by Cara Bristol
She dropped her gaze to the article. She widened her eyes before angry color flooded her face to her hairline.
“I accept responsibility for the success and happiness of our marriage. I want us to try domestic discipline. In the future if you break your promises, you’ll be spanked.”
She dropped her jaw. “Are you kidding me?”
“No. It’s no joke,” he spoke softly.
“You’re as crazy as they are.” She threw the article at him. “I read it when it came out.”
She shoved back her chair and stomped around the dining room, waving her hands. “This is the twenty-first century! What gives you the right to tell to me what I should or shouldn’t do, let alone punish me for it? Do you think I like everything you do? Maybe I should spank you when you put your beer on the coffee table and leave a ring or when I have to pick up your dirty socks or when you—”
She froze and gaped at him. “Oh my God! The spanking was some sort of practice session! Wasn’t it?”
In the past, her anger would have incited his, and they’d end up in a shouting match. Being HoH, he needed to control the situation, rise above emotion. He hadn’t expected immediate acquiescence, and she wasn’t far from wrong in her assumption about the spanking he’d given her. He’d been advised by the men of Rod and Cane to test her submission and inclination to obedience, to determine if DD might work for them. Each partner had to commit to it and have receptive personalities and/or values.
He’d decided to spank Gina under erotic rather than disciplinary circumstances to assess her reaction. Anal dominance offered another way to assert control. She’d responded better than he’d hoped to the finger fucking.
“Are you satisfied with our marriage the way it is?” he asked.
“Well, until today!” she huffed.
He remained silent, waited for a truthful rather than snarky answer.
“Of course I am!” She wavered. “Mostly. Until you get on my case about buying stuff.”
“I don’t want to ‘get on your case,’ Regina. And I want to be satisfied all the time. I don’t want to dread opening the bills, to fight with you about money, to doubt your word.”
“And spanking me will achieve that?”
He recalled her receptive, submissive response in the bedroom. “I think so.”
“What if you do something wrong?”
“That’s a valid question.” He nodded. “If I disappoint you, you should bring it to my attention. I promise to listen and consider your point of view. But domestic discipline permits only one leader, and if we don’t agree, I’ll make the decision. ”
She gestured toward the charge card bill. “Hypothetically, if I agree to this crazy idea, would you spank me for that?”
“Not this time.” He gathered up the pages and neatened them into a stack. “Because these charges occurred prior to this discussion, I won’t count them against you, but anything from this moment forward falls under the agreement.” He paused. “So if you need to come clean about anything else before we begin, now would be the time.”
She snorted, but a faint blush tinted her cheeks.
He waited. “No? Okay then.”
He’d bet it all, and the time had come to spin the wheel. “Do I have your consent?”
She crossed her arms. “Do I have a choice?”
“Yes.”
She arched eyebrows that she had plucked and waxed at probably the most expensive salon in town. That was on the bill too. “What’s my other option?” she asked.
“You can allow our marriage to die a slow death.”
“You’re not being fair.” She glowered.
“I am fair. And realistic.”
She shot him another angry glance, jumped from her seat, and ran from the room. Seconds later the bedroom door slammed.
Linc sighed. He gathered up the article and charge card bill and strode to his office. He awakened his computer and found the motorcycle Web site still on the screen. He was doing research to help an intern at the firm, a newbie rider, pick out a good used bike. As a college student, Linc had worked at a motorcycle dealership. He used to own a chopper and would have liked one again, or maybe a touring bike, but he had higher priorities now. He only wished his wife did.
At thirty-five, he was a mere five years older than she, but her lack of self-control made her seem much younger at times.
He closed the page and went to their bank’s Web site to send an electronic credit card payment. He didn’t know what he’d do if Gina didn’t consent to domestic discipline. Her shopping merely symptomized a deeper issue: the woman he loved more than anything, the one he’d chosen to spend the rest of his life with, couldn’t be trusted to keep her word. Every new bill represented a broken promise, a betrayal of trust. Their marriage could not survive under such circumstances. He didn’t want to bring a child into the world knowing he or she would soon be living in a broken home. He would do anything to save their marriage—but would Regina?
