by Cara Bristol
“It’s time Melania,” Jared said.
Seconds later, her bottom exploded in agony.
Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry out, couldn’t even moan. Tears flooded her eyes.
The length of the paddle was such that it had caught both cheeks. As the pain ricocheted through her bottom, she could only lie draped over the bench, fighting tears, bracing for the next blow. If the bench hadn’t been supporting her, she would have fallen to her knees.
She waited, unable to see Jared, her stomach clenching in dread. Just as she thought her spanking might be over with the one painful swat, the second blow hit.
It landed in the same place, searing the area that hadn’t recovered from the first. The pain was greater than anything she’d ever experienced.
The paddle struck several times, and Melania burst into tears. She had given Jared the right to do this, but the reality was far harsher than she had ever imagined. There was nothing fun, sensual, or erotic about this. Her backside felt like one huge, raw blister. Although Jared delivered each blow with equal precision and evenness, each subsequent strike burned worse than the prior one.
“Please, please, please, Jared,” she begged, struggling against the restraints. She had agreed to this, but her body overruled her mind’s decision. Futilely she tried to kick and fought to cover her bottom with her hands. Restrained, she had no choice but to accept the blows.
“I’m sorry I disobeyed you.” Melania choked out the words. “I’m sorry, Jared.” No shoes were worth this. She hated those shoes. She was never going to wear them again.
“I hope you are, Melania. I hope you are sincere,” Jared said. “I don’t expect you to be perfect, but I do expect you to be honest.”
The paddle fell several more times. Melania’s world shrank to focus on the spanking and the pain radiating from her bottom. Her nostrils filled with the leather and wood smells of the valet and the faint, acrid odor of cigars Jared had smoked in his den. The scents implanted themselves deep in the primitive part of her brain to link leather and cigar with spanking.
Did buying the shoes warrant a punishment of this magnitude? She’d wheedled her way around rules and restrictions her entire life, but never had such a price been exacted. Even the court system went easy on first-time offenders. Yes, she’d disobeyed her husband and lied, but couldn’t Jared have given her another chance? Her father always had.
Each spank hammered home a new reality: her husband meant what he said. Melania couldn’t believe this was happening.
At last the spanking stopped. Her heart beat in cadence with her throbbing bottom as she waited in dread, fearing the spanking would resume, but then the restraints were released.
“I-is it o-over?” she stuttered through her tears.
“It’s over.” His voice was hoarse, oddly so, as if he shared her pain. Melania knew that wasn’t possible.
Too physically and emotionally drained to move, she remained slumped over the valet. Her throbbing bottom felt hugely swollen, and she wondered if she looked in the mirror, she’d see it had grown to gargantuan proportions.
She sensed Jared behind her, and then his hands gently smoothed over her burning buttocks, soothing the pain before trailing between her legs to caress her sex. She jerked in outrage. How could he think of such a thing? The punishment was over, and now he wanted to make love? How dare he!
“Don’t,” she ordered in a tight voice.
The fingers were gone.
Gentle hands clasped her arms and helped her stand. Her legs shook. She bowed her head, veiling her face under a cascade of hair. She feared what Jared would read in her eyes and didn’t want to know what was in his. Resentment, guilt, shame, and uncertainty churned in an unhappy concoction of confusion. She loved him, but that emotion was overrun by the others roiling within her.
“Melania, look at me.” His voice was soft.
She shook her head. In her mind, spanking had been only a remote possibility. She’d submitted to Jared’s authority, but she still never imagined he would spank her as if she were a disobedient child.
No, not even like that. Her father had given her only a few swats, not a thorough paddling. She’d never been stripped near naked and physically restrained. More upsetting than the pain, the spanking had ripped the blinders from her eyes, defined Jared’s dominance, and rewrote the story of their marriage. Her fairy tale was evaporating right before her eyes.
