Days before their argument, Melanie had promised Tony she wouldn't be stepping foot in the rotting gazebo where she'd injured her leg. And on the whole, she'd kept her promise. But a quick excursion through the decrepit old structure with one of the workmen she'd hired led to another near disaster, and another raging war of words and wills between Melanie and her hotheaded Italian husband. The fight wasn't just about the gazebo, but about the status of things in general around the house. The workmen that Tony so desperately wanted there to complete the renovations were consistently making matters worse. Tony was blaming Melanie—she thought unfairly—for not keeping things under control. In all fairness, she had often been indecisive and cranky and then given to "running away" to the attic to bury herself in her Aunt Daisy's fascinating world. But she could hardly be held responsible for the huge hole in the hallway door, the one half missing wall in Tony's office, and the general chaos that reigned all day long, making it even more difficult for Tony to work.
He was furious, she was furious, and it made Melanie cringe now thinking of the horrible things they'd said to each other.
The tension between them at the end was so unbearable, that Melanie couldn't imagine spending the night under the same roof with the man she was suppose to love. Already spending two nights on the living room couch, because she refused to spend them in their bed, had only made Tony more furious. But how the hell was she suppose to be physically close to him when they were warring at every turn!
Another night like the last few was impossible, so she packed her bags and left for her sister's house.
Melanie went over the last few days a dozen times and the situation never looked any better. The same horrible impasse stared her in the face; the same anger in Tony's handsome features confronted her when her eyes were closed; and the same basic conflict over meeting their needs seemed to loom at her with no solution apparent.
To make matters worse however, the one wildly unimaginable thought that appeared so boldly in Aunt Daisy's journal loomed menacingly on the horizon, as one solution still possible for she and Tony. She couldn't fathom how this answer could really change things between them, but somehow she thought in some miraculous way, it might just be a cure for what ailed them in their marriage. Melanie shuddered thinking of an argument ending in a spanking, the whole idea made her hotly excited. Not only did she think of it as some magical solution to their domestic problems, introducing punishment into the equation of the marriage, but she found the whole idea very erotic. She had no idea why the thoughts of Tony paddling her bottom would arouse her so much, but she knew they did. And . . . if she read between the lines of Daisy's Markham's journal, it had sexually aroused her Aunt as well!
Melanie missed the journal, it was the one thing she wished she'd brought from home on this brief vacation from her life. But she'd left so quickly, she hadn't even thought about it as she hastily packed under Tony's watchful glare. He wasn't at all happy about her leaving.
"You may think you can run out on your problems Melanie, but you can't. I'll grant you a breather for a day or so, but you'd better come back with the idea of coming up with a solution, or I'll leave you and this grand old house.” He said that with particularly sarcastic twist. "And you can moon over it forever, for all I care!"
His words stung, yet his anger excited her. If only . . . .
Now lying back on the chaise lounge, in the quiet of the day, Melanie at last had some time to think about the many disparate thoughts that had thrown her into a mass of confusion, about Tony, marriage, the house, everything.
What she couldn't shake from her head was the image of herself being spanked: the thought of her husband fixing her with his dark eyes, his brows narrowing, his Italian temper wildly sparked as he ordered her to his side, then drawing her over his lap. Melanie was shivering now. How easy it was to bring the vivid picture to her mind.
She imagined the feeling, being over his lap as he drew her skirt up to her waist and then lowered her panties. She could see it in her mind clearly, as if she was able to move out of her body and view the whole scene, the picture of her naked bottom poised though wriggling wildly in Tony's firm grasp. She imagined his hand or hairbrush or whatever, coming down on her bare behind with a very firm smack. He'd continue with stroke after stroke until her fair skinned cheeks were a bright rosy red hue. She knew it would raise the most arousing sensations in her body, she could already feel it.
The sensations produced by Melanie's imagination were so strong that she opened her eyes to realize that she was gently massaging the moist hot place between her thighs. It wasn't the first time that her spanking thoughts had turned so erotic. She seemed possessed by the thought and the way it ignited her passions. Perhaps that was half the problem with things at home, she was living in one glorious erotic world of spanking desires, while having to hold back those feelings when it came to her interaction with Tony.
Yes, this was an impossible situation!
And yes, Tony was right, there was no solution staying at Nell's house. Being here only made matters worse, distancing her from something she had to address first hand.
Even as she wanted to play with herself more, she popped up from the chaise. "I can't stand it anymore," she said aloud to no one. She was alone in Nell's house.
A half hour later, Melanie was packed, in her car, a neat note taped to Nell's refrigerator door.
"I've gone home. Thanks for the breather. I'll call soon. Melanie."
Chapter Six
Tony finished off a second beer and tossed the bottle into a return box in the laundry room. He returned to the kitchen and attacked the sink full of dishes that had been accumulating since Melanie left. She was certainly a better housekeeper than he was, and a better cook. He missed her though, not just because of those things; he missed her vitality and warmth, her beautiful face, her smile, her laughter and the fire in her eyes, her remarkable mind for creation, and of course the way she made love to him.
