Ménage (4 page)

"Y-yes?"

He was acting very casual as he used the toe of one foot to pry the boot off the other foot. I came to realize that whatever I'd done was going to prevent him from getting to work - at least for a while. When he'd divested himself of his boots, he walked no further than the couch - never looking away from me.

His coat was next. "And when you parked it, did you forget to do something?" I was thinking furiously. Set the parking brake?

No. He didn't usually do that. Turn off the radio? I definitely did that. I'd run down his battery by not doing that once before and he'd warned me I did that again etc, etc, etc,. "Not that I can think of, Brian."

"How about something simple - like turning off the freaking lights!"

"Oops." I was in such a hurry to get into the house and show them that I was okay, that I must've completely forgotten to turn them off. And they weren't the kind that turned themselves off, either, dammit.

He sighed heavily, running a paw through his short dark hair aggravatedly. "Yeah, 'oops'. The battery is deader than a doornail, little girl, and you've made me late for work." The ultimate sin. Brian couldn't stand anyone being late for anything, especially himself. He sank down onto the couch and patted his leg.

"Over my knee, angel-girl. Right now."

I had half a mind to run, but knew that Andrew had heard everything from the office and he would tackle me first and deliver me to Brian on a platter, then contribute to my punishment because I hadn't taken it like a good girl. "Don't even think about disobeying me, Gabrielle, I am not in the mood for it."

unbelievably, the voice had gotten softer, and even more dangerous-sounding. "Your little butt is mine. I suggest you sashay it over here immediately before I start counting."

I had started toward him slowly, but when he mentioned counting, I hastened my step. Counting for children usually gave them time to do it the adult's way. Counting in my situation meant "tens of strokes"; ON TOP of whatever I was already going to get. I hastily assume the position I hated - bottoms up over a dominant male lap, submissive and ready to receive my punishment. Brian lifted the hem of my short, silky robe to expose me completely, then easily captured both of my wrists at the small of my back, giving me no avenue of escape.

Usually, I can expect a lecture before, during, and even after from Brian. He takes his fatherly attitude toward me very seriously. But I guess effectively killing his truck and making him late for work didn't make him inclined toward talking to me.

He simply began to spank with that broad, callused palm of his, and he'd learned early how to give a very effective, thorough, truly painful spanking.

SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK. He delivered

the first 10 strokes in rapid succession to alternate cheeks, then began to go down the backs of my thighs. Each well placed SLAP

stung unbearably, because his hand was so big that he always hit parts of the area he'd just spanked with the last stroke. It was like getting twosies, unintentionally. I was crying from the moment he started, and moaning by the time he had slowed the pace some and settled into a lethal rhythm, concentrating most of the strokes on my sweet spot.

SPANK

SLAP

- 28 -

SNAP

SWAT

*CRACK*

Over and over and over. I kicked my feet; I pulled at the hand that held my wrists. Nothing stopped that wicked hand from turning my poor defenseless bottom a ripe tomato red.

Drew wandered through, briefcase in hand, bent and kissed my wet cheek - still Brian continued. "You missed a spot," he commented, then left. When he stopped, I know it was not because of anything I did or said or cried or screamed. It was not because of my moans or uncontrollable sobs or even that my bottom had blistered or swollen or become that painful shade of "punishment red." He stopped because he felt that I had learned my lesson. And I could tell he was still angry with me, because he didn't offer me any comfort. Instead, he led me to the corner, placing my hands on top of my head, and went outside, all without a word. I knew he'd be back, because he hadn't even shrugged into his coat, but I have never felt so bereft.

I would gladly have endured an identical spanking if he had just hugged me once. One of the best parts of being in a "domestic discipline" relationship for me was the firm knowledge that no matter what I did or how naughty I was, I would be given a firm, fair punishment and then be forgiven. I was expected to learn from my mistakes, and repetition of the same error earned extra punishment. So I did learn. I expected to have to pay the price of misbehavior with my bottom, but I also expected to be given absolution afterwards in the form of physical and psychological comforting.

That time in the corner was the worst punishment I'd ever been given, bar none.

Over my quiet sobs, I heard the truck engine start, and knew he must've used my car to jump it. I heard the storm door and front door open, then close, and I could feel those chocolate brown eyes on my back. All of a sudden, he swung me up in his arms and carried me into the den to sit in his favorite huge, overstuffed chair with me comfortably ensconced on his lap. His brawny arms closed carefully around me, and I pressed my cheek against the soft hairs on his chest.

"I-I'm sorry I l-left the l-lights on in y-your tr -" I was surprised at how small my voice sounded, but not that I couldn't complete the apology for the tears suddenly choking my throat. I was really working myself up over this. "Shhhh. Shh-shhh-shhh, baby-girl." He caressed my face and held me tenderly while I cried, using one foot to soothingly rock the chair.

"A-a-and I'm s-s-sorry I-I mmade you la-"

"I know you are, Honey. It's ok," he interrupted. "Be quiet now, Love, and let me rock you."

Being rocked in someone's arms was one of my most

favorite things. It was almost always what Brian did after punishing me. I settled down almost immediately and let go of my fears more and more with each passing moment, safe and warm within the confines of his embrace.

"You know, sweetie, that if I didn't love you to distraction I wouldn't bother to paddle your bottom so routinely or so thoroughly, don't you?" he whispered, kissing the top of my head.

I sniffed; almost wishing he didn't love me quite so much.

"I know, Brian." "Good girl." His hand rubbed leisurely up and down my back. "I'm going to have to get a new battery for that truck, I'm afraid. And the cost of it is going to come out of your allowance."

- 30 -

I winced. My allowance was small as it is. "How much does a battery cost for a tank?"

I could feel the grin spread over his face from where his cheek rested atop my head. "The heavy duty one I'm going to put in is anywhere from $75-$100." "Yes, Sir." I wouldn't be seeing my allowance for some time.

A large, rough palm covered my bare breast, and he began to tweak the hardened nipple just enough to drive me crazy. "Do you have any idea how sexy you look when I'm spanking your pretty little bottom?"

"'Sexy' is not really what I'm worried about while you're waling on me, I hate to tell you, Buddy," I said wryly, drawing a quick breath as he pinched his index finger and thumb tightly on my nipple.

"Oh, but you are. Your butt quivers with each smack, you kick your feet as if you were trying to dance away the pain before the next spank falls. I love every aspect of giving you a licking, little one, especially this," his mouth claimed mine aggressively.

I knew he was going to be that much later for work.

End

Ménage

©1999

Carolyn Faulkner / BacksideOfLove.com

- 32 -

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