Until today she’d experienced only the gentle, indulgent, benevolent side of Jared’s mastery. She’d accepted him as head of their home, master of her, but had expected to be able to negotiate. If they had differences, they would talk them out; he would coax her compliance. She’d never considered the consequences if she outright refused, if she willfully disobeyed him.
Truthfully, she never expected consequences. She had intended to rely on her feminine wiles to smooth over the rough spots. Deep in her heart she realized she’d assumed she would control Jared—that while he might appear to be the master of their marriage, with charm and a beguiling smile, she would guide him into doing what she wanted.
Her feelings were jumbled like the strands of Christmas lights that somehow got knotted up each year. She couldn’t tell what was what. Surprisingly the one emotion she didn’t feel was anger. Jared had done what he thought was best, and she didn’t believe he intended to hurt her. They had discussed discipline, but until now it had been only a concept, a philosophy.
The concept had just solidified into hard reality. If she didn’t obey, she would pay the consequences.
Jared demanded her faith and acceptance, a trust that required submission to his discipline, permitting him to decide if and when to spank her. She loved him, but she questioned whether she could be the wife he wanted. She could be more obedient, but she wasn’t perfect. She would make mistakes. How could she endure more spankings like this one? Her heart clenched. Doubt had wormed its way into the apple perfection of her shiny new marriage.
Jared released her, but Melania remained in place, uncertain what was expected of her now. Was she to go or stay? Did he want to talk to her? The silky fabric of her robe settled around her shoulders. She winced as it brushed against her buttocks. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and knotted the tie, still unable to meet his gaze.
“I wish I hadn’t had to spank you,” Jared’s voice rumbled in her ear. “I expected more from you than to sneak behind my back. If you had a problem with my request, you should have discussed it with me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her head still bowed. “I’m sorry for going against your…wishes and buying the shoes.” She could see how spoiled and immature she’d acted, but how did a spanking solve anything?
He raised his hand as if to touch her, but let it drop. Relief and disappointment warred within her. She wanted to crawl away, to be alone with her thoughts, but perversely, she wanted Jared to hug her, show her with his touch their marriage would endure.
“It’s over now, Melania,” he said gently. “It won’t be an issue again.”
She knew he meant her disobedience and dishonesty. Those “issues” might be settled for him, but for her, the “issue” had just begun. The spanking upended everything she thought she believed, thought she wanted in her marriage. She’d vowed to love, honor, and obey for better or for worse, but she’d never considered the worse part. She needed space and time to figure out her next steps. She had to get away to think.
“You’d better fix your face and finish getting ready. Our guests will arrive soon.”
She left her husband’s study, her bottom throbbing so much, she hardly noticed the pumps rubbing her blistered feet.
* * *
Melania entered the master bedroom and kicked off the nasty shoes that had initiated the end of her blissful ignorance. She would donate them to charity; she didn’t want them anymore. She moved as quickly as her aching ass would allow and retrieved a suitcase from the closet. She didn’t have much time; Jared could
appear at any moment.
She heaved the bag onto their king-size, four-poster bed and tossed items into it, not bothering to fold anything. She grabbed a handful of underwear from a drawer and yanked shirts and pants off hangers in the closet. She threw in some shoes without noticing if she got the mates. She added pj’s and some toilet articles and zipped up the suitcase. She hauled it off the bed and shoved it underneath so Jared wouldn’t see it, but where she could retrieve it easily and move it to her car when she had an opportunity. She couldn’t ask Jared to carry it out for her.
She picked up the bedside phone and dialed her parents’ number. She watched the bedroom door, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm as she waited for her parents to pick up. She hoped her father would answer. Her mother would offer sympathy, but she needed her father’s permission to return home.
She didn’t know if her separation from Jared would be temporary or permanent, only that she had to have the space to figure out if she wanted to stay married to a man who would not only demand but enforce her compliance to his “wishes.”
Her father’s recorded message answered. “You’ve reached the Jackson residence. We’re not available to take your call right now, but if you leave a message, we’ll get back to you.” Beep.
