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Losing patience, he finally took my half-finished glass, gulped down the contents in a single mouthful and said, “Trying to delay the inevitable can be costly.”
When he took my hands in each of his, I didn’t resist, which showed how weak my resolve was. He helped me to my feet before folding me in an embrace and kissing me slowly and fully on the lips.
And I let him. I even kissed him back. I couldn’t let his beguiling kisses go unanswered. In those few brief seconds, I stepped back into Simon’s energy field. His powerful g-force shook up everything I thought I knew and believed in.
Deciding not to marry him had been one of my hardest decisions ever, and already he had me doubting it. His response, that we needed to discuss it with me over his knee, was no surprise. If I truly believed that I shouldn’t marry him, that we even needed to break up, I might have said no. I might have used my safe word.
I wasn’t playing a game, but I was scared and still unnerved by some of the events at the party. A huge part of me wanted to be persuaded I was wrong.
I knew if he didn’t care, or if he secretly agreed with me, he wouldn’t have bothered with a spanking or anything else. So, I let him lead me by the hand to our upstairs bedroom. He walked slowly, a familiar routine that allowed me every possible second to anticipate what was coming.
When we reached the bedroom, Simon waved me towards the bathroom while he sat in the wingchair in front of the cold fireplace.
“Get the hairbrush,” he said, his voice neutral.
I walked with plodding footsteps and picked up the Mason Pearson hairbrush, the only visible spanking implement in sight. There were many available, but they were kept in a locked drawer, and I was grateful that he hadn’t asked for anything from our wider collection.
I carried the hairbrush back to him. He’d pulled a small stool in front of his chair and watched me with cool detachment as I looked at it. My heart sank. He’d only used that stool once before, when he was delivering a particularly long spanking. He’d had me kneel on it and drape my body across his left knee before pinning me in place with his right leg. The stool was so I could slide back and take breaks during the marathon session.
When I gave him the hairbrush, he held it up to me. I kissed the back of it, accepting it as part of the ritual.
“Sit.” He motioned to the stool.
I frowned, not understanding.
“On the stool, back to me.”
“Clothes on?”
“Clothes on.” He nodded; his face expressionless. Even without speaking his aura of authority was strong. Strangely, I never found it threatening because, from the first time he spanked me, I knew I could stop things whenever I wanted to.
More than that, something in his commanding attitude and unruffled manner calmed me. It also controlled me, and I was self-aware enough to accept that I wanted to be controlled. Some of the time. Admitting that to myself had been a struggle. Still was. It wasn’t like I could talk to anyone about it, so I’d spent a lot of time soul searching. The magic of our relationship was that Simon sensed my desire and need for his control the same way he understood so much about me, without words or confessions.
I sat on the low stool between his legs, and he clamped my shoulders with his muscular thighs. The warmth and strength of his legs pinning me sent a lurch of desire through me. My breath hitched. I pressed my legs together, as if that would stop my pussy from clenching.
“Keep your hands in your lap,” he instructed.
I did as I was told, reminding myself to breathe. In the next moment, he started brushing my hair. He wasn’t going to spank me. He had only wanted to scare me with the over the knee comment. I sagged, partly with relief, partly with disappointment.
“What’s worrying you, my love?” He drew the hairbrush past the base of my neck and down the length of my hair.
“You said once that I was never to embarrass you in public or in private. After our first date, you even spanked me for embarrassing you.” My body tensed at the memory. “Last night I said many, many stupid things to your friends and business acquaintances. Things that I know would shame both me and you. I can’t live by that rule of not embarrassing you. I can’t even not embarrass myself. I don’t belong in your world.” My voice sank to a whisper.
The brush started again at the top of my head, genuine boar bristles massaging my scalp. It felt heavenly and I tried to imagine life without Simon. A nightmare.
After a long pause, he said in a calm, gravelly voice. “Give me an example.”
I sighed. “Maddy McDonald.”
Admitting that out loud made my shame burn deeper. I shouldn’t have let her upset me so much.
Simon stopped brushing and kissed the top of my head. “That was an all-time obnoxious move,” he said. “You handled yourself brilliantly. You showed almost no reaction, which probably devastated her.”
“But I still feel humiliated. You need the sort of wife who doesn’t worry about stupid stuff like that.”
“Are you saying I need a wife who is a robot, who has no feelings when someone insults her?” He laid down the brush and began massaging my scalp with his fingers.
“I did feel better after Mom got revenge for me, so I guess I’m definitely not a robot.”
