Taking His Hand (Under His Roof #2)

by Sadey Quinn

  She obeys without hesitation, gracefully putting herself in position on the bed. She arches her back so her ass juts out into a perfect target.

  “I understand why you took a break from my discipline.” I position myself by her side, with one hand on her waist and the other on the lace of her black panties. I tug at them a bit, pulling them off her curves until most of her ass is exposed and the fabric nestles into her crack. She stiffens at the exposure. “I’m proud of you for scheduling this appointment. You always know what you need, and you work to get it. With your clients, with your art…” I pause, raising my right hand in the air. She tenses. “And with your discipline. With your emotions. You’re a good person, Opal.”

  With the introduction out of the way, I begin. I spank her firmly, but not too hard at first. I know Opal can take a lot of pain, and I want to give her that today. Her white skin turns pink right away with my slaps and I recall the other reason I love spanking her. The stark contrast between her pale, snowy flesh and the bright red of her well-spanked ass is fucking incredible.

  She moans while I spank. I don’t pause at all, not once, for a full five minutes. I’m spanking slow but purposefully,. She grimaces with every swat, but doesn’t break position or cry out in pain. She’s grasping the daybed’s duvet with both of her small fists, and her muscles tighten as she processes the pain.

  After five minutes, I stop for a moment, giving my hand a chance to recover. I look at it, and, curious, compare the red of my palm to the red of her ass. Her ass is redder.

  “You’ve made my hand sting,” I muse. I keep my left hand on her waist. I’m not holding her in place, but reminding her that she should keep position.

  “Gee, I’m so sorry.” She looks back at me and gives me a playful smile.

  “No worries, my dear. I can take a little more.” I begin anew, harder now, really spanking her ass with force.

  As my hand crashes into her bottom, her flesh molds around my palm. It’s temporary art.

  “Oh! Shit!” she moans softly, moving her hips just a little when I strike her lower bottom, right where she’ll feel when she sits down. “Ow!”

  “Shush.”

  I’m spanking slower, but harder, and I keep it going for another full five minutes. Her ass turns from pink to bright pink, then closer to red. By the time the five minutes are up, Opal has laid her head down on the bed. She’s sniffling into the covers and groaning in pain. When I pause, she takes a deep breath.

  She knows I’m not done. This is the part of our session where Opal begins to regret asking for a firm spanking. But she won’t back down. She never does.

  I hook my fingers around the elastic band of her panties and pull them down until they hug her thighs. Her pussy lips are in full view: shaved, red, and glistening with wetness. I feel a new twinge, one I haven’t felt in a long time. I wonder what Rachel would think if she could see the way I got lost in that view. I turn away quickly.

  “I’m going to give you a little break before I paddle you. Do you prefer to stay where you are, or do you want to stand in the corner?”

  “I want to stay here, David,” she whispers.

  “Good girl.” I pull my chair over to the bed and sit beside her, near her head, giving her privacy for a moment. “I want you to quit smoking.”

  She nods, sniffling, and I brush a tear from her cheek.

  “And I want you to work harder. Do you think you can focus?”

  “Yes, David.”

  “You have so much potential. Don’t let your friends take that away. Understand?”

  “Yes, David.”

  We sit quietly. Or, rather, I sit. She’s still on her elbows and knees, her face resting on the bed, staring at me. Occasionally I reach over to wipe away her tears. She’s silently crying. It’s release, not sadness.

  “What’s she like?” Opal asks suddenly, staring into my eyes with a directness, a confidence, that would make any man’s—or woman’s—heart race.

  “My girlfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s in marketing. Her name is Rachel.”

  “Was she a date first or a client first?” Again, Opal’s directness slays me.

  “She was a client, but I met her again in public and we went from there.”

  “Pretty? Smart?”

  Rachel’s smile suddenly fills my head. “She’s…she’s like a total dream girl. Beyond pretty. Beyond smart. She’s just it. I knew it almost immediately.” I pause, reflecting on my beautiful girl. “I feel like I’m going to wake up sometime and be back where I was before. Like it’s too good.”

