Mayor's Discipline: Two Domestic Discipline Short Stories

by Renee Rose

  “Officer Mora. Arturo?”

  “Artie.”

  “He snickered and let me off with a warning.”

  Luis kissed her nose. “Nice work, mi corazón. I’ll be the toast of the force now.”

  “I wonder how long before the entire town of Taos has heard I’m a spanked wife?”

  “If anyone asks I’ll tell them they have it wrong. That you dress up in a tight leather skirt and bustier and beat me with a crop.”

  ~.~

  He hadn’t brought her to tears, which he’d found beneficial in the past for relieving her of pent up emotions, but considering how changed she appeared, he figured he’d done his job. He held her until she fell asleep, then got up and made sure the boys had gone to bed.

  He gave the situation some thought over the next few days, and the following week he called his ex-wife. “Hi, Melissa. I’d like to switch weeks with you. I can keep the kids this coming week, and you can have them the following.”

  Melissa blew out her breath with a hiss. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Luis. I might have plans, already. You can’t just call up and tell me we’re switching weeks. Why do you want to change?”

  “Claire will be ovulating.”

  It was a dangerous bomb to drop. It could go either way, but he had a feeling Melissa would sympathize. She still felt guilty for leaving him for a woman, an event that had caused an avalanche of gossip and jokes nearly burying him in his last election as mayor.

  “Oh. Whoa.” She paused. “You’re trying for a baby?”

  “Yeah.”

  Another silence. “Well, sure. She probably wants her own.”

  “I want another, too. We both want it.” He didn’t know why it felt important to declare it, but it did. Maybe because he had just promised Claire he would take the lead. He’d left her alone in this endeavor for too long already.

  “Yeah, okay. We can arrange schedules based on your wife’s hormonal cycle.” There was snarkiness in her tone, but he knew he’d just won, and, in fact, he would be able to arrange for sharing custody according to Claire’s needs going forward.

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

  “You’re welcome. Good luck with that, Luis. Really. I wish you all the best.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Chapter Two

  Claire made an effort that week, but he could tell she was going through the motions. Though she kept the kitchen clean and cooked meals, the furrow between her brows never left, and when he asked how the dance was coming, it only seemed to further stress her.

  His own heart began to ache. This seemed to be a problem he could not fix. He wracked his brain for what he could do besides turning her on and having a lot of sex. He’d had his sperm count tested and was deemed adequate when they first were married, so there wasn’t something for him to work on physically. He wondered whether getting her hormones checked would be worthwhile.

  Picking up the phone, he called a doctor friend of his in Santa Fe, asking for a recommendation for the best fertility doctor in the area. He waited until after dinner, when the boys were occupied with homework, and he and Claire were settled on the couch to discuss it with her.

  “I booked an appointment for you with the best fertility doctor down in Santa Fe. It’s for next Monday, your day off. I’ll take the day off, too, and drive down with you.”

  She stared at him. Her expression was not appreciation. It was something more akin to betrayal.

  “Claire?”

  She stood up and walked away without a word.

  “Claire?” He followed. Danny and Sam looked up from where they sat at the dining room table working, not missing a single nuance.

  He ground his teeth and followed Claire into the bedroom, where he shut the door. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t just get up and walk away from me when we’re in the middle of a conversation—you know better than that.”

  She averted her face and waved a hand in his direction. “I—can’t—talk to you right now,” she said in a choked voice.

  He put his hands on her shoulders, only to feel her muscles tighten under his touch. “Claire. I’m sorry, but you must.”

  She pulled away.

  A spanking would work in this situation. It would change her mood, open her up, get communication flowing. By rights, she had violated a tenet of domestic discipline by distancing, and discipline was warranted. Even if it weren’t, he could give a non-punitive, maintenance spanking to get her talking. But causing his troubled wife even one more bit of pain was not something he could stomach.

  He took her arm and tugged her toward the bathroom. He could see her blinking tears as she stumbled beside him, probably expecting a punishment. He went with it. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered.

  She did not meet his eyes, keeping her chin lowered as she stripped out of her clothes, her posture showing total demoralization. He turned on the shower and waited until the water heated, then urged her into it. She looked at him questioningly, but he just pushed her forward and stripped off his own clothes to join her.

  Their first date had included a shower. Not that he imagined he would be able to get her turned on now. He just hoped the water would change her mood. He picked up the bar of soap and rolled it in his hand to gather lather, then turned her around and stroked the back of her neck toward each shoulder and down her arms. He slid his hands over her slippery skin, leaving soap and, he hoped, the warmth of his love in his trail. He explored the long ropes of her back, her firm ass, his favorite part of her anatomy.

  He lowered himself to one knee and soaped down each leg, picking up her feet to massage the soles. When he stood again, Claire had returned to her body. She met his eyes and he saw the warmth of her love there. He helped her to rinse, then turned off the water and fetched a towel, drying her. She leaned her full weight against him, practically falling forward into his chest. He caught her up and held her against him, the baby softness of her freshly washed skin intoxicating against his own.

  “What is it, Claire?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head against his chest and he could feel her tensing up again.

