by Maggie Ryan
God, I wasn’t very comfortable admitting he was right, but my embarrassing position, his hand on my ass, made it a bit easier. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you are, but tell me what all of those have in common.”
They all mean you’re going to smack my ass. Okay, I might be bratty at times, but I definitely wasn’t stupid. He and I both knew what had been written in the document we’d signed. We were both well aware that continued disobedience meant escalating consequences. I’d never been spanked before, but even I was pretty damn sure I wanted to avoid saying anything that would most likely find his belt coming off to add to my punishment.
“I broke my promise to you.”
It was as if actually saying the words finally triggered something in my head. I loved this man, trusted him with my very life, and had asked for his help. Being Brett, he’d instantly agreed to do all he could to make my life easier. When I was ready to jump in with both feet, he’d made sure our agreement wasn’t something we’d entered on a whim. We’d spent several days discussing what I needed, what I wanted, what I expected. We’d written a set of rules, and I’d not only agreed to follow those rules, I’d promised to accept the consequences if I broke them. We’d chosen one night a week, Fridays, that would be considered as maintenance night. I’d balked at first, stating that it didn’t seem fair to get my butt smacked if I’d been good, but he’d explained that regular maintenance would help ingrain the mindset of who was in control of our household. But he was right. The first time push came to shove, the first day of maintenance, I was ready to bail.
I turned my head to look over my shoulder to see him looking down at me. “Will it help if I say I really am sorry?”
“I’m sorry too, babygirl, but I’m here to help you learn that words are easy to say; accepting your daddy’s punishment will help you remember what happens when you choose to be his naughty girl.”
How his words, his choice to use triggers such as ‘daddy’, ‘punishment’, ‘naughty’, and, most especially calling me his ‘babygirl’, removed the humiliation of hanging over his lap, my bare bottom perched over his knee, I didn’t know. But I felt a warmth spreading through me, somehow assuring me that despite the position I currently found myself in, he didn’t think less of me. When he put his free leg over both of mine, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that if he didn’t care, if he wasn’t determined to help me find balance in my world that had spun off its axis, then he wouldn’t take the time to correct me. Right?
Chapter Three
Brett
While it was Friday, and I’d known I’d have my wife bent over my knee, her ass bare, waiting for her first spanking, I was surprised she’d seemed clueless it would happen less than twelve hours after we’d signed our names to a contract. A contract that specifically stated that on Fridays, maintenance nights, she would be receiving a spanking at the very least and additional discipline if I deemed it necessary. I didn’t care that the contract most likely would not hold up in a court of law. As far as I was concerned, it was as legally binding as the license we’d signed on our wedding day. I’d promised her then to have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death did us part. And, Hannah, my beautiful wife, had gazed up at me, her blue eyes sparkling, and promised to love, honor, and obey. Those vows had worked for the first few months, but as her ability to say no to anyone but me disappeared, her life had begun to spiral out of control. All it took was a look around our house to see the physical signs of her dereliction of duty in making it a home.
This very morning, we’d added to those vows, and she’d again gazed at me with love and hope in her eyes, her expression doing more to convince me she truly desired I take over than even her name at the bottom of the page. With her signature, she agreed to a marriage that included domestic discipline and that gave me the right to step in, to take charge, to require her obedience, to punish her when she broke that commitment. Hannah had concurred to setting aside one night a week to provide incentive in the form of maintenance to assure she didn’t start backsliding.
We’d spent a lot of time discussing her childhood. When I’d asked what sort of punishment she’d experienced in her youth, I hadn’t been surprised to see her shrug and state she’d never been disciplined as far as she could remember. Her mother had tended to act like more of a big sister, and her father had left them when Hannah was a teen. She’d basically never had any authority figure in her life. I’d told her I thought that explained a great deal, stating that without boundaries, a person could feel lost.
When I’d asked what sort of punishment she’d find acceptable, she’d thrown up her hands and said, “You’re supposed to be the one in control. For God’s sake, just do whatever you think is best.”
“You understand that will include corporal discipline, right? Are you prepared to be spanked like we’ve discussed?”
She’d blushed but nodded, a little smile on her face. “Yes, Brett. It’s not like you haven’t spanked me before.”
“No, this isn’t going to be like that. When you are being punished, you won’t address me as Brett or honey. You will address me as Daddy, remember? Doing so will put you in the proper mindset to accept my decisions and my discipline.”
“Yes, Daddy, when I’m a naughty little girl, you can spank my poor tushie,” she’d said, her cheeks going a little pinker but her eyes also going a little brighter.
I wondered if she was now regretting that flippant remark. She’d not lied. I’d given her a few smacks during sex before, but she’d referred to those as ‘sexy swats’. She’d gasp and whimper but, without fail, would push her bottom up as if seeking my hand. The erotic play never failed to add spice to our lovemaking, but she was about to learn the definition of punishment.
Rubbing my hand over her pale flesh, I could feel her tremble. “Keep your hands on the floor or grip my leg. Do not reach back and try to block me. I don’t want to hurt your hands. You may cry, but do not curse unless you want to pay the additional penalty.”
