Answering to Him (Old-Fashioned Husband) (3 page)

“What is wrong with you?” I spa
t out at him.

“Nothing is wrong with me, Alicia. I am trying to teach you a lesson. You don’t need to nag me, honey. When I say I will do something, I will do it. And I said I was going to give you a spanking, so you better settle in. You won’t be leaving for a while.”

The slaps continued to rain down, one after the other, until my bottom warmed beneath his palm. I could feel how much it hurt, so I could only imagine how red it looked. When the tears came, spilling hotly onto my cheeks, I felt my anger melt away. I
had
nagged him about talking to Jonah, and I had been surly with him.

I didn’t even realize he’d stopped until I felt his hand resting on my sore fanny. I’d been crying too hard to take notice of anything other than how miserable I felt. When Oliver helped me off his lap, I saw the familiar love and concern in his eyes. He brushed the tears from my face with calloused fingers, and tilted my chin up when I tried to turn away.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked softly.

How did he know? I wondered, staring. When he cleared his throat pointedly, I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He seemed pleased by the words, though they came as a shock to me. I’d never called a man “sir” in my life! “Let’s not have to have this conversation again, OK, baby?”

I opened my mouth, about to “yes, sir” him again when I was cut off by the piercing sound of the alarm. I looked to my bedside in confusion, reaching over to shut it off. It didn’t work, and the shrill alarm seemed to get even louder, until it was almost deafening.

I opened my eyes, yawning, and reached over to shut off the alarm. When the peals fell silent, I turned to look for my husband, but his side of the bed was empty. I was just debating on whether to go looking for him or fall back asleep when he emerged from the bathroom, buttoning the cuffs of his pressed white shirt.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted me, a sparkle in his eye.

“Hello,” I replied, suddenly shy. Oliver winked at me, and I realized that he must have thought I was remembering last night; he had no way of knowing what I’d dreamt, or the fact my body was aching with yearning to have him again.

“Are you going to get up?”

“
Mmm…maybe you could join me?” I suggested, knowing even as I said it that there was zero percent chance that he would take me up on it. Oliver took work very seriously.

“Well…” He glanced at his watch and turned back to me. “I can give you an hour.”

Any other woman might be insulted, but I had been married for sixteen years, and I was secure in my marriage. I patted the place beside me, and when he came to me, all fresh-shaven and smelling of cologne, I began undoing the buttons of his shirt with so much haste that my husband reached out to stop me.

“Hey!” he scolded, laughing. “Where’s the fire?”

I leaned over and whispered, wondering at my daring, “In my cunt.”

The effect was instantaneous. Oliver practically ripped my robe off
in his haste to have me, flinging it across the room the moment he tore it off me. I slid underneath him before he could pin me down, and unbuttoned his pants. I slid a hand in and grabbed his cock, sliding my fingers over his balls. He groaned when I gave them a firm, playful squeeze.

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Alicia,” he warned, his voice so stern it made my mind flash back to my dream.

My eyes flew to his face, expecting the serious frown he’d had in my dream. His face was deadpan and I relaxed. “Really? How’s that?”

“If you keep up like this, you’re going to give me a heart attack!” he exclaimed. “This old man can’t keep up.”

I snorted. “Old man, really? Come on, Oliver!”

“It’s true,” he said, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down to give me free access to his goods. “I’m old. But you, Alicia…” He inhaled sharply when I licked his balls.

“I’m getting old, too, Ollie.”

“You promised never to call me that!”
he exclaimed, but it just made me laugh. I was so deliciously happy. “Come here, you.” He pulled me up and set me down with my head on the pillows. Once he had me where he wanted me, he caressed my cheek, smiling down at me with so much love that I couldn’t help but smile back.

I tried my best
to look sultry. “How do you want me today?”

Oliver burst out laughing. “Why don’t you let me worry about that, hmm?”

“Maybe we—”

“Alicia.” I’d never heard him pack so much meaning into the way he said my name. “I said let me worry about it.”