Their stunning fights however had all too harsh an edge anymore, an unpleasant result, so it seemed, of their move to this house ten months before. Tony thought about his afternoon in the attic reading Daisy Markham's journal. He was sure now that it was the cause of the strange starts and stops the two had had in the last two months.
Spanking, what an absurd idea!
Was that what Melanie wanted?
The thought amused him, but it also ignited a curious sensation in him, something he fought to control in a feminist world. Contrary to the sentiments of the people in his academic circle, he relished the idea of being a man's man, with a commanding bearing and an authoritarian attitude with women. The viewpoint was obviously antiquated, but it still held his fascination. And now, in light of the journal, he thought the idea of turning his wife over his knee and paddling her bottom fit his sense of perfect justice. In his imaginary old fashioned world, it was the perfect solution to domestic crisis.
Old fashioned that it was, could it be that Melanie was actually asking for just such treatment? Were all those afternoons spirited away in the attic—presumably with her Aunt's journal—an indication that she had a real fascination with the prospects of getting her bottom paddled? Days ago, before this last big fight, spanking had been mentioned in one heated moment. Had she been baiting him then, and he was too ignorant to understand her message?
"Tony!" Melanie's voice knocked him from his reverie.
He turned around with soapy hands and gazed at the sight of his beautiful wife, her arms filled with luggage.
"You were going to stay a week?" he said, surprised to see her after only three days. Pleasantly surprised.
Melanie winced a little, then a familiar angry scowl returned to her face. "You want me to go back?' she asked.
"No," he replied. His body rushed a bit thinking how much he'd like sex right then; though he wasn't sure it was a good time to broach the topic.
Melanie tried a little half smile instead of the scowl.
"You eat
en?" Tony asked her.
"No, I've been driving three hours. I'm kind of famished."
"I've been eating out of cans, you want to order a pizza in?" he suggested.
She stared at him and then nodded. Melanie wasn't sure if it was just because she'd been away three days, but it seemed the room was bathed in a strange light. Suddenly "coming to", she noticed that the far wall of the kitchen had been ripped totally out, and in its place was a heavy tarpaulin protecting the room from the elements.
"My god what happened!" she shouted.
"You don't want to know," Tony said. He knew she'd be upset about it, too bad she had to face it first thing.
"Tony," she said nastily, her irritation was showing already. Her plan to focus on Tony alone vanished the instant she realized that the beautiful bay window she loved so much had been trashed. Crossing the room, she looked out to see the remnants of the old window frame on the ground below, not yet hauled away.
"Let's not discuss it now, Mel. You're tired. There's a lot to talk about, and I'd just rather we spend some quiet time together." He was very sincere.
"I can't NOT discuss it," Melanie's voice sounded much too shrill and she knew it.
Tony cringed instantly. He didn't want to be angry, he'd told himself the instant that he saw Melanie. He would at all costs be calm, cool and collected. He wasn't going to explode, he wasn't going to charge in with all the annoying things he'd had to take care of in the past three days, because when she left he had strict instructions from her to "handle it yourself!" No, he wasn't going to explode even though he wanted to . . .
But now, her instantaneous attitude, her snapping voice was all the spark required. "Okay, you want to know," he began, his eyes were flashing. "There were termites, and the whole damned thing fell away when the carpenter started to work on the window ledge. He said it had to be cut away, fumigated, taken care of before the termites eat the whole bloomin' house! And," Tony emphasized as he roared on, "it's another $2000 bill to replace the fucking mess!"
Tony shook off his wet hands, and leaving the dishes half washed, he stormed out of the kitchen. Reaching his study he slammed the door behind him.
Melanie stood frozen beside the ugly remnants of the once beautiful window. Nothing was turning out the way she'd hoped it would. All her thoughts about her arrival home seemed to be dashed. It was clearly her fault for going off half cocked about the window, though it was obvious that Tony had not yet spent his anger. She was enough of a psychologist to know that his rage went far deeper than just this one thing. The problems that had caused her to leave, certainly hadn't changed or vanished. She only hoped that they weren't so bad that there would be no way to repair them. She remembered Tony's edict before she left. That she'd better be able to resolve things when she got home, or he would leave. This first misstep certainly wasn't a very promising sign of mending things between them.
But she wasn't about to give up easily. There had to be an answer and they were both going to face it NOW!
Putting down her luggage, she immediately went to Tony's study and walked in. That in itself was a bold move, since she always politely knocked.
"If you don't mind Melanie, I'd like to be by myself," her husband said looking up from some papers on his desk.
Melanie could tell that he was simply looking busy, there was no way he was already deep into his work.
"Well that's not what I want," Melanie replied, her sassy edge still showing. If he wanted a show down, now was the time. "You said you didn't want me running away from our problems, so don't you start."
Tony looked genuinely startled by the mild attack. "Listen Melanie, you came home, much to my surprise, I welcomed you thinking we could have a nice repairing evening, and immediately you hit the roof over this damned house. Don't go attacking me because I'm a little pissed at your attitude."
"So what do you want?" Melanie asked.
"A little apology to start might be in order."
"For what?"
"For being so damned crabby."