“Okay.”
His wife’s voice startled him. He whipped around in the chair.
“I’ll try your domestic discipline.” She emphasized the possessive pronoun.
It wasn’t his domestic discipline but theirs, but he wouldn’t argue with the semantics. Relief washed over him. They had a chance now.
She planted her hands on her hips. “But I reserve the right to call it off if it doesn’t work out.”
“We’ll give it a year and reevaluate,” he said.
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“I understand what you meant.” If he allowed her wiggle room, he could foresee exactly what would happen. He’d call her out for overspending—and he didn’t doubt there would be overspending—and she’d become defensive and would either refuse to be spanked or would call a halt after the first swat or two. His heart hammered. They had so much at stake. “If we’re going to do this, I insist we give it a fair shot.”
“Three months,” she said.
“Six.” His gaze never wavered.
She opened her mouth as if to argue, then exhaled. “Okay.”
“And starting right now, you’re on full shopping restriction for a month. I’m going to ask the bank to notify me if the credit card is used.”
“I’m not a child!”
“Then you won’t have trouble living up to your agreement, will you?”
She executed a pivot a military cadet would be proud of and marched from the room.
Chapter Four
Snuggled against her husband, Gina rested her hand on his thigh and her head on his shoulder. She sighed with contentment.
“Tired?” Linc glanced from the road to her. He drove her car, which they preferred to his pickup truck whenever they went out.
She shook her head and smiled. “Happy.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Me too.”
She stretched out her leg to admire her silver ankle bracelet. A band encircled her second toe and attached to a filigree chain that traversed her foot, then fastened around her ankle. Charms dangled from the links and tinkled when she walked. She planned to live in simple flip-flops so she could wear the jewelry every moment. “Thank you again for the gift,” she said. “I love it.”
“You’re welcome. You deserved a reward. I’m proud of you.”
She was proud of herself. She’d gone two weeks without spending a dime, other than for groceries and a few household items, which were not part of her restriction. The threat of a spanking hadn’t halted her shopping, but the understanding of how desperate Linc must have been to insist on disciplinary measures to get her attention. Losing his trust hurt more than a spanking ever could. She intended to restore his faith and repair the damage she’d caused.
She wished now she had confessed the purchase of the cocktail dresses when he’d given her the opportunity. At the time, she’d been so pissed off by his ultimatum she’d withheld the information out of spite. Now that so much time had passed, it had gotten harder to tell
him because she did not want to disturb the harmony. And apologies would no longer satisfy him or her. She hoped that her new restraint would be enough to prove that she’d changed when he got the credit card bill.
Not shopping still challenged her. It had become routine to check out her favorite stores on her lunch or after work. And as Linc had pointed out, she always bought something. Only through cold turkey could she kick the habit. Since they’d implemented their agreement, she hadn’t set foot in a store.
But she’d had plenty of spankings. Quick ones. Mini ones. Fun, light swats to her behind that warmed rather than heated whenever she playfully sassed him or otherwise provided him with an excuse to smack her ass. Not that he needed one. The man had become obsessed with her butt, and she’d discovered a new erogenous zone.
It had taken longer than she’d expected to get ready for dinner, and he had been waiting in the foyer when she met him. He’d informed her that tardiness was unacceptable, lifted her skirt, and swatted her bottom a half dozen times. She had omitted panties, intending to tease him with an announcement of that fact at dinner, so he’d added another six spanks for unladylike behavior before he whisked her off to the restaurant sans underwear.
His hungry gaze devoured her all evening. He used every opportunity to touch her, curving his arm around her waist as they strolled into the restaurant, “accidentally” nudging the swell of her breast, casually bumping his erection against her tingling rear as they waited to be shown to their seats, and holding her hand across the table while playing footsie with her underneath it. Wicked fun, all of it.