I arched an eyebrow at his authoritative tone. To my surprise, he didn’t back down, or break into a smile like I expected. His face stayed serious, and I felt compelled to nod and say the magic words. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he said warmly. He caressed my cheek, and that gesture, combined with him calling me a good girl had my panties suspiciously damp. “Now, close your eyes for me.”

I obeyed immediately, waiting for whatever he wanted to do. It was several long seconds before anything happened, but when I felt his hand on my breast, I gasped. The sensation of his touch seemed heightened since I didn’t see it coming first. He used his fingers to play with my nipple, rolling it between his fingers until it hardened into a stiff peak. When I felt his warm tongue on my nipple, I promptly arched my back, begging for more. He obliged me and took it in his mouth. His other hand began the same process on my other nipple, and I swear, I swear to God, I’d never come before without anything touching my cunt.

The temptation to open my eyes and look at him while I was shuddering with an orgasm was too much. Oliver seemed to sense it, though, and he issued a quick smack to my thigh. “No peeking.”

“Oh!” I gasped, my body humming from his ardent touch.  Each passing hour seemed to bring out a dominant side to his personality that I hadn’t known existed. Briefly, I thought about asking him where he’d been hiding it, but decided I wanted to avoid getting more of those stinging smacks to my thighs—it hurt! Besides, I had better things to focus on.

“Open your mouth.”

I almost giggled at the command, but stifled it just in time. “What’s the password?”

“Alicia
Ann!”

The scolding surprised me, and I opened an eye to peer at him. Was he being serious? His dark eyes had a gleam in them, but before I could assess it further he’d hauled me up and put me over his lap. “Hey! Wait a minute!”

“I told you not to open your eyes,” he reminded me. With that, he began spanking me. I was too stunned to comment. The spanks didn’t really hurt, except that they kept coming, but that wasn’t it. It was more the fact that the serious tones, the way he issued threats, this dominant side that I’d never seen before was a little much to take in.

When I was tingling all over, he let me off his lap and pressed a kiss to my forehead.  “I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly bashful, but Oliver just laughed.

“Just a little fun,” he said with a wink.

“Oh.” For some reason that I couldn’t explain, I felt my heart sink a little at his words. I mean, I was glad, of course, that he was spanking me. It was something I’d always hoped for, but at the same time…I found that I
liked
him in charge and to find out that the whole thing was just a joke was a bit jarring.

Oliver wen
t back to lavishing my body with all manners of pleasure until I was limp and exhausted from orgasms. “Are you ready for me?”

I nodded eagerly, and w
hen he plunged into my wet cunt I cried out. I hadn’t thought it was possible to be anything but chaffed and raw by this point—after all, both his tongue and his fingers had already brought me shuddering waves of pleasure. And it did hurt a bit at first, but once Oliver got into a rhythm, I felt my body getting warm beneath him.

We moved together, the two of us reaching for release. I met his eyes and smiled, holding onto his shoulders tightly.
He grimaced and thrust faster and faster until his body shook with the power of his orgasm. I cried out, feeling his hot seed spill into me. When he was done, he closed his eyes and fell on top of me. A gentleman through and through, he only stayed there for a moment before kissing me full on the mouth and rolling off.

“I’ve got to hurry and get ready for work,” he announced, sounding short of breath. “What’s been up with you, honey?
Are you trying to set a new record or something?”

“What do you mean?” I asked,
though of course I knew very well what he referred to.

“The sex. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

I laughed out loud. “Yes, you got my attention all right!”

“So what’s the deal? Wait a minute—you are thinking about
me
when we’re making love, right?
Not
George Clooney?”

I giggled. “Yes, Ollie.”

He wagged a finger at me warningly. “So what then? Are you bored?”

I smirked at him. “Honey, most men would just be thanking their lucky stars, so what’s
your
deal?”

“Just want to know what I can do on my end to keep it up.”

I knew what to do on
my
end to “keep it up” and the thought made me giggle. “I like this new change…and maybe,” I added, hesitantly, “the other one as well?”

Oliver didn’t hesitate, but immediately pulled me close, turning me on my side and delivering a sharp smack to my bottom. “That one?”

