Their Wayward Wives

by Emily Tilton

  The whispers June Stanton had started died away after a few weeks: live and let live. A few other husbands at the base had said, in the officers’ club, some version of, “So you spank your wife?” and Doug had explained more or less the same thing Mindy had: they both believed that a husband had the duty and the right to discipline his wife as he saw fit in his greater wisdom and experience. Military men tended to see the validity of that perspective, even if modern values disagreed with it.

  Most of the men who asked, Doug could usually tell, asked more out of locker-room voyeurism than of interest in Doug and Mindy’s way of life. One or two asked more serious questions about how Mindy felt about it, and whether Doug thought it really did improve her behavior. “She doesn’t like it,” Doug said, knowing that just as Mindy hadn’t told the whole truth about the sexual aspect, he was concealing certain details like the way Mindy would sometimes seem to talk back on purpose to get a spanking. On those occasions, Doug did his best to make sure his wife ended up sorrier than she had expected, and she was never allowed to come when he fucked her afterward. “But she knows she needs it—and yes, it seems to help her be the good girl I know she wants to be. It keeps our home running smoothly.”

  Now in their new breakfast room, after disciplining his beautiful redheaded Mindy for talking back—not to get a spanking but clearly out of frustration at being told she had to play nice with the gossipy wives of Doug’s coworkers—he wondered whether the open sliding door would make for another June Stanton situation, as he and Mindy had called the possibility when they’d discussed their new neighbors. Mindy had said, “I’m going to try not to create another June Stanton situation,” and Doug had agreed, “Good idea.”

  They were both still breathing very hard, and Doug held Mindy in place over the chair the way he loved to do after this kind of sex, taking a dominant afterglow pleasure in keeping his cock in her backside. The lesson, he liked to think, wasn’t yet over: his sweet bride, born only a few miles from his own birthplace—though they had had to go to college in Chicago to discover it—bent under him, submitting to him body and soul, needed to understand how important that submission was, in a way that went far beyond words, that only his controlling hands could show her.

  He said softly, “The door is wide open, babe.”

  Mindy giggled. The sound made him smile. “Are we going to have a June Stanton situation after all, sir, do you think?” she asked, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder. The untroubled expression on her brow reassured Doug that his wife would take whatever happened with the Linds in stride. Surely a muscle-bound ex-Marine like John wouldn’t have a problem with hearing a spanking followed by loud sex, though Doug had had trouble figuring Cathy Lind out on their first meeting. The Reynoldses, on Mindy and Doug’s other side, were thankfully out of town this weekend.

  “I think I’ll knock on their door and ask them over for steaks tonight,” Doug said thoughtfully, stroking Mindy’s back, loving the feeling of her soft, lightly freckled skin under his fingertips. “What do you think?”

  He pulled out of her anus at last before they continued the conversation, the sorrowful little whimper of loss that emerged from Mindy’s throat endearing her again to him, even more, if that was possible. They had some wicked, wild sex, but the magic of their marriage seemed to be in the way they treated it as if their own rough brand was just as tender as the next couple’s vanilla loving.

  He still had his white t-shirt on, but Mindy was naked, the way he had required her to be for her spankings from the very beginning. Even on that third date, before they had done much more than kiss, he had laid down the law and told her to take everything off before she arranged herself over his knee for her first spanking from a boyfriend. When she had—eventually—obeyed, he had started to suspect just how well things would work out between them.

  “Were you spanked as a kid?” he’d asked.

  She’d nodded, looking at him very solemnly. Doug had informed her at dinner that she would be spanked when they got back to his apartment; now they stood just inside the door.

  “Did you get the belt a lot?”

  Mindy’s mouth twisted, and she nodded again.

  Doug nodded. “Well, when I spank you, you’ll take off all your clothes. Go ahead and do that now.”

