Mayor's Discipline: Two Domestic Discipline Short Stories

by Renee Rose

  “Good morning, yourself.” Claire never attempted to speak Spanish to him, though she understood it well enough. Her father was of original Spanish descent, like so many in New Mexico, but she had not spoken the language in the home. His own sons were similar, as his ex-wife hadn’t spoken it. They understood him, but seemed embarrassed to speak it themselves, even though their pronunciation and accents were flawless.

  “I want you to clear your schedule for this coming weekend,” he informed her.

  She turned around. Already dressed for the day, she looked radiant—the stress erased from her face, her skin as luminous as her gold hoop earrings. “Oh yeah?” Her voice had a seductive tinge, and she pressed herself against him.

  “Yeah. We’re having boot camp around here.” He leaned forward and nipped her neck. “Someone needs to learn her place again, even if it means she spends the entire. Weekend. Over my knee.”

  Claire’s head dropped back, her eyes dilated. He kissed her glossed lips, his hand dropped to her ass. Unfortunately, Sam wandered in and he pulled away, giving her a wink. She whirled to face the stove and he knew his little wife was blushing.

  The boys were enthusiastic about the home-cooked breakfast, thanking her and praising her until she giggled, looking pleased. They ate every morsel of food she put out, wolfing it down before it was time to grab their books and head out the door for school.

  He gave her a kiss. “Be good,” he said, patting her bottom, making her blush and swat his hand away.

  ~.~

  Claire’s clients did not seem nearly so tiresome that day as they had over the past few months. Her own body felt relaxed and her outlook had brightened. Luis was amazing. She felt so far removed from the distress she’d been experiencing, she almost floated. During her break between clients, she pushed the Feldenkrais table to the side of the room and put on a song. She hadn’t even begun work on the dance Luis had requested, though she had told Kristen, the director of Ballet Arts, that she might have a solo for the show. Kristen had responded with enthusiasm, saying she would leave a place in the program.

  Finding a beautiful instrumental by Torque et Houpin, she cranked up the volume and began to improvise.

  It had been years since she’d danced professionally. Not since her pelvis was shattered after she was hit by a taxi in New York City. In Taos, she’d been teaching again, but she hadn’t performed. Just follow what comes out. When you get stuck, go back and start over from the same place. She remembered the advice of one of the teachers at Julliard. And she had a starting place—this dance already had a theme. It was the overriding theme of her life at the moment—yearning.

  She followed the music, closing her eyes, exploring movement that seemed to fit both the emotion of yearning and the sounds of the song. She discovered yearning was about being on her knees. It was about reaching. It was about twisting and falling and recovering and falling again. It was about looking heavenward. It was about fists and tugging on clothing and writhing in discomfort.

  By the end of the hour, she had half the solo choreographed, the feeling of accomplishment further lifting her mood.

  At dinner, Luis pulled another surprise on her. “I cancelled the appointment with the fertility doctor, but I made you an appointment with an acupuncturist here in town who specializes in fertility. Did you know acupuncture improves the chances of in vitro fertilization by 60 percent?”

  She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he waved his hand defensively. “I’m not saying we’re going to do in vitro fertilization.”

  She giggled. “I know, I know.”

  “So you’re going.” He gave that flick of an eyebrow that always made her toes curl.

  “Yes, sir.” She grinned. They spoke that way in front of the boys, though usually with a teasing tone. Even Danny and Sam sometimes mocked their father with a “yes, sir,” when he issued an order, which always made her laugh.

  Friday rolled around and she waited for instructions about their weekend, wondering if he planned to take her up to his—no, their, now that they were married—condo at the ski valley. When she didn’t hear anything, she started wondering about dinner—whether she should plan on cooking or if he’d be taking her out.

  She texted him in the afternoon, Please give me a clue about this weekend? Need to know if I should get groceries??

  He text replied, Yes, please buy everything we’ll need to hole up at ski valley this weekend.

