"It would be nice," she said. As a kid she'd always received heaps of presents, not expensive ones, but things she wanted, like books, stationery and chocolates, from relatives, friends, and family friends. She still got presents from family and friends in Wales and London, but their choices were limited now because of postage. They couldn't be heavy or breakable or too expensive to post. Connor's family only gave presents to children and teenagers up to and including the age of eighteen. Once you turned nineteen, you were off the list. So Charlotte had never been on it.
She wished Connor would buy her something indulgent. Some really sexy lingerie, or perhaps tickets for the ballet or the theatre.
"We could do what we did last year," he said. "Small presents, twenty dollars max. What do you think?"
Like it's bloody Kris Kringle. Charlotte wanted to cry. She and Connor were way ahead of their mortgage payments, for fuck's sake. Surely, even with the child support, he could afford to spend a bit more than twenty bucks on her. Wasn't she worth more than that?
"Maybe a bit more?" she suggested. "We don't need anything new for the house this year."
All their rooms were furnished now. Of course, their house was small, but the rustic look they'd gone for always drew compliments from visitors.
"I suppose," he said.
"Suppose what? You suppose we could fork out more than twenty bucks, or you suppose we don't need anything for the house?"
"Both. Thirty dollars?" he suggested. He reached out, squeezed her knee with his hand. "We don't really need anything, do we? That way we can spend a bit more on family. It'll cost more this year having to post Josh's present to Queensland."
"He's coming down after New Year's!" Charlotte protested.
"He's still a kid. Needs to open his presents on Christmas Day."
Presents. Charlotte scowled, hating Connor. She got one cheap gift while Josh got presents.
She turned her head away from him, refused to talk. Connor turned on the radio to fill the silence. A 'golden oldies' station belted out 1970s pop until the news came on. A scare-story that some of the Olympic venues wouldn't be ready in time for next year's Games caught Charlotte's attention, and it was followed by an update on the still-missing backpacker, Marie Beckham. Marie had intermittently appeared in the news over the past few weeks, always accompanied by the last photo taken of her, standing on top of the Pinnacle in the Grampians National Park. Pretty, with a blonde pony-tail, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. "The parents of missing British backpacker Marie Beckham have put out an appeal for anyone who has seen their daughter to come forward with information," said the news reader. "Marie was due to start a Christmas job in the Melbourne department store Myer this week, but hasn't been seen since she left a Daylesford youth hostel to meet a friend for lunch on September 22nd…"
That Marie had been murdered looked increasingly likely. The backpacker murders of the early 1990s were still fresh in Australians' memories. Ivan Milat, who'd killed seven backpackers and buried their bodies in state forest in New South Wales, had been in prison for three years now, but there was always the risk of a copycat.
"That friend she was supposed to be meeting never turned up, did they?" mused Connor now. "I bet it was some bloke she'd met while backpacking and he's murdered her."
"Probably," said Charlotte. "Or maybe she hitchhiked to or from her lunch date."
"But the friend would have come forward, wouldn't they, to say she never turned up. Or to say what time she left the place where they had lunch," he pointed out.
"True." Charlotte suddenly remembered Becca meeting up with her online disciplinarian. That would have been mid-September, the weekend Charlotte delurked and started posting. Becca had mentioned her upcoming meeting under one of Charlotte's threads. A British backpacker, Becca, Marie Beckham… Oh, God. Charlotte's heart started thumping. It all fitted in. Had Becca posted since her meeting? Charlotte couldn't remember. She'd check that out when she got home.
The craft market was crowded, full of people with an early eye to Christmas, like Charlotte. She delved into her handbag for the list of who she and Connor needed to buy presents for. Their agreement: Charlotte bought for her family and friends; he bought for his. All nice and equal, just like the way they both paid off the same amount of the mortgage each month. Charlotte had insisted on it, and Connor had been happy to agree, having been shafted financially by Deborah in their divorce. Charlotte's insistence on equal shares was one of the things he respected her for.
The market was in full Christmas mode. There were special Christmas stalls, with brightly painted baubles, Christmas stockings, wreaths, candles and other festive decorations. Charlotte and Connor made for the kiddie stalls first, though, to buy for his brother's kids, four years and eighteen months old respectively.
