The Obedient Wife

by Faulkner, Carolyn

  And she certainly did enjoy the view. Ginger was five-six or so, taller than most of her girlfriends. But he dwarfed her at six feet-two. He wasn’t muscle-bound by any means; he certainly didn’t spend hours - or any time at all, for that matter - in the gym, but somehow had managed to achieve a very appealing muscular definition. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, despite attacking every meal she made as if it were his last. His all-time favorite food was carrot cake - so much so that she always kept one in the freezer. He was the only person she had ever met that could keep something like that around and only have a slice of it occasionally. One two-layer cake would last him six months or so. If it had been a chocolate cheesecake - her favorite dessert - it would have been gone the same day she’d bought it.

  But that was Sean. He had a tremendous strength of will - even divided as it was now between the two of them - because Lord knows she had absolutely none when it came to sweets. Of course, he wouldn’t have allowed her to eat the whole thing. Sometimes he was no fun at all, and she felt she had to have a girls’ night in in order to get some of her own blasted cheesecake!

  He was the most naturally self confident man she’d ever known. He never agonized over anything; he simply did what he thought was right. He was about as far from a slave of fashion as one man could get. He carried himself the same whether he was wearing a tux or nothing at all, and she had to admit that he looked equally good in either. His hair was extremely short - about a quarter inch all around, although on the rare occasions she’d been able to talk him into growing it a bit - which only meant to the point where it touched his collar and then he would buzz it all off again - it was jet black with a barely perceptible wave that had her itching for him to grow it really long.

  Right. Like that was ever going to happen.

  When he wasn’t wearing a uniform, he preferred jeans and golf shirts - a step up from just plain t-shirts that she had encouraged him into. Not nagged, of course, because she’d have ended up over his knee before she could complete the sentence if her voice ever took on that annoying, wifely tone, but just by complimenting him when he wore them.

  Man, did he look good in jeans! Especially the well worn, butter-soft ones that were just on the verge of starting to come unglued at the knees and tops of the thighs. She consciously stared at the reason for her enthusiasm every time she followed him obediently into the house: he had a fantastic ass. Unlike most guys, he actually had one. Most men’s butts were flat as a pancake, their jeans hanging loosely over it until the material hit the backs of their thighs.

  Not Sean. He had been blessed with a phenomenal rear end, and she was an avid admirer - not that he had come up short in any other pertinent areas, though, either. He was the complete package - everything she wanted and needed in every realm of her being.

  Suddenly overwhelmed by how lucky she was to have such a man, Ginger caught him in the living room and hugged him tightly, laying her cheek on his chest, where he always claimed it belonged.

  “What’s this?” he asked, surprised. She wasn’t a clingy woman . . . okay, she wasn’t usually a clingy woman. But it was the wrong time of the month for it to be hormonally inspired. “Aren’t you a little early to try to wheedle me out of giving you your spanking?” he asked the top of her head before he kissed it.

  Ginger looked up at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I just . . . love you. And I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you in my life.”

  His kiss was so achingly tender that she almost couldn’t stand it, letting her know that he felt the same way, and it only encouraged the waterworks that had already sent several plump tears down her cheeks.

  Before she knew it, she found herself in his arms, being carried up the stairs to their bedroom. When they’d bought the house, it had had three medium-sized bedrooms, but he wanted them to have lots of room for his big furniture and huge bed, so their first renovation project was to combine two of them into one large master suite, complete with a dressing room and a large en suite bathroom.

  Once there, he slid her front slowly down his, not caring a whit for the buttons that popped off her shirt and tinkled against the hardwood floors during her descent. His mouth claimed hers feverishly, using the advantage of her already gaping shirt to literally rip it the rest of the way off her along with her bra, until he felt her ample breasts pressed against him as she mewled and rubbed like an anxious feline.

  Ginger’s hands were far from idle as they worked their way up his chest, under his shirt, slowly divesting him of it until finally he impatiently tugged the thing up and over his head as her hands found his face and she eagerly pulled his lips down to hers.

  Few things in life had ever felt so good to her as his kiss - whether it was the light, delicate kisses with which he woke her in the morning or this raw, fervent coming together of lips and tongues. He might as well have had his mouth on her clit, instead; every sensation he expertly conjured within her settled right there, where it always had, at the crux of her thighs, waiting impatiently for his sure possession and gathering strength in the meantime.

  Ginger was shaking as she stood beneath his strong, ever curious hands. Sean knew that she wasn’t necessarily cold, per se, but in this situation he always treated it as that, using the convenient remote to turn up the thermostat for just this room, then carrying her gloriously naked body to their bed, throwing back the covers to tuck her beneath them, then, after mindlessly shedding what few articles of his own clothing that remained, he joined her there, wrapping the both of them in the warm bedclothes, despite the fact that he knew he was going to be sweating momentarily.

  It was much more important to him to see to her comfort, rather than his own.

  He knew, though, that he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands to himself. He never could with her, it seemed. His famous self control flew out the window when she was in his arms - hell, when she was within a ninety mile radius. He’d move heaven and earth to get his hands on her.

