Disciplinary Measures (A Rod and Cane Society Spring Fling)

by Cara Bristol

  “God, you were tight.”

  Enough already. She intended to scramble off the bed to get them moving, but her husband slipped a finger into her pussy. “Linc!” She gasped and twisted to get away, but he grabbed her hip.

  “No,” he said and penetrated her with a second digit. “Stay here.” He probed deep, then withdrew. In. Out. Passion spent, her pussy had begun to tighten, and his fingers felt thick inside her, but the combined wetness of her cum and his slickened her passage. Why did the caress feel like a claim? And why did possession have her clenching, moving her hips?

  “Good girl.” Approval rumbled in his voice. Her clit perked up at the sound, and her pussy dampened with fresh moisture.

  He released her, and she sighed with relief and disappointment, but then Linc rimmed her puckered back entrance with a wet finger. Her breath caught in her throat. He’d never done that before. Shocked, she squeaked her objection.

  “Shh, Gina. I just want to touch you.”

  Just? Before she could utter another sound, he’d wiggled his finger, lubricated by her juices, into her ass. A large man of six feet four, his body parts, including his hands, were proportionate to his size. She gasped at the pleasure, pain, and fullness as he breached and stretched her sphincter. His single digit felt hard, foreign, like she’d been impaled by a much larger object. “I’m only going to use my finger this time,” he said.

  Only his finger? This time? She went rigid.

  “Relax, babe,” he said.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as he reamed her most private passage. Being unable to see enhanced the sensations, the exotic pressure, the satisfying, painful stretch. Pleasure and humiliation formed an alliance.

  As he whipped her emotions into a frenzy with a single finger, his other hand snaked over her hip and found her achy clit. It didn’t escape her notice—and, judging from his growl, his—that the bud was engorged.

  He thrummed her clit while stirring riotous sensations in her ass. A part of her stood back and gaped in dismay as her body rocked in pursuit of dissolute satisfaction. She should resist, demand he explain himself, but how could she fight when surrender offered so much pleasure?

  “Good girl, Gina. So good. That’s it, babe. Like that. Yes.” Inhibitions toppled under his hoarse exhortations.

  Flames. Everywhere. Her clit burned under the torment of his fingers, which had become rougher, merciless in their caress. An army of biting ants marched across her tenderized ass. And inside her passage? Hellfire. Pressure and pain mingled into a conflagration of pleasure. Sensation coalesced into a ball of heat and exploded, shooting shards of ecstasy throughout her body.

  “Oh God, oh God, Linc!” She dug her fingers into the mattress. “Stop. No, don’t stop. Can’t stand… Oh God.”

  “I’ve got you.” His voice penetrated the red haze of rapture. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

  She clung to his voice and collapsed, racked by shudders of bliss.

  From the peak, she floated to awareness, becoming conscious that Linc had eased his finger from inside her, washed his hands in the bathroom, and now stroked her sweat-slickened back as she sprawled, panting into the pillow.

  “What did you do to me?” she moaned.

  He brushed damp hair away from her face. “Pleasured you, sweetheart. In the way you deserve.”

  The aftermath of the spanking had been embarrassing enough, but this was worse. Much worse. God, she hoped he didn’t insist on talking about it. She’d never permitted any man to touch her there. Never wanted one to. It was embarrassing. How would she face him over the dinner table? He’d had his finger up her ass! And the way she’d screamed for him? Mortifying. She wished she could bury her face in the pillow and hide, but intuition predicted how that would play out: he’d rip it out of her hands. She had the uncomfortable feeling something had shifted in their marriage.

  He touched her shoulder. “Do you want to take a shower?”

  “You can go first,” she said. “I can’t move yet.” It wasn’t a total lie. Her bones did feel like jelly. And she needed solitude to reflect. Or not. What she’d permitted, the way she’d acted, was too perturbing to face. What had gotten into her? Into Linc? He’d never acted that way before. But mostly she needed him to go away so she could to get the stuff out of the car.

