Unexpected Consequences (8 page)

Although Otis and Tucker were too discreet to ask, their unspoken question hovered in the air. Jared picked up his glass and stared at the liquid. “Melania went behind my back and bought a pair of shoes after I told her not to and then hid them. When I confronted her, she lied.” Jared shrugged. “I don’t care if she buys a dozen pairs of shoes. I wanted to see if she trusted me enough to follow my direction. She didn’t.” His chest tightened. Melania had not only disappointed and angered him, she’d hurt his feelings. Her trust in him wasn’t wholehearted; it was conditional.

Tucker squinted through the cigar smoke. “Don’t take it so personally, man. If our wives were perfect, they wouldn’t need to be spanked. The purpose of discipline is to correct those lapses.”

Otis puffed on his cigar. “Tucker is right. Trust takes time to grow, but appropriate discipline can hasten the process. You took the first step today.”

The knot of uncertainty in Jared’s chest loosened, but vestiges of doubt remained. “Maybe I just should have given her a few swats. Let her become accustomed to being disciplined first.”

Otis looked at him. “You know Melania better than anyone. What does your gut tell you? If you expect her to trust your judgment, you have to trust it too.”

Jared nodded at the wisdom of Otis’s words. He’d given careful forethought and consideration whether to discipline Melania. It wasn’t until afterward, when he saw how upset she was, that doubt had crept in. Of course she wouldn’t want to be spanked; it was unpleasant. She was bound to be upset and even pout a little afterward. As the leader, it was his duty to decide what was right for both of them. His heavy mood lightened a little more. Otis was correct; he needed to trust his judgment.

“That’s good advice.” Jared raised his glass to Otis.

“No matter how prepared you think they are, the first time—the first
few
times—requires an adjustment period on our wife’s part and ours as well,” Otis said. “Your Melania is only a little older than Liz was when I first married her. Lizzie was still in college and hadn’t decided on law as a career yet. Even though I made sure she was fully aware of my expectations, we went through a transition period.

“In the short term, discipline changes behavior. But to change attitude takes a while. A woman must process the experience, to think about why she was disciplined.” Otis set his cigar in an ashtray. “Give Melania that processing time. Expect a little sulking. Just don’t allow it to drag on. If that happens, you’ll have to step in again.”

Otis glanced at Tucker. “And for a woman to have been spanked right before dinner guests descended upon her, I’d say Melania recovered her poise exceedingly well.”

“Absolutely,” Tucker agreed.

“Thank you,” Jared said. Melania had avoided him until the arrival of their guests. During dinner she was quiet and not her bubbly self, although she acted gracious to their guests and made every effort to welcome them. She hadn’t permitted the spanking to interfere with her duties as hostess. Because he knew her, he could see the difference, but he doubted the others could.

Tucker crossed his legs, then braced an ankle on his knee. “I started spanking Candi while we were engaged. She pouted quite a bit at first.” He chuckled. “Still does sometimes. Once I spanked her twice in one day—the first time for staying out too late with her friends and not calling me, and the second time for excessive pouting. Despite occasional sullenness, she’s on board with discipline, although I think being on maintenance helps. She knows when the spanking will occur and can put herself in the right frame of mind. And me too, for that matter.”

Jared realized he’d been unrealistic in expecting a single spanking to instantly fix the situation. Domestic discipline required a lifelong commitment to the practice, much as meditation or physical exercise did. He and Melania were beginning their journey together and would find a spanking practice that provided the most beneficial outcome for them both.

Jared returned his scrutiny to the spanking bench. Rod and Cane provided much needed guidance and encouragement to engage in a lifestyle that was misunderstood by society. Yet even with the organization’s support, Jared had been a little unprepared for his duty as disciplinarian. Paddling Melania had touched him in ways he never anticipated.

He stroked his chin. “Before Melania, I had spanked a couple of girlfriends when they acted disrespectfully or mouthy, so I thought I knew what to expect. But disciplining Melania was a completely different experience.”

“How so?” Otis asked.

“Even though Melania angered me by lying, as I was spanking her, I loved her so much, it was painful.” Each strike of the paddle had seemed to ricochet through his chest. He’d lived each swat.

