Over the Knee

by Ashe Barker, Lily Harlem, Katy Swann, Wendi Zwaduk, Lucy Felthouse, Dolly Watt

  Her ass tingled. Whatever he had in store—hard, soft, pain or pleasure—she welcomed it all because she both loved and trusted him. He owned her heart, too. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  About the Author

  I always dreamed of writing the stories in my head. Tall, dark, and handsome heroes are my favorites, as long as he has an independent woman keeping him in line.

  I earned a BA in education at Kent State University and currently hold a Masters in Education with Nova Southeastern University.

  I love NASCAR, romance, books in general, Ohio farmland, dirt racing, and my menagerie of animals.

  Email: wendi.zwaduk@yahoo.com

  Wendi loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.

  Also by Wendi Zwaduk

  Learning How to Bend

  Must Be Doing Something Right

  My Immortal

  You’ll Think of Me

  Tangled Up

  Careless Whisper

  Please Remember Me

  What Might Have Been

  Ever Fallen In Love

  Someone Like You

  Love Remembers

  When You’re With Me

  Sunshine of Your Love

  Firelit Magic

  Clandestine Classics: The Phantom of the Opera

  Treble: Savin’ Me

  Switch: Still the One

  Bound to the Billionaire: Play to Him

  Whip It Up: Honey and Decadence

  Lasso Lovin’: Tying One On

  Wild After Dark: Taken In

  Heart Attack: Over My Head

  Haunted By You: Miss Me Baby

  Wanton Witches: Candlelit Magic

  Jolly Rogered: Ruined by the Pirate

  PROPERLY, OR NOT AT ALL

  Lucy Felthouse

  Dedication

  To my fellow Brit Babes, for being endlessly supportive and so much fun!

  To the Brit Babes Street team, for your enthusiasm, your dedication, and, of course, all the giggles!

  And to my lovely readers. Thank you so much for checking out my books. I hope you enjoy this one.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Cheshire cat: Lewis Carroll

  Chapter One

  “You know what this fucking means, don’t you?” Tristan said loudly, slamming his car keys onto the hall’s side table and storming into the kitchen.

  Jayme followed him quickly, her heart racing. Tristan rarely got angry—sure, he often pretended she’d done something wrong and faked being pissed off about it when they played D/s scenes, but real anger? It was something that just didn’t happen. She wasn’t quite sure what had sparked it, either. The news had been unfortunate, yes. Inconvenient, yes, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Tristan’s only choice was to take the doctor’s advice.

  “Um, I take it you mean aside from the obvious?” she ventured quietly, not wanting to piss him off even more.

  “Yes,” he said on a heavy sigh, making it clear his anger and frustration weren’t aimed at her. “Come here, you.” He held out his arms, and when she went into them he hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “Fucking hell, Jayme, I’m really going to miss spanking that beautiful arse of yours.”

  “And I’m going to miss you doing it,” she murmured into his chest. Then, pulling back so she could make eye contact, continued, “But we’ll cope. There’s loads of other stuff we can do—we can still have fun. As much as I love it, it’s not worth making the problem worse, or screwing up your recovery once you’ve had the op. Your health is more important, babe.”

  “Mmm…” came the reply, along with a very displeased expression.

  “Hey,” Jayme said sharply, raising her eyebrows, “you might be in charge in the bedroom, mister, but I’m putting my foot down here. Hopefully you’ll get a date through for the operation really soon. And the sooner you have the op, the sooner you’ll be recovered and we can get back to normal. In the meantime”—she grinned widely—”we’ll just have to get creative, won’t we?”

  Much to Jayme’s relief, Tristan finally smiled. “You’re right, as always, wife of mine. Clearly I’m not happy about this—fucking carpal tunnel bollocks, spoiling all our fun—but it could be a lot worse, I suppose. At least they’re not operating on my dick!”

  “True.” She giggled. “That would take some creativity of epic proportions!”

  “It would,” he agreed. “So, does this mean we have to have sex more often, then?”

  Frowning, Jayme replied, “How do you figure that out?”

  “Well, if it’s too risky to spank you, then surely wanking is going to be bad for my wrist, too! And I’m not sure that when the doctor asked if we had any questions, he meant of this nature, did he?”

  Jayme laughed again. “No, I’m sure he didn’t. I think we’d have given the poor man a heart attack if we’d started asking him how we were going to get on with our particular kind of sex life without exacerbating your problem. And I was under the impression we already had plenty of sex and that you don’t feel the need to toss yourself off very often.”

  “I don’t.” He shrugged. “But you can’t blame a man for trying, can you? Especially when that man’s wife looks like you.”

  “No, I suppose not.” She grinned then slipped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Closing her eyes, Jayme allowed herself to get into the touching of their lips, the parting, the questing tongues, shoving all thoughts of not being able to have her arse reddened to the recesses of her mind. She loved Tristan with all her heart, and their relationship was so much more than sex and kink, so they’d just have to get on with it.

  And what better way to get on with it than to find a way around their unfortunate predicament? Pulling Tristan’s bottom lip into her mouth, she sucked and nibbled at it, enjoying the guttural sounds this elicited from his throat. Letting go of his lip, she then sucked at his tongue, mimicking fellatio on the warm, wet flesh and grinning to herself as she felt his rapidly growing erection press against her stomach.