  He chuckled. “Okay.” He slapped her butt cheek, and a sharp pain splintered across her tingling flesh, and she yelped. He laughed. “I like your ass in red.” He padded into the master bath and shut the door.

  Regina reached back and rubbed her fevered bottom. Every nerve ending had been placed on alert. She contracted her external muscles, then her internal ones. A tiny bit sore there too. “Oh God,” she moaned into the pillow.

  “I’m only going to use my finger this time.” Like hell. She would not allow anything, not even a finger, to be inserted in her ass ever again.

  She rolled onto her back with a groan. The pressure on her butt accentuated the soreness, but the sheets cooled her scorched skin. She heard the water turn on, signaling she had to get moving. Linc took quick showers.

  She leaped off the bed and ran to the office to retrieve their clothing. She tossed Linc’s into the bedroom and, not bothering with underwear, tugged on her jeans, fastened enough buttons of her blouse to keep it closed, and dashed for the garage.

  “Ow. Ow,” she muttered as the denim abraded her punished derriere.

  She popped the trunk to find her purchases strewn about the interior, having been shaken from the bag on the drive home. She scooped the slinky cocktail dresses into the vellum sack imprinted with the name of Chic Chick, the boutique she’d allowed her mother to drag her to after lunch. She’d attempted to bow out, but they were getting along so well, and she didn’t want to be a spoilsport. Plus she wanted to prove to Linc she could enter a store and not buy something.

  She’d almost done it, until her mother had spotted the 50 percent off cocktail dresses. “Oh, honey, this would look beautiful on you,” her mom had said and held up a flirty scarlet dress. “This one too.” She waved a slinky black number. Her mother all but pushed her into the fitting room with the dresses. Unfortunately, they looked even better on than they had on the hanger. A girl could never have too much black, and she didn’t have a red dress, so, unable to decide, she’d bought them both.

  Pangs of buyer’s remorse might have prompted her to return the dresses, but since they were clearance items, she’d receive store credit only, which didn’t help her situation. Stuck with her purchases, she would have to devise a way to cover her ass when the bill came.

  She slammed the trunk shut and hurried into the house. She cut the tags off the dresses, buried the tattletale bag in the bottom of the trash—making a mental note to take it out later—then rushed into the bedroom in time to hear the shower switch off. She extracted two padded satin hangers and sandwiched the dresses between two older items in her three-quarter share of the closet, then tore off her clothes.

  When the door opened and steam rolled into the bedroom, she was hanging up her silk blouse.

  “I expected to find you still sacked out,” Linc said, a towel tucked around his waist. He’d dried off, but a few droplets of water beaded on his shoulders. His brown hair, wet and combed, lay flat against his skull. His arms hung relaxed, drawing her gaze to his hands. His fingers could reach deep inside her body, but until this afternoon, only had penetrated her pussy. His hands themselves were broad and masculine, and she’d learned also today that they were capable of delivering pain or pleasure, and a disturbing mix of both.

  “I didn’t want my blouse to wrinkle.” True enough. She averted her gaze from his eyes and his hands. She should have remained dressed; she didn’t like how vulnerable she felt standing there naked after what had happened.

  “You’re not going to wear the clothes you had on before?”

  She scrambled for an explanation. “Jeans would be too rough on my butt.” Another half-truth.

  Her heart thumped when he s
trode toward her. She risked a glance at his face, then studied her toes. She needed to make an appointment for another deluxe pedicure.

  “Hey,” he said and lifted her chin. Underneath his serious but gentle gaze, something smoldered. “Are you okay with…everything?”

  Heat flooded her face. She did not doubt both sets of cheeks glowed crimson.

  “I guess. I mean…um…uh…yeah,” she said to forestall a discussion. The only scenario more embarrassing than having a man stick his finger up your ass to make you come would be chatting about it afterward.

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Well, I was a little shocked.” She could admit that much.

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “I’m…not.”

  “Tell the truth.”