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “What shocked me even more was how much her submission turned me on.” He gave a self-deprecating snort of laughter. He’d been so hard by the time he’d finished, he’d thought his cock was going to explode.

Everything about Melania aroused him: her innocence, her spontaneity, her uninhibited response to his touch. It thrilled him in a possessive, primitive way that he was the first man to know her, to touch her intimately, to taste the sweetest pussy on God’s earth, and to fuck her. He loved knowing she had committed to him and to him alone.

Why wouldn’t her submission arouse him also?

Jared squeezed his eyes shut. Instantly a picture of Melania, near naked and bent over the bench, filled his mind, and he could feel his body respond to the image, the blood coursing through his veins. He opened his eyes.

Despite Melania’s reluctance, when she bowed over the form and presented her tender ass to him, heat had burned through him like wildfire whipped by the Santa Ana winds. After he’d struck her the first time with the paddle, her tender cheeks blushed immediately.

He’d expected an erotic spanking to be a turn-on, but a disciplinary one? Jared eyed Otis and Tucker, wondering if they experienced the same with their wives. They were mature, married men, not high school boys sharing their fictitious exploits in the locker room. Intimate moments, disciplinary and sexual, that a man shared with his wife were meant to be private. Yet Jared needed to release some of the emotion bottled up inside.

“I didn’t expect—” Jared broke off and looked away. “The pinker her ass became, well, the more it turned me on.” His frank words sounded almost crude, but they were true. He’d had to force himself to focus on the discipline and not on coloring her ass.

Christ, he was getting hard again thinking about it. He shifted in his seat.

“Non-spankos don’t understand the eroticism of discipline.” Otis nodded.

“Candi and I have our best sex after a spanking. That’s another great thing about maintenance,” Tucker added.

Jared pinched the bridge of his nose, recalling how the spanking he’d given Melania had had the opposite effect. “Melania wouldn’t let me touch her.” He’d wanted to comfort and soothe her, to make love to her and deepen the intimacy, but she had rejected his overture—rejected him. Her quiet “don’t” had been nonnegotiable.

“She will,” Tucker said confidently.

“Give her a little time,” Otis added. “Even though wives might appear to rebel, having a strong, dominant husband is a turn-on, and the marriage becomes more passionate.”

That seemed impossible. Melania had sobbed during the spanking and wouldn’t look at him afterward. Every time he touched her during the evening, she had tensed or flinched. Christ, what if she was afraid of him now? What would he do?

Eroticism wasn’t the purpose of domestic discipline anyway. A punishment spanking wasn’t supposed to be pleasant. If it was, wouldn’t that defeat the purpose? Jared sighed. Melania’s withdrawal had been the more appropriate response.

He couldn’t imagine Melania’s sobs of pain turning into cries of passion. He would have to resign himself to the fact that spanking Melania would be a sexually frustrating act. Jared smoothed his palms down his thighs. He didn’t know how he would endure the evening without touching her.

He braced himself for a long, uncomfortable night.

Chapter Six

Melania waved to their departing guests and reentered the foyer of their home. Alone again. Alone with Jared. She flattened a calming hand against her fluttering stomach. She had dreaded this moment all evening.

After the women had finished the dishes and the men had smoked their cigars, the couples had reconvened in the living room for a final cup of coffee.

Jared had patted the sofa seat beside him, giving her no choice but to sit next to him. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and when he stretched his arm over the sofa back, the heat from his bare skin enveloped her in an aura of warmth, disturbing in its pleasant intimacy. She didn’t understand why the simple gesture aroused her when her emotions were so unsettled. She should have been immune.

Every time he had shifted, his thigh had brushed hers, and her butt cheeks had tingled as the sofa cushion moved. She’d found herself inhaling, taking in the rich scent of cognac and the bitter-pleasant odor of cigar. Memories of tender, intimate moments surfaced, warring with remembrances of the too recent, too painful events in Jared’s office.

The women’s confidences and concern had provided another perspective of domestic discipline, but that only muddied the waters instead of clearing them. As much as she loved Jared and desired to be obedient, she couldn’t endure another spanking. Poised in her foyer, she shook her head with confusion. Liz and Candi had raved about it. How could their experience be so different from hers?