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered.
She remembered now that her parents were vacationing in France, taking a break after planning her lavish wedding to the man she still loved but was no longer certain she could stay married to. It wasn’t only her bottom that hurt. Her heart ached at the cloudiness of her future.
“Hello, Daddy? I have something important I need to discuss with you. Would you call me, please?” Melania set the phone down and inhaled a calming breath. She’d have to figure out something else until her parents returned.
She dropped onto the wooden bench at the foot of the bed and leaped up with a yelp as pain seared her buttocks. She caught sight of herself in the two tall standing mirrors. Smeared from her crying, her makeup painted her with raccoon eyes. No wonder Jared had told her to fix her face.
She turned her backside to the mirror, lifted her robe, and peered over her shoulder. A butterfly of red and pink stained her normally pale cheeks. She let her robe drop.
Now she knew the consequences for disobedience. Beyond that, she knew nothing. The only thing she could do now was finish preparing for the party and, for the evening, pretend her marriage wasn’t shattered in pieces about her feet.
Chapter Four
The doorbell echoed, and Melania emerged from the kitchen where she’d been hiding. She had developed a sixth sense as to where Jared was located and made it her purpose to be somewhere else, finding things to do in different rooms of the house as his location changed. She had no idea how to act, what to say. But with the arrival of their guests, she had no choice but to face him. She met Jared in the foyer.
Reluctantly she met his gaze. Melania was surprised to see approval and warmth gleaming in his dark eyes. “You look beautiful.” His tone sounded husky.
Her stomach flip-flopped with confusion and a smattering of resentment. Was it that easy for him? That simple? An hour ago he’d paddled her until she couldn’t sit down, and now everything was normal? He’d turned her world upside down and then switched gears as easily as he would flip a light switch.
“Thank you,” she responded coolly.
The new dress she’d planned to wear had been too snug across her aching buttocks, and after several wardrobe changes, she settled on a simple teal green sheath, its smooth silk fabric the least abrasive on her sore bottom. She paired it with a multistrand seashell necklace, matching earrings, and casual high-heel mules, chosen because they didn’t rub her blistered heels.
Jared had showered, and his dark brown hair appeared almost black except for the silver wings at his temples. The shadow of a beard was gone. He wore khaki slacks and a patterned blue-and-khaki short-sleeved shirt. He appeared relaxed, comfortable, and way too handsome for her peace of mind. Perhaps she should be mad for what he’d done, but curiously, she wasn’t. Confused, apprehensive, unsettled, but not angry. “You look very handsome.” The compliment slipped out.
“Thank you.” He inclined his head before stepping forward to open the door.
He grinned broadly at the couple standing under the portico. “Hey! Come on in.” He widened the opening, and he curved his arm easily around Melania, pulling her to his side. His touch felt awkward, and she tensed. How was a wife supposed to act after her husband punished her?
“Honey, you remember Otis and Liz Davenport?” His tone was boisterous, cheerful—too boisterous and too cheerful. She realized he wasn’t as unaffected as he’d first appeared. Her heart skipped with naughty glee that he wasn’t untouched after all.
“Of course.” She greeted their visitors with a handshake and a wooden smile. She recognized the couple. The woman was in her midforties and carried an elegance Melania hoped to attain. Her hair was cut to a sleek and glossy chin-length bob. Her tall, slender frame looked fabulous in black skinny jeans, ballet flats, and an off-the-shoulder zebra print top. Her husband, only a few inches taller, was a distinguished gentleman, perhaps twenty years her senior.
Liz handed Melania a basket containing a heavenly-smelling bag of gourmet coffee and an equally scrumptious ration of muffins. “Blueberry.” Liz smiled warmly. “For the morning.”
“How thoughtful.” Melania’s smile wasn’t entirely forced. “Thank you. Come on in.”
As Liz and Otis entered, the other couple pulled up next to the Davenports’ Porsche in an SUV.
