The Obedient Wife (3 page)

His stroking and probing, touching and twisting did nothing to assuage her tremors, but it wasn’t until he looked down at her and she asked in the smallest, most plaintive of voices, “Please?” that he allowed himself to do what he had wanted to do every moment since she’d gotten into the car . . . well, since this morning . . . since he’d met her:  full and complete possession, with his body slowly invading hers, reveling in each caught breath, every small sigh, every slight adjustment of her body - inside and out - to his very thorough invasion.

“Sorry,” she whispered under her breath, immediately wishing she’d been able to stifle the habit, because he never missed a trick with her.  Ginger knew she was being loud, but she couldn’t help herself.  When they made love, every brain cell she owned went on vacation.  She couldn’t have correctly answered what two plus two was when he put his hands on her; time and familiarity hadn’t lessened his effect on her - in fact, it had probably heightened it.  She was less able to be on guard or even coherent with him, and he encouraged that loss of control, recognizing that it was something she needed, since she put herself under a lot of self-induced stress at work.

Sean thoroughly enjoyed her mindless abandon, and ate up every syllable she uttered, having long since implemented a rule that she wasn’t to stifle her responses to him in any way, and she certainly wasn’t to apologize to him for her passion, as she had tried when they were first together.

He had been thoroughly appalled to find that she felt as if she had to apologize for what was a very natural thing, and - besides that - a huge boost to his ego.

Ginger’s head flew back and forth on the pillow as Sean pressed himself slowly - excruciatingly slowly - within her, taking his time and deliberately torturing both of them, feeling her body give way to every thick, hard inch of him until he knew he couldn’t take it any longer but he still forced himself to do just that, maintaining the excruciatingly slow pace until the very end.

His low, guttural groan filled the air around them, electrifying it even more than it already had been.

When she raised her hips to him, locking her legs around the small of his back, he couldn’t force himself to hold back any longer, and he began to plunge deeply, mindlessly, into her.

Ginger welcomed every thrust, her body craving his possession with an ache that threatened to rival her arousal, until he adjusted himself just a bit, rubbing that eager spot of hers, hurtling her over the edge to fly completely apart - and entirely safe to do so within his arms.

Her violent spasms pried the last bits of his control away from him, and he lost himself within her, as always.

She was the only woman he’d ever encountered that could do that to him - strip away every last shred of the iron-fisted control he maintained, wearing him down with her love and her luscious body until he was a mindless lump.

As he collapsed on top of her, Sean thought it was a damned good thing that Ginger didn’t quite realize just how vulnerable he was in those moments right after an orgasm, or she’d learn that it was she who really ruled the roost.  If she asked him for a Rolls, or a mansion or a lion cub during those first minutes afterward, there would be no way he could deny her.

Chapter II

As usual, after they made love he kept her close to him.  He wasn’t the type to just roll over and fall asleep.  Unfortunately for her, he also wasn’t the type to forget anything, either - even the smallest of things.

“Was that a ‘sorry’ I heard you whisper a few minutes ago?” he asked pointedly, rubbing his hand lazily up and down her back as she rested her cheek on his chest.

Ginger sighed.  Damn his good hearing!  “Uh, no.  Definitely not,” she answered, knowing he wasn’t going to buy it.

“Nice try.  So now you have two spankings coming, and I think we’d better get right to them before dinner.”

“NO!”

Not only did she not want to have a spanking before dinner, when she’d then have to sit on a sore bottom to eat,
but
she expressly didn’t want one - much less two - when she’d already
orgasmed
.  Somehow they were twice as bad then, for some reason.  Probably something to do with blood flow to that general area, she guessed.

Sometimes sex made him mellow.  This was not, apparently, one of those times.

The next thing Ginger knew, her cheek wasn’t resting comfortably on the muscular chest that had been lightly dusted with hair as if he had been made to order for her.  Her sexy pillow had disappeared, and her head fell onto their pillow-top mattress instead.

“Hey!  What gives?”

Sean didn’t answer her.  Instead, he leaned down from his position standing at the end of the bed and grabbed her ankle - gently, as always, careful of his own strength - and pulled her down to him, forcing her to adopt her least favorite position: on her knees with her head down, her bottom presented to him in a completely obscene manner that had her blushing and cringing at the same time.

“SEAN!  No!”

Ginger tried to get of position, just beginning to stretch herself out on her tummy a bit, but his fingertips at the small of her back were more than enough to remind her of what he thought about the idea of her not staying in the position into which he had placed her.

Sean noted her groan of sheer frustration, but she also tucked herself back into position.  She damned well better have, or she’d facing three spankings instead of two.

“Now we’ll address your unfortunate utterance while we were making love.”  He started right in, spanking hard and fast. 

Sean didn’t believe in warm up spankings.

“What’s the rule about apologizing for all of those lovely grunts and groans and mewls and whimpers that you know I adore hearing?”

Damn the man! He spanked so hard that she could barely catch her breath, much less give him a coherent response, and he knew it, too, the snot, yet he didn’t adjust his lecturing question and answer style one bit.

“I’m not . .
.  supposed
to . . . suppress them . . .” she answered, sounding like a breathless starlet.

“Yes,” he agreed with a tremendous swat, “and when you do give voice to them, what are you expressly
not
to do?”

Ginger actually hung her head at his tone.  Somehow, his scolding lectures always drove away every last bit of recalcitrance in her body, leaving her completely penitent and submissive, even if he couldn’t spank her at the time.

He never paid much attention to where they were when he delivered said lectures, either, much to her consternation.