  God, yes. The two of them had been together fifteen years, married for thirteen, and were still crazy about each other. What was a little break from spanking in the scheme of things?

  Pulling back suddenly as something occurred to her, she said, “Hey, gorgeous. Shall we take this to the bedroom? I’ve had an idea.”

  Taking her hand, Tristan immediately headed for the bedroom. “Of course. What’s your idea, sweetheart?”

  “Well, now,” she replied, grinning wickedly, “that would be telling, wouldn’t it? You’ll just have to wait.”

  “Damn,” Tristan muttered, picking up his pace. “I can’t even threaten to punish you unless you tell me.”

  “We’ll see.”

  After throwing a confused look over his shoulder, he led them up the stairs and into their room before ushering her in and closing the door behind them. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he said, pulling her back into his arms.

  “Now, now,” she replied, pushing her hands against his chest and wagging a finger at him. “No trying to butter me up just so I’ll cave and tell you what I have in mind.”

  Adopting a mock-shocked expression, he said, “Moi? Would I do such a thing?”

  “Yes! You bloody would!”

  “Yeah, yeah, all right, all right. I totally bloody would. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. You are gorgeous, and I love you. And I want you.” Gesturing toward the erection that tented his jeans, he gave a wry grin.

  “And you’ll have me,” Jayme shot back matter-of-factly, beginning to remove her clothes. “Now, Sir, could I respectfully ask that you get naked?”

  Tristan growled, but did as she’d asked. “Hmm, are you trying to top from the bottom, my little subbie?” He groaned. “God damn it! I w
ant to spank you already! How the hell am I going to last all this time without walloping that perfect arse of yours? Can’t these clever doctors just give me a robotic new arm instead of trying to fix my old one?”

  Rolling her eyes, Jayme said, “A little extreme, sweetheart, don’t you think? Even if they did, it’d need time to heal up anyway. So just be patient, and trust me. I may not be a doctor, but I do have a plan.”

  By now she was naked and enjoying watching her husband remove the rest of his clothes. He looked damn good, mouthwateringly so, with his broad shoulders, muscular arms, hairy chest, toned stomach and strong thighs. And that was just the view from the front. He was no gym freak, but he kept in shape—frequent running in order to counteract the amount of sitting down his day job as an IT consultant required. And the energetic sex sessions they indulged in helped in that department, too.

  “What are you smirking at?” he demanded as he dropped the last remaining item of clothing—his boxer shorts—to the carpet.

  “Just having dirty thoughts, that’s all.”

  “About me?”

  “Of course about you, you crazy man! Even if you weren’t naked and erect right in front of me, it would still be you.” She meant it, too. She was utterly in love and lust with him, her soulmate.

  Returning her grin, he said, “Well, that’s all right then.” Turning and heading for the bed—and giving her a spectacular view of his delicious arse as he did so—he then clambered onto the mattress. Flopping back onto the pillows, he continued, “Now come here and tell me this bloody plan of yours before I die of curiosity.”

  Chuckling at his over-exaggeration, Jayme went to her husband, deliberately swaying her hips as she trod across the carpet.

  Snuggling eagerly into his waiting arms, she began pressing kisses to the soft spot beneath his ear, trailing down the side of his neck.

  With a light exhalation, Tristan gripped her chin and tilted her head to make her look at him. “Much as I love that, baby, I really want to know what you’ve got in mind. And so does my cock. Look!” He pointed at his erection, which stood proud and excitable, a drop of pre-cum sitting at its tip.

  Jayme’s already damp pussy slickened further as she enjoyed the tempting sight, and she cleared her throat before replying. “Well, husband of mine, it’s actually pretty simple. Bloody obvious when you think about it.”

  “Not that bloody obvious,” he grumbled.

  She crawled down the bed a little then positioned herself across his lap, her arse in the air. “Tris. Use your left hand!”

  For a couple of seconds he didn’t react, as though he was letting the statement sink in. Probably lamenting himself for not thinking of it.

  Then, shifting his position slightly, he laid his left hand on her backside. With a murmur of appreciation, he stroked her bare skin, exploring her rounded cheeks and occasionally dipping his fingers into the cleft of her arse.

  Jayme resisted the temptation to moan or wriggle. She knew that the more she let on how much he was affecting her, the more he’d tease and taunt her. He was a patient man…in this scenario, at least. So, holding perfectly still, she closed her eyes and let the anticipation carry her away into pleasure as her pussy grew wetter and more swollen by the minute.

  Once he’d caressed what felt like every millimeter of her bum and thighs he was apparently satisfied, as the warmth of his skin left hers. But not for long. Barely a second later, he brought his hand down on the fleshiest part of her left cheek.

  Sucking in a breath through her teeth, she waited for the inevitable bloom of pain and heat that always followed a smack. But it never came. Merely a tingle, and a muttered curse from Tristan.

  He tried again. This time he slapped her right arse cheek. It was clear he’d put more force behind it than his previous attempt, but it still had none of the sting of his usual efforts. But not to worry—he was just getting used to using his left hand.