I smiled, sighing happily as the tingling in my behind extended to warm my entire body. “Yes, that would be the one.”

“I guess we better come up with a plan for where to spend our alone time when school lets out for Thanksgiving. Wouldn’t want another scene like the other day.”

While it certainly hadn’t seemed funny the night before, my mood had been lifted considerably and I fell back, giggling.

* * * * *

By the time Oliver made it out of bed and back into his w
ork clothes, he was frantically worried that he would be late. He worked at a very prestigious accounting firm that tended to frown on tardiness, especially in October, when tax season would be in full swing before long. Jonah was still at the table when my husband shot out the door, and at the sight of my darling teenager, hunched over a bowl of fruit loops with a Nintendo DS in hand, I pulled my robe tighter around me. I still had the post-sex afterglow, and the thought of him realizing
why
his father was running late was mortifying. We’d had enough embarrassing moments for a lifetime, hadn’t we?

“Hey, Kiddo. Want some eggs?”

“I’m not four, Mom, in case you haven’t noticed.”

When
I turned away from him, I rolled my eyes. Of course I’d
noticed
. Talking to teenagers—sheesh! Now I knew what my mother had always warned me about. “Was that a yes or no to eggs?”

Jonah sighed heavily. “
Mom
, I’ve already had breakfast, OK?”

“No, it’s not OK!” I snapped, whirling to face him. “All you eat is junk, Jonah. Don’t you want to be healthy?”

He grumbled something that may or may not have been curse words before nodding. “Fine.”

“Well, don’t sound so happy about it,” I muttered as I grabbed a frying pan. In minutes I filled a plate with hot, fluffy scrambled eggs and presented it to my son. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was wearing the same clothes
that he’d had on yesterday, and his hair looked like it hadn’t seen shampoo or water in weeks. How was I supposed to address things like this? How did you tell your kid that he smelled, or that his friends were strange? If you thought that his friends were strange, then what you really were saying was that he was strange. I shook my head at the thought. I was good at many things, but when it came to parenthood, I was sure I’d always feel like a novice.

Jonah must have eaten
three bites of eggs before leaping up, shoving his DS into the pocket of his hoodie, and announcing that he had to catch the bus. I wanted to tell him to finish his breakfast, to wear clean clothes, to leave his video game at home. But I saw that look in his eyes, the one that said he would argue with me until we were both exhausted, so I waved him on with a cheery, “Have a good day!”

When the door closed behind him
, I sank into the chair he’d vacated, pushing the bowl of mushy, rainbow colored cereal away from me. Oliver had already made coffee, bless him, and I put the steaming cup to my lips. I inhaled the strong aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans and sighed blissfully. Life was looking good, for an almost-forty-year-old.

I sat down with every intention of working on the menu for Thanksgiving dinner in a few weeks
. I tried, I really did. I uncapped my pen and wrote on the yellow legal pad. Turkey was a given. And stuffing, and cranberries... as hard as I tried to stay focused, I felt my mind drift. Suddenly, I was stuck back in the dream I’d had last night, feeling Oliver’s firm, punishing hand on my upturned bottom. I recalled it vividly, practically feeling the sting of his hand through my sheer bikini panties, just like I had in my dream. Feeling as though his handprint had just been put on my bottom, I shivered, my cheeks heating up with shame. It certainly hadn’t been an erotic spanking that was for sure! Had he been…
punishing
me? What kind of sense did that make? I was almost forty, too old for such things, even if Oliver had the inclination, which he didn’t, as far as I could tell. He hadn’t seemed
that
upset over my scolding, anyway. And why would such a thing send a thrill running through me, anyway?

It was just a dream, I told myself, turning back to my coffee and trying to distract myself with something—
anything
—else. I got up and began to wash the breakfast dishes, followed by sweeping and mopping the kitchen. Still, no matter what I did, the images kept flashing in my mind, not allowing me to focus on anything else. I could see it in my mind as though it had really happened: his commanding presence as he scolded me, and the feel of his heavy hand making my rear smart until tears welled up in my eyes.