  “You love her.”

  “I do.”

  She smiles. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, standing up. I tenderly brush Opal’s black hair behind her ear. When I reach for the paddle, she whimpers softly.

  “You need this,” I remind her, resuming my position by her side. I grasp her waist again, but firmer this time, holding her tight. I doubt she’ll be able to hold still. “You deserve this.”

  “I know.”

  The moment I begin, cries flow from Opal’s lips. Her pain is very real. I’m paddling her firmly, persistently, with rhythm. There’s no need for her to wonder when the next spank will be. She needs to do nothing but think of her stinging flesh, and what behavior brought her to this position.

  “David! Please! Fuck!” She kicks her legs, and I’m hold her up by her waist. “Stop! Please!”

  “No whining, Opal.” I paddle her harder.

  “Oh, God…” she groans, pounding the bed with her fists. When she reaches back with one hand to shield her ass from the paddle, I pause, my arm in the air.

  She whimpers.

  I wait.

  She moves her hand, and I continue. We’ve played this game before. I’m relentless and I won’t stop until I’ve decided she’s had enough. I focus my attention on her lower ass cheeks where I know she’ll feel the pain every time she sits for the next few days. I imagine her sitting in a swivel chair, emailing a client or finishing a design, the skin at the top of her thighs still tender as she remembers being spanked to tears in my discipline room.

  When Opal’s sniffles turn to a steady sob, I slow my pace and bring her down. Every spank gets lighter, and I follow with a gentle caress right where I’ve struck her. Her shoulders shake with her tears of agony and relief. Finally, when her sobs subside, I stop and put the paddle down. I push her waist gently until she lies down flat on the daybed, and I sit beside her, rubbing her back.

  “You’re so brave, Opal.”

  “Thank you, David.” She manages a smile up at me.

  I reach for a box of tissues and hand her one. She wipes her nose.

  “Tell me again about your goals for the week.” My voice is stern so she knows I’m still talking business. This isn’t casual conversation.

  “Quit smoking,” she whispers.

  “And?”

  “And focus on work.”

  “Good girl.” I squeeze her left shoulder, then her right. She’s tension-free, completely relaxed lying next to me. I nearly wince when I glance back at her ass. It’s deep red, with spots of purple. She’ll have some bruising, but it’ll all be healed within a couple of days. “You took one hell of a spanking today.” I hand her a mirror I keep tucked away for these purposes.

  She takes it and angles it back, her eyes widening at the sight. “Wow.”

  “Okay, my dear. I’ll leave you to recover. Do you want a glass of water or anything?”

  She nods. “Water, please.”

  I bring her a glass of ice water, and sit beside her while she recovers from her session. Some of my clients want to be left alone after they’re spanked. Others want comfort, they want their backs rubbed or hugs. Opal always just wants company.

  She drifts in and out of sleep for a half hour or so while I read a book beside her. When she yawns and stretches out, I put my book down and get up to let her get dressed in private.


  A moment later, she comes out to find me. She’s refreshed her make-up and looks like a new person. Her face is happy and bright. I get up to say goodbye and she throws her arms around me.

  “Thank you,” she says, squeezing me tightly. “Same time next week?”

  I grin. I’m happy to have her on my regular rotation again. “I think so. I have to check with—”

  “Holy shit,” she interrupts. “You have to check with your girlfriend! You are totally smitten.”

  I roll my eyes and lead her to the front door. “Soon, I’ll have the office done. I just need to coordinate schedules with her for now. I don’t want her here when I have a client.”

  “Well. Send me a message if Sunday works. If not, maybe a weekday.”

  “Be good, Opal.”

  “I will. Promise.”

  ~3~

  Rachel

  “So, what’s he like?” Sam leans forward, her eyes dancing with excitement.

  “Your hair is gonna get in your yogurt,” I warn. Her bright blond locks are dangerously hovering over her blackberry yogurt parfait.

  With a flick of her head, she flips her hair behind her shoulders.