  Holing up for the weekend. It sounded divine. They hadn’t had alone-time like that since their honeymoon almost a year ago. She drove to the natural food grocery store to load up for elaborate meals. As a woman who loved to cook, she took pleasure in using her skill to express her devotion to Luis.

  He met her at home and they packed quickly and drove up to the condo together, where she baked salmon filets and steamed broccoli with lemon butter for dinner.

  After dinner, Luis instructed, “Go to the bedroom, take off your clothes and kneel in the corner.” He fixed her with an implacable look that sent shivers of excitement running up her spine.

  “Yes, sir.” She hid her smile.

  In the bedroom, she stripped and chose a corner to kneel in. It was a ritual Luis often used for punishment, but it seemed tonight was more for play.

  He made her wait for a stretch, but her humbled position had already turned her mindset to submissive, an almost hypnotic state of obedience that overruled logic. She did not turn when he entered, just stared at the convergence of two walls as she waited for his instructions.

  She heard him moving around, unzipping his suitcase and sitting on the bed.

  “Come, Clarita.”

  She stood, the blood returning to her legs as she closed the distance between them. He looked as sexy as ever—still in his button down shirt from work, the collar open wide at the neck. He rolled up his sleeves in the classic preparation for delivering a spanking, one that always tweaked her.

  His face was inscrutable, but his eyes glittered as he reached for her and guided her to straddle one of his knees, laying her torso on a diagonal over his leg and on the bed. He had a pillow for her, always the gentleman in assuring her comfort before he delivered pain.

  She caught a glimpse of their leather paddle beside him as she bent into position. Leather was always a relief over wood. The kiss of leather was stingy, but the pain remained on the surface. Wooden paddles, she feared.

  She felt the cool implement laid across one cheek to prepare her, to let her know or guess which one he’d selected. He peppered her bottom with a dozen light spanks before speaking. “Claire,” he began, increasing the intensity of the smacks. “This weekend we will engage in domestic discipline boot camp.” He spanked even harder and she began to emit little cries as her hips bobbed over his thigh in a vain, but instinctual response to avoid further pain.

  “It will be a chance for us to reconnect and strengthen our individual roles and to grow closer as a couple. I know you have been trying very hard to obey me and be a good wife this last week and I appreciate your efforts. This weekend is not to correct you in any way. It is only for us to deepen our dynamic.”

  His reassurance released something in her she didn’t know she harbored—a worry that she was still not good enough, not living up to her commitments or being the wife she wanted to be. The sadness of it welled up in a rush of emotion.

  “I will give you three spankings a day—a light, moderate, and severe punishment, although, as I said, it’s not to correct. You will be punished immediately, however, for any infractions, no matter how small, and I will be instituting various rules to test your obedience.”

  His words sent her into the deepest submission. It affected her like a drug, causing her insides to turn molten, her body pliable. She relaxed into the paddling he delivered, hardly registering any pain with the steady strokes. The unshed tears from her self-criticism a moment before still pressed at her, though, begging for release.

  ~.~

  Luis p
aused in his spanking and rubbed Claire’s beautifully reddened cheeks. He’d felt her go limp, indicating she had reached full submission. He lifted her torso so she sat on his thigh, expecting to see desire in her eyes. Instead, he found guilt.

  Domestic discipline was a tricky thing, he’d learned. For him, spanking was an erotic power, a wielding of dominance that turned him on. He loved Claire’s tight little dancer’s ass, loved marking it with his hand or implements, loved the cries and whimpers she made. He wasn’t a true sadist—causing her real pain bothered him, but he certainly enjoyed bringing her to the edge.

  For Claire, it was something more complex than having attention paid to an erogenous zone. There was shame tied in, and yet, somehow, it was part of the turn-on for her. The expression she wore now was one he often saw after she received a genuine punishment spanking. Sometimes, he could spank past it—get her to release her guilt in a puddle of tears and start fresh again. Sometimes, she would remain quiet and cowed for a few days after. He hadn’t expected it now, since he’d made it clear the spanking was not for correction. Still, his wife was so hard on herself she had gone there anyway.

