Mayor's Discipline: Two Domestic Discipline Short Stories
Page 9
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“Shall I go first this time?” Luis asked after she had written her answers.
She stole a glance at him. He radiated nothing but warmth and openness. She had been silly to act so timid about opening up to him before. “Sure. I mean, yes, sir.”
“I already told you how much I appreciate your cooking and cleaning. It makes me feel dominant, but it also makes me feel loved by you. The thing is, querida, I don’t really care about whether the house is spotless and if you hated cooking, I would gladly tie on the apron. But because we’ve agreed these are your chores—to be backed up by spanking—it means you think about me when you do them—and so I feel your love. If you were afraid of me or truly afraid of punishment, I would hate it.
“Really any act of submission—when you offer yourself to me to be spanked or to be led by a decision, your trust is a sign of love. Every time you submit, I feel honored by you.
“What I’d like to build on, is understanding my role when you’re stressed. I’d like to know when to give you leeway and when to make you toe the line. Because life throws us curveballs and sometimes you need a break. Sometimes you need help and compassion. But that also seems to backfire.”
“You’re right,” she said, her words tumbling out in her hurry to meet him. “Just like my submissive acts make you feel loved, your dominant acts do the same for me. I wrote I feel loved when you make and enforce rules, when you notice I’m down, when you take charge.
“But yeah, letting me off the hook just increases my guilt for failing at my basic responsibilities. When you spank, I get your full attention. You listen to me, you look me in the eye, you try to fix it for me. And sometimes I do just need to have a chance to let it out with a good cry. You were asking earlier about spanking me to tears and I didn’t want to admit it, but yes—I need it. I like it far better than feeling like my life is out of control and I can’t handle it on my own.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “When you take charge of me, I can let go of my worries—all I need to focus on is the simple things, like cooking your dinner and matching your socks.” Her mouth twisted into a wry grin.
Luis opened his arms and she crawled into his lap, snuggling her head into his shoulder. “You see, sweetheart—we already have so much together. We’re just building upon greatness.”
His words filled her with warmth.
“Even if we never had a baby, we would be all right.”
In a flash, her heart hammered in her chest, her body broke into a cold sweat.
Never had a baby.
“Would we?” she whispered, looking at the worst possible outcome full in the face.
“Yes, mi amor.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Was he right? She didn’t feel it, but she trusted him. Her own fears could be overwhelming. Luis often had a better understanding of situations—even of her—than she did.
“Promise?” she asked, her voice breaking.
He stroked her hair. “I promise, my love. I promise.”
She burst into tears, sobbing into his neck. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He held her and rocked her until her tears ran out. When they were exhausted, a buoyancy filled her chest, as if some great load had been lifted.
She wiped her face and sat back. “Are you ready for me to make you dinner? Sir?”
Luis smiled. “Sure. Want some help?”
“No, sir.” She grinned. “I have grand plans.”
“Mmm, I love the sound of that!”
She got up to make him dinner, both embarrassed and turned on by cooking in the nude. She broiled bacon-wrapped steak with blue cheese crumbles, rosemary potato wedges and French cut green beans. She made his favorite salad—herb mix with tomatoes, avocado, red onion, feta cheese, and kalamata olives and served everything with a bottle of red wine, which she left on the table for Luis to open.
He strolled up behind her in perfect timing, his disheveled hair only making him look more like a GQ model. “Shall I open this?” He picked up the bottle of wine.
“Yes, please, sir.”
He popped the cork and poured them each a glass of wine.
“May I please get dressed for dinner, sir?”
He considered her, his lips twisting up at the corners. “Do you have any other special outfits?”
She grinned again. “Yes, sir!”
“Show me,” he conceded, jerking his head in the direction of the bedroom.
She beamed. “Be right back, sir!” She put on a little black see-through teddy that laced up loosely in the front with matching G-string panties. When she returned, she spun in a circle and gave him an exaggerated curtsy, which she meant to be courtesan-style, but came out more like a ballet reverence. “Does this meet your approval, husband?” she asked in a syrupy-sweet voice, her lashes fluttering.
Luis’s lips twitched and he crooked his finger at her. “Come here, little wife.”
She strutted over to him and he caught her by the nipples protruding through the gossamer fabric, using them to pull her closer. She gasped, jumping toward him.
He cupped her ass, holding one cheek in each hand, kneading them as he made a low growling sound in his throat. Finding the string on the back of her panties, he gave it a tug, tightening the small triangle of fabric across her pussy. She whimpered, standing on her tiptoes.
