Unexpected Consequences (11 page)

“Do the colors have any special significance?”

Janeka nodded. “The Auxiliary has five tiers of membership. New members are light pink. Liz, as one of the highest-ranking members, has a red badge. She is the Auxiliary’s liaison on the Society’s advocacy and legal committees. We have only a handful of red-badge Auxiliary members.”

Melania raised her eyebrows. “I am in esteemed company.”

“I want other women to get as much out of domestic discipline as I have.” Liz looked at Melania. “Now that you’re official, let’s do the tour. We’ll start with the museum promenade.”

They said good-bye to Janeka and rounded the desk to the heavy wooden double doors behind it. A burley, uniformed man greeted them with a nod, discreetly checking their name badges. He served as a bouncer and doorman rolled into one, a living example of the importance the Rod and Cane Society placed on security and privacy.

With a flourish, the guard opened the intricately carved doors and ushered Melania and Liz into the wide hallway. The marble floor continued into the hall but was protected by thick, sound-absorbing oriental rugs. More velvet drapes, these pulled closed, adorned the windows. Huge chandeliers dangled from the tall medallioned ceiling, while crystal wall sconces cast an ambient glow. Several high-backed sofa rounds, their red leather upholstery worn to a smooth patina, formed a row down the center of the hall. Women congregated in small groups, chatting, while a couple more with pale pink name badges peered into mahogany display cases.

Melania could have appreciated the understated, elegant opulence if not for the paintings.

Her gaze was riveted to the artwork. All similarity to a governor’s residence vanished, and she understood why security was so tight. The heat of shock and embarrassment flooded her face.

The paintings depicted women being disciplined. The oldest ones showed ladies, their dresses and petticoats ruched around their waists, their drawers down to their knees as a switch from a tree branch was applied to their buttocks. Flappers with bobbed hair and sleeveless dresses bared their bottoms to leather straps and wooden paddles. Against the backdrop of a 1950s-era kitchen, a housewife was being paddled over a man’s knee. Melania wondered if the woman’s crime had been not putting to good use the new laborsaving appliances she could see in the background of the painting.

“You understand the need for discretion,” Liz said softly.

Melania nodded, although for all the attention the other women paid the paintings, they could have been of flowers or still lifes of fruit. Was she the only one shocked by them? She understood why a man would want to rein in his wife’s behavior; she still failed to fathom why a wife would want to be spanked or would advocate it for other women. Even if Melania knew she deserved punishment, she still wanted to avoid it!

Melania realized a good portion of her ignorance about Rod and Cane was not her fault, as her parents had hidden the truth about their practice and the organization. However, she didn’t blame them. How would one’s parents explain that Daddy spanks Mama when she’s bad? What if she
had
known and had mentioned it to her friends at school? She shuddered to think of the complications she might have unleashed. No, her parents were right to keep their private life tucked close.

There had been a couple of clues to their lifestyle, but all of them were circumstantial and meaningless without the context, which she hadn’t had. Her mother always deferred punishment of Melania to her father, telling her discipline was a husband’s duty and prerogative. And there was the wary look her mother would get if asked to meet Melania’s father in his den. But how was Melania supposed to know what that meant?

Now, however, she had a vested interest in learning as much as possible. As the saying went, her ass was on the line. With Liz following, Melania strode to one of the antique mahogany cases. Her eyes rounded as she peered though the bubbled glass. Paddles of various woods, shapes, and sizes filled the cabinet. Long ones, short ones. Wide ones and ruler-thin ones. Round and rectangular. Many were obviously antique and had been well used, while others were brand spanking new. Holes perforated some of them.

Melania sneaked a glance at a young woman wearing a pink badge and an expression of nervous fascination. She figured she had the same look on her own face. As she stared at the paddles, memories of the one that had been applied to her backside roared back with a vengeance. Her knees wobbled as her stomach practiced backflips.

She swallowed and turned to Liz. “Why do some of the paddles have holes?”

“It decreases wind resistance. It hurts more.” More? Melania knew without a doubt she never wanted to be spanked by a paddle with holes—or any paddle, for that matter. She exhaled in a vain attempt to relieve her tension and crept to the next case. She found thin rods—some with handles, some without.

