Aunt Daisy's Secret

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  "You want to go over my knee now, or later?" Tony snapped back. He was tired of placating her; it was about time she got out of the her foul mood, and into the spirit of the night. She had been barking commands and spinning in a tizzy for two days, and he was sick of it.

  "Don't you dare," Melanie blurted out. Her hair was tousled and there was flour mixed with her make-up. She really looked rather seductive through all her spit and fire. Tony couldn't resist what seemed like the perfect invitation to a spanking.

  "You really want to fight don't you!" he charged.

  "I want you to let me finish my work. We have guests coming in a half hour."

  "Well, if I'm not done reddening your bottom, they can watch!"

  "You ass!" She yelled out, as she tried to move away from her advancing husband, but he was too quick for her. Taking her firmly, he pulled her to a kitchen chair and sat down. Over his lap a second later, he began to paddle her rear end with a wooded spoon he took off a rack of utensils on the wall.

  "Ouch, dammit stop!" Melanie wailed.

  "I think you've needed this all week," he said, as the spoon came down hard on her wriggling bottom.

  He hadn't taken time to pull down her jeans, but they would be off too, as soon as he'd given her the first enthusiastic blast.

  "You stop this, I don't have time!"

  But the smack, smack, smack went on.

  "You have time for everything but being civil to me," Tony said. "And that's going to end right now." Pausing just long enough to unbutton her jeans and tear them away from her bottom, he began smacking her hard.

  "Ouch, dammit, you ass, stop it now!" she blared loudly, but Tony wasn't listening. The striking spoon emphasized his firm resolve.

  "You bastard, stop!" she cried, this time trying even harder to wriggle away. Though Melanie's spirited mutiny only made Tony more determined. The spoon fired hot, hitting both red raw cheeks with lightening speed.

  "Yeeeeeooooowwwwwww!" was all she could answer it hurt so much.

  "You'd better stop acting like a first class brat, because I'm not going to stop, until you do!"

  "I can't stand it anymore!" she blared. The fire on her bottom was excruciating, and still his brisk whacks blistered her naked rear top to bottom.

  "You going to stop being a bitch?" Tony asked her.

  "I'm not a bitch!" she yelled.

  Tony let loose a flurry of stinging cracks in response.

  "You just aren't going to learn, are you?"

  By then her bottom was so hot she was beside herself. "Please Tony, I'm sorry," she pleaded with him. She was at the point she would say anything to get him to end this.

  "You sure?" he ask, as he kept up a regular, but slowed pace.

  "Yes, please. Please stop."

  He thought her admission was a little too convenient to be believed, but he had to stop sometime; unless she really turned nasty again, he wasn't going to do this in front of their friends.

  "Your absolutely sure?" he demanded one more time.

  "Yes. I'm sorry, I really am."

  After one last crack, he stopped and placed the spoon down on the counter, and his well-punished wife slumped against him exhausted.

  "Perhaps you'd better get yourself ready now," Tony said at last, pushing her off his lap.

  Melanie stood up and looked down at him with a pout on her face.

  "You're horrible, you know that?" she exclaimed. There were tears streaming down her cheeks and she looked even more a mess than she was earlier.

  "You want to start again?" Tony warned, seeing that all the angry fire in his wife's expression was not gone. He might have made a temporary impression; but she was still agitated about something, and it wasn't likely to go away until they had a repeat performance.

  "Please no," Melanie was finally softening.

  "You think you can "can" the sarcasm, and the cheap shots at me, and your nasty glares?"

  "I am sorry," Melanie offered. Tony looked as if he was prepared to start the spanking again. She was treading on thin ice. "I still don't know what's the matter with me," she offered, hoping the explanation might placate him.

  "We'll talk after the party. And if I don't get some better assurances from you, I'll be talking with this." He picked up the spoon just to enunciate his point.

  "Really, I'm sorry." Melanie repeated herself, sounding more sincere.