  He touched her face. “Looks to me like tears would be beneficial. Bring me the hairbrush.” He enjoyed making her fetch implements—the added humility of presenting him with it was a turn on.

  “Luis, no,” she whined, even as she stood up to obey.

  “There’s no telling me no during boot camp, querida. You just earned yourself an additional spanking.”

  She whirled in dismay, the brush in her hand. “I wasn’t telling you no,” she protested, “I was begging you ‘no’.”

  He kept his face blank. “I’ll take that into consideration.” He offered his hand to help her over his lap. Her eyes pleaded and he saw she was already close to crumbling. He settled her, this time with both her legs over one thigh, his other leg scissoring over the top. He spanked slowly, steadily, at a medium intensity, giving her time to find her emotions and bring them out. She knew her tears were his goal, granting her permission to completely let go.

  Twenty-five strokes in, she began to shake with sobs. He lightened the intensity and spanked a little more, to be sure she got it all out. Then he set the brush down and rubbed her back, smoothing his hand across her silky skin. He was disappointed the spanking had turned out this way—he’d had grand expectations of it being the preamble to hot, kinky sex, but he knew it would still foster intimacy.

  He lifted below her knees and rolled her torso over to cradle her in his arms like a baby, standing and walking to the side of the bed where he settled them both. She curled into him, pressing every part of her body against his, as if she couldn’t get enough contact. He responded by taking off his clothes to bring them skin to skin. Her tears wet his neck but her hips pressed forward in a needy request.

  It took him a moment to shift gears from tender caretaker to lover, but his cock got in gear before his brain, responding to the feel of her wet heat rubbing over it. He slid into her without any need for guidance, her slit ready and positioned for his use. Groaning, he moved inside her, pressing her to her back and resting on his forearms to maintain maximum contact. Her arms were in a strangle-hold on his neck, her legs wrapped so tightly around his waist he could not withdraw at all for a good in-stroke. Instead, he pinned her pelvis to the bed, pushing in and up, grinding into her until her fingernails dug into his shoulders with need.

  “Please.” Her voice sounded so small.

  He drew away and pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “Please what?” he demanded.

  “Please...… fuck me, Luis? Please?”

  He lost all control, the vulgarity on her lips turning him primitive as he plunged in and out of her with a frenzy, growling like a wild animal.

  “Oh yes, oh yes,” she whimpered, still clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

  His balls tightened, cum shooting down his cock, spurting into his beautiful wife at the same moment she tightened around him. Her orgasm milked his cock for its seed, drawing him deeper within her. It was strong—the kind of orgasm that could make a baby. It hadn’t been wild and kinky, but it was beautiful, just the same.

  He rolled to his side, still inside her, collecting her into his arms to hold her close. She fell asleep in less than ten minutes. He lay still, listening to the sound of her deep, slow breaths, knowing in every cell the honor it was to be her man.

  Chapter Four

  Claire woke still wrapped in the comfort of Luis’s body. Bliss. She still couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have found a man like Luis, who understood her needs so well. She stood up and walked to the bathroom. When she returned, she threw on a t-shirt and headed toward the door to make breakfast.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Luis’s voice was sleepy. “I didn’t say you could leave the bed and I didn’t say you could put clothes on. Get back here.”

  She giggled, crawling back on the bed and straddling him for a kiss. He stroked up and down her sides inside the t-shirt, his thumbs arriving at the puckered tips of her nipples, where they lingered.

  “Why is this still on?” he asked irritably, tugging on her shirt.

  “Sorry.” She pulled it off and threw it across the room in one motion.

  “Mmm, that’s better,” he rumbled, cupping her breasts in his palms and squeezing. “Are you ready for your first spanking?”