She anticipated a good hard fucking as soon as they arrived home.
Their marriage had entered a sexual renaissance. Linc treated her with courtesy and respect out of the bedroom, but when the lights went out, metaphorically speaking since they also engaged in day sex, he exerted mastery like never before. She responded to his dominance, perpetually aroused, wet, and ready twenty-four seven.
Th-wap, wap, wap, wap, wap.
“Crap,” Linc swore and slowed the car.
“What’s wrong? What’s that noise?” she asked.
He grimaced. “Flat tire.” He pulled off the highway onto the shoulder and stopped. “Shouldn’t take long to change it, and we’ll be on our way.” Heat replaced impatience as he regarded her.
She pressed her sticky thighs together. He could toss her over the hood of the car right here on the highway, and she’d come like a screaming banshee. If he permitted it. That was a new change as well—he controlled her orgasms, telling her when she could and couldn’t come. The fact he ordered her not to increased the urge, and when he finally gave the signal, holy Christ.
He unlocked the trunk from inside and checked traffic before pushing open his door. She moved to exit too.
“Stay here. I’ll take care of it,” he said.
“No, I’ll keep you company.” She stepped onto the shoulder and squinted into the setting summer sun casting a blush on the horizon. It was still light enough to see; Linc wouldn’t need a flashlight to change the tire.
“Front driver’s side,” he announced and stopped to examine the flat, so she reached the trunk first. She lifted it, intending to pull back the carpeting and floorboard to uncover the spare, when she spotted a slip of pink paper. The receipt for the cocktail dresses.
She snatched it and balled it up in her fist.
“What’s that?” Linc appeared beside her.
She jumped. “What’s what?”
“You grabbed something out of the trunk.”
“Just some trash.” Heart thumping, she ducked her head.
“Here, I’ll throw it away.” He extended his hand.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it. You change the tire. I’ll throw away the trash. That’s a fair division of labor.”
He chuckled. “Okay.”
While Linc extracted the spare tire, she scurried to the car. She didn’t dare deposit the receipt in the litterbag, on the slim chance Linc got curious, so she hid the wad in the tiny zippered bag that held her feminine hygiene products she carried in her purse.
Why didn’t you tell him when you had the chance! Guilt churned anew.
Her husband was jacking up the car when she came round the hood. Traffic whizzed by, creating a draft, and she held down her skirt to avoid flashing the motorists.
Linc smirked. “Careful, sweetheart. You’ll cause an accident.” The affection in his smile stirred the bubbling mixture of desire and shame.
His biceps bulged as he wrenched off the lug nuts, hauled away the flat, and lifted the spare into place. She admired his economy of masculine strength. It would have taken her three times as long to accomplish what he did with minimal effort. Small wonder he could carry her off to bed, hold her with one hand while slapping her ass with the other.
Twenty-four seven. Even watching him fix a flat got her hot.
He stowed the tools in the trunk, and they climbed into the car. She expected him to start the engine, but he pulled her to his chest and laid a hard, wet one on her lips, his tongue plundering her mouth. Motorists honked. She didn’t care but melted against him, soothing her hunger with the taste, scent, and feel of him.
When he released her, her lips were swollen. “What was that for?”
“The way you look at me,” he said and started the ignition.
They were only a few miles from home, but the drive seemed to take forever. By the time Linc parked in the garage, sexual tension made Gina’s pulse race, her breathing quicken. The slightest movement caused her cunt to ache and clench. Her nipples hurt. She needed him inside her so bad she couldn’t stand it.
He exited the car and came around to her side to help her out. “Thank you,” she said huskily. The light touch of his hand on her arm delivered tingles clear down to her clit.
“My pleasure.”
But it wouldn’t be his pleasure, because she’d decided to confess.