She squirmed but I saw her muscles relaxing. Hannah was a beautiful woman with an absolutely exquisite ass. Both plump lobes had identical little dimples at the top of each luscious curve. I didn’t worry about the fact that I felt my cock stirring. She was my wife and I’d always found her sexy as hell.
Domestic discipline was not a foreign concept to me. I’d grown up in a household that had practiced the dynamic. My two brothers had followed suit with their wives. I knew now that I’d done Hannah a disservice by not beginning our marriage as one that included discipline. She was so much smaller than I was, so innocent and far more vanilla than I. And, to be honest, those big blue eyes and bow-shaped mouth were weapons she’d used to back me off the need to bring discipline into our marriage.
I’d been surprised when Hannah had approached me about perhaps adding domestic discipline to our lives. She’d told me she’d read a few books, but discovering they were all in the erotic genre, I’d assigned her several sites to research. There she found testimonies given by couples living the lifestyle for real. After listening to her referring to how she’d always felt a little out of control, never being held responsible for her actions, I’d known it was time.
Further discussions occurred during which I’d told her I felt it would serve her well to consider me as an authoritative figure when it was necessary for me to step in. Not as her husband, as I was that regardless, but as her daddy. She’d immediately agreed, and while I was for more skeptical that she’d not revolt when the first night of maintenance came, I was determined to become the rock she truly needed. Anything to help Hannah find the woman she used to be. The calm, happy girl I’d married. And to be perfectly honest, the moment she’d first said, “Yes, Daddy,” I’d found it very easy to slip into the role of not only her guardian, her shoulder to lean on, but her disciplinarian.
Pulling her a bit tighter against my waist, assuring she didn’t need to worry about falling off my lap, I lif
ted my hand and brought it down, hard, on her right buttock.
“Ow!”
A second swat to her left cheek gave her a matching set of handprints… red blooming across a canvas that would soon become mottled.
“Brett! That’s too hard!”
Two rapidly delivered swats to each cheek obliterated the perfect impressions of my palm. “What did you call me?”
“I meant Daddy! But seriously, that’s enough!”
I chuckled and gave her buttock a squeeze. “Hannah, naughty little girls do not get to decide when they’ve had enough. That’s a daddy’s job, and we are nowhere near done. Stop clenching. I want your cheeks to hang loose.”
“I-I can’t! It hurts!”
“It’s a spanking, it’s supposed to hurt.” When her cheeks grew even tauter, I shook my head and gave her two swats that cracked like gunshots—one to each clenched lobe. She screeched, her back arching and her hands flying back to cover her ass.
“Not a good idea, little one,” I said, moving my hand to deliver a flurry of smacks to the backs of her thighs.
“Ow… ow… stop! Please, Daddy!”
“I’ll stop spanking your thighs when you put your hands back where they belong.” It only took two more smacks before she withdrew her hands, wrapping them around my calf. “Good girl,” I said, wanting to let her know that I appreciated her obedience, even if given reluctantly.
I returned my hand to her bottom, alternating swats from cheek to cheek, watching her flesh jiggle, depress, and then bounce back, ready for the next punishing stroke. The air filled with each crisp swat accompanied by her whimpers and moans. Her bottom was soon evenly colored a very nice shade of red and yet she’d yet to shed a single tear. She needed to learn that naughtiness would have her in tears each and every time. Lifting my leg slid her forward enough to give me my next target.
“I am always ready to listen to you and to discuss options, but you are not to yell at me or treat me with disrespect, little girl. I am your daddy, and I will decide what is best for you. I love you very much, but I most certainly do not love it when you are behaving like a brat. Let these remind you that you made a commitment, and that I will help you keep it.”
I brought my hand down on what many people referred to as her sit-spot, but I much preferred to consider it her sweet spot. It was where the curve of her bottom merged into the top of her thighs. I supposed it didn’t matter what term was used, the effect was instant. Her entire body bucked and her head reared back.
“Fuck! Brett, stop!”
I had her off my lap and on her feet in a second. Ignoring her glare, I pulled her hands away from where she was furiously rubbing her ass.
“What did I say about cursing?”
“Not to, but God, it really fucking hurts!”
I shook my head. “It’s about to hurt a lot worse. Remember that hole I warned you to stop digging?” Standing, I turned and pointed to the couch. “Put your hands and face down on the cushion. Spread your legs and stick your ass up.”
“Wh-what are you go… going to do?” she asked, her eyes going wide.
She got her answer when I unbuckled my belt.
“No! I mean, please, Bre… Daddy. I-I didn’t mean it. I won’t cuss again!”
“Get into position or you’ll earn extras. Baby, you’re about to learn that it is best to heed my words and that I mean exactly what I say.”
The first sob came when I pulled my belt free. The second when I folded it in half.
“You’ve earned six strokes. If you aren’t in position by the count of three, it will become twelve. One…”
She moved to throw herself down, her face buried in the cushion. I gave her foot a gentle nudge to remind her I wanted her legs spread. Once they were about a foot apart, I patted her bottom. “Lift your ass and keep it up. Do not reach back and I highly suggest you do not curse again. Understood?”
