by Cara Bristol
Jinx's escape had given him the perfect opening to lay his hand to Emma's ass. It had all been for fun, but in truth, if the cat escaped as often as Emma said he did, she could benefit from some discipline. Perhaps a little physical chastisement would focus her attention where it needed to be. Something to consider. For both him and Emma.
Dan considered spanking an intensely intimate act, as much if not more so than sex itself. That he had hungered to redden Emma's rounded behind the moment he'd laid eyes on her testified to the rightness of their connection. A bottom like Emma had to place her physical and emotional well-being in the hands of her top. The top had to protect his gift by placing the woman's needs above all else.
Spanking Emma had forged a bond between them that otherwise would have required months to develop—if it occurred at all. While there was still much he didn't know about her—where she'd gone to school, if she had siblings, her favorite TV shows—those kinds of trivial facts could be gleaned over time. He knew Emma's essence, her heart.
"Do you have any roses that are...” The color of Emma's spanked ass? “Rosier?” he asked the florist.
"Rosier?"
"Yeah. Something between a pink and a red. Something different."
"A shipment arrived this morning that might be considered different. They're fairly expensive, though."
"Let me see them."
The florist led him inside the shop to a cooler. She opened the sliding door and extracted a long-stemmed rose from a bucket. The palest of pink tinted the base of the petals, then gradually darkened to an intense rose at the tips. It reminded Dan of the way Emma's ass had blossomed in color. Desire stirred his cock.
"Perfect,” he said. “Can you deliver a dozen today?"
"Certainly."
Dan paid for the roses, scribbled a note on a card to accompany their delivery, and departed for his meeting.
The other board members were waiting when Dan arrived at the Rod and Cane Society mansion. He pulled two twenties from his wallet and dropped them into the wooden box at the door. “Sorry I'm late.” He slipped into the last remaining chair at the mahogany conference table.
A fraternal organization that promoted and advocated spanking wives to maintain discipline and harmony at home, Rod and Cane held its male members to equally exacting standards. Tardiness carried a fine of twenty dollars. The last man to arrive, whether technically late or not, was docked as well. Dan, being both, paid a double fine.
Otis Davenport, Rod and Cane president, peered at Dan over the rim of his glasses. His mouth quirked with humor. “I'm sure she was worth it."
A flush of heat stole across Dan's cheekbones. “She is."
The room erupted in ribald laughter.
Otis rapped a wooden gavel on its stand to call the meeting to order. When the laughter subsided, Otis spoke. “Gentleman, I've called this special session of the governing board of the Rod and Cane Society to alert you to a potentially serious matter.” Humor had evaporated from Otis's face, and his eyes appeared somber. A two-term president, Otis was known for his calm, evenhanded, thoughtful demeanor. His concern indicated the matter had to be significant.
Dan glanced around the room. Eight men sat at the table: Otis, Vice President Jared Traynor, a recording secretary, the head of membership, and four board members-at-large, of which he was one. Dan drew his brows together in consideration of the eighth man, Jordan Bevy. As disciplinary proctor, Bevy didn't serve on the board but advised it on an ad hoc basis.
Otis straightened in his chair at the head of the table. “It has come to my attention that the Rod and Cane Society might have been infiltrated by an outsider."
Dan sucked in a breath. Not good. Not good at all.
"How is that possible?” asked a board member. “We have safeguards."
Membership required two members in good standing to vouch for the applicant. Members and the women in the Wives Auxiliary signed confidentiality agreements. Rod and Cane stored documents related to the organization under lock and key and shredded them upon disposal.
Only members were permitted to enter the Rod and Cane Society building, which bore no signage, only a street address. No one who looked at the edifice would think it anything but a former governor's mansion used as a private residence.
"Safeguards, yes,” Jared answered. “But our organization is not impenetrable. If someone wants something bad enough, he'll find a way to get it."
"But why?” Dan rubbed his neck to relieve the tension. “What would be gained?"
"How do you know there's an infiltrator?” asked another member.