His hand seared the small of her back as he guided her into the house. Night had fallen, but they’d left on a light to ward off the darkness. She led the way to their bedroom, clutching her purse containing the evidence.
She set the bag on the nightstand and retrieved the crumpled receipt from the case. She turned to face him to find he’d removed his shirt, shoes, and socks. Wide shoulders tapered to a lean waist and hips. Dark hair curled across muscled pecs, dusted his flat abdomen. Below that, his erection tented his slacks. With a snap, he pulled his leather belt from the waistband, and the jangle of the metal buckle caused her stomach to clench. Dread? Desire? She couldn’t tell anymore.
She had to stop him before the situation progressed. Before she lost her nerve. Cotton filled her mouth, and she licked her dry lips. She lifted her gaze and almost lost courage upon seeing his ravenous expression. Did she really want to spoil the moment? “I, um, have to tell you something.” She squeezed her fist, crumpling the receipt into a tighter ball. “It…it’s not good.”
He drew his brows together. “What is it?” His concern worsened her shame.
She took a breath. “When you asked me a couple of weeks ago if I needed to come clean about anything else, well, uh, there was. I went shopping when Mom and I went to lunch.”
She opened her hand and held out the pink ball.
He took it. “This was in the trunk?”
She nodded. “It’s the receipt for my purchases.”
He straightened out the paper so he could read it. For the longest time he said nothing.
She couldn’t stand the silence. “Are you going to spank me?” she asked.
He sought her gaze and nodded. “Not because you had been shopping, because that predated our arrangement, but because you lied when given the chance to confess, and you did so again when you dismissed the receipt as trash. However, I appreciate you telling me the truth now. Your punishment would have been far worse if I’d learned about this when I got the bill.”
Her knees knocked together, and she swallowed to hold b
ack tears. This would be her first disciplinary spanking, and she wondered how bad it would be.
“Get undressed,” he said.
Her ankle bracelet jingled when she kicked off her flip-flops. The chain reminded her of something a slave girl might wear. A symbol of the new paradigm. Linc was master of their household; her role was to obey. Despite her fear, her pussy clenched. She craved his approval, needed to erase his disappointment, restore his pride in her.
She pulled her dress over her head and dropped it on the floor, then unhooked her bra and let it fall. He closed the gap between them, and Regina trembled, her knees wobbling. In the role of disciplinarian, he appeared even larger, taller, broader. Next to him, she felt small in size and deed. She wished she’d told him the truth earlier.
She widened her eyes when he pointed to the dresser wall. “I want you to reflect on your behavior. Please go stand in the corner.”
A flicker of resentment lessened her nervousness, and she tightened her lips. Stand in the corner? She might have committed an error in judgment, but she was thirty years old, not a disobedient schoolgirl. But for her bottom’s sake, she knew better than to argue. She hadn’t considered all possible ramifications before she consented to obey Linc. But she had agreed.
She padded to the corner and stood, toes grazing the baseboard, arms at her sides, staring at the blank intersection of the two walls. Her skin prickled when Linc came up behind her. “Stay there until I return.” He left the room.
* * * *
Linc settled into the leather wingback chair in his office, his mind swirling. He’d sentenced Gina to corner time to allow them both an opportunity to reflect before the spanking. Thought before action. He’d learned the motto from Rod and Cane. It helped to know other men practicing domestic discipline, because he couldn’t ask advice of just anyone.
He and Gina had achieved tremendous progress in the past two weeks, and as he’d told her, he did not hold prior purchases against her. But he couldn’t abide the fact she’d withheld the information when he’d handed her a get-out-of-jail-free card, hidden the evidence, and lied to his face. When he’d looked at the receipt, his heart had sunk, and for a moment he questioned if domestic discipline wasn’t an exercise in futility. But he’d read genuine remorse on her face and realized she had fessed up. A little late, but she’d done it. And she had been so good the past two weeks, he’d even rewarded her. He’d kept tabs on their credit card usage, and she hadn’t bought anything but groceries.