A pretty lavender party dress hung on a rack next to one stall. Charlotte pointed it out. "That would fit Britany."
"Yeah." Connor's eyes strayed to the computer games stall opposite.
"Do you want to get it?"
He shrugged. "Up to you."
"You know, they're your niece and nephew. I wouldn't even have heard of them if I hadn't met and married you. Which I regret more with every passing day."
Domestic discipline still wasn't going well. In theory, they were still doing it, but in practice it was more unsatisfactory than ever. Charlotte was sick of having to provoke a reaction, especially given the very fleeting satisfaction of the spankings. It bugged her that she never reacted the way she was supposed to, the way Panda, Gemma and the rest did. The spankings with the hairbrush felt perfunctory, they never made her cry, they didn't make her feel remorseful, or forgiven, or cared for, or protected, or loved. All Charlotte gained from them was a temporary buzz during the spanking that quickly dissipated when he stopped, followed by another rush of pleasure when she examined the marks in the bathroom mirror. And Connor didn't help. He was so inadequate it was no wonder she never felt truly disciplined. He still tried to sound authoritative when he told her off, but actually sounded more like a twat, and that irritated her more.
As for sex being through the roof…
Well, in their case it was somewhere beneath the floorboards. Great sex was a challenge when he didn't come to bed till well after she'd fallen asleep.
Now, he glanced across at her and said, "You're not the only one regretting it, you know."
A shiver ran through Charlotte despite the day's heat. He had never said anything like that before. "What do you mean?"
"Let's get the shopping out of the way, then go home and talk about it. A crowded market isn't the right place for this kind of discussion."
This kind of discussion? Sudden tears burned Charlotte's eyes. Was he going to finish with her? They continued Christmas shopping almost in silence. Computer games for Josh, wooden jigsaws for his nephew, the dress for his niece. Charlotte bought handmade jewellery for her mum and aunts, a travellers' chess board for her uncle. There was still her dad to buy for. Charlotte suggested they check out the big indoor antiques market on the way home. Her dad collected things, they might find something there.
"So what d'you want to discuss, then?" she demanded as they got in the car.
"We'll discuss it when we get home." His tone was grimmer than she'd ever heard it before. He wasn't faking it this time. It sounded nothing like the silly mock-stern tone he put on when he was trying to get into the spanking side of things. A frisson of dread and delight ran through Charlotte. Did he plan to spank her when they got home? Would this one feel real?
The antiques market bustled with frazzled shoppers, jostling for position at the various counters. Charlotte spotted a collection of wooden rulers arranged on an old-fashioned school desk. She imagined herself bent over the desk, being spanked with the longest, hardest ruler. She glanced at Connor to see if he'd noticed them too, but he walked right past them without a glance, and checked out a couple of microscopes. Later, after she'd found some old cricket cards for her dad, she spotte
d a suggestive-looking vintage wooden hairbrush on an antique dressing table. She pointed it out to Connor. It cost only thirty-five bucks. Perhaps he might buy it for Christmas if she let him know she liked the look of it?
"Look, doesn't that look great?"
"You wouldn't want to put that through your hair. You've no idea who else has used it."
"I wasn't thinking of it being for my hair…"
Connor made an impatient noise and walked on, towards the next stall. Charlotte trailed after him, disappointed. Other husbands showed interest in implements, she knew that from Spanking Sheilas, which she still read avidly each day, even though the posts made her increasingly miserable and isolated. What was wrong with him? Okay, so he was vanilla, but surely he realised how much these implements meant to her, how the sight of them made her horny? Or was he that useless?
Probably.
Shopping finished, it was time to drive home. "Shall we have lunch somewhere?" Charlotte asked as Connor manoeuvred out of the tight car parking space. Sometimes Connor didn't mind having a sandwich in a café on Sundays, especially if they'd been out shopping or walking.
His face was still grim, his tone cold as he replied. "No, let's get this stuff home first. We can go out afterwards, or make something."
Or end up in bed after her spanking? Charlotte hoped.
Back home, they dumped the Christmas shopping on the spare bed. As well as the gifts, Charlotte had bought brightly coloured wrapping paper, bows and ribbons, along with a box of handmade cards to write and send. She loved the giving side of Christmas, missed seeing the expressions on her family and friends' faces when they opened their gifts. Missed being with them at Christmas.
