome at all that day.
Or the day after that.
Or the day after that.
The day before Christmas Eve – the day he got back from Bulgaria – she still hadn’t heard from him.
She called Erika on her way to work. “He never replied to me,” she said, blinking back tears of heartache. “What I said in that email was too much for him. He doesn’t want me.”
3
A Cancelled Flight
Jerome was about to check his emails when the bus braked to an abrupt halt, jolting him forward.
He looked out the window. The bus had rounded a corner and almost hit the final car in what looked like a long line of traffic. Flashing lights indicated there’d been an accident ahead. Not surprising in the blizzard conditions they were driving through.
Boriana, their tour guide, snapped something in Bulgarian at the driver. Jerome didn’t know a word of Bulgarian, but he was confident she was swearing.
The other travel writers on the bus were swear
ing as well. “Banged my head against the fucking seat,” Mia grumbled.
“I hope we don’t get held up very long. There’s every chance we’ll miss the plane at this rate,” Graham muttered. “What a bloody trip this has been!”
“It’s my very last trip as well. I wanted it to be memorable for all the right reasons, not the wrong ones,” Kane said, with a sigh.
“Your last trip?” Jerome asked. “Why’s that then?”
Kane sighed again, more heavily. He was mid-thirties, like Jerome, with untidy fair hair and a penchant for Christmas jumpers. Today he wore one depicting a red-breasted robin perched on a brown twig surrounded by snow.
“Helen doesn’t want me going away for weeks at a time anymore. I’m applying for that travel editor’s job with the Daily Gazette. So, you all need to be nice to me in case I get it, because I’ll be the one commissioning work.”
Jerome glanced at his inbox. It wasn’t loading properly. Damn. He hadn’t been able to check his emails for days. He’d used the landline at the hotel to let his editor know that internet and mobile access was spotty in the mountains, and that one phone call had cost so much, he’d decided against phoning Holly. He hoped she wouldn’t be annoyed at his lack of contact. Still, they’d be at the airport soon and he could call and apologise.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket and turned to Kane. “I can’t see you working nine to five in a desk job, Kane.”
“Well, it’s that or our relationship, apparently.” Kane looked glum.
“I don’t see what Helen’s problem is,” said Mia. “She should accept you for what you are. You like this job, she shouldn’t interfere with that.”
Mia was in her early twenties. Jerome, who wrote for a range of newspapers, magazines and websites, had been on four trips with her now. Every time her hair had been a different colour and she’d been sporting a new tattoo. This time her hair was metallic blue and she’d rolled up her sleeve one morning to show them the latest tattoo of a squirrel. She’d quickly rolled it down again. The hotel heating hadn’t worked properly and most of the time they’d all shivered in jumpers and jackets.