  His stroking and probing, touching and twisting did nothing to assuage her tremors, but it wasn’t until he looked down at her and she asked in the smallest, most plaintive of voices, “Please?” that he allowed himself to do what he had wanted to do every moment since she’d gotten into the car . . . well, since this morning . . . since he’d met her: full and complete possession, with his body slowly invading hers, reveling in each caught breath, every small sigh, every slight adjustment of her body - inside and out - to his very thorough invasion.

  “Sorry,” she whispered under her breath, immediately wishing she’d been able to stifle the habit, because he never missed a trick with her. Ginger knew she was being loud, but she couldn’t help herself. When they made love, every brain cell she owned went on vacation. She couldn’t have correctly answered what two plus two was when he put his hands on her; time and familiarity hadn’t lessened his effect on her - in fact, it had probably heightened it. She was less able to be on guard or even coherent with him, and he encouraged that loss of control, recognizing that it was something she needed, since she put herself under a lot of self-induced stress at work.

  Sean thoroughly enjoyed her mindless abandon, and ate up every syllable she uttered, having long since implemented a rule that she wasn’t to stifle her responses to him in any way, and she certainly wasn’t to apologize to him for her passion, as she had tried when they were first together.

  He had been thoroughly appalled to find that she felt as if she had to apologize for what was a very natural thing, and - besides that - a huge boost to his ego.

  Ginger’s head flew back and forth on the pillow as Sean pressed himself slowly - excruciatingly slowly - within her, taking his time and deliberately torturing both of them, feeling her body give way to every thick, hard inch of him until he knew he couldn’t take it any longer but he still forced himself to do just that, maintaining the excruciatingly slow pace until the very end.

  His low, guttural groan filled the air around them, electrifying it even
more than it already had been.

  When she raised her hips to him, locking her legs around the small of his back, he couldn’t force himself to hold back any longer, and he began to plunge deeply, mindlessly, into her.

  Ginger welcomed every thrust, her body craving his possession with an ache that threatened to rival her arousal, until he adjusted himself just a bit, rubbing that eager spot of hers, hurtling her over the edge to fly completely apart - and entirely safe to do so within his arms.

  Her violent spasms pried the last bits of his control away from him, and he lost himself within her, as always.

  She was the only woman he’d ever encountered that could do that to him - strip away every last shred of the iron-fisted control he maintained, wearing him down with her love and her luscious body until he was a mindless lump.

  As he collapsed on top of her, Sean thought it was a damned good thing that Ginger didn’t quite realize just how vulnerable he was in those moments right after an orgasm, or she’d learn that it was she who really ruled the roost. If she asked him for a Rolls, or a mansion or a lion cub during those first minutes afterward, there would be no way he could deny her.

  Chapter II

  As usual, after they made love he kept her close to him. He wasn’t the type to just roll over and fall asleep. Unfortunately for her, he also wasn’t the type to forget anything, either - even the smallest of things.

  “Was that a ‘sorry’ I heard you whisper a few minutes ago?” he asked pointedly, rubbing his hand lazily up and down her back as she rested her cheek on his chest.

  Ginger sighed. Damn his good hearing! “Uh, no. Definitely not,” she answered, knowing he wasn’t going to buy it.

  “Nice try. So now you have two spankings coming, and I think we’d better get right to them before dinner.”

  “NO!”

  Not only did she not want to have a spanking before dinner, when she’d then have to sit on a sore bottom to eat, but she expressly didn’t want one - much less two - when she’d already orgasmed. Somehow they were twice as bad then, for some reason. Probably something to do with blood flow to that general area, she guessed.

  Sometimes sex made him mellow. This was not, apparently, one of those times.

  The next thing Ginger knew, her cheek wasn’t resting comfortably on the muscular chest that had been lightly dusted with hair as if he had been made to order for her. Her sexy pillow had disappeared, and her head fell onto their pillow-top mattress instead.

  “Hey! What gives?”

  Sean didn’t answer her. Instead, he leaned down from his position standing at the end of the bed and grabbed her ankle - gently, as always, careful of his own strength - and pulled her down to him, forcing her to adopt her least favorite position: on her knees with her head down, her bottom presented to him in a completely obscene manner that had her blushing and cringing at the same time.

  “SEAN! No!”

  Ginger tried to get of position, just beginning to stretch herself out on her tummy a bit, but his fingertips at the small of her back were more than enough to remind her of what he thought about the idea of her not staying in the position into which he had placed her.

  Sean noted her groan of sheer frustration, but she also tucked herself back into position. She damned well better have, or she’d facing three spankings instead of two.

  “Now we’ll address your unfortunate utterance while we were making love.” He started right in, spanking hard and fast.

  Sean didn’t believe in warm up spankings.

  “What’s the rule about apologizing for all of those lovely grunts and groans and mewls and whimpers that you know I adore hearing?”

  Damn the man! He spanked so hard that she could barely catch her breath, much less give him a coherent response, and he knew it, too, the snot, yet he didn’t adjust his lecturing question and answer style one bit.

  “I’m not . . . supposed to . . . suppress them . . .” she answered, sounding like a breathless starlet.