What the heck was she going to do? She didn’t have a clue, although she realized she needed to consider her situation carefully and not act impulsively. Her future was at stake. She was a married woman—at least for the time being—and any decision she made would affect the rest of her life. Running away wouldn’t solve her dilemma. Thank goodness her father hadn’t been home when she called.

Like Sleeping Beauty, Melania had been awakened by her prince, but not by his kiss—by his spanking. She couldn’t forecast the future, but she now saw her marriage as the daunting challenge it was. Could love be enough to save it? Homes filled with love slid down flooded hillsides as easily as rancor-filled houses did.

She’d also gained a better picture of herself, and it was not a flattering one. She felt ashamed for buying and hiding the shoes. She’d acted like a little kid who had stolen a cookie and denied doing it. How immature. She conceded Jared’s anger was justified.

But spanking? Melania might be able to tolerate a swat every now and then, but a paddling like Jared had delivered was untenable. Melania rubbed her butt cheeks, soothing the ache. She had a hunch she would be sore for days.

Yet the whisper of her conscience questioned if her regret would have been as deep or genuine if Jared had gone easier on her. He must have been very disappointed to have spanked her so fiercely.

She sneaked a glance at her husband, who was locking the front door. All her senses shifted from yellow alert to code red.

“Melania.” The rumble of her name on his lips and the heat she spied in his eyes made her legs tremble. An answering need she hardly understood flooded her pussy with moisture. Jared always affected her that way; he had only to look at her, and her body would begin to hum with desire.

“You did a wonderful job tonight,” he said.

“Thank you.” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and watched the flame in his eyes flare as if doused by accelerant. She expected him to kiss her, but he remained still. She told herself the sinking feeling was relief, not disappointment. She wasn’t ready for him to touch her; her emotions were in too much of an upheaval. It was better he keep his distance.

Wasn’t it?

“It’s been…a long day for you. I’ll lock up the rest of the house. You go on to bed. I’ll be up later. Don’t wait.” His tone was as stiff as his posture.

Melania sucked in a silent breath. She’d obviously misread the signals, imagined the flash of heated desire in his gaze. She swallowed to expel the bitterness of his rejection. After avoiding him, it seemed crazy she should want his reassurance, need his arms around her, crave his physical possession.

She watched Jared stride from the foyer, each step away from her adding weight to her aching heart.

Melania blinked back a tear and ascended the stairs to their room.

In the master suite, she kicked off her shoes and slipped out of her dress in the dark. There was no rush to get ready for bed; Jared would be awhile. He was giving her a taste of her own bitter medicine by avoiding her. She sniffed.

She stowed her shoes in their box, hung her dress in the closet, then, clad only in bra and thong, sat at her vanity in the bathroom. She winced as her bottom connected with the padded stool, but noted she was getting used to the pain that came with sitting, almost relished it. No, that was insane. How could pain be pleasant?

Melania poured makeup remover on a wad of cotton and swiped it over her eyelids and face. She sighed. She should have been relieved she had time alone. It was crazy to feel hurt that Jared was delaying coming up to bed.

She wiped her face with a fresh cotton pad. After being spanked so soundly, making love should have been the last thing on her mind. She moved to her sink and washed her face, patted it dry, then massaged a night moisturizer into her skin.

Melania stripped off her underwear. The crotch of her panties was damp. The throbbing in her ass cheeks seemed to transmit to other parts of her anatomy. Her sex felt swollen, achy.

Finished in the bathroom, she moved into the bedroom to get a nightie from her dresser drawer. As she turned from the light switch, she caught sight of her backside in the standing mirrors.

The rosy brand beckoned her to examine herself further.

Using one mirror to see her reflection in the other, she appraised her bottom. The hue had deepened since she’d first looked at it. Gingerly she smoothed her hands over her inflamed flesh. Her gaze was riveted on her wedding ring and reddened skin; she was unable to look away. A scarlet mark of shame, the red butterfly on her bottom served as a reminder of her disobedience, of Jared’s rightful dominance. A quickening curled low in her stomach, a stirring answered by a tingle in her clit. Not excitement, she told herself as her breathing increased and her body seemed to loosen and grow languid. Not sexual excitement.