  “Okay, I am a little embarrassed,” she said, and he arched his eyebrows. “More than a little.” Regina sighed. She twirled her wrist dismissively. “I don’t know, I mean—” She let her hand fall. “How long have you wanted to…do that?”

  “Spank your pretty bottom or ream your tight asshole?”

  “Linc! My God!” She jerked away from him and yanked a robe off a hanger. That kind of language would not make her feel more comfortable about discussing it. Nor did she like his possessive tone.

  “Since our last discussion about money,” he said.

  She frowned, not getting the connection between money and the disconcerting bedroom games.

  “Take your shower and meet me in the dining room.” He pressed a light kiss to her mouth before donning his clothes. He returned to the bath to hang up his towel and left the bedroom.

  Discussion. A euphemism for the fights they’d had about her broken promises. She raked a hand through her cinnamon curls. He didn’t know it, but they were about to have another round as soon as he opened the charge card bill. And next month he’d get the statement for the things she’d purchased today.

  She searched for something comfortable but sexy and found slip-on silky pants with a matching tank top she hadn’t worn before, and darted into the bathroom. She pinned up her hair to keep it dry and jumped into the shower. Soaping her body, she wished she could wash away the trouble rolling toward her as easily she rinsed off sweat and cum.

  She had good intentions. Why couldn’t she stick to them? She hated disappointing Linc. It reminded her too much of the many promises her mother had reneged on. Every time she lapsed, she felt ashamed—but then became resentful of Linc as if he’d caused her guilt.

  After she dried off, she wiped the steam from the mirror and twisted to peer at her ass. Red like a cherry. He hadn’t been kidding. She rubbed her bottom, wondering how long the color would last. Smack! The sound of his palm cracking against her ass echoed in memory. Fuck, it had hurt. At the time. Now it felt…warm. Tingly. Good. But then he’d… She massaged her temple. Don’t go there. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more: that he wanted to do that to her or that she’d let him. Been turned on by it. Had come like an exploding star.

  And what did it mean that he’d said he’d gotten those ideas when they started fighting about money?

  “Meet me in the dining room,” she mimicked his deep voice. Rather imperious of him. He’d been acting dictatorial lately, come to think of it. She’d give him a meeting in the dining room! Yes, she overspent. Yes, she’d gone back on her word a time or two. He didn’t need to tell her she was screwing up; she knew that. She was trying! Nobody wanted a baby more than she did. But Linc had insisted that they wait until they could afford one. Another example of his domineering ways of late.

  She ached to be a mother, to rock her baby and lavish her daughter or son with all the love she hadn’t received because her mother had been too drunk or too hungover to care. The prospect of parenthood scared her sometimes, causing her to question if she could handle it. But of course she wouldn’t be doing it alone like her single mother had. Linc would be with her every step of the way.

  She touched the subcutaneous birth control patch on her arm, due to be replaced soon. Accidents happened, didn’t they? What if she forgot to make an appointment?

  No. No. Shame on you for even thinking about that. Hiding a few items of clothing was nothing compared to getting pregnant accidentally on purpose. She would have to try harder not to shop so much. Shore up her willpower. Once they beefed up their savings, her husband would be satisfied, and they could start a family.

  Through two closed doors, the bedroom and bathroom, she heard the bellow.

  “Regina! Come here, now!”

  He’d opened the charge card bill she’d brought in with the mail.

  Chapter Three

  Linc drummed his fingertips on the dining table, fury beating a tattoo in his brain. All their talks, her promises, accounted for nothing. He couldn’t believe it when he’d opened the charge card statement and read the bottom line. At first he feared someone had gotten their number and gone on a shopping binge. But after he examined the itemized list, he recognized his wife’s favorite haunts. She’d broken her promise. Again.

  He believed she was sincere at the time she gave her word, but she caved under temptation or stress. The high—the reward—of buying something proved greater than the satisfaction of not buying it and, apparently to her, greater than the negative consequence of his anger.