Melanie pouted at him for a minute, thinking about her options. "I really don't feel like apologizing. I'm sorry if I offended you, but it pisses me off, first, that you didn't consult me on the repairs and then you expect me not to be upset when I see my beautiful kitchen torn apart." Melanie looked as if she wanted to cry. The truth was, she didn't know what else to do. She was so at an edge, and filled with the tension of the homecoming, she didn't know more to say.
"Tell me then," Tony said. "What am I suppose to do with you?"
Melanie didn't say a word. She didn't move, she hardly breathed at all, she simply remained frozen in her tracks, totally unthinking. She had no idea what to tell him. And there Tony sat, not so angry looking anymore as nonplused. He had a vacant, distant look on his face. It wasn't like him, taking on such a stern detachment. She felt a little like a student in front of an accusing teacher. The feeling made her shiver strangely. "What do I want you to do?" she repeated his request.
"Yes, tell me?" he asked again, his expression remaining unchanged.
She paused, trying to form some reply, but before she could say anything, Tony answered for her.
"A spanking perhaps?" he said, almost before he could appreciate what he was saying. "A turn right over my knee with a paddle punishing your rear end," he added for good measure.
Melanie dropped her jaw. "You'd do that?" she asked breathlessly, her voice was so hushed.
"It's exactly what I feel like doing to you now. I can think of nothing I'd like better than taking you over my lap and turning your bottom scarlet."
Another shiver raced through her. This time, she knew exactly what it was all about—a wild, rollicking, crazy, wicked, blush producing, thigh dampening shiver. Tony's air of command left her dumbfounded and tongue tied. All she could do was stare at his flashing Latin eyes, the shock of unruly dark hair, and the way his face was so very determined. He became something very different in her eyes that moment.
"Come here," he ordered. His tone was no nonsense.
But Melanie couldn't move. All the petulant, tempestuous emotions that so filled her husband, left her mesmerized. How many times she'd dreamed of this instant since she'd been reading Aunt Daisy's journal, and now that it was really happening, she was too petrified to move. Was he really going to do it?
"Come here," Tony repeated, his voice deeper, even more stern than before.
"You really mean this?" she queried cautiously, trying to figure why now?
"Your Aunt Daisy's secret," he said, thinking it was all he needed to say.
"You know?"
"Come here, Melanie," he ordered again. "We'll talk later."
Melanie's heart was thumping so rapidly, her bottom mysteriously beginning to burn without even a hand laid on. She wouldn't remember how she made that fateful journey to Tony's side, but before she could catch her breath, she found Tony's strong hand pulling her down over his lap, her bottom exactly where she imagined it so many times.
Wearing a pair of lycra exercise shorts and a T-shirt, all Tony needed to do was pull up the T-shirt to see Melanie's lovely round bottom perfectly outlined by the tight cloth of her shorts, right down to the indentation of her ass cheeks.
Beginning briskly, Tony began to spank his wife's bottom. Alternating sides, he slapped first one cheek and then the other with a purposeful firm stroke.
These first smacks were like heaven to Melanie's aching body. She'd waited so long to feel the sensations of her husband's fury on her, that she was relishing every minute, even to the point that the sting was fast beginning to rise on the surface of her bottom. The longer he spanked her, the more exciting it was becoming. She squirmed, but not with pain, she was loving every minute of it.
The longer Tony went on, the more he settled into a steady even rhythm, giving her fine round bottom exactly what he needed, and what she apparently wanted. Yet after a good five minutes, Tony's hand began to ache and he realized that if he was to continue, he
would have to find some other implement to use, instead of his hand. Stopping all of a sudden, he pushed Melanie from his lap.
"Go get the butter paddle from the kitchen," he ordered. It was the first thing that popped into his mind.
"The butter paddle?" she said looking down on him in surprise. Her face was flushed and beautiful.
"You heard me."
Melanie started at his grim retort. It was exactly the way she wanted him to be, not giving an inch, demanding, not cajoling. She was on fire from the very core of her being.
"Now!" Tony reminded her, when she didn't move immediately. Melanie realized that all her excitement had made her hesitate.
"I'm sorry," she managed to whisper and she left the room on the way to the kitchen to retrieve the implement he wanted. Finding the butter paddle in the drawer by the stove, she hardly had time to think about it before she was at Tony's side again.
"Thank you," he said, when she handed him. Only then did she observe the nasty thing. Never having really thought about the possibilities of the kitchen utensil, it suddenly took on an ominous quality. The five by seven size business end was perfectly carved to do the nasty deed that Tony wanted it for. It had a functional handle that fit perfectly in Tony's hands.
Without saying a word, Tony laid the paddle down on his desk next to him, then pulled Melanie back over his lap.
"Let's do it the right way," he advised her. To her surprise, he lifted the waistband of her lycra shorts and began to pull them down over her hips. She shouldn't have been so surprised, but everything was happening so fast, she found each new step almost too much to bear. "No panties?" Tony said, noticing that she'd hadn't worn any underwear that day. "How immodest. Perhaps you were expecting this?"
Aunt Daisy's Secret Page 5