"What is my function here?” Jordan queried.
Otis held up his hand. “Gentlemen, those are all good questions, and I'll attempt to answer them the best I can with the information I have available. First of all, I'm not certain there is an infiltrator, only that there may be. As an attorney, my wife, Lizzie, frequently deals with the press. A reporter interviewed her about her pro bono work for the domestic violence shelter and asked her whether the shelter had any victims from the spanking club."
"Holy Christ!” exclaimed a board member.
Dan sighed. He'd never understood why people equated consensual domestic discipline or erotic spanking with criminal assault and battery. Rod and Cane dedicated itself to eradicating that notion while maintaining a low profile to protect the reputations and livelihoods of its membership and their wives.
Otis continued. “That in itself doesn't necessarily mean anything. We're not the only organization that advocates domestic discipline or spanking. The reporter could have been referring to another association or something as simple as an erotic spanking party.
"Liz, of course, told the reporter that due to the confidentiality needed to protect the women at the shelter, she couldn't reveal any personal information about their backgrounds. She gleaned that the reporter's information came via the grapevine, allegedly that a rival news organization had placed a journalist undercover at the spanking club. The reporter wondered what, if anything, Lizzie had heard."
"We're not a spanking club!” snapped a member of the board.
Dan pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. If a story about Rod and Cane broke, its membership and their wives would be ridiculed and ostracized by friends and peers. Exposure would result in the sudden career death of members who held public jobs such as judges, police officers, and schoolteachers. His own real estate business could lose clients.
"Did the reporter say who this journalist worked for?” Dan asked. He could ask Emma; perhaps she had heard the gossip or could do a little digging and get more information.
"No, he didn't know who he was,” Otis answered.
"I can't believe anyone here would talk to a member of the press,” Dan said. “Every one of us has too much invested to jeopardize our livelihoods."
"My wife knows better than to speak to the media,” said board member Paul McGinnis, his chest puffing up like a rooster's.
The man had always rubbed Dan the wrong way, and he had to school his expression to hide his dislike.
"Someone might talk to the press if he or she didn't know the person was a member of the fourth estate,” Jared said. “The Rod and Cane Society provides an environment for its membership to discuss domestic discipline. Within the confines of these walls, we're used to speaking freely."
"That's no excuse,” McGinnis said.
"We don't talk about discipline with our...vanilla friends,” another member pointed out. “And certainly not with people we've just met."
Otis's expression grew even more serious. “Gentlemen, we need to consider the possibility that the reporter may have finagled a membership in Rod and Cane."
"That could be anyone.” Jared stroked his chin. “We have over five hundred members."
"Five hundred and sixty-nine,” Membership Chairman Hal Sturdevant said. “Fifty new members in the past two years."
"Operating under the assumption that the infiltrator would have joined
recently, I've instructed Mr. Sturdevant to re-vet new members by reviewing their documents and sponsorships and conducting one-on-one interviews."
Otis nodded at the disciplinary proctor. “That's also why I asked Jordan to join us. If a member is involved, we must take swift disciplinary action. Jordan will monitor the process to ensure it's in accordance with our bylaws."
McGinnis scowled. “It would warrant the harshest penalty."
The most severe sanction on the books was lifetime expulsion from the Society. Lesser disciplinary actions could involve suspension, performance of additional hours of service, and possibly a fine. Rod and Cane treated discipline of Auxiliary wives as a private matter to be handled at home by her husband.
"If the member is merely an infiltrator, he won't care if we revoke his membership,” Dan pointed out.
"No, he won't,” Otis concurred. “But if other members assisted him, that may necessitate counseling or discipline. A breach of confidentiality is the most serious offense."
Jared leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. “Has anyone considered the possibility that he may be a she? That the reporter is a woman?"
Dan's blood froze in his veins. Emma was a reporter with big ambitions. A story about Rod and Cane would certainly boost her journalism career. As quickly as the disloyal thought occurred to him, he rejected it. Actions spoke louder than words, and Emma's response to his spanking demonstrated her innocence. She'd become so aroused that her wetness trickled down her legs. He had a hunch she could be spanked to orgasm. He felt ashamed for suspecting her even for a second.
