by Megan McCoy
But then his finger slipped inside my wetness, and I gasped. Maybe he hadn’t put the fire out at all, but just relocated it.
I needed to get to know this man again and interrogate him much more thoroughly, but for now, I spread my legs further and realized I’d have time.
And really viable options.
Chapter Seven
Curling up on his lap, I pouted and tried to beg, “I’ve been good this week! I have!”
“What does that have to do with the price of beans on Thursday?” he asked, stroking my hair.
“It’s Wednesday,” I reminded him.
“Same difference,” he said, way too cheerfully. “You know what’s going to happen.”
I sighed but didn’t move. Yes. I did. Damn, the thought of it made me wild with want and desire, plus created a shiver of nerves, and a sweet smile of contentment. Yes, all at once! I’m a girl, I can multitask!
“I’m thinking paddle today,” he said.
“No!” I protested. “I don’t like the paddle.”
“You will when it’s over and your bottom is all warm and tingly.” He stroked down my back.
“You don’t make it warm and tingly! You make it hot and burning!”
“And you like it like it. Go fetch the paddle,” he said.
“In a minute?” I suggested.
“Now,” he said. He moved so I had to stand up.
“But,” I protested weakly, excitedly, dreading, wanting.
“Now!” He pointed, and I reluctantly went to the bedroom and opened the drawer. It was such a pretty paddle, large, light oak, with a big handle. It had nice heft to it. I liked the way it looked, the way it felt in my hand. Not that I got to really hold it often. I could not figure out why it made me smile to see it, knowing it was going to make me cry soon. Why did I like it so much and get so needy when I saw it. That’s why it lived in the drawer in the bedroom and didn’t have a prominent place on the mantel like our wedding certificate did.
Sighing, I took off my jeans and t-shirt and put on a long gray and blue flannel nightshirt that hit halfway to my knees. I knew what he wanted and expected—bare bottom and easy access. I took off my panties too. No reason to leave them on, I knew what was going to happen. It happened every Wednesday. And sometimes in between, but for sure, every Wednesday, no matter what else was going on in our lives, my husband would paddle his wife’s butt. Just because it was Wednesday and he wanted to.
Why that made me feel secure and happy, content and satisfied, I don’t know. I try not to over think things! Really, I do!
Because I don’t need paddled.
But then again, I do.
I don’t want it. But I do.
All I knew was that since Cole started regularly paddling my butt, I was much happier, much calmer, excelling at work, and my life was so much better than it was without him… and the paddle.
Padding barefoot back into the living room, I noticed he was watching television. Hey, Wednesday was my night!
Flipping it off, I clutched the paddle to my chest and waited his instructions. I loved Wednesdays. I hated Wednesdays. Looked forward to them, and dreaded them.
Sometimes I really do understand why he thinks I’m challenging, but I love the way he handles it. Me.
He pointed the couch. “How about you go over there?” he said in way that made me realize it wasn’t a suggestion or that I just go over there and stand and twiddle my thumbs or fluff the cushions.
He meant go over there. Like bend over the arm of the sofa with my butt in the air.
I preferred over his lap. Felt more intimate. Closer, but you know I did as I was told, because it freaking turned me on when he was all commanding, and when I knew what was going to happen.
I whimpered softly. He wasn’t moved.
“Over the couch. Bare your bottom so I can paddle it. I’m tired tonight. Don’t make me work to spank you. Stick your butt out there for me.”
He didn’t sound tired to me. I think he just wanted to see my butt. Fine. I’d just let him.
Flopping down, over the arm of couch, I reached back and flipped up my shirt so my ass was on display for his perusing pleasure. Then I reached up and grabbed a pillow to hold. My feet were barely touching the floor, but I was mostly comfortable. For the moment….
I waited. I knew he was looking. Men are such visual creatures.
“Good looking butt you have there,” he said.
“I appreciate the compliment,” I said dryly. “Maybe if you like it so much, you can leave it the same color it is now?”
He better not.
“I like it all red and splotchy, too. So, I get the best of both worlds tonight, huh?”
“Huh,” I responded, starting to wiggle impatiently. What was worse, the actual spanking or waiting for it, knowing it was going to happen? I’m not sure. He always made me wait, with my bare butt on display. I think it was to get me in a submissive mood, ready to accept what he decided I needed.
Or he just liked to see my butt.
It didn’t matter which it was. It worked, for both of us.
“I think after I get done reminding you of how to behave and whose you are, I’m going to take that butt,” he said, softly.
And I stiffened. I knew what he meant. I’d been teasing, and asking, and wanting but we’d never… I’d never….
“Exit only?” I suggested hopefully.
He just laughed and I sighed.
For once, I couldn’t think of anything to say, which of course he took as acquiescence. Which, of course, it was.
But then my mouth kicked into gear. “Maybe you could just do that instead?”
Good try, Miki! But I knew he wouldn’t disappoint me.
When the first swat came, I wasn’t ready. I’d been thinking of what he said, implied, what was going to happen, and I yelped.
“I thought you were tired!” I found something else to say. See how the paddle connects to my brain? Odd.
“I’m getting my second wind,” he said.
“Good for you,” I muttered, waiting, tensing, for the next one.
