by Thianna D
Logan nodded. “Understood,” he said. “Thank you for talking to me about it. What I said was disrespectful to you, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“So what happens now?” she asked.
“How do you mean?”
“Well you admitted that you did wrong in leaping to the conclusion that you did, you’ve said sorry and that you won’t do it again.”
“Is that not enough?”
“Well, it isn’t when I have done something wrong. I get a punishment spanking as well.”
Logan pulled back from the hug so that they were at arm’s length from one another and looked at her questioningly. “You want to spank me?”
Kirsty frowned. The idea wasn’t appealing at all. “Maybe not,” she conceded. “But it is a bit unfair, isn’t it? There’s two people in this relationship and yet if I do something wrong, I get my backside warmed like an errant child and if you do something wrong, you just get to apologize and move on. I feel like I’m setting back Women’s Rights sixty years sometimes. Aren’t we supposed to be equal partners?”
Logan ran his finger down the side of her face and kissed her softly on her cheek. “I guess it’s something we will just need to keep working on and discussing. We’re still figuring all of this out. I don’t want you to think that I get to discipline you just because I’m a man and you are my woman.”
“That’s how it seems to work round here, though, isn’t it? Most of the couples we know have the same sort of deal. The Head of Household is male and the Taken In Hand is female. Are we all just being horribly sexist in submitting to the authority of our menfolk?”
“Well, not every couple in Corbin’s Bend is like that, of course. There’s Crystal and Carol, and Benjamin and Jonathon of course. And there are definitely some households where the Head of Household is female and the Taken In Hand is male. For example, there’s Stephanie Heirland, the Middle School Principal. She’s Head of Household and her husband is her Taken in Hand.”
“I guess. It’s not the way it usually seems to work around here though, is it?”
“Maybe not.” Logan kissed Kirsty firmly on her lips. “I tell you what though. You don’t get to spank me. Not ever. That’s not how this thing works. If you think the rules of spanking are unfair, then we will have to even it up the other way.”
“The other way?”
“Yes. I stop giving you spankings.” Kirsty gave an involuntarily squeak of protest. Logan smiled. “I’m guessing that you don’t like that idea much?”
“No, not at all. You know that. I mean I always knew that I liked being spanked, but I really had no idea quite how much until I met you. Nothing ever feels as right as it does when you have me bent over for a spanking.”
“I know. It feels pretty right to me too. That’s why I give the spankings and you get spanked. It’s nothing to do with my imposing my will over you because you’re female. We’re just wired this way. And much as I enjoy the sexy spankings, I think the Domestic Discipline side of things is an important part of it too. We take our kink and use it to make our relationship stronger.”
Kirsty furrowed her brow. “Hmm. You make a convincing case there, mister. Still not convinced you should be allowed to screw up and get away with it scot free though. Tell you what, maybe next time I do something wrong, I should be granted amnesty on my punishment. Like a free pass.”
Logan chuckled. “Not a chance, sweetie. You screw up and you’re going straight over my knee, having your backside swatted until it’s bright red and hot enough to fry eggs on.”
Kirsty smiled. When he put it like that, it didn’t sound that bad at all.
Chapter Five
“So is Doris Day your ideal woman then?” asked Kirsty.
Logan thought about it. The two had just gone to see a trio of Doris Day movies at the local Corbin’s Bend movie theater. Logan loved old movies, particularly those of the 1940s and 1950s, and had been delighted when he had discovered soon after they had met, that Kirsty had shared his passion.
They differed a bit on the actual films they enjoyed and Logan had been horrified to realize that Kirsty had barely seen any Doris Day movies at all. “How can you not have seen A Touch of Mink?” he’d asked her. “It’s a stone cold classic.”
“I dunno. Doris Day always kind of annoyed me. The characters she plays are always so bloody wholesome. Give me Sophia Loren or Jane Russell any day.”
Logan frowned. “See, you say ‘wholesome’ like it’s a bad thing. I quite like that she plays these characters who are nice and straightforward and likes to take care of her man.”
“‘Takes care of her man’?” scoffed Kirsty. “Men aren’t hamsters. Shouldn’t they be perfectly capable of taking care of themselves?”
“Well obviously but in a relationship, people look out for one another. The man protects his woman and the woman takes care of her man.”
They had gone to see the Doris Day films together. Logan guessed that watching Doris Day portray the epitome of a 1950s housewife in The Thrill of It All had prompted Kirsty to ask her question.
“I don’t think Doris Day is my ideal woman,” he replied. “For a start, it wouldn’t be a great idea to judge an actress on the roles she played. I think she’s a great actress though. And she made some great films. What did you think of Pillow Talk?”
“Oh it was lovely,” Kirsty conceded. “And very funny.” But inside she felt a little bit troubled.
* * * * *
Kirsty sat in her mentor Kelli Stevens’ homely kitchen sipping hot chocolate.
“So Kirsty,” said Kelli, pushing a plate of homemade cookies towards her. “Is this a social call, or was there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?”
“Um, you know, this and that,” said Kirsty vaguely, swirling her hot chocolate around her cup with a spoon.