  “In front of you?” Mindy asked, her face troubled. “But—”

  “No buts, Mindy. I’m taking responsibility for disciplining you tonight. When a boyfriend does that, it’s appropriate that his girlfriend be naked for her punishment. If she trusts him enough to consent to his discipline, she needs to know that he has the right to see her naked, and to have sex with her.” Doug delivered this little speech calmly. He hadn’t thought it through beforehand, of course, but growing up in the same Midwestern culture Mindy had, where loving discipline represented an important part of family life, the sentiment seemed simply ingrained.

  “Sex?” Mindy asked, obviously taken aback. “But… well, I’m a virgin, Doug. And… I mean, I’m not very religious, I guess, but I always thought I’d wait until my wedding night.”

  Doug looked steadily at her. “You need to think hard about that now, Mindy. I’m going to spank you tonight, unless you decide to break up with me right now, and you’re going to be naked for your spanking, just as you’ll be naked whenever I discipline you from now on. After your spanking, I think it’s important that I fuck you, because that’s what a man who takes his girl in hand does. I’m pretty sure we’re going to get married someday—maybe someday soon. But that’s not what matters now, as much as the way I’m going to take responsibility for you tonight, if you agree. If you decide you don’t want to have sex, though, I promise to respect that decision.”

  Mindy’s eyes had gone wide in alarm at the word fuck, but Doug didn’t think there was any use in finding some softer way to put it. Twenty-four to Mindy’s twenty-one, at that time five years ago, he had fucked three girls previously. He had spanked one of them, but it had been a more overtly sexual thing than it clearly was for Mindy. His experience of sex told him that honesty made a very big difference; if Mindy found the idea of being fucked as opposed to Doug making love to her distasteful, she should take this golden opportunity to break up with him.

  Though the crease in her brow had grown deeper, she stayed and looked pensively at him. “Okay,” she finally said. “But do I really have to take everything off in front of you, while you watch?” Her cheeks went very pink.

  “Yes, babe, you do,” Doug said. “It will teach you that I can look at you naked whenever I want, from now on.”

  Mindy bit her lip and nodded very slightly. Then she cast her eyes down to the carpet and started to pull off her top.

  Now, five years later, watching her move around the kitchen of their new house, completely naked and unselfconscious as she grabbed a paper towel to wipe herself between her still-red bottom-cheeks, he smiled broadly at the memory.

  “Will you pick up the steaks, sir?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as she wiped. She knew how much he loved to see her do this—deal with the trickle of his seed that leaked out of her pretty pink rear flower.

  “Of course, babe,” he said. “Dinner at six.”

  Chapter Three

  When the doorbell rang, John had still not completely gotten over the sounds he and Cathy had overheard from the Landises, which had caused one of the Linds’ little quarrels. Seeing Doug on the front step gave him a bit of discomfort. The urge to congratulate his new neighbor on treating his wife so decisively came to him out of the blue. I’m glad to know there’s a man on this street who knows how to keep his house in order, he suddenly felt like saying.

  John would never have said anything of the kind, of course. At the same time, however, the unexpected tension between Cathy and himself over whether she should call the police as they had listened, made the thought of bringing up the spanking and sex on which the Linds had unintentionally eavesdropped both more attractive and less. More attractive
because John didn’t have the slightest doubt he was right about the fully consensual nature of the discipline and its aftermath, and he wanted to demonstrate that confidence, to the point of having another sudden image in his head of calling Cathy to the door and having her hear Doug explain that Mindy submitted to his authority willingly in regard both to bare-bottom discipline and to sex; less attractive because he knew what when Cathy got like this, even a full, rational explanation would have a hard time getting through her belief in her own rightness and righteousness.

  So when Doug extended his hand to shake John’s in greeting, a moment passed before John forced his own hand out to reciprocate, thinking—rather dissociatively, but the mini-fight with Cathy seemed to have rattled him more than he had first realized—that to shake his new neighbor’s hand would be to admit that he had overheard him and his wife in the midst of family discipline and passionate marital relations.

  “Hey, Doug,” John said, as the physicality of the handshake erased the awkwardness. “Come on in.”