  "Let's hope so." He fixed her with his flashing dark eyes, and she began to appreciate the quality of his fury. She was honest enough to admit that she really had been quite a bitch in the last two weeks, and it wasn't all the open house that was just five minutes from getting under way.

  The door bell rang.

  "Oh, my god," she went into an instant frenzy hearing the sound.

  Tony stood up and pushed his wife to the back staircase. "Go get yourself together, and I'll greet our guests." Melanie scooted up the stairs, while Tony darted to the front door.

  ***

  To both their satisfaction, the evening went along much more smoothly than the preparations had. As polished charming hosts, Melanie and Tony looked like two happy lovebirds in their newly remodeled home. Their guests, all their friends and work associates, were duly impressed by the beautifully renovated home, and the lovely party that Melanie had created. But when it was over, and the last guest was out the door, Melanie breathed a sigh of relief.

  "My god, it's over at last," she said wearily. She leaned against the front door looking weary and tired. "Think maybe I'll go finish up in the kitchen, and then I'm going to bed."

  "Not so fast," Tony said. He pulled Melanie by the hand and led her into the living room, which looked a little worse for wear, with coffee cups and dirty plates spoiling the perfect decor.

  "Please not now," Melanie implored him. "I've got lots to clean up."

  "I'll help you in a minute, but we need to talk right."

  "Not with the paddle, I hope."

  "No, not with the paddle, as long as you don't resist what I'm saying."

  "I can still feel my bottom," she informed him. "You really raised a ruckus."

  "And a well deserved one," Tony reminded her.

  "I suppose so," she reluctantly agreed. "I just wish I knew why I'm so out of sorts."

  "That's what we're going to talk about." Tony made her sit on the couch as he sat down opposite her in an overstuffed chair that had become "his" chair over the last few months. He looked very regal and commanding in it. A look Melanie rather liked, at least most of the time.

  "This really isn't a talk Mel, it's a lecture," he warned her in his most severe warning tone.

  "Oh?"

  "Yes."

  "We finished so fast before the party, I didn't want to let my message be lost. I can see you're not very settled these days, and we're going to address this issue now. I don't think either one of us wants to live with the prickly tension anymore."

  "You're right about that," she readily agreed.

  "I know I'm right. This snappy, irritated, snotty attitude of yours in ending now."

  "Yes sir," she replied, trying to be appropriately sheepish for him, even if she wasn't taking the conversation all that seriously.

  "You start with your whining and your sarcasm, and I'll spank you. Every day if I have to." He wasn't kidding. "Now you think about that!"

  "I will," Melanie replied. She wanted to leave the room, there was so much clean up to do, and she was dead tired.

  "Besides," Tony lightened. "Punishing your bottom was a good thrill tonight. I didn't want to let the moment pass." He had a downright sexy look in his dark brown eyes.

  "Oh?" Melanie replied, her interest suddenly piqued.

  "Come here," he ordered her.

  She was wearing a pair of silk pajama pants and a loose fitting shirt that was nearly transparent. Quite out of character, she'd even left the top two buttons unbuttoned so that the soft fabric draped against her breasts in the most sumptuous way. He could see the swell of her lovely breasts when s
he moved. He'd been watching her all evening long, from her grand entrance to the party as she descended the staircase, to the way she mingled graciously with their guests. He found her enticing him in much the same way she had when they first met. He was impressed, the way she recouped from the brisk spanking in the kitchen.

  "You've been turning me on all night, you know that?" he said, as Melanie stood next to him, swaying for him ever so slightly.

  "Have I?" Melanie asked, reading the lusty look in his eye.

  "Yes, that outfit is really . . . ." he nodded his head in approval, though he couldn't find words to adequately describe what he was thinking.

  "Provocative?" she suggested.

  "That's a good adjective. I like the way it clings, everywhere important."

  "It does, doesn't it?" Melanie admitted.

  Tony ran a finger down the open front of the shirt to where her lace teddy showed beneath.