  She bit her lip, remembering his promise about boot camp. Three spankings a day— light, moderate, and severe. Would they be in that order? She felt the familiar sensation of fear mingled with excitement as she ran her fingernails over the light fur on his chest.

  “Okay,” she squeaked.

  He gave her flank a squeeze. “Good girl.” He lifted her away from his body so he could sit up leaning against the headboard, then patted his lap. “Come.”

  He positioned her the way he wanted, arranging her bottom to give him the optimal target before stroking her backside in a gentle caress. She relaxed, despite her knowledge of the pain to come. Luis started with slow, lazy smacks with plenty of rubbing and fondling in between. She loved how he took his time—loved being his sole focus, without the distractions that often turned her spankings into quick, clandestine affairs. After a time, he built up the speed and intensity, causing her heart rate to increase.

  “Okay, mi amor.” He patted her bottom. “Your warm up is over. Now, for the real spanking.”

  “Aw,” she protested, not ready for real pain.

  “Muévete,” he said, giving her a gentle shove to move off him. He stepped out bed and arranged the pillows into a pile near the edge.

  She swallowed. He had meant it when he said “real spanking.” She positioned herself over the pillows without being told. “I’m not in trouble?” she asked, though he’d already explained the spankings were not for punishment.

  Luis bent over his suitcase, presumably rummaging for an implement. He emerged with his belt. It was a wide, pliable leather belt—her favorite belt for a spanking. It was so much better than the thin, stiff ones. Even so, the sight of him doubling it and walking toward her caused her heart to pick up speed and her palms to sweat.

  She grabbed a corner of the blanket and pulled it to her mouth to bite on.

  “No, mi corazon, you are not in trouble,” he said, just before he delivered the first stripe.

  She gasped, cringing as the line of fire crossed her bottom.

  “The purpose of the spankings is for us to practice our domestic discipline skills. Your very sweet, oh-so-luscious ass will stay sore all weekend so you remember your place as my obedient wife.”

  He laid three more stripes across her cheeks, hard enough to make her bob on the pillows in reaction. She hid her head in her arms.

  “And I, as your head of household, will be governing your every move.”

  The combination of his words and the pain of his continued whipping sent her flying into submissive headspace.

  “You will c
all me sir. You will remain naked at all times. Don’t worry—we can leave the fireplace lit so you are not cold.”

  She lifted her head from her arms, her logical brain picking back up and with it, returning the sensation of pain. She gave a loud yelp of protest. “Are you sure? Ack! I brought some things you—ouch!—might enjoy seeing me in.”

  Luis stopped whipping her. “Hmm… you have intrigued me. All right, little wife. I may deviate from that rule in favor of other pre-approved outfits.”

  She giggled, reaching back to rub her smarting cheeks.

  Luis snapped the belt across the backs of her legs and she screeched in protest.

  “You certainly know better than to rub in the middle of a spanking.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, yanking her hand back to safety.

  “You’d better be.” He applied the belt with vigor several times.

  She hid her head again, whimpering.

  Luis trailed the belt over her thoroughly tanned cheeks. “Tell me the truth now, Clarita, was that enough of a spanking to keep you sore until this afternoon?”

  She hesitated. She wanted the whipping to be over. But regardless of how intense a spanking felt in the moment, the results rarely lasted more than an hour or two and this one was no exception. She did not lift her head, but gave a small shake.

  Luis rubbed her low back with his large hand. “Thank you for your honesty, sweetheart.”

  She hunched her shoulders, knowing he would begin again. He did—with force. She counted twenty more stripes—the kind that took her breath away. If it had been a punishment, she certainly would be crying by now. Funny, how the different intent behind a spanking could change her entire reaction to the same level of pain. But dancers were natural masochists. She could take a lot more than most.

  It ended at last and Luis scooped her into his arms on the bed, cradling her like a baby on his lap. She trembled in his embrace, her body still in shock.