  He held the screen door open, but Doug said, “Hey, bro. Won’t stay.” He had a mischievous smile on his face that John thought suited his handsome-pilot thing very well indeed. He also seemed to John to exude an indefinable, highly enviable air of just having fucked a pretty girl in a room of the house where girls by rights shouldn’t be fucked. “Just want to invite you and Cathy over for steaks tonight, if you’re free.”

  John felt a smile appear on his own face. Was he imagining the tension between them, or did this invitation have something to do with the Landises realizing the Linds might have been listening?

  “That sounds great, Doug. Hold on—let me check with Cath.” He turned around in the doorway. “Cath?”

  “Uh-huh?” she called back from the kitchen.

  “Do we have plans for dinner?”

  Footsteps approaching, then his lovely blond wife herself. Her eyes went wide at the sight of their neighbor on the step, and she gave a startled “Oh!” from a mouth that then hung open for a moment.

  Cathy’s reaction to Doug seemed so out of place that John covered for it as quickly as he could, not sure that left to her own devices she would even greet their guest.

  “Doug and Mindy are inviting us over for dinner,” he said. “We don’t have anything going on, do we?”

  Cathy shook her head mutely, looking from John to Doug, then back.

  “Hi, Cathy,” Doug said warmly.

  She turned back to him with a slightly startled air. “Hi,” she said. Her voice seemed a little hollow, but at least she hadn’t accused him of domestic abuse, so John guessed things would probably be okay.

  She looked at John again. “We…” she began, and John realized that his wife was about to try to get out of having dinner with Mindy and Doug. He felt his anger start to well up at the injustice Cathy wanted to do a man who was guilty of nothing but leaving a window or a door open. He had a sudden wish that he could give her some kind of meaningful look at this point, a look that meant she had better behave herself or she would feel the consequences on her bare backside.

  At least he could tell for certain now that they didn’t actually have plans. He turned to Doug. “What time?”

  Doug smiled, apparently unaware of the tension between the Linds. “Six okay?”

  “Six is great,” John said.

  “Alright, I’m off to the store. See you in a couple hours.” He flashed a smile at Cathy, then at John, and turned to walk the short distance back to his driveway where his Mercedes coupe waited. Fly-boys and their cars, John thought idly and a little scornfully. A pickup is good enough for a Marine, and that means it’s good enough for any chopper-jockey. Who was he kidding, though? John had a very prosperous carpentry business, but Doug Landis seemed to carry a cloud of success around with him. John wouldn’t have wanted a Mercedes, but he wouldn’t have minded spending the money it took to buy one on a hot tub or a trip to Europe.

  Cathy snapped him out of this little reverie. “John, what was that?” she said as he closed the door. “I don’t want to have dinner with them!”

  “I thought you liked Doug and Mindy,” John said, but of course he knew what the problem was.

  “I thought I did,” Cathy said, dropping her voice to an angry whisper, which was absurd now that the door was closed, and made John think with a little anger of how many times his wife had demanded he keep his voice down, or stop yelling, when he had only been enjoying himself. He knew himself, and his temper, and his voice. To shout to a friend across the yard when you were tossing a football, for example, didn’t deserve that glare and that “Keep your voice down, John!” from Cathy.

  Yes, of course, marriage involved compromise. John might just be a carpenter from Jersey, married to a sorority gal from Florida, but he had understood that instinctually from his own family’s ups and downs growing up. Sure, if it was a real issue for Cathy, he could try to keep his voice down when he played catch. But he didn’t think it was a real issue—that was the problem. John had come to think Cathy felt a need to control their life together.

  He sometimes wondered if it had something to do with her job as an administrative assistant at a law firm. Sometimes it seemed like she refused to quit because it gave her a kind of control she couldn’t surrender. John made enough that if they lived a reasonable lifestyle, Cathy didn’t need to work. They even could start thinking about having kids, which Cathy had always said she wanted. But when he suggested that she quit and start enjoying herself, she refused. “John, we need to get ahead before we do something like that.”