His Wednesday procedure was to paddle me while delivering a lecture on how I could be better, do better. I asked him once why I had to be spanked when I was sure he needed to be better just as much as I did. He said it was because I had the cuter butt. How could you argue with that? I couldn’t. Didn’t, wouldn’t and I didn’t want to spank him anyway. But you know, sometimes you just need to ask these things.
Tonight he didn’t seem in much of a lecture mood though, and the second one arrived. I was mostly ready though and didn’t cry out, very loudly, anyway.
I clutched the pillow tightly as the paddle came swiftly against my bare bottom. I tried really hard not to squirm much, but that didn’t last long. Paddles hurt!
I began to sob into my pillow as Cole finally found his voice and began to explain that he only did this because I needed it and he loved me.
I smiled through my tears. He did! I knew it. He showed me always and regularly and I needed that. He didn’t need to show me so hard though! Why did he have to spank so hard?
I began to wiggle and squirm, and beg him to stop. I kept a hard hold on my pillow, keeping my hands from flying back. I knew better. He’d taught me.
The paddle fell quickly and often until I got that point where I couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt too much, I couldn’t take it.
Which meant, of course, that he wasn’t done.
“I’ll be good!” I howled. “Please no more please!’
Then I braced for what usually happened next, just to get to the other side of it.
But today, instead of doing a flurry of hard quick spanks, that always made me jump up and rub, he slowed and his fingers reached for me. Spreading my legs, I tried not to be afraid. I wanted to be his. In every way I could be. This was one of the last frontiers.
He fingered my clit with one hand and the paddle came down, softer, and slowly and I arched toward him, spread
ing my legs further for his probing fingers. My breath slowed down from hysterical pants to a deep wanting moan of need.
Then I heard the paddle fall to the floor with a thud, the pop of the lube bottle opening, and the rustle of his pants dropping. Tensing, I waited, as his hand swatted me a few times.
I heard him stroking himself, getting ready as he continued to stroke me. His fingers knew just where to rub, how to get me to the brink of orgasm, and back off again and then bring me back up.
Whimpering, I wiggled in anticipation, nervousness, and need, but tried to stay down, over the arm of the couch, as I felt him part my bottom. A finger slid in and I gasped.
“No,” I protested vainly. I knew the word that would stop it but….
His finger came out, but teased, rubbed, and slid in again, felt thicker, two maybe?
“Push back, like you are going to poop. Bear down.”
I did as I was told, and felt him rubbing his shaft against my warm bottom and me.
“No,” I whimpered again. But yet, I wanted it. Please.
“Focus on my voice, listen to me,” he said. “We can do this, handle it together.”
Carefully, he pushed inside me, slowly, as he said gentle words of encouragement. Thick and hard and painful and oh, I loved it, even as I began sweating with the hurt. I could feel me allowing him in, giving in, and letting him have access where no one had before.
I whimpered and tried to hold still, but I wanted to wiggle and beg. For what? I didn’t know.
“Stay still,” he whispered. “Let me in.”
His fingers found the center of my arousal again and I kept trying to relax but he began to move and I panicked. It hurt, it hurt! “I can’t!” I sobbed, clutching my pillow tighter, trying to get him out.
“Yes, you can. You’re mine. I will do this.” And with that, he smacked my butt hard and then sank deeper in me. I screamed in pain, and happiness, and satisfaction, and then felt him move a few times.
I knew my male, his ways and sounds, and knew it wasn’t going to take him long to shoot inside me. “Go ahead,” I encouraged. “Please,” I moaned. The pain was such I knew I couldn’t. But I wanted him to.
A few more strokes and I heard his sound that meant it was time, he was ready, and I screamed again when he throbbed big and hard inside me. Then when he pulled out a few minutes later, I whimpered in sheer relief, tears pouring down my face and legs collapsing. It’s like hitting your head against the wall. It feels so good when you stop.
But, he’d been right. We had accomplished it. Together. And next time, wouldn’t hurt as much. I hoped.
And one day, I’d love it. Just like he’d been telling me all along.
“You okay?” He asked and I felt a gentle towel wiping the lube from my bottom.
“I think,” I said, truthfully. But I didn’t get up. My knees were weak, and my butt was sore… and I liked him rubbing my bottom.
Then Cole stopped rubbing and smacked my butt a few more times, as I lay still limp and sniveling over the couch.
“Who do you belong to?” he asked.
“You!” I cried. Oh, he turned me on.
“Are you going to behave this week?” he asked, smacking me hard again, making me cry out.
“Probably not,” I confessed.
“I figured.” He laughed. “Don’t worry. We’ll be here this time next week, if not before. Now, bring me that adorable butt, and let me hold you.”
I did as I was told, and snuggled close in his arms.
Damn, I loved this man.
I think I was hardwired from the day I was born to love him.
The End
Megan McCoy
Megan McCoy lives in the heartland of America, surrounded by corn, soybean fields, country music and hot guys on tractors. At home, she’s raising kids, breeding Chinese Cresteds and poodles and training them all with a tender hand and heart, while saving her sternness for the alpha males in her books.
Getting up at three in the morning to write leaves her time for a few hobbies - gardening, canning, bike riding, bread baking, taking in strays and seeking her own alpha male.
Contact Megan on Twitter - @meganmccoybooks
Facebook MeganMcCoybooks
Email – [email protected]
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