  “Yes,” he agreed with a tremendous swat, “and when you do give voice to them, what are you expressly not to do?”

  Ginger actually hung her head at his tone. Somehow, his scolding lectures always drove away every last bit of recalcitrance in her body, leaving her completely penitent and submissive, even if he couldn’t spank her at the time.

  He never paid much attention to where they were when he delivered said lectures, either, much to her consternation.

  “Apologize for them.”

  “Correct. And why not, my love?”

  His use of endearments made their discussion even more intimate, more loving, more achingly fulfilling for her. “Be-because I’m not to deny you any of my responses in any way, just like I’m not to deny you my body.”

  “Very good.” Endearments and praise - welcome as they were to her ears - hadn’t lessened the force with which he brought his palm down on her upturned bottom, nor diminished the pace with which he administered those swats. He had already covered every gorgeous inch of her backside, and was easily working on round three. “And you’re already in trouble for doing that, aren’t you? You really don’t want to be piling on any further misbehavior, do you, lovely?”

  She panted, she groaned - it was downright impossible not to - she twisted as much as she could, but there was no relief from the descent of that big flat hand of his. “Y-yes, Sir - I mean, no, Sir.”

  It was a nice touch, calling him “Sir.” She knew he liked it - having been an officer in the military - but hadn’t commanded that she call him that, preferring its spontaneous use rather than taking the choice from her. He loved hearing her endearments, whispering his name in a fevered moment, or even her just calling him “husband” far too much to limit her in that way.

  Sean tugged her to his side, repositioning her so that she was parallel to the end of the bed instead of perpendicular, so that he could wrap an arm around her waist and take better control of her, physically.

  This kind of move always elicited a whimper from her, because she knew that he was going to step up the level of punishment - and he hadn’t even begun on the one for her closing her legs night before last. That one was going to be another doozy, and he was probably going to transition right into it from this one.

  Her bottom was going to fall off before he finished with her, before he allowed her to seek the ever present comfort and cosseting she found within his arms.

  Instead, what she endured was the ignominy of having her very hairbrush used to spank her very own bottom. She’d been somewhat suspicious of his gift years ago, although it was a gorgeous piece, there was no doubt. Hand crafted, he told her eagerly. Besides, she needed - and deserved - a good brush for her hair, which he had long since decreed should be as long as she could grow it.

  But she knew he had ulterior motives, and it hadn’t taken him long to put it to use in the manner he had really intended. Now the dreaded thing lived in one of the cubbies of their headboard, at the ready for whichever purpose suited him at the time.

  He loved brushing her hair, but it seemed to her that he loved swatting her even more; far more often reaching for the brush to remedy problems that had nothing to do with bad hair.

  She’d considered arranging for its demise, but hadn’t quite mustered up the nerve for it yet, although she did have several fantasies worked up about just exactly how she would make it disappear, and it wouldn’t depart this world alone, that was for sure. There were too many other things that also needed to cease to exist.

  Her loving, thoughtful, generous husband had given her a wonderful gift for their first anniversary. It was a jewelry armoire; one of those large jewelry containers that looked like a piece of furniture. He had a keen eye for what would look good on her and loved to give her pieces that caught his eye, be they cheap or expensive. She often found herself presented - quite unexpectedly - with a small wrapped box at dinner or, his favorite - bedtime - or even occasionally while they were enjoying breakfast on the balcony just off their
bedroom, overlooking a small yard and acres of virgin wood.

  The armoire had been all set up in their room with a big bow on it. What he hadn’t told her was that the primary reason he had purchased it was because of the hidden compartments on either side that were just big enough for things that had nothing to do with jewelry: the black leather tawse he’d bought even before they were married, a stray wooden spoon from the kitchen, a ruler, and several of his older belts.

  Ginger had learned early-on in their relationship that that wasn’t the only place where implements would be hidden and, to her horror, he wasn’t going to bother to hide some of them at all! Of course, he wasn’t really trying to embarrass or humiliate her in front of her friends or family. Anyone, however, who knew the kind of relationship they had couldn’t miss some of them - and didn’t, she knew, because she heard about them later.

  Right now all that mattered to her was the fact that he never hesitated to do one of two things to her, whenever he felt the need: spank or fuck, and unfortunately for her, he had deemed that she had earned a heaping helping of the former.

  She always underestimated how much having orgasmed affected the feelings she experienced when he spanked her so soon afterwards. It was as if he wasn’t just spanking her butt, but rather her entire body, somehow. Ginger knew that being spanked aroused her, much to her consternation. She’d discovered that once she’d met him, anyway. Sean sometimes delighted - well, okay, always delighted - in proving to her that, no matter how vehemently she opposed a punishment, once he was done with it, she was sopping wet. There was no way of getting around it.

  But having experienced orgasm, the rest of her body seemed to be even more attuned to what he was doing to her poor backside than if he had simply brought her home and bent her over the back of the couch - which he had done before, multiple times, of course - or pulled over in a sometimes not-so-out-of-the-way spot to deliver her comeuppance in a more natural setting.