“Caning is a form of spanking,” Liz answered her silent question.

Another cabinet contained an eclectic assortment of items: hairbrushes, wooden spoons, spatulas, rattan rug beaters, and rulers. Melania frowned.

“Common household implements,” Liz explained. “Sometimes for expediency, a husband will use what is handy. Other times the implement holds a symbolic significance, such as when a wife is spanked with her favorite hairbrush.”

Melania forced herself to breathe normally. The reality of what she’d consented to by marrying Jared was becoming impossible to avoid. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. It was hard to reconcile the two sides of her husband: the strict disciplinarian who believed it was his right and duty to spank her, and the protective, tender husband who sheltered her in his arms and brought her to ecstasy night after night. Unfortunately she couldn’t have one without the other.

“I’ve seen enough here,” Melania said. She was an Alice in Wonderland, only this was no work of fiction. It was the real life she’d unwittingly chosen for herself.

“Let’s go this way.” Liz headed left down a hallway. Heart pounding, Melania followed. Liz gestured for Melania to enter through an open double door off the corridor. “This is the general membership parlor. It’s for men only; women are not permitted except for special membership events this like one.”

Melania stepped into a room furnished in dark, rich woods and man-size leather sofas. A massive stone fireplace was readied for a roaring fire should one be desired. A well-stocked wet bar occupied a corner. A carved humidor of some old wood rested on a massive coffee table, and large, clean ashtrays lay in wait throughout the room. The smell of wood fire, cigars, pipe tobacco, and a strong dash of testosterone permeated the atmosphere.

The room epitomized an old boys’ club sanctuary from feminine influence—exactly what Melania had imagined when she thought of the Rod and Cane Society. Exactly.

Except for the artwork.

Her gaze zeroed in on the large, ornately framed photographs of women—some naked, others demurely draped in silks and satins, but all with bare bottoms bearing the telltale stains ranging from pink to red. Reclining, standing, and squatting, their bodies modeled rounded, feminine curves. Artistically lighted and shot, the photographs drew the eye to their blushing bottoms, celebrating the female form and discipline in a sensual, even erotic way. The photographer—whoever he was—had captured the women’s images from the viewpoint of a lover, a spankophile.

The photographs mesmerized Melania, who couldn’t help but contrast the sensual appeal with her own painful disciplinary experience. A curious ache, almost a longing, stirred within her.

“This is what I wanted you to see,” Liz said quietly. “It shows you spanking from the man’s perspective.”

“They’re beautiful,” Melania admitted. If this was how a husband viewed spanking his wife, it was no wonder he wanted to lay the paddle to her bottom.

Despite Liz and Candi’s advocacy, Melania had steadfastly refused to consider spanking as anything but painful and humiliating. But she couldn’t ignore the photographs. A picture really was worth a thousand words. The women in the photographs exuded the satisfaction of being loved—physically and emotionally—displaying their rosy bottoms proudly. Melania recalled Jared’s look of passion and awe when he had caught her examining herself in the mirror. The sex that followed had been scorching and hadn’t cooled since. Even when they weren’t making love, he continued to touch her, particularly her bottom. He seemed fascinated by her derriere. Could their enhanced intimacy be related to the spanking?

And if it was, was it worth the price? Could she bear to pay for it with her body’s submission?

She studied the photos again. One woman peered over her shoulder, a Mona Lisa smile curving her lips. In another’s eyes, she saw glints of light hinting at a pleasurable secret. It was hard to look away from the photos. “Something about these is…captivating,” Melania murmured.

“Yes, they are,” Liz answered. “Shall we move on?”

Liz showed her the governance chamber, where important business meetings were held. Dark, heavy drapes covered a large portion of the wall.

Melania frowned. The governance chamber was located in the interior of the building. There was nothing to look at. “What does the window view?” she asked.

“That’s a two-way mirror,” Liz explained. “It looks into the next room, the disciplinary chamber.” Liz did not offer to show her that room.

Melania toured a library, briefly noting a wide variety of materials but especially books on spanking and discipline, and a couple of smaller meeting spaces. Finally they followed the sound of feminine chatter and laughter to a large parlor decorated in pink and rose florals and arranged with luncheon tables.