"I asked Lizzie that question, and she said her contact consistently referred to the undercover journalist as a ‘he,’ but you're right.” Otis then glanced at the membership chairman. “We shouldn't assume. Mr. Sturdevant, please include the recent members of the Auxiliary in your interview process."
"Consider it done,” Sturdevant said. His gaze shifted to Jared.
"I'm aware,” Jared said, his tone wry, “that the vetting will include Melania. As my wife of less than a year, she'll fall under the two-year sweep. You'll have her full cooperation. And mine, of course."
Otis nodded. “Gentlemen, I guess that's all we can do. I ask each of you to keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear of anything suspicious, report it immediately to me or Vice President Traynor. I hate to suspect any of our members, but we must implement precautionary measures."
Otis rapped the gavel. “Session is adjourned."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Nine
During a lull between routine crises of a normal day at the insurance company, Emma logged on to her personal e-mail to check messages. She had several ads from online retailers, a couple of spam messages that sneaked through her filter, and an invitation from Melania.
She selected the ads and the spam, and clicked Delete. A dialog box popped up: Are you sure you want to delete these messages? Emma sighed at the redundancy and clicked Yes. If she wasn't sure, she wouldn't have clicked on them. After clearing her in-box of junk, she read Melania's message.
Can you meet for a drink after work? I'm dying to hear about your date yesterday! ;-) Meet you at 6 p.m. at Bottom's Up? Melania.
Emma clicked Reply but hesitated. To meet Melania or not to meet Melania? To share or not to share? Love to. See you then. Em, she typed, clicked Send, and watched as her message disappeared into cyberspace. Deleting messages required two mouse clicks, sending only one.
Emma shifted in her computer chair. The redness and soreness had almost faded completely by morning—much faster than she had expected. She missed the delicious reminder of the experience, but she still had her memories.
The spanking itself had hurt. She understood now why people referred to it as “burning” a bottom. It seemed as if Dan had lit a match to her ass. But as the pain increased, so did the pleasure. Her pussy had gone into spasms, and her nipples had beaded to rock-hard points. She wondered if she could come from being spanked. She felt as if she'd stumbled across a missing jigsaw puzzle piece that snapped the picture of herself into perfect clarity. Spanking fulfilled her.
And therein lay the rub. What the hell was she going to do about her column? Emma massaged her temples to ease the tension caused by ambivalence and indecision. Though she didn't overtly declare domestic discipline was kinky in her story—that would be editorializing—she'd hinted at it in the selection of facts and quotes. But after being spanked, what had seemed deviant before seemed normal now.
How could she criticize what she herself had enjoyed, reveled in? But her deadline loomed, and her editor was counting on the piece. Attached to a draft e-mail message, her column was ready to submit. With a mouse click, she could change her career.
Emma studied her gray-fabric-covered cubicle. Often the three walls had felt like four, a padded room from which getaway seemed impossible. How could she not send the column and escape to a better life? She'd be a fool not to. Emma rested her elbows on her desk and buried her face in her hands.
"Uh, excuse me?"
She jolted and swiveled around in her chair.
One of the company's interns, a college student studying business, stood loaded up with an armful of the most gorgeous roses Emma had ever seen.
"These came for you.” The young woman set the vase of flowers on Emma's desk. “I wish my boyfriend would send me flowers like this,” she said wistfully and left.
"Thank you.” Emma called after the girl's departing back.
Emma's computer and printer occupied most of her desktop. The bouquet consumed the rest and flooded her tiny workspace with a glorious perfume. She'd never seen flowers that color, a blush pink deepening to mauve.
Emma extracted the small card nestled among the blooms. She opened the tiny envelope and read the masculine scrawl. These reminded me of you. Can't wait till I see you again. Dan.
