Esme Stone’s marriage is on the rocks. Her husband, Rick, has Peter Pan Syndrome to the extreme, partying till all hours and spending every dime he makes. She cooks, cleans, earns the money for their expenses, and takes responsibility for paying the bills. In short, everything. How can she start a family when her husband is a big kid himself? Heart breaking, she considers divorce.
One step from walking out, she meets a woman online, then others, who swear a Domestic Discipline agreement saved their marriages. That putting their husbands in charge helped them grow up. In hopeful desperation, Esme approaches Rick with an ultimatum.
Take charge or take a hike.
They jump in with both feet and then come up against a wall. Rick needs help with the discipline elements he must employ. Spank Esme?
Enter the Trainer. He can teach them what they need to know. If they have the nerve to let him.
“Ohhh.” Esme moaned. The Trainer’s warm palm circled her cheeks again, one then the other, rhythmic and sensual. And created a whole other problem.
Until this moment, she’d had zero reaction to his touch. Something had changed; the very thought of a paddle or flogger in her husband’s hand had triggered a reaction. Although it wasn’t him touching her, somehow the on switch had been flicked to her libido. Every inch of exposed skin was a tiny erogenous zone, and his smooth palm swept from one to the next, lighting her on fire. “I don’t know—I’m not sure….”
“Have you made your selection? I’m keeping your wife warm.”
Hot, he is keeping your wife hot, and you may not like that.
Rick’s white athletic shoes returned to her view. “Keeping her…warm?”
Well, gee, thanks for noticing another man is rubbing my bare ass. Just please don’t notice how turned on I’m getting. At least until she could think it through and decide whether she was becoming a slut who didn’t care whose hands were on her. She blew out a shuddering breath. Was it more distressing when she hadn’t reacted or now that she had?
“Yes, warm. Never stop touching her during a spanking. Unless of course you send her to the corner. But in general, decide on any implements in advance, have them ready at your side when you begin.”
“Okay. So.” Rick continued to discuss his choice with the Trainer as if he did it every day. Somehow without revealing what he held. Perhaps in time it would become normal to her as well to lie on someone’s lap while her husband discussed her butt like a piece of meat in need of tenderizing. She wanted to scream in frustration. A paddle? Rick had expressed interest in buying one. Or a crop? Ohhh, even in books those caused painful welts. Why not one of those kitchen hammers with the teeth. Oh, god. What else might it be?
“Esme? I asked if you were ready to continue.” The circling stopped and a sharp smack landed in the center of her left cheek.
“Yes, no…can I see what you’re going to use on me?”
“Of course.” He thrust the item in front of her face. A pale wooden board, about a foot and a half long with some kind of writing on it. “Your husband has excellent taste.”
“University of…is this a real spanking paddle from a college?”
The paddle disappeared from her view. “Yes, an antique I picked up from a colleague on the East Coast. Quite unique, although at one time all schools had them. Most are long gone, sadly.” He sighed. “You and your husband are helping to bring back a fine, old tradition.”
“All forms of discipline, my dear. Now, ready?”
She tensed. “Yes.”
“I’ll try.” She took deep breaths, consciously unlocked the muscles in her lower body as Rick moved out of her view again, returning to the couch to spectate, no doubt. “Okay, as ready as I will ever be.”
“Let’s continue, then.” His arm still lay on her lower back. “I caution you to hold still. I don’t want to hurt you—accidentally.”
She shivered. The surreal nature of their experience rose to overwhelm her again. Maybe this was all a dream and when she woke, she’d still be married to a man who took nothing seriously, with whom she didn’t even want to start a family for fear of taking on another child. No, in fact she didn’t want it to be a dream. Her fanny could be the sacrificial lamb to her dreams of a future with the man she loved. And if lying across another man’s lap made her pussy ache to have sex, she’d make sure it happened.
When she got home.
With her beloved husband.
For whom she sacrificed everything including her dignity.
“I’ll try to hold still.”
“Maybe this is a good time to demonstrate tying your hands for your protection. Rick, please bring me that length of cord hanging on the cabinet door.” To her horror, Rick’s shoes passed in front of her and disappeared, then returned. “Thank you.”
How freaking cordial.
Kate Richards divides her time between Los Angeles and the High Sierras. She would gladly spend all her days in the mountains, but she’d miss the beach…and her very supportive husband’s commute would be three hundred miles. Wherever she is, she loves to explore all different kinds of relationships in her stories. She doesn’t believe one-size-fits-all, and whether her characters live BDSM, ménage, GLBT or any other kind of lifestyle, it’s the love, the joy I one another, that counts.