“I’m always happy to talk about this and that,” said Kelli, smiling. “Go on, shoot.”
“Um, well, it’s just… who does most of the housework in your house? Is it you or Lelo?”
Kelli laughed. “I don’t think housework has ever been Lelo’s strong suit. Besides he’s busy with his own stuff.”
“So you do everything?” Kirsty asked.
“Pretty much. Lelo takes the trash out.”
Kirsty sighed.
“Is that’s what’s bothering you? Logan expecting you to do too much round the house?”
“No, that isn’t it. We share all the tasks really. I just sometimes get the impression that he wishes I was more of a homemaker type. Like you. Or his mom. Or his sisters. You know his sister Lydia has a spotless house and home cooked dinner on the table every night without fail for her husband. And then she cleans up everything afterwards. Her husband doesn’t have to lift a finger.”
“Well, you know, Kirsty, that’s fine for lots of people. It’s fine for Lelo and me. We got married a long time ago and I always knew I’d be a stay at home wife and a homemaker. It suits me and I like to do things for him. I’m sure it suits Logan’s sister fine too. But you know, I don’t think anyone expects women to do all the work these days. Not when you’re both working hard at your jobs, like you and Logan. I gotta say, Logan always struck me as being a very fair guy. You sure you’re not worrying about nothing?”
“Oh probably. Logan doesn’t expect me to do all the work around the house. He does more than his fair share. It’s just sometimes, I don’t know, I think he’d like to be married to a 1950s-type wife. All flouncy skirts and apron and meeting him at the door with a martini when he gets home from work. Like Doris Day at the end of The Thrill of it all.”
“Maybe you’ve hit on it there, Kirsty. Maybe that’s a fantasy of his.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, plenty of guys fantasize about having their girls dress up as cheerleaders or French maids, maybe you should do something like that?”
Kirsty colored. “You mean, become the perfect housewife as a sort of sexy role play?”
�
��Sure why not? It’ll give him the chance to enjoy having his submissive Doris Day wife without you having to change your whole life style.”
Kirsty had to admit that she quite enjoyed the thought of dressing up as a fifties-style homemaker for Logan. She could just picture herself dressed up to the nines in a 1950s style dress and stockings and perfectly styled hair. She couldn’t believe that it was her respectable middle-aged mentor who was suggesting turning it into a sex game, though. Well actually she could. She knew well enough that the women of Corbin’s Bend were always refreshingly frank about such matters.
“You know,” said Kirsty thoughtfully. “Valentine’s Day is coming up. Maybe this could be the perfect gift for him.”
* * * * *
Logan was in no way superstitious so Friday 13th of February happened much like any other day in his calendar. He went to work. He did his job. He drove home and worried a bit that the flowers and card he’d bought for Kirsty weren’t enough of a Valentine’s Day gift. Did British people even celebrate Valentine’s Day, he wondered vaguely as he turned his key in the door. He probably should have spoken to Kirsty about it beforehand.
As soon as he opened the door, all other thoughts fled from his mind as he spotted the vision who was waiting for him.
Kirsty was waiting at the door for him, looking nothing like he had ever seen her before. She was wearing a 1950s style dress, cinched in at the waist with a wide flared skirt. Logan didn’t consider himself an expert of any kind on fashion – especially not women’s fashion – but he could certainly appreciate how the retro style dress totally flattered Kirsty’s body shape with her neat breasts, tiny waist, and surprisingly full hips and ass. She was holding a tray with a drink in an old fashioned martini glass complete with olive.
“Hey, honey,” she said, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “How was your day?”
“It was okay,” said Logan, taking the cocktail from the tray. “I suspect it’s about to get a whole lot better.”
“It’s a mock-tini,” Kirsty said quickly before Logan took a sip of his drink, as though worried he might be disappointed. Logan hadn’t given up drinking when Kirsty did but by an unspoken agreement they hadn’t kept any alcohol in the house since she’d quit booze.
“Perfect,” said Logan. He made a spinning motion with his fingers. “Come on then, give me a twirl. I want to see the full effect of this outfit.”
Kirsty dutifully spun round. Her skirt flared out, showing layers of netted petticoats beneath. She had fashioned her hair in a 1950s hairdo as well, he noticed. It was backcombed into a bouffant and hung down the side of her head ending in a sharp flick. Being a hairdresser, she clearly had the skills to pull off that look. Her face looked different too. Tidier and softer. He guessed it was a make-up thing.
As far as Logan was concerned, Kirsty always looked amazing. But this evening she looked even more beautiful than he had ever seen her before. She took his breath away.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked
“Consider it an early Valentine’s Day present,” said Kirsty.
“Ah, so you Brits do celebrate Valentine’s Day. I did wonder.”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘us Brits’,” said Kirsty in what Logan knew was her best American accent. It wasn’t at all good to be fair. “I’m the perfect American housewife. I’ve made you meatloaf and everything.”
“Made as in made?” asked Logan, intrigued, “or made as in ‘bought frozen and heated up?”