Her head bobbed and a muffled, “Yes, Daddy,” came from the depths of the leather.
Placing one hand on the small of her back, I swung my arm, the leather cracking against the center of her ass. She immediately attempted to rear up, but I held her in place. A bit worried about her ability to breathe, I instructed, “You’ll count each one.” When she didn’t turn her head from the face plant she’d assumed, I added, “Give me the number, Hannah, or it won’t count.”
Her head turned to the side. “One.”
Wanting to reinforce our new dynamic, I said, “One, what?”
“One… Daddy.”
“Good girl.” Lifting my arm, I gave her the second, an inch below the first.
“Two, Daddy.”
She didn’t balk until the fourth when she began to wag her hips and bend her knees, causing her ass to drop.
I gave her a moment to return to position, but she only went lower until she was kneeling. “Hannah, get up. You’ve got two more and three if you don’t count.”
“Please, Daddy. It hurts!”
“Then I’m doing my job correctly.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she pushed herself up and returned to the position I’d ordered. I was happy when she sniffed but said, “Four, Daddy.”
The last two were given a bit harder and she burst into tears and went limp, after the last cry of “Six, Daddy!”
Threading my belt around my waist, I laid my palm on her hot punished flesh, waiting until her sobs quieted. Lifting her, I took a seat with her on my lap, pulling her to my chest. I’d give my life for this woman, and the moment she clutched at my shirt, burying her face in the crook of my neck, I knew I would also keep every bit of the commitment I’d made.
“Shhh, it’s over,” I soothed, stroking her back.
It was several minutes before I heard more hiccupping than sobs. Standing, I cradled her in my arms and walked through the house and into the kitchen. Setting her on the counter, ignoring her hiss at the contact of her hot ass against the cold marble, I pulled a dishcloth out of the drawer and ran it under the faucet. She portrayed the perfect picture of contrition, her fingers swiping tears from her face, her chest shuddering with another set of hiccups. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and returned to her. Uncapping the bottle, I pressed it into her hand.
“Small sips, babygirl,” I said. Mascara had run to join the tracks of her tears, and I gently used the damp cloth to wash her face. She handed the bottle back when it was half empty.
“Tha-thank you,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome.” Picking her up, I returned to the living room and took a seat on the couch, once again settling her on my lap. When she gave another soft hiss, I adjusted her so that her hip took most of her weight instead of her bottom. “Better?”
She nodded against my chest and gave a shuddering sigh. “That… that was awful.”
I couldn’t argue the point as I’d made sure it wouldn’t be enjoyable. The sooner she learned how determined I was to be the best daddy I could be, the fewer spankings she’d have to endure. I might enjoy swatting her bottom in play, but to do so as punishment wasn’t my favorite activity.
“I love you with all my heart, but you can expect that same ‘awful’ every time you decide to act the brat. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Glancing at my watch, I said, “It’s getting late. You need to call Judith Powers and decline the position.”
“You know she isn’t going to be happy,” Hannah said.
“Well, I expect she might not be pleased, but I do know of a certain young lady who will be extremely unhappy if she doesn’t obey her daddy.”
“Can’t I call her in the morning?”
I shrugged. “I said you’d be making that call while your bottom still burned, so if you’d rather wait and have me reignite that fire you’re currently feeling tomorrow, then I suppose you can.”
Just as I’d expected, she shook her head vigorously. Giving her a hug and a kiss on her forehead, I set her onto her feet. When she reached behind to rub,
I reached and pulled her hands off her ass.
“No rubbing. I want you to feel every bit of that burn while you are making that call.”
“I’m quite positive it will take more than a bit of rubbing to put out the fire. You spank really hard!”
“That’s why it’s called punishment, Hannah. Now go get your phone and come back.” I watched her mouth open as if ready to protest my monitoring her phone call, and then close the moment I slipped a hand behind her and patted her ass.
“Yes, Daddy,” she said instead. Once she returned, she climbed back onto my lap and waited for her call to connect.
“Mrs. Powers? Hi, this is Hannah Griffith. I’m sorry I missed you. Can you please call me back at your earliest convenience? Thank you.”
I wasn’t pleased to know that she’d had to leave a message, but couldn’t fault Hannah for that.
“I tried,” she said.
“You did,” I acknowledged, trying not to read anything into the relieved look on her face as she disconnected the phone call. “Now, Stephanie.”
That call did connect and Hannah apologized for attempting to take over the t-shirt responsibility. She informed Stephanie that the shirts would be appreciated by all the participants and thanked her for her hard work. She also called Nancy Grafton, asking if she could get some other ladies to help finish the flowers.
“We can have a flower party,” she said, her face brightening. “I’ll provide lunch…” She paused and looked up at me. “You know what? How about everyone brings a dish and we can have a potluck some day next week? Oh, that sounds like fun. You make the best enchiladas. Just let me know what dish I can make to fill out the menu. Thanks, Nancy!”
Extremely proud of her, and wanting her to know that just because she’d been punished that didn’t mean there would be any doubt that she was forgiven and that I loved her, I took her phone and tossed it onto the couch. “How about we finish celebrating our anniversary with a bath?”