  "I was surprised the way you managed to pull yourself together so well after I spanked you," Tony said.

  "Really?" She teased him with her eyes. "I have a secret."

  "What's that?" he asked.

  The smirk on her bright face was delightful, with just a touch of mischievous imp on the horizon. "I masturbated before I came down."

  "You what!" Tony was amused, amazed and just a little annoyed, all at the same time.

  She nodded her head.

  "You really did, you little tramp. I was down here trying to keep our guests happy, and you were getting off?

  "Yeah," she said, liking the naughty feel of it.

  Tony sounded stern, but he wasn't angry. He was more aroused than anything. His cock was suddenly at attention in his pants, so much so that Melanie could see it rising.

  "Take off your clothes," he told her, with his face casting a dark shadow of dominance on her.

  "You going to spank me again?"

  "Very hard," he said in a purposefully sexual tone of voice.

  This time the treat made Melanie's sexual desire soar by leaps and bounds. If Tony was angry with her, he certainly didn't show it, the look in his eye was pure lust. Taking off her silk pants, she revealed just a pair of white lace panties underneath; and then unbuttoning her shirt, she showed her husband her breasts that swayed lewdly inside the soft lace of the low cut teddy.

  He pulled her down over his lap, letting Melanie rest on his hard muscled thighs. He could feel the juices already flowing as he slipped his hand inside the panties, between her legs to her moist pussy, and the soft hole beyond.

  "All your ranting. All those nasty vicious protests. And you were really getting off! I don't know what to do with you, being so dishonest with me."

  Melanie's mind was racing, her body so aroused again she couldn't help but churn against her husband's invading fingers.

  But abruptly, Tony withdrew his hand and smacked her hard.

  "You'd better let me know, next time you're getting off to a spanking!" he warned her.

  He smacked her again, each jolt adding to the steady arousal.

  "Do you hear me?" he asked.

  "Yes, oh yes." She was practically mindless. She groaned and wiggled and flaunted her raised bare bottom in the lewdest way.

  Such a switch, Tony thought to himself viewing the glorious sight. For good measure, he smacked her again a few more times so that her bottom was turning red. But she didn't just groan erotically, her groin pressed against his rising prick, making him ungodly hot.

  Everything was arousing her, and Melanie was arousing him.

  At last not able to stand anymore stimulation, he lifted her off his lap and carried her to his desk top. Clearing things away with a quick sweep of his hand, he laid her down on the smooth surface, and parted her legs wide so he could enter the juicy hole between them.

  Planting his cock inside her, he grabbed the fleshy mounds of her bottom with both hands, and gave her a brisk rude pounding fuck. The passionate cries filled the room with the sounds of satisfaction, as first Tony, then Melanie climaxed with several sharp shooting pulses.

  When he withdrew, he pulled her to her feet, and the two collapsed on the sofa, where they were blanketed by a well earned calm.

  Chapter Eleven

  Melanie woke with a noxious gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. She tried remembering back to the night before. Had she had too much to drink, or just too much sex? Then again, maybe it was something else that was grabbing at her with such a vile hand.

  Tony was already up and out. Sweet thoughts careened through her head, remembering the way they'd made love. Their brisk moment on top of his desk was only the beginning. If spankings were to continue to be this sensuous, she could hardly deny the effects any longer. But despite the happy memories, the anxious feeling in her stomach continued. It was obvious that it was about more than the spanking, though she wasn't sure what.

  Melanie quickly donned her bathrobe, and going out into the hallway she listened for the sounds of Tony below. Hearing nothing, she looked out to the driveway to see the garage door open, and his car gone. She remembered that he had an early morning class at the University.

  Yes! This would be the perfect time to make that trip to the attic that she'd been wanting to make for several days. Plans for the party had really gotten in the way of her sensuous other worldly time-outs. Then again, with the party now past, she realized that she had also been avoiding the attic. She had the oddest feeling that something in the journal, above and beyond the account of her Aunt's spanking escapades with Joseph, was there for her to see. Its importance to her was crucial.