“Yes,” he said, his voice roughened. “This will do.”
She melted against his body, absorbing his heat and masculine hardness.
“Serve me dinner, woman, before I forget it, altogether.”
She grinned and peeled herself off him, piling the food onto his plate before getting her own. There were many times when her meals became foreplay—the mouth-watering delicacies serving to stoke their appetites for more gluttony. This was one of those nights. Luis rolled his eyes with pleasure as he chewed, making appreciative noises, claiming he was having a “taste-gasm.”
He helped her clean the dishes afterward and they watched an action movie sitting so close she was practically on his lap. When it ended, though, she panicked. One spanking left, and it was the “severe” one. She was not in the mood for a severe spanking. Her gut tensed.
As if he read her mind, Luis gave her a cool look. “Getting nervous for your spanking?”
“Yes, sir,” she muttered.
He stared at her with an inscrutable look, his dark eyes glittering. He touched her nose. “I’m not going to give you a harsh spanking—I don’t think it will serve us tonight. The purpose, for boot camp, is to show you just how bad a punishment could be, but you are an angel wife and you never deliberately disobey me. I’m sure you can simply use your imagination to understand how I might spank for a severe infraction.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed.
“Come, let’s go to the bedroom. You may pick the implement.”
“Belt,” she said immediately. It was the least onerous as far as implements went, sometimes tied with a wooden spoon. “The one you used this morning.”
Luis began rolling up his sleeves, causing the familiar flutter from her diaphragm. He patted her bottom as they walked and gave her G-string a little tug. “You can leave your outfit on,” he said, his voice already deeper.
“Yes, sir,” she said in her best bedroom voice.
“Bend over the bed.”
She complied, her bottom already flinching and shivering in anticipation. She sensed Luis’s eagerness, normally so tightly-leashed. She smirked into the bedspread, thinking his orgasm denial for her had made him the one out of control. Indeed, he whipped her rapidly, as if hurrying to be done. After about twenty strokes, the whipping stopped and she heard the sound of his zipper.
He checked her readiness with his fingers. “Mmm.” A moment later he pushed inside her.
She spread her legs, pushing back at him. As odd as it seemed, she’d wanted more from the spanking than quick foreplay. He pumped in and out of her, the sensation satisfying physically, but th
e transition too quick for her mind to get on board.
Luis must have realized she wasn’t accelerating to the same level he’d reached, because he pulled out. “On your hands and knees.” He gave her butt a slap.
“Spank me again?” she asked timidly as she crawled up into position.
“With pleasure,” came his rumbling reply. He pushed her torso down so she rested on her forearms instead of her hands, a humbled position, much like the Buddhist prostration.
The sting of the belt came as a welcomed bite, her every nerve alive and craving the stimulation. She panted, leaning into the pain, opening to it, drinking it in. This time Luis did not stop too soon—she crossed the threshold of tolerance, burying her face in the blankets and whimpering for his mercy before he stopped.
This time when he entered her, her need for him was beyond measure—he could not take her hard enough. “Oh God, yes,” she moaned. “Now, Luis. Please…”
Luis grabbed her hair, tugging her head back as he continued to plumb her depths. The domination sent her over the edge.
“I’m coming!” she squealed.
“Come, Claire!” he shouted, still pounding into her.
She spasmed, her knees slipping out from under her, only Luis’s strong hands on her hips held her in place as he pumped to his completion. His shout of joy drew her own orgasm out, her muscles continuing their clenching around his thick cock.
Chapter Five
“Ugh. Tell me again why we’re going to see ballet again?” Danny kvetched as they climbed out of the SUV in front of the Taos Center for the Arts.
“Because Claire and her students are performing and this show means a lot to her.”
“Yeah but—” Sam trailed off when he leveled him with “the look,” perfected through the last year and a half of dominating Claire.
He paid for tickets and squeezed in amongst the scores of parents and grandparents of the little dancers. The show was cute—both Claire and Kristen, the director of the dance studio had real talent at choreographing dances that made the children look good. Despite his boys’ protests about attending, neither one appeared bored or impatient.
Claire’s solo “Unmet Desire” came close to the end. The lights came up on her sitting on her shins in a black gossamer tunic with long, open sleeves, the center draping to reveal her flat belly, short black shorts making her muscular legs look a mile long. She traced two fingers on the floor, as if she were in a raft, trailing them in the water beside her. A dreamy, wistful quality emanated from her, amplified by an angelic expression on her face.