  They’d traveled this road so many times, he’d reached his wit’s end. The closer they got to their goal, the more she spent. But if anything positive could be derived from this setback, it reinforced his conviction that the proposal he’d been considering was the right way to go. He eyed the article he’d cut out of the Sentinel to show Gina:

  CITYSCAPE UNCOVERED

  MEN’S ROD AND CANE SOCIETY

  SPARE THE ROD, SPOIL THE WIFE

  Sentinel “CityScape” columnist Cassidy Myles had infiltrated a secret organization in which couples practiced domestic discipline. The men of the Rod and Cane Society assumed responsibility for leading their households and, when necessary, took their wives or girlfriends in hand. Disciplined them by spanking. From the scathing tone of the exposé, Ms. Myles did not agree with the practice, but to Linc it provided a beacon of hope.

  He’d attended a public Q and A on domestic discipline offered by the Society. The organization and its principles had impressed him. Since then, he’d chatted with the Society’s vice president, Jared Traynor, and his wife, Melania, and Elizabeth Alexander and her husband, President Otis Davenport. Gina had no idea her boss, a woman she held in the highest regard, was a spanked wife. That Liz and Otis testified to the benefits of domestic discipline in creating a strong and blissful marriage had convinced him to give it a go.

  A successful marriage wasn’t a fifty-fifty partnership; it required that each partner give 100 percent. That meant he had to step up and provide the guidance his wife needed. Jared and Otis had cautioned that being head of household wasn’t easy, just the opposite. It required a man to set aside his personal desires for the good of the family and his wife’s well-being, communicate proactively, address behavior head-on, and follow through with decisions and discipline, no matter how uncomfortable.

  Linc had lost count of the number of times he’d said nothing but paid the charge card bill to avoid unpleasantness. Domestic discipline offered an alternative; he didn’t have to fight to do the right thing.

  Calmness settled over him.

  Gina appeared in the doorway, rubbing her palms on her slinky pants, looking guilty as hell. She hadn’t bothered to don a bra, leaving her nipples free to tent her clingy tank top. She had luscious tits: full, with very large areolae, nipples that distended to an incredible length when stimulated. After the way he’d sucked and pinched them, they were still swollen and hard. He could tell the pants she had on would show off the contours of her sexy ass.

  Had she dressed to distract him, to butter him up? He wouldn’t put it past her; she’d done it before. While he wasn’t immune to her charms, his new resolve assured that
his decision would be made by his big head, not his little one.

  “I’m sorry I yelled,” he said.

  Gina blinked.

  “Not what you expected me to say?” Amusement tickled the corner of his mouth. He gestured to the table and sobered. “Please sit. We need to talk.”

  She winced as her bottom touched the unpadded wooden chair seat. In the near future she’d wish she’d chosen different dining furniture.

  “Do you know why I called you?” he asked.

  She flicked her gaze to the three-page credit card statement spread out on the table, and swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to spend so much.”

  “We can’t continue like this,” he said. “This isn’t working—”

  She jerked in alarm.

  Her hands rested on the table, and he threaded his fingers through hers. He squeezed her hand, held it tight. “We go through this every month. You agree to limit your shopping, and then you go way over. I get mad; we fight. You promise to do better, but nothing changes.”

  Her hand twitched, and she dropped her gaze.

  Linc took a breath. “I realize now I haven’t been doing everything I can to help you. I need to do better, before you can do better.”

  He almost laughed at her surprised expression.

  She wet her lips. “I don’t understand.”

  “What I’m going to suggest will shock you. You’ll need time to adapt to the idea, but I’m not going to back down.” His stomach tightened, and he swallowed. DD provided an option, but it would not make the discussion or her reaction go any smoother.

  Linc took a breath. “I see the solution I’ve come up with as our last hope. I love you, Gina, but our marriage is in trouble. I don’t trust you anymore.”

  Her eyes welled with tears. His heart contracted at the hurt on her face, and he rushed on with the purpose of his talk. “We need to do something different.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles, and released her. He slid the Sentinel story across the table. “I cut this out of the paper a while ago.”