  Melanie knew how the journal would end, not because she skipped ahead to the last page as she might have done with a suspenseful book. No, she knew because she knew her Aunt's history, as she would any close family member.

  Sitting down in the familiar old chair, Melanie pulled the trunk close, opened it, and found the journal right on top, exactly where she expected it to be.

  Opening to the last page, she read. She was almost in tears turning back to the story she had cherished and thrilled to. Seeing her Aunt's delicate penmanship once more, she felt the lump quickly growing in her throat.

  I have not been able to write for weeks; but somehow I know I need to finish this story. As if writing this down might help me now put aside this sad period of my life. Some days, I don't know how I can go on . . .

  I got word several weeks ago that Joseph was killed. He shipped out as he feared, and as he also feared, he will not return to me as my husband. I am officially a widow, even before I made an announcement of our marriage to our families. My god, Aunt Josephine didn't even believe me. I had to show her the marriage certificate. I don't know why this would upset her. Joseph was such a fine man. Oh, it was an awkward moment, and so much to tell them all; and yet so much I could never ever explain about Joseph and me.

  We buried him in the cemetery at First Presbyterian, and now, all I have left is the chronicle in this diary, and the memories in my heart. . . .

  Melanie was crying as she imagined her Aunt had been crying when she wrote these last words of the journal. Her Aunt's faded script drifted away. Perhaps she was too choked up to write more. She could imagine now why she hid the journal in the trunk. The secrets she talked about were not something the average person would understand. Melanie was glad she'd understood them. She felt closer to her Aunt than she'd ever felt.

  Closing the journal, Melanie laid it down, and pulled out the letters in the back that Melanie had failed to open all this time. They crinkled in her hands, reminding her how old they were, at least fifty years. It seemed so silly to be crying now; but then how many times had she balled like a baby over some silly movie plot about times that never existed?

  Melanie pulled a Kleenex from her pocket, blew her nose, then wiped her eyes, deciding at last that the blue crinkled papers were fair game. She opened the first of three letters, and withdrew several sheets of paper. It was a letter from Daisy to her uncle, written in the same lovely h
andwriting. The letter talked to her uncle as a friend, telling of her brief marriage, and some, though not all of the curious events that had propelled Daisy and Joseph together. She obviously wrote it as an explanation to a man she was now considering as more than just a good friend. The first letter was dated eighteen months after Joseph died. The second and third letters were like the first, though it was clear that as time went on, she was more and more fond of Uncle John.

  Melanie read in avid wonder, and when she finished the letters, she stuffed the pages back in the envelopes, and then in the back of the journal. The entire packet she replaced in its secret compartment of the antique trunk. Then closing the heavy lid, she went downstairs to see if Tony was home. She had much to tell him.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was nearly eight at night and Tony was worried sick. He paced the living room that still bore traces of the party the night before. Melanie had not yet run the vacuum and that was just one of the many worries that had him troubled. The kitchen was still strewn with dishes. They hadn't made a dent in the clean-up, when their passions claimed the rest of the night, and they left an uncharacteristic mess. It was unlike Melanie to leave the house without putting everything back in order.

  In the morning, Tony had to be at the University for a class. A meeting afterwards lasted longer than he planned. When he called at noon to let Melanie know he wouldn't be home until after lunch, she didn't answer. That didn't surprise him, she could be out shopping. But coming home at 2:00, he found her car gone, and no note about where she was.

  Now eight o'clock, he was worried, furious and fast becoming deathly scared; a wild imagination did not help his shattered peace.

  He was in the kitchen making tea, about to settle down with Melanie's phone book, to call her friends, when he saw her car coming up the drive. He watched her quickly exit the vehicle and walk to the back door.

  "Where the hell have you been?" he roared, when she stepped inside. All the emotion, the fear, worry and near panic channeled into a frenzied rage. His dark Italian eyes were flashing darts.