“Perfect timing!” Jared said as the new arrivals exited the vehicle and waved.
Melania guessed Candi and Tucker Kennedy were only a few years older than she was, perhaps in their late twenties. Candi resembled the proverbial girl next door—a little plump but cute, with a mop of curly blonde hair, a pert, upturned nose, and an easy smile. Her husband’s grin was wide and infectious, revealing the dimpled cheeks and twinkling eyes of a man who enjoyed a good joke.
They presented Melania with two bottles of wine.
“Congratulations, newlyweds!” Candi hugged Melania, then Jared.
“Newlyweds? It’s been a month; they’re an old married couple now.” Tucker slapped Jared on the back.
Everyone chuckled, but Melania feigned a laugh, fearing the month marked the termination and not the beginning of her marriage.
As most parties did, this one ended up in the kitchen, with everyone either perched on barstools or leaning against the granite island, enjoying canapés and cocktails.
When it was time for dinner, Melania ushered the group into the dining room. Jared helped her serve, then pulled out her chair. Gingerly but not so much as to attract attention, Melania eased into her seat, grateful her dining chairs were padded.
On any other evening she would have had a good time, would have enjoyed the conversation and company immensely. Their guests raved about her cooking, and while the two couples obviously had history together, they went out of their way to include her. Candi appeared to be a perky, happy young wife, while Liz oozed a quiet confidence that reminded Melania of her mother. Otis was reserved but pleasant, while Tucker was a joker. He kept the group in stitches.
Everyone except Melania. She had to force herself to pay attention, to laugh on cue. Her ass throbbed while her mind raced on a treadmill of indecision. She made conversation and smiled when appropriate, but longed for the evening to end.
After her lemon torte had been eaten and coffee served, Jared rose and offered the men a brandy and a cigar. Adding to her angst, they accepted.
“Let me give Melania a hand in the kitchen, and I’ll meet you in my study.” He picked up a platter. Melania’s stomach tightened with tension. While maintaining an appearance of normalcy in front of their guests took effort, it would be nothing compared to the strain of facing Jared alone.
Liz glanced from Melania to Jared. “Candi and I will help
Melania. Why don’t you go with the boys?”
“Melania?” Jared peered at her.
With everyone staring, she was forced to meet his gaze. Jared’s eyes signaled a silent entreaty, but she ignored it, turning her head to look at Liz. “That’s a good idea.” She latched on to the woman’s suggestion. “Thank you.”
“If you need anything, you know where to find me.” Jared set the platter on the table and touched her shoulder. Warmth seared her flesh through her dress, disturbing in its comfort, and she shied away from it, surreptitiously shrugging off his touch.
Yes, she knew where to find him. If she had anything to say about it, she’d never enter his office again. She didn’t even want to dust in there anymore.
With Liz and Candi’s efficient assistance, the table was cleared with lightning speed and the dishwasher loaded with everything but the china and the crystal. Liz insisted on washing, and as Candi dried, Melania put things away.
She liked the women, enjoyed their company, and with the men gone—especially Jared—it became easier to make conversation, but she still felt like a robot, going through the motions of being sociable. Part of the problem was physical. Her bottom hurt so much, it took enormous concentration to move naturally. She couldn’t remember what natural was. Had she always moved this stiffly? The other problem was mental. Her thoughts were like the shuttlecock in a badminton game: constantly in play, never at rest, always being batted about.
She thought she hid her turmoil pretty well until Liz approached her after the dishes were done. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but you seem a little out of sorts.” Liz fixed a direct but compassionate gaze on her face. “Is there something wrong?”
Melania’s befuddled brain formed the words to insist she was perfectly fine, but when she opened her mouth, she said, “Jared hit me.”
She didn’t mean to phrase it that way—didn’t mean to say it at all—but the harsh-sounding words popped out, and she couldn’t retrieve them. She didn’t know who was more shocked—Liz, Candi, or herself. Silence filled the kitchen.