“Made as in made,” said Kirsty huffily. “I mixed eggs and raw meat together and everything.”
“And then cooked it?” asked Logan. Kirsty’s cooking skills weren’t the best and the thought of eating raw eggs and beef wasn’t an attractive idea.
“Of course,” said Kirsty. “One hour at 375 degrees.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh fuck!” she cried before haring into the kitchen at full pelt.
Logan followed. The meatloaf that Kirsty pulled from the oven was a little charred round the edges but was by no means ruined.
“Shit!” she said.
“I’m not sure the perfect housewife should be using language like that,” said Logan. He glanced at their tiny dining table which was situated in the kitchen. Kirsty had set the table exquisitely with a tablecloth, folded napkins and sparkling glassware. “Is there anything else you need to do to prepare dinner?” he asked.
Kirsty gathered herself and once again assumed the guise of the perfect retro American housewife. “No, honey,” she said. “Dinner will be served shortly.
“Mm,” said Logan. “Come over here for just a moment, will you? I want you to bend over this table.”
“Why?”
“I think you know why. I don’t even like regular Kirsty swearing. Perfect housewife Kirsty is not allowed to swear at all. In fact, if perfect housewife Kirsty says both the f-word and the s-word within ten minutes of her husband coming home, she can expect to be bent over the table and have her fanny swatted.”
Logan guided Kirsty over the table, taking care not to disarrange any of her table decorations.
He flipped her skirts to above her waist and then, taken aback by the sight that met his eyes, took a contemplative step backwards to admire the view.
Kirsty hadn’t just ensured that her 1950s theme covered her outer garments. She had clearly gone for a retro look in her undergarments as well. She was wearing the most delightful pair of stern, 1950s knickers. She looked like Bettie Page. Something about the high waistline and austere covering made him hotter than ever. As though her pussy and ass were off limits and he was just about to intrude on forbidden territory.
He lay a couple of swats against her pantied backside and then yanked her knickers to her thighs, administering a quick dozen thwacks with his hand to her uncovered rear. He took care of it as quickly as possible. Much as he enjoyed punishing Kirsty, he really didn’t want the dinner that Kirsty had lovingly prepared him to go cold in the meantime.
He pulled her panties to her waist. “Stand up,” he said and Kirsty obeyed. God he loved it when she was submissive.
He straightened her panties so they lay smooth against her bottom and then pulled her skirts back down so they hung respectably around her body.
“I’m ready for my dinner now,” he said. And settled down in one of the kitchen chairs.
Kirsty looked as though she was about to say something and then didn’t. She took the meatloaf that was rapidly cooling on top of the stove and carved it into generous slices. She piled up Logan’s plate with meatloaf, potatoes, creamed corn, and greens and then did the same to her own. Her perfectly prepared gravy she poured into a jug and set on the table.
* * * * *
Kirsty’s bottom smarted as she sat down to the table. She supposed she deserved the spanking that Logan had administered over the table. Swearing was hardly part of her 1950’s perfect housewife persona.
She worried that the meatloaf she had prepared hadn’t been up to standard. It had definitely been overcooked and she wasn’t really sure how it was supposed to turn out. It seemed such a perfect American meal. The problem with the perfect American meal, she realized, is that her perfect American boyfriend would have had it many times, each time cooked better than she had managed to.
She should have cooked him Toad in the Hole she decided in retrospect. Or Bubble and Squeak. Then he wouldn’t have known how it was supposed to taste and wouldn’t have been able to tell whether she had done it properly or not.
Although when she tasted the meatloaf, she couldn’t help feel fairly pleased with the way it had turned out. It didn’t taste half bad. She cooked so rarely that she had very little confidence in her ability to do it.
Logan meanwhile was tucking into his dinner with relish, frequently making appreciative noises, and telling Kirsty how delicious it all was.
Kirsty was pleased that Logan enjoyed the meal so much. When the meal was over, he pushed back his chair with a satisfied sigh. He looked very happily full.
“You’re quite the competent little cook when you put your mind to it, aren’t you?” he said.
Kirsty gave a bark of surprised laughter. “Gee, thanks. ‘Competent Little Anything’ is exactly what all women aspire to be, of course.”
Logan quirked an eyebrow. “What happened to my obedient old-fashioned housewife?”
“Oh yeah. Sorry.” Kirsty dropped her hands to her lap and looked at him through her lashes, hoping she would look enticingly submissive rather than just odd. “I’m glad you enjoyed your dinner, darling,” she said.
Logan chuckled. “You gonna make me a cup of coffee before you do the washing up then?”
“Sure thing, honey,” she said, taking the plates over to the kitchen counter. He stayed stretched back in his chair and watched her make the coffee. When she handed him his cup, he nodded to the pile of dirty crockery and cutlery by the kitchen sink. “Go on then,” he said. “Get on with it.”
“You want to watch me do the washing up?”
“Yup.”
“I was going to stack it all in the dishwasher in the morning.”
“Nope. I want you to do it now. And I want you to do it by hand. The old-fashioned way.”