Pleasure swelled in her chest while a heated blush flooded her face. These reminded me of you. Dan implied the color of the roses matched the hue of her spanked ass. She dug into her purse for Dan's business card and called his cell. Disappointment prickled at her when she got voice mail, but she still enjoyed hearing the sexy baritone of his recorded message.
"Hi. It's Emma,” she said. “Your beautiful roses arrived. Thank you so much for the flowers and for...” Spanking me? “A wonderful evening. I can't wait to see you too. Bye."
Melania was waiting with a drink when Emma arrived. “Sorry I'm late.” Emma grimaced. “There was a minicrisis at work as I was about to leave."
"No problem. I only got here a couple of minutes ago. I ordered us some hot wings."
"Great. What are you drinking?” Emma eyed Melania's reddish cocktail.
"It's the happy hour special."
"What's in it?"
"I don't know. It tastes slightly sweet but has a kick, an afterburn.” She offered her glass. “You want to taste?"
Emma shook her head. “I'm not as adventurous as you. I'll have my usual.” Emma plunked herself down into the hard wooden chair, crestfallen to not get even a residual twinge of sensation.
The pain had faded fast. Too fast. A waitress materialized with a cocktail napkin ready. “Care to try today's special, the Bottom Burner?"
"No, thank you. I'll have a glass of house white wine, please."
After the waitress's departure, her friend studied her with a wicked twinkle and a smirk.
"What?” Emma queried.
"You should have ordered a Bottom Burner to commemorate the occasion.” Melania grinned.
"What are you talking about?"
"Dan spanked you."
"Why do you say that?” Emma bluffed.
Melania's lips twitched. “Been there. Done that. Know the glow. You're a satisfied cat with a mouthful of canary feathers."
Guilt tangled with an urge to confide. Melania had offered her friendship genuinely, honestly, and Emma had used that relationship to gain information for her column. And no
w she'd engaged in the very act she'd denigrated as kinky. Could she be more of a hypocrite? But maybe talking with Melania would clarify her course of action. Confession was supposed to be good for the soul, wasn't it?
Emma nodded. “Yes. Dan spanked me."
Melania hooted. “I knew it!"
The waitress delivered Emma's wine and a basket of hot wings with ranch dressing. She departed, and as Emma picked up her glass, Melania clinked hers against it. “To sore buns,” she toasted.
"I hope it's not that obvious.” Emma's glance slid around the room.
"Depends on who's looking. After you've been spanked a few times, you recognize the signs. Most vanilla people won't notice, but it would be hard to fool the people here."
"What do you mean?” Emma dipped a drumette into the ranch dressing and bit into the chicken wing.
"The owner of Bottom's Up is a member of Rod and Cane. This bar is a hangout for members and other spankophiles."
Emma choked. “You're kidding.” She took in a neon sculpture in the shape of woman with her backside posed provocatively. The bar's name, Bottom's Up, was another neon sign, the lettering contained within an outline of a...paddle.
"I must be the densest person who ever lived,” Emma said with disgust. What kind of reporter failed to notice the obvious? “I thought Bottom's Up referred to, you know, drinking.” She lifted her wineglass.
"Don't be so hard on yourself,” Melania said. “It takes awhile to assimilate into the DD lifestyle. You know I love submitting to Jared. I wouldn't feel complete in any other kind of marriage but a DD one. But I'd be lying if I said being spanked didn't take getting used to. I almost left Jared after he spanked me the first time."
"You did?” Emma's jaw dropped. She'd assumed Melania had been happy with domestic discipline from the onset. Her parents also belonged to Rod and Cane, and she had signed a marriage contract giving her husband authority to spank her as he saw fit.
"You helped me come to grips with what I was feeling."
"I did?"
Melania nodded. “Remember when we met at the Rod and Cane Wives Auxiliary new-member lunch? That was right after Jared had paddled me for the first time. I was so confused. But I heard other women testify how much domestic discipline had improved their lives, and I met you, a single woman who wanted a DD marriage, with everything it entailed."