“Apologize for them.”

“Correct.  And why not, my love?”

His use of endearments made their discussion even more intimate, more loving,
more
achingly fulfilling for her.  “Be-because I’m not to deny you any of my responses in any way, just like I’m not to deny you my body.”

“Very good.”  Endearments and praise - welcome as they were to her ears - hadn’t lessened the force with which he brought his palm down on her upturned bottom, nor diminished the pace with which he administered those swats.  He had already covered every gorgeous inch of her backside, and was easily working on round three.  “And you’re already in trouble for doing that, aren’t you?  You really don’t want to be piling on any further misbehavior, do you, lovely?”

She panted, she groaned - it was downright impossible not to - she twisted as much as she could, but there was no relief from the descent of that big flat hand of his.  “Y-yes, Sir - I mean, no, Sir.”

It was a nice touch, calling him “Sir.”  She knew he liked it - having been an officer in the military - but hadn’t commanded that she call him that, preferring its spontaneous use rather than taking the choice from her.  He loved hearing her endearments, whispering his name in a fevered moment, or even her just calling him “husband” far too much to limit her in that way.

Sean tugged her to his side, repositioning her so that she was parallel to the end of the bed instead of perpendicular, so that he could wrap an arm around her waist and take better control of her, physically.

This kind of move always elicited a whimper from her, because she knew that he was going to step up the level of punishment - and he hadn’t even begun on the one for her closing her legs night before last.  That one was going to be another doozy, and he was probably going to transition right into it from this one.

Her bottom was going to fall off before he finished with her, before he allowed her to seek the
ever present
comfort and cosseting she found within his arms.

Instead, what she endured was the ignominy of having her very hairbrush used to spank her very own bottom. 
She’d been somewhat suspicious of his gift years ago, although it was a gorgeous piece
,
there was no doubt
.  Hand crafted, he told her eagerly.  Besides, she needed - and deserved - a good brush for her hair, which he had long since decreed should be as long as she could grow it.

But she knew he had ulterior motives, and it hadn’t taken him long to put it to use in the manner he had really intended.  Now the dreaded thing lived in one of the cubbies of their headboard, at the ready for whichever purpose suited him at the time.

He loved brushing her hair, but it seemed to her that he loved swatting her even more
;
far more often reaching for the brush to remedy problems that had nothing to do with bad hair.

She’d considered arranging for its demise, but hadn’t quite mustered up the nerve for it yet, although she did have several fantasies worked up about just exactly how she would make it disappear, and it wouldn’t depart this world alone, that was for sure.  There were too many other things that also needed to cease to exist.

Her loving, thoughtful, generous husband had given her a wonderful gift for their first anniversary.  It was a jewelry armoire; one of those large jewelry containers that looked like a piece of furniture.  He had a keen eye for what would look good on her and loved to give her pieces that caught his eye, be they cheap or expensive.  She often found herself presented - quite unexpectedly - with a small wrapped box at dinner or, his favorite - bedtime - or even occasionally while they were enjoying breakfast on the balcony just off their bedroom, overlooking a small yard and acres of virgin wood.

The armoire had been all set up in their room with a big bow on it.  What he hadn’t told her was that the primary reason he had purchased it was because of the hidden compartments on either side that were just big enough for things that had nothing to do with jewelry:  the black leather
tawse
he’d bought even before they were married, a stray wooden spoon from the kitchen, a ruler, and several of his older belts.

Ginger had learned early-on in their relationship that that wasn’t the only place where implements would be hidden and, to her horror, he wasn’t going to bother to hide some of them at all!  Of course, he wasn’t really trying to embarrass or humiliate her in front of her friends or family.  Anyone, however, who knew the kind of relationship they had couldn’t miss some of them - and didn’t, she knew, because she heard about them later.

Right now all that mattered to her was the fact that he never hesitated to do one of two things to her, whenever he felt the need: spank or fuck, and unfortunately for her, he had deemed that she had earned a heaping helping of the former.

She always underestimated how much having
orgasmed
affected the feelings she experienced when he spanked her so soon afterwards.  It was as if he wasn’t just spanking her butt, but rather her entire body, somehow.  Ginger knew that being spanked aroused her, much to her consternation.  She’d discovered that once she’d met him, anyway.  Sean sometimes delighted - well, okay,
always
delighted - in proving to her that, no matter how vehemently she opposed a punishment, once he was done with it, she was sopping wet.  There was no way of getting around it.

But having experienced orgasm, the rest of her body seemed to be even more attuned to what he was doing to her poor backside than if he had simply brought her home and bent her over the back of the couch - which he had done before, multiple times, of course - or pulled over in a sometimes not-so-out-of-the-way spot to deliver her comeuppance in a more natural setting.

Oh yes.  He’d had her leaning her still-clothed top half over the hood of his big Jeep while he methodically tugged her skirt or pants and panties down around her ankles to nestle atop her sensible work pumps.  She knew he was careful not to pick too public a place, but this was the town in which she worked, and although they lived several towns away, she never stopped worrying about someone coming by who knew just a bit too much about
her .
  .  .

And now, every loud, purging connection of the solid wooden, oval-shaped back of her hairbrush to her already trying-to-dance backside echoed not only in points a bit further south, as always, but all over her body, tightening her nipples and making her hair stand just a bit on end, all over.

The hick arm held her in place for her chastisement with little effort.  The cracking sound of wood to flesh resounded within her - each deliberate, searing swat branding her even more firmly as his woman.