Perhaps seventy-five women occupied the room, most seated, some congregated in small groups, visiting. They all looked like perfectly normal women. The kind Melania would expect to meet at the supermarket, in church, at a shopping mall. Liz led the way to a spot near the front. Melania was pleased to see Candi seated at their table.

“I’m so glad you came.” Candi leaped up and hugged her.

Melania hugged her back. Besides Liz, Candi was the only other person she knew. She was introduced to the four other women at the table. One of the women wore a pink badge like herself, but it bore her own name:
Emma Dupree
. Melania wondered why she rated a given name.

Melania had settled into her seat when she noticed the city’s mayor enter the parlor. Her eyes widened with newfound awareness as the mayor eased herself into a chair across the room. That the mayor was there at all was shocking. But the way she moved so gingerly…

Melania’s tablemates followed her gaze.

“That’s another reason for privacy and confidentiality. Can you imagine what would happen to that woman’s career and reputation if word got out she’s a spanked wife?” Liz said.

Melania looked at Liz. “How does Rod and Cane advocate discipline and spanking yet keep it a secret?”

“Person to person,” Liz answered with a smile. “You’re right. We don’t openly publicize our existence. We approach it on a personal level, one to one.”

Just as she and Candi had done with her, Melania realized. Across the room, she spotted another face she knew from sight—a municipal court judge. Before joining a private court reporting firm, Melania had worked at the courthouse for a short time. She remembered the judge from those days. Melania swiveled her head around the room. “
All
these women are spanked wives?”

“Most of them. A few, like me, are just hoping to be,” said the petite blonde named Emma. “I’m single, but I’d like to marry a strong man who knows when and how to take control.”

“I see,” Melania answered. But she didn’t. She folded her hands in her lap, trying not to stare at Emma as if she’d sprouted a second head. Actively searching for a husband who would spank you was as crazy as asking for a spanking. Melania didn’t want to be spanked. Plain and simple. She might have to allow it, but she wouldn’t ever want it or request it.

Or would she? Unbidden, images of the artwork from the men’s parlor invaded her mind. She couldn’t deny she’d found the pictures sensual, erotic even. Was she insane? How could she have hated her own spanking so much yet admire its aftermath in others? Melania pressed two fingers to her temple in a vain effort to reconcile her seesawing thoughts and emotions.

Her turmoil must have shown on her face, because a woman with a rose-colored badge spoke up. “You’re new to domestic discipline?” she asked, looking at Melania.

Melania nodded.

The woman touched her name badge, which said
Mrs. Edward Hart
. “I’m Jonée, by the way… The domestic discipline lifestyle can be an adjustment at first. Even when you think you’re committed to it.”

“I’m having a bit of a problem with that.” Melania shocked herself with her admission. “Everybody speaks of it…spanking”—she stumbled over the word and glanced at Liz and Candi before returning her gaze to Jonée—“like it’s the most wonderful experience in the world.” She flushed. “My husband spanked me, and it was awful.” Saying it was embarrassing still.

“It was for me too—at first.” Jonée nodded. “I met my husband, Ed, when I was thirty-five and he was forty-two. We’d both been married before. I was a single mom, and Ed had two kids. We both carried some emotional baggage, but neither of us wanted to repeat our mistakes. Ed suggested we try domestic discipline.”

Jonée chuckled. “I don’t know what I thought I was going to get. I had never even spanked my kids. So it was an eye-opener. The first time Ed spanked me, I thought I’d made a huge mistake. I wanted to call it off—not just that particular spanking, but the entire domestic discipline agreement.”

Her face turned serious. “Only Ed wouldn’t allow it. He made it plain he was in charge. That shocked me more than the actual spanking.”

“What do you mean?” Melania asked.

“When a man puts his foot down and means it, you learn what commitment really is. I had two choices and two choices only: accept it or leave.”

Emma Dupree spoke up. “You obviously accepted it.”

“I almost didn’t.” Jonée glanced at Emma. “But, I’d been married before. I knew what it was like to butt heads and be unable or unwilling to reach an agreement, so I decided that perhaps enduring—that’s how I thought of it, enduring—one spanking wasn’t giving domestic discipline enough of a chance.”