  Tristan continued in silence, spanking each arse cheek in turn, his movements slow and awkward, but gradually picking up pace and strength. As he worked down to her thighs, Jayme felt a little heat growing. Yes, he was getting there. It was like learning a whole new skill, she guessed—trying to write with your left hand, or something.

  Tristan let out a string of swear words. His thighs tensed beneath her and she twisted to look at his face.

  “It’s no good!” he said. “I just can’t get the hang of it. I’m not bloody ambidextrous, apparently, not even when it comes to reddening your backside. I can’t get into a rhythm, or hit hard enough, because I’m too busy concentrating on where I land the blow—I don’t want to smack you in the wrong place by mistake. I just have none of the instincts I usually do.”

  Moving as gracefully as possible in the circumstances, Jayme got off Tristan’s lap, then sat down beside him. Taking his hand, she said, “Hey, you’ve got to give it chance. You’ve only just tried it, for heaven’s sake. Nobody’s good at something straightaway! It takes practice.”

  Making a noise that sounded suspiciously like humph, Tristan scowled. “No, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s not good enough. I just can’t do it with my left hand. It doesn’t feel right or natural, and I can tell it doesn’t do anything for you. Or me, if I’m honest. Your arse has barely changed color. I’m afraid we’re going to have to get creative in other ways, because I won’t be spanking you for the foreseeable future. I either want to do it properly, or not at all.”

  Chapter Two

  Jayme bit her lip to stop herself from saying something she’d regret. Not that anything she’d say would make a difference anyway. Tristan might be mellow, but he was also incredibly stubborn. He wouldn’t change his mind about this, she knew. She’d just have to get used to a few months without having her arse spanked, that was all.

  The one upside, she supposed, was that the resultant anticipation would be huge. So huge that by the time Tristan got the all-clear after his operation, she’d probably come as soon as she bent over. That, though, was not a sentiment she was going to share with her husband. He clearly wasn’t in the mood for anything resembling looking on the bright side. If he wanted to be grumpy, then that was fine by her. But there was no way he was leaving her like this—aroused and abandoned. Not a bloody chance.

  “Fine, darling,” she purred, moving closer to him and pressing her breasts against his arm. A glance down showed her that his erection hadn’t completely subsided. She might be able to revive the situation yet, even if it did mean sucking up to him. “I completely understand, and you’re absolutely right. You’ll be back to your usual unrivaled spanking standard in no time, I’m sure. But in the meantime”—she rubbed her tits on his arm as enticingly as possible—”we can still have fun, can’t we, honey?”

  Tristan’s scowl hadn’t yet disappeared, but Jayme knew she was getting through to him. His rising cock was a dead giveaway. Even if his brain hadn’t engaged yet, his body wanted satisfaction just as much as hers did.

  “Honey?” she prompted, turning his face to hers and giving him what she hoped was her most seductive smile.

  Tristan snapped up his left hand and grasped her wrist, squeezing it firmly—though not enough to cause her any pain. “Trying to top from the bottom again, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “No,” she shot back, not even attempting to free her wrist. She continued persuading him while massaging his no doubt very bruised ego at the same time. “Merely suggesting that we needn’t abandon what we started just because we can’t engage in a certain part of our sexual repertoire. I’m horny, really hot for you, baby. My pussy’s wet, and I’d very much like you to fuck me, to make me come. And it looks as though your cock agrees with me.”

  Instead of replying, Tristan released her wrist and put his hand between Jayme’s legs. His fingertips delved between her pouting lips and he moaned.

  Biting back a moan of her own, Jayme sent up a silent prayer that her husband wouldn’t stop now, wouldn’t touch her pussy, feel how wet, how needy she wa
s, then still stomp off in a strop.

  Fortunately, his hormones seemed to override his ego, because he stroked up and down her inner labia a couple more times before entering her with two fingers. This time, she couldn’t hold back the sound. Letting out a gasp and a groan, Jayme leaned back on her arms and shifted her legs wider to allow Tristan better access.

  “Fucking hell, Jayme, you’re such a sexy little bitch. Such a sexy subbie.”

  “Unh…thank you, Sir. You feel so good.”

  The ‘Sir’ had been an automatic reflex, something she said so often when they were making love that it had just tumbled from the tip of her tongue. But it had the desired effect—she could tell by the determined set of his face, the arousal burning in his eyes, that there was no way Tristan was going to back out now. He was invested in the moment, heart, body and soul, and the only way they were leaving that bedroom without having had amazing orgasms was if the house set on fire.

  She wanted nothing more than for him to finger-fuck her into blissful oblivion, but that, like the spankings, would put too much pressure on the injured wrist.

  Tristan had clearly had the same thought, because after slowly penetrating her a couple of times, he pulled out, gave her distended nub a pinch, then moved away.

  Fortunately, he didn’t move far. Clambering off the bed, he kneeled on the carpet. “Don’t you get used to me kneeling, sweetheart. That’s your thing. But if this is the only way I can eat your beautiful pussy, then so be it. I draw the line at you sitting on my face!”

  Of course you do, sweetheart. That’s a very female-on-top position, in every sense of the word.