  I know Sam well enough to know she won’t mind her own damn business on the matter of David and me in bed. Which is annoying, but also one of her fun traits. She takes sex very seriously.

  “I don’t know…he’s gentle. But…also, sometimes not gentle…” I feel myself blush a little trying to describe how David is. I know how he is. He’s firm. Persistent. He’s dominant and kind.

  Sam rolls her eyes dramatically. “He’s gentle but not gentle. Great description, Rach.”

  “He’s the best lover I’ve ever had.”

  Her mouth drops. “Seriously? That’s awesome.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “Are you still on the pill?” She looks at me all concerned.

  “Yes. Thanks, Mom.”

  “Just checking. I found out Amanda’s pregnant, like, fifteen minutes before coming to meet you.”

  I listen as Samantha launches into the story of Amanda and her boyfriend and how the baby wasn’t planned, but they’re both apparently thrilled about it. Which is a relief. Amanda is one of Sam’s friends from college. I’ve only met her a few times, and she seems like a sweet, sincere person. I’m happy she’s happy. I try not to think about the fact that Amanda is younger than me, and maybe it should be my turn, soon, to be pregnant.

  It is way too soon to think about that. My mind wanders back to David as Sam goes over all the details of Amanda’s situation.

  When I’m caught up on the latest from Samantha’s friends, I tell her about poor Aria. Sam has heard me bitching about my secretary for as long as I’ve been in management at Lakeside Advertising. Aria is a very sweet young woman, but really frustrated me while she was my secretary. We didn’t butt heads, exactly, but she had a hard time getting work done. It took me a long time to fire her—or, more accurately, get her transferred to a different department.

  Sam congratulates me on finally getting rid of her.

  “I hear it gets easier,” she says as she slurps up half her glass of chocolate milk through a clear plastic straw.

  “Firing people?”

  “Yeah. My dad used to have to fire people all the time. He said the first time he did it, he got sick. But it got easier and easier.”

  “That seems…sad.”

  She shrugs. “He said it never got easy. Just easier. Aria wasn’t a good fit for you, and never has been. It was probably dumb of you to wait so long to do the inevitable.”

  After breakfast I head to the supermarket before going home. Samantha’s coming to our gathering tonight, too, with a guy she’s seeing whom I haven’t met yet. Apparently we’ll have quite the crowd. What originally started as a quiet dinner with David’s parents—a chance for me to finally meet them—has become a backyard barbecue with David’s entire family and a rather large handful of friends.

  I was briefly disappointed as our guest list rapidly expanded. But David reminded me we hadn’t had a proper housewarming for me yet. I like the idea of celebrating that we’ve moved in together. It’ll be fun to celebrate that, and his parent’s return.

  It might also be nice not having all the attention of David’s mom and dad focused on me. Having my friends around will make me feel more comfortable. I don’t imagine I won’t like them—if they are anything like the rest of David’s family, I’ll love them. I’m more worried about them not liking me. He cares so much about them, and I assume he cares about their opinion. If they dislike me, would David start to have second thoughts?

  I push my negative ideas aside. David’s warned me that I have a habit of assuming things will go wrong. He’s also warned me if I continue to do so he’ll have to, and these are his exact words, ‘spank that habit right out of me’.

  I prefer to have no habits spanked out of me, and I cringe as I remember yesterday’s discipline session and today’s quick morning spanking. Whatever it is about these spankings really does work, as much as I hate to admit it. Today I feel calm and together, whereas yesterday morning I was a raging monster.

  Smiling, I remember the raging monster side of my personality is why I met David in the first place.

  At the supermarket, I take my time, strolling slowly with my cart through every aisle, wondering when I’ll get the text message that it’s safe to come home. I cannot wait for David’s office to be finished. Even though we’ll still need to coordinate a little when he has clients so I don’t inadvertently see one of them as they pass through the yard, it’ll be nice at least to be able to stay in the house.