  “Shh. Don’t get upset. Just tell me.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “I’m not ready for that,” she croaked.

  He was mystified over her irrational behavior. He had not expected his efforts at leading the charge on getting pregnant to be met with such resistance. “Why not?” He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the sharpness out of his tone.

  She noticed it and pulled her head away from his chest, frowning up at him. “Luis, do you know what fertility doctors do? They pump you full of hormones and then you end up with quintuplets.” She spread her hands. “It’s not natural. It’s not what I want for myself or our baby.”

  He rolled his eyes, irritated.

  Claire stamped her foot. “I want a natural birth.”

  ~.~

  Luis took a deep breath and sighed. “I am on board, Clarita. I am. Okay, I get it.” He stepped away from her and toweled off, then confounded her by dressing and leaving the bedroom without another word.

  As her initial sense of abandonment faded, she considered Luis’s feelings for the first time. He had made a very sweet effort to help move them forward toward their goal of getting pregnant and what had she done? Pissed on him.

  Damn.

  She pulled on her pajamas and padded out to find him. He sat on the sofa, watching TV with the boys. She deposited herself on his lap without invitation, relieved when his arms immediately cradled her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered in his ear. He responded by kissing her neck. She stayed there for the rest of the show, snuggled into him, hoping when it was over he would take her back to the bedroom.

  He did.

  “I’m not opposed as a last resort,” she began, the moment the door closed. “I just didn’t think we were there yet. And when you suggested it, I guess I felt like a failure.”

  He nodded. “I see.”r />
  “Thank you for going to all the trouble…”

  Luis’s face softened. He shrugged. “I should have realized. You’re an alternative health care practitioner. You don’t appreciate medical intervention.”

  “If we have to go that route, I’ll do it. I’m just not ready to give up on natural methods yet.”

  Luis lifted his chin. “Lie over that bolster, and pull your panties down.”

  Her pussy clenched. “Am I in trouble?” she asked as she moved to obey.

  “Just a little.” His voice had deepened, the thick honey tones sending a shiver of excitement down her spine. She craved his discipline now, though a short hour earlier she would have resented it. Spanking was full of subtleties like that. A spanking with the same implement might hurt one night and give pleasure the next, depending on the context, tone, or even her hormonal cycle.

  She positioned the round bolster on the bed and laid her hips over it, reaching back to shimmy her pajama bottoms and panties down to mid-thigh. She hid her face in the bed, waiting to see what Luis had in store for her. The feel of something cold on her anus made her jump and squeeze her cheeks together. A quick slap on one cheek reprimanded her reflex. She relaxed and held still, arching a bit to offer herself to him. The cool tip of the stainless butt plug met the pucker of her back flower and she willed herself to relax, fighting the instinct to tighten and resist.

  Luis did not say a word, his silent treatment making the experience more suspenseful. He pressed the plug forward, and she modulated her breath, pacing it to remain open for him. The plug stretched her until the widest diameter of the bulb pressed through, then filled her inside as it moved in to the neck. She moaned. It felt punitive, the way he’d pushed it in first thing, without any touching, any warm up, any stimulation. And the paradox was that having it inserted punitively was all the turn-on she required.

  She heard the jingle of his belt coming off, and she squirmed on the bolster. Like Pavlov’s dog, her reaction to the sound was automatic—a shudder of simultaneous fear and excitement coursed through her. Though she knew he was in casual clothes after the shower, she pictured him instead in his more frequent disciplinarian garb—his “mayor clothes”—slacks and a button down shirt. He was a tall and slender version of Benicio del Toro.

  “I think it will be twenty.” His tone was cavalier. He swung the belt with that single preamble, striking below the butt plug, on the place where butt meets thigh.

  She sucked her breath across her teeth. He had not asked her to count out loud, though he had given a number.

  He struck again in exactly the same place. “I could be spanking you for an attitude adjustment.” The belt snapped again, this time catching the edge of the butt plug, its movement within her both discomfort and pleasure.

  Her pussy dripped moisture, desire rippling through her.

  “I could be spanking you for maintenance.” Luis must have enjoyed her groan, because this time he aimed directly over the butt plug, pushing it forward, then tugging it to the side with the impact.

  She squealed. “Luis!”

  “Was that too much?” The rumbling purr of his deep voice came like a caress.

  She could not answer.

  “I could be spanking you for walking away when I was talking to you.” He brought the belt down again, this time on the backs of her thighs, where she hated it.

  She yelped loudly. Good thing Luis had soundproofed their room so she did not have to worry about the boys overhearing.

  “Except I walked away from you, too, didn’t I?” he mused, striking again. “No, mi amor. Tonight I’m spanking because you hurt my feelings.”

  The pleasure of his dominance morphed to shame. “I’m sorry,” she wailed.

  As if he sensed the change and it was not his desired effect, he clipped, “No. I don’t want your sorry. I just want to spank you. And I can.” He delivered another stripe on her low buttocks. “Because you gave me that right.”

