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The spanker came down hard with stroke after stroke, mainly in the very center of her bottom, though he managed a few sharp smacks lower, higher, and to the sides.
"I was worried sick, damn you! I can't believe you just didn't think to call!" The more Tony talked out his anger, the more it vented on her bright scarlet mounds.
"Ouch, no please!" she cried. She struggled a little to stay in one place, knowing attempts to get away would be pointless. Tony would make her endure more. Though she had to admit, this was one punishment she deserved.
The biting smacks peppered her aching rear, in what seemed to be a never ending cadence.
"Oh, gawd! I'm sorry, I really am!" she managed to put the words together for an apology.
"I'm sure you are," he replied. Though he didn't for a second decrease the vigor of the paddling. "If you don't sit down for a week, I'll be happy!" he told her.
"Please!" There were tears running down her cheeks. She was exhausted, from her adventure, from the spanking, and from the wild ride of emotions that had characterized this odd day. Anymore and she was afraid she might lose it all together.
Tony finally seeing her distress, slowed the pace, and laid several final strokes that signaled a welcome end. When he at last put the spanker down beside her on the desk, Melanie breathed a sigh of relief, though their confrontation was hardly over.
Pulling her up from her bent over position, he turned her around, picked her up, and then sat her down on the hard unyielding desk surface with a emphatic jolt.
"Ouch, that hurts!" she exclaimed.
"Good!" he said, obviously still angry.
"Now, before I turn you over my knee, and use the butter paddle on your bottom, suppose you tell me your story."
Melanie snuffed and wiped tears away with back of her hand.
"Good god, Melanie, just because you're acting so childishly doesn't mean you can't use a Kleenex," he said, handing her one.
She blew her nose, which gave her a few moments to think about how she would tell him. "Well," she sighed, and tried to smile. Tony was looking straight at her with the most god awful stern expression on his handsome face. This was even more difficult than she expected.
"Don't mince words, just give it to me straight," he warned her. "It's not the car is it? I didn't think of that one."
"No, no!" She was encouraged that was where his worries were. "It's not the car at all."
"Thank heaven for small favors, so what is it?" he prompted her.
"Well," she started again, "when you were gone this morning, I went to the attic and read the journal. The end of the journal. And then I read the letters that were with it . . . ." She paused for a second. "Tony," she took a deep breath. "I want to sell the house." She blurted the words out boldly, hoping he wouldn't faint with the announcement.
"What!"
"I don't want to live here anymore."
"What?" Tony was dumbfound. "Did you really say that?"
She nodded her head. There were more tears flowing again, and she could hardly speak.
"After all this trouble, all the wars, and the shit, are you losing your mind?"
Melanie struggled with a smile, trying to get him to lighten, even just a little. "Actually, I think I've come to my senses."
"This is going to require one damn good explanation," Tony advised her.
"I think you'll be pleased!" she said.
He eyed her with the most puzzled expression, wondering what could possibly explain this abrupt change of heart. "Well, if you can explain this one, you've got a lot of talking to do. And while you're at it, you'd better not forget to cover why you were so late tonight."
Tony pulled his wife off the desk, and set her down in a chair. He sat on the other side of the desk from her, as if she was a student or employee that he was in the process of dressing down. The placement kept him from simply taking her in his arms again and paddling her behind once more, a desire that was prevailing on him with tremendous fervor.
"So start," he said when he was ready to listen.
