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I saw love and compassion emerge on his face.
“Alright, Dee,” he said.
I felt my eyes go wide. The relief I felt didn’t seem to match what I had expected to feel, but the triumph was genuine. Maybe I could even get him to forget about the spanking entirely. Maybe he actually meant that he wouldn’t even do that… he’d let me off with a warning, or something.
Then I saw his eyes go from me to the rail-back chair, next to the bed. He looked back at me, and I knew he could tell from the color of my face that I had understood what that glance meant. Rick gazed into my eyes for one second longer, as I began to shake my head again. I suddenly felt much too certain that though I had avoided the frightful, menacing strap I wouldn’t be walking out of this room in complete comfort.
Rick moved toward the chair. I took my right hand from my backside and held it out in front of me, trying to jam myself even more tightly against the wall.
“Ricky… sir…” I could hear the desperation in my voice. Somehow it seemed like I had begun to perform in a little scene calledMandy Gets Her First Spanking—and at the same time it seemed I could watch the degrading drama from the audience. The sound of my voice, a sob of panic and shame caught in its pleading words, made the flutter in my tummy, and further down, much worse.
My husband didn’t respond, unless he meant the decisive way he moved the terrible chair away from the wall and into the center of the luxurious little room to serve as an answer to my plea. My eyes stayed glued to his handsome face as he devoted his own attention to positioning the chair exactly where he wanted it.
I had no idea how I could have come to fear a chair—an innocent, old-fashioned, rather pretty piece of furniture—and yet the very squeaking of its feet as Rick adjusted it sent a thrill of alarm through my tummy and my chest. I heard a whimper come from my throat as that fear, seemingly, again affected me further down.
Against my will, at least as far as I could even figure out what I wanted, my left hand squeezed my bottom, under the pretense I supposed of protecting it. I knew with a flush of heat that went up to my forehead, though, that I didn’t really mean to defend my backside; I squeezed the denim seat of my jeans because I needed to do it, needed to feel something there, at that moment.
A few inches away, to my mortification, my pussy responded. I had felt myself clench down there before, once or twice, when Rick and I had cuddled in his bed, and I had let him go too far. In the back of my head, when it had happened that way, I had sensed something truly embarrassing. I could tell, to my dismay, that the wicked, too-good feeling had come about because my boyfriend hadn’t asked if he could touch me that way, but instead had just put his hand between my legs and begun to fondle me.
To ready me… for him… for his pleasure…
I clenched down there, when I squeezed my bottom because the man I loved had just put the awful chair right in the middle of the room. I felt like I must be losing my mind. I had no idea how the imminent danger of the most humiliating thing I could ever have imagined could have made me feel that way between my legs.
My eyes had gone to the seat of the chair. I raised them to see that Rick, standing behind the awful thing, with his hands on its back, had his own gaze fixed on my face.
I blushed hard, and my hot anger at myself for showing my emotions that way, over and over, made it much worse. That didn’t compare, though, to the wave of alarm I felt when I saw in my husband’s eyes that he had taken careful note of the color in my cheeks and the confusion in my eyes.
“I’m going to sit down, now, Dee,” he said slowly and carefully, as if he spoke to a wild animal—not one that could hurt him, but one that might run away in fear before he could show it how well he would take care of it. “Then you’re going to come and lay yourself over my knee.”
My mouth opened, not with the intent to say anything, but simply because my body suddenly needed a lot more air than I could get through my nose. I heard my breath come in little pants, and I started to feel lightheaded, as Rick moved around the horrid chair and started to sit down.
My rational mind, which had decided to go on a strange vacation for a few moments, suddenly returned for a moment. I hadn’t had any words, I thought, when Rick had told me what he wanted me to do, with the mortifying implication of what he intended to do to me. Suddenly logical thoughts came flooding back into my head, my mind reeling away from the insanity of the scene.
“But I didn’tdoanything!” I protested, my brain seizing that thread in the bizarre tapestry of the moment for reasons I didn’t understand. Ididsee that I had just acknowledged something dismaying—that if Ihaddone something, my husband would have done the right thing by taking me to a private room to spank me. The realization brought a sob from my chest so ambiguous I thought I might faint just with the pressure of the thoughts inside my head. Much too late, I tried to counter it by following up, with tears forming in my eyes, “And… even if Ihad…”
“Dee,” Rick said, “listen to me. First of all, I’m sure that for a lot of girls—maybe most girls—failing to obey their husbands shouldn’t mean a trip over their husbands’ knees. For you, though…”
He had stopped the movement of his body that would end in his sitting in the chair.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not…”
“Last chance,” Rick said quietly. “When we get to Rocky Falls, we’ll sit down with a New Modesty counselor and they can explain how it all works legally and psychologically. That doesn’t matter to me anywhere near as much as the fact that you need a spanking, and you’re going to get one before we leave this room.”
In my mind, the whole thing seemed to go around a corner and my brain somehow found itself back in the same place.
“But you can’t,” I started, thinking for some unfathomable reason thatnowRicky would have to see reason, and the strange little nightmare would come to an end. “It’s not—”
I knew that my new husband was, when it came down to it, a man of few words. I had never really seen it in action before. Rick didn’t mind talking, really, when talking would solve a problem, but he also knew when it wouldn’t. As he came around the chair toward me I saw in his eyes the resolute decision that words weren’t going to get us anywhere, not right now.
And part of me understood, to my dismay, that Rick had made the right decision, as mortifying as it would now turn out for me. As if to punctuate that idea, put an exclamation point on it, I heard Heather Franklin cry out again from the other room.
I had nowhere to go. Rick had hold of my upper arm in a second, his right hand tightening in a vise-like grip and pulling me toward him while he simply sat down in the chair.
“Ow! Ricky! You’re—”
“Sir,” Rick said curtly, using his massive strength so deftly that he unbalanced me before I even had a chance to try to yank myself away.
It just happened, that way: my husband pulled me down, toppled me over his lap and then without any further warning began to spank me. A hard smack landed on my denim-covered butt, right in the middle, and then another in the same place.