  Her belly flip flopped. When she and Luis began their relationship, she had insisted she was not interested in erotic spanking, wanting the punishment and guidance of domestic discipline. Luis had taught her how fluid it all could be. His spankings could be pleasure or they could be punishment or they could be an infinite number of shades between. And though she’d rejected the idea of spanking for no reason, the idea of Luis spanking her simply because he desired it now turned her insides molten.

  At the same time, the delayed sting of the welts began to overtake her, the overall effect dizzying.

  “How many is that, Clarita?”

  His voice came from far away, took a long time to process. “I don’t know,” she managed to mumble.

  “You didn’t count? Let’s begin again, then, shall we?”

  “Noooo,” she moaned, though her voice sounded more wanton than plaintive.

  “Count for me, Claire.” His voice came soft as velvet, a stunning contrast to the sharp bite of his belt.

  “Oomph. One,” she muttered. Her pussy throbbed. She wondered if he would allow her to touch herself during a whipping. Or if that would even be safe? The belt came down again on the backs of her legs.

  “Two!” she exclaimed with a tinge of anger.

  “You don’t like it there, do you, Claire?”

  “No,” she whimpered. He applied the next few strokes with steady care, striking the same spot, just below the plug. Her breathing came fast and labored as she counted for him. “Three, four, five...… six!”

  He pressed a hand on her low back and angled the belt, striking precisely around the plug with diagonal strokes, first on one cheek, then on the other. She counted the strokes, her entire body buzzing with pain and arousal by the time he reached a dozen. Could she orgasm from a spanking alone? She felt unbelievably close.

  He delivered the last eight across both cheeks, striking her sit spots relentlessly. Her numbers came as whimpers, but she was nowhere near tears.

  The belt clattered onto the floor.

  ~.~

  So beautiful. The sight of her freshly spanked bottom bent over the bolster, the smell of her arousal, the way her slick nectar dripped between her legs. Her submission made him feel powerful, erased all conflicts between them.

  He put the heel of his hand over the butt plug and pressed it forward, enjoying her groan. “What is our rule about sex?” he demanded.

  “I am always available to you.”

  It was a rule Claire loved, because she said even if she was not in the mood, the idea that refusing him would be a spankable offense, immediately put her in the mood.

  “Spread your knees for me, Claire.”

  She widened her stance obediently and he slapped his hand between her legs, punishing her pussy. She jerked in surprise, her bottom listing away, but immediately returning to position. He delivered three more spanks before stripping off his clothes.

  “Put your knees back together,” he ordered, straddling her legs.

  She gave a pleading moan, pushing back, eager for his entrance. They were so ready for each other, he slid in without needing a hand for guidance. Hot. Wet. Lush. Libidinous. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her tight muscles gripping his cock. By the sounds she made, she could orgasm at any moment.

  Reaching forward, he cupped his hand under her chin, lifting her upper body upright into a backbend. “Do not come until I tell you,” he growled.

  He didn’t know where that had come from-—they’d never played with orgasm denial before. Claire’s wail of protest almost sounded like panic, she was that close, that needy of release.

  “You were a naughty wife.” He pumped into her, rocking her forward on the bolster with each thrust. “Naughty wives get whipped before they get fucked.” The slap of flesh against flesh was the symphony accompanying their dance. “And then naughty wives get fucked hard.”

  Claire was whimpering continuously now. “Please, please, please, please,” she begged.

  “That’s right.” He pounded ha
rder. “Beg for it, Claire.”

  “Please. Please.”

  His own release thundered forward. He let go of her chin, fearful he might hurt her as his thrusting became erratic and rough. He gripped her hips instead, plowing deeper, giving a shout as his orgasm crashed in all around him. “Now, Claire!” he gasped.

  She let out a scream and her vaginal muscles convulsed, tightening all around him, sucking his seed forward in the action so perfect for conception. He had not pulled one like this out of her in months. She reached back, grasping his hips and pulling him deeper still, holding him tightly against her firm little ass.

  They panted together, collapsing in a tangled heap. His lips found her shoulder and he kissed it, then nipped.

  “Mmm.” He loved the sound of contentment from her throat.

  He pulled the bolster out from under them and gently removed the butt plug and brought it to the bathroom for cleaning. Claire sprawled in a boneless bliss on her back and he nuzzled in beside her when he returned, drawing spirals around her breasts, down her flat belly.

  “Too bad today is only day eight of my cycle,” Claire said at last.

  He propped up on an elbow and gave her his sternest look. “Are you still tracking? That’s another spanking.”

  She gave a rueful smile. “Sorry. I forgot. It’s a hard habit to break.”

  He rolled her over and she threw her hand behind her to cover. “No, please. I’m too sore. Please, Luis?”

  He gave her four hard spanks and rolled her back over, kissing her with all the love in his heart.

  She must have felt it because she burst into tears. “Oh, God, Luis, I love you so much. I love you so much…”

  “I love you, too, querida. Por siempre.”

  Chapter Three

  In the morning, Luis found Claire in the kitchen while the boys were still in their rooms. She had risen early and was churning out stacks of fluffy banana walnut pancakes, crispy bacon and scrambled eggs.

  He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. “Buenos dias,” he murmured.