  When I get his text, I swing by the meat section to grab some ground beef for making burgers before checking out with a surprisingly large amount of groceries. Idling away time at the supermarket is not something I should do often. We could feed three times the amount of guests we’re expecting with all the snacks I’ve picked out.

  As I drive home, I wonder about every car I pass that’s headed in the opposite direction, back toward the city. If it’s a single woman, I wonder if she’s the one he spanked. I get glimpses of a few young, attractive women, and feel a twinge of jealousy.

  Maybe I should take up spanking men. See how he likes it.

  I laugh, because I know there’s no way in hell I’d want to spank men for a living. And because I know David would probably hate that idea. Would he forbid it?

  Can he do that?

  He helps me unload the car when I get home. I catch him raising his eyebrows at the amount of stuff I’ve purchased, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s got some classic rock playing on the stereo. The kitchen smells amazing already, and he’s only just begun cooking. I start setting up the backyard, hauling folding chairs up from the basement and arranging flowers for the tables. David is such a good cook, I let him have the kitchen to himself. Sometimes he calls me in for a kiss, or for a quick hand with something, or to say he loves me.

  He is so damn cute.

  When I’m bored with setting up outside, I stand around in the kitchen, watching him work and nibbling on veggies he’s cut and arranged on a platter. He’s got a small red stain on his tight white t-shirt. I stare at that while letting my mind wander to what’s under that tight white t-shirt. Before David, I never really thought I cared much about appearance. But holy crap, David is such a hottie. Eye candy extraordinaire. Luscious to the max. Intensely, incredibly manly. Muscular madness.

  I giggle to myself and he eyes me.

  “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

  “How cute you are,” I answer honestly, not taking my eyes off the stain. “Make something with tomatoes?”

  He follows my gaze. “Shoot. Yeah. It’s chutney. I’m trying to use up our tomato supply. I might freeze a bunch tomorrow—we have buckets of ’em on our porch right now.”

  I’d seen them when we unloaded the groceries. David is not only a good cook—he also has a green thumb. I’ve been spoiled with lots of garden-fre
sh produce.

  “Come here,” he says. “Help me with this.”

  He rolls up my sleeves for me before taking my hands and placing them into a huge bowl filled with ground beef. I look at him with disgust and he laughs.

  “Mix it up, baby,” he says, cracking an egg into the bowl and adding spices.

  “Seriously? This is disgusting.”

  “It’s easiest if you do it with your hands. It’s not disgusting. You’re going to eat it, after all. It’s just meat.”

  I shake my head at him and attempt to mix the meat without crinkling my nose. David stands behind me and runs his hands down my torso, over my hips. He slides a hand into my pants and I instinctually part my legs.

  “Massage that meat, sweetie,” he whispers.

  I burst out laughing and he laughs with me before taking my hips in his hands and moving both of our bodies to the music. The Rolling Stones are on, playing Jumpin’ Jack Flash. He hums in my ear as we move.

  “When we finish up, we’ll have a good hour or so before Marilyn gets here,” he whispers, nibbling my earlobe.

  I sigh happily. That’s great news.

  When David declares the meat has been thoroughly massaged and mixed, we make patties together and stick everything in the fridge, then book it to the bedroom. I swear, my clothes are off before I’m even aware of what’s happening. David half-throws me to the bed and climbs on top of me.

  “You are so fucking beautiful,” he says, hovering over me, studying my body.

  I feel on display. Once again, I’m naked, and he’s clothed. This time, though, I’m not expecting a spanking. But still there’s that same dynamic. I’m vulnerable. He’s in charge.

  God, I love him.

  He kisses me, and I arch my back and savor him. His tongue explores me, gentle yet urgent. His hands explore, too, firmly massaging my breasts as I moan. His fingernails graze my flesh while I shiver under him.

  I run my hands along his strong arms, over his chest, down to his stomach. Grasping the hem of his shirt, I pull it up, over his head as he moves his arms to help me. I reach for his belt and unclasp it without looking. I know his belt so well by now I could unclasp it with my toes. He grinds against me as I grasp down, feeling for his erection. I love knowing how hard he gets for me.