He sensed the entire audience drawn in, mesmerized by her beauty and the story she told with her body. His sons leaned forward in their seats, eyes widened. Her dance was like a prayer, a conversation with God. Through her face, her gestures, her execution of intricate and lovely dance moves, she conveyed the sense of longing, of desire. Yet it had none of the literal movement interpretation of ballet. It was purely a sense of emotion.
The piece ended with the stage reduced to the circle under a single blue spotlight, Claire reaching an undulating arm toward the heavens, her face lifted in expectation as the lights faded to black.
The audience gave a collective sigh of satisfaction, then burst into enthusiastic applause, a chorus of “bravo!” and a few whistles.
When the show ended, he sent the boys to wait outside and went backstage with a bundle of roses. Claire was smiling and nodding, receiving the congratulations of countless parents and community members. She caught his eye and gave a little wave. Taking his cue, he slid in beside her, handing her the roses and scooping her in for a kiss.
“You were wonderful. Absolutely radiant.”
She drew back to see his face, beaming.
“Great job, Claire,” one of the mothers said, passing by. “Did you choreograph that yourself?”
“Yes, I—” Claire stumbled back against him, catching her breath. “I—”
Luis caught her as her body went limp, lowering her to the floor, where he cradled her torso in his lap. “Dr. Mulholland!” he called out to one of the parents, a surgeon at Holy Cross.
Claire’s eyelids fluttered open and she looked at him with confusion. He put on his very best poker face, hiding the fear tightening his throat. He winked. “You passed out, querida.”
Dr. Mulholland crouched beside them, taking her pulse. “Are you feeling a little dizzy, Claire?” he asked.
She smiled weakly. “I-I guess so.”
“Have you eaten today?”
She nodded.
“Could you be pregnant?”
Claire’s eyes widened, flashing to meet his. There was no mistaking the wild excitement.
“I—”
“That’s a possibility,” Luis said, coming to her rescue. “I guess we’d better pick up a test on the way home, no?”
Claire beamed at him.
“How are you feeling now?” the doctor asked.
“Okay.” She struggled to get up.
He helped her stand, then scooped her up into his arms. “Luis!” she protested, kicking and laughing. “I can walk!”
“I don’t care if you can roller skate, I’m carrying you out,” he said firmly.
She giggled and someone handed her the canvas bag with her things and the bouquet of roses from the floor. Carrying her out to the SUV, he deposited her in the front passenger seat while the boys snickered at the intimacy of it. He made a quick stop at the grocery store, where he ran in alone for the pregnancy test. Electricity filled the car as he drove home. He could feel Claire’s excitement, her nervous fear of disappointment. He prayed this wouldn’t be another let down.
“You are on day thirty of your cycle,” he told her when they were shut up in their bedroom alone.
“I know.” She smiled.
He wagged his finger, making a tsking noise. “You were supposed to stop counting!” He scanned the directions from the box. “So you could be a day or two late?”
“I could be.” Her voice was charged with emotion.
“So it says the first urination of the day is more accurate. How about if we do one now, and if it comes back negative, try the second one in the morning?”
She nodded, holding out her palm for the stick.
He followed her to the bathroom, taking the test wand from her when she finished peeing and holding it so they both could watch.
For a solid minute they stared at the blank window in silence. A faint color began to appear but it was too soon to tell what shape it would take. He squeezed Claire’s hand.
“It’s okay,” she said, as if reassuring him. “Whatever happens is okay. You taught me that during boot camp.”
He gazed into her beautiful face, her trust radiating. “Look at it, mi amor.” He flicked his eyebrows toward the test stick.
She stared at the pink plus sign forming in the window.
“Positive.”
Author’s Note
I dedicate Boot Camp to every woman who has struggled with infertility. I deeply understand the pain of both trying to conceive without success and of losing a baby. Thank you for indulging me in my little fantasy of what might make that stress easier.
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About the Author
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR RENEE ROSE is a naughty wordsmith who writes BDSM and spanking romance novels. Named Eroticon USA's Next Top Erotic Author in 2013, she has also won The Romance Reviews Best Historical Romance, and Spanking Romance Reviews' Best Historical, Best Erotic, Best Ageplay and favorite author and was selected as a finalist for the Golden Flogger Award. She's hit #1 on Amazon in multiple categories in the U.S. and U.K. and has been a regular columnist for Write Sex Right. She also pens BDSM stories under the name Darling Adams
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