  John didn’t know what ahead meant, and when he asked, Cathy would always start asking about his business’ balance sheet. He didn’t love discussing that with her, but he would patiently explain how well they were doing. No, they weren’t the wealthiest contractors in town, but they had loyal customers. There was nothing to worry about.

  But Cathy would say, “We just can’t make that kind of move, John. I need this job.” Then she would say something like, “Did you call the plumber? The sink won’t stop dripping, and it doesn’t seem like you know how to fix it.”

  He loved her so much—had loved her practically from the moment he saw her at the pool on spring break in Fort Lauderdale with her girlfriends, both of them seeming a little out of step with their company of frat boys and sorority girls. Neither of them had rushed, it turned out, for the wild social life with the frequently very debauched parties. They had wanted to experience campus Greek life from the old-fashioned reasons of networking and even social service, values passed down from their parents even though he came from the North and she from the South.

  Her fidelity to him even while he did his tour in the ‘Stan, though they hadn’t yet married, seemed like the reason he got up in the morning. Thinking about coming home, about the plans she had started to make with her parents, about a church in June and a hotel suite and Cathy’s arms around him—that made all the shit in a Marine’s life seem to melt into the background.

  He had been faithful, too, despite the teasing he got from his buddies for it, the way they asked him if he had locked Cathy’s chastity belt as tight as he should. He had jerked off thinking about Cathy, about their wedding night, about how she had let him touch her inside her panties the night before he shipped out and the way she had clung to him, her cheeks bright red as he rubbed her little pussy so gently. She had whispered, “That’s so naughty, John,” and he had thought it meant she liked being naughty.

  He had even jerked off thinking about putting her in the chastity belt his buddies joked about, and about taking it off her when he got home, to ravish her at last.

  John had lost his virginity before he met Cathy, on a forgettable occasion his senior year in high school, and had slept with another girl his freshman year of college. When he told Cathy that he would wait until their wedding night, the sacrifice hadn’t seemed a huge one, because he had thought that when the time came his young wife would welcome him between her legs—wo
uld even welcome him in her mouth and, though having been brought up a good boy he tried not to think much about it, maybe even in her bottom.

  She had looked so stunning in her wedding gown that the sight of her coming down the aisle toward him had seemed to confirm the absolute rightness of their decision and their vow. He believed in God, but he didn’t believe in most of what religious folks told him the Bible said you had to do and not do. Cathy herself wanted to wait not because she thought they wouldn’t get into heaven if they had sex before they got married but—she had said and continued to maintain even though John now suspected the real motive might have been different—because she loved her parents and she didn’t want to disappoint them.

  For the whole of the ceremony and the reception, John had felt right and justified about the waiting. He had a gorgeous virgin bride. He would initiate her gently into the mysteries of love. He had fought for his country, had trained his body, had steeled his mind, all for this greatest of earthly rewards. He had a love/hate relationship with his dress uniform, but that day it made him feel like the conquering hero everyone seemed to think him.

  At least Cathy hadn’t locked herself in the bathroom of their beautiful suite in Miami, the way one of his Corps buddy’s virgin bride had done. When John thought now of how achingly beautiful she had looked with her golden hair down, in the very slightly racy nightgown that stopped just above her perfect knees, emerging from the bathroom and hurrying to the bed next to which he stood to welcome her still in his uniform… well, he had thought for a moment that all his erotic dreams had come true.

  They hadn’t, of course, but John knew he had no right to complain. Cathy had looked up at him, and he had seen the love in her eyes. She had even said, “Come to bed, Lance Corporal,” in a low voice that made him smile and made him think she was ready.

  He had taken off his uniform, then. The first sign that the night might not be the realization of his fantasies was that Cathy had looked away and then turned off the light as he undressed. A part of John wanted to tell her to look at his cock, to see how hard it was for her, after waiting so long, but he loved her and respected her too much to say something so crude.