"I'll make a pot of tea," Connor said.
Here we go, Charlotte thought, retreat time. "I thought you wanted to talk."
"I do. But I want a drink as well."
"What about lunch?"
"We can have that later."
Of course. What a surprise. He was putting off the lecture and spanking, like he'd lost the resolve he'd had out at the craft and antiques markets.
"We can have the tea later," she snapped. "Say what you want to say, then we can think about lunch and pots of tea."
"All right." He pointed to one of the dining chairs and her spirits rose. They crashed again when he said, "Sit down."
Charlotte sat. She had a view of the paintings of native animals on the wall. Connor sat opposite, with a view of their deck with its garden furniture and pot plants. Shit. What she really wanted was for her to have a view of the rug and for him to have a view of her skin turning pink as he walloped her backside.
"This isn't working for me, Charlotte," he said.
Charlotte was jolted. She'd been right the first time. "You want to split up?"
"No." His expression was miserable. "But I will if it comes down to it. What I meant was this spanking, this discipline crap isn't working for me. It was a stupid idea."
Disappointment flooded her. She didn't know what to say.
"Things were difficult between us anyway, but our relationship has got worse and worse since you asked me to hit you."
"I didn't say 'hit'," she corrected him. "It was spanking I—"
He shrugged. "Same thing. I don't know why the hell you wanted me to hit you, but I thought it was a stupid idea all along. For some reason I let you convince me it would improve our relationship, help you conquer your temper. But your behaviour has got worse, not better. In fact it's terrible. Sometimes I think you just want to be spanked, that you enjoy it."
Charlotte squirmed inside. He'd hit the nail on the head. She hated that she enjoyed the spankings. It was all wrong. Spankings were meant to be dreaded, that was how they worked… But then, Connor hadn't really spanked her, not over his knee for ages and ages, the way Panda and Gemma were spanked. She'd dread them all right if Connor spanked her properly.
So she lashed out. "It's only made things worse because of you. You don't want to take the leading role in anything! You're attracted to dominant women. That's why you always let Deborah tell you what to do, why you like me telling you what to do instead of looking to you to make decisions. Why you like me being on top on the few occasions we have sex." She warmed to her argument, believing it. "You need a bitch to keep you in line, don't you, Connor? You know what? That's why you haven't taken to the spanking. You probably want me to spank you!"
He flared up at that. "I do not! I'm not some sick—" He shut up then, aware of what he'd said, but it was too late.
At the word something inside Charlotte shrivelled. She felt mortified, small. She wished she could go back in time, never type 'spanking' into the search engine, and never, ever share her embarrassing fetish with him.
"Charlotte, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean…"
"You did."
"I shouldn't have said it." He reached across the table for her hand, but she snatched it away. "I'm sorry I upset you," he said gently. "But I can't go on with it. And I won't go on with it. I really do love you and I want to stay married to you. But if you want all that…shit…more than you want me, the real me, then…well, maybe it's better we do split up. I can't be someone I'm not."
Charlotte couldn't bear to listen any longer. She pushed her chair away from the table, dashed out of the room. In the office she threw herself down on the sofa, scarcely believing what Connor just said. He'd basically given her an ultimatum—him or spanking. What was she supposed to do? If they did split up how would she explain it to people? "I left him because he wouldn't spank me." People would laugh. They'd think she was sick, like Connor did.
She replayed his words over and again through her mind, aware of him clattering about in the kitchen. She cursed herself for acting out so much to get him to spank her, for silently comparing him so negatively with Hayden, Mark and the other forum men. Perhaps if she'd accepted Connor's half-hearted spankings, thanked him, and then refrained from the silly behaviour that had got her spanked, he wouldn't have hated it all so much? She might even have encouraged him, brought them closer, not driven such a wedge between them.
But it was too late now. She could hardly suggest they start afresh and promise to learn from the spankings this time.
Especially given he thought she was sick.
God, how the hell was she going to face him now?
"Charlotte?" Connor poked his head around the office door. "I've made lunch."
"I don't want anything."
"Up to you. I've made it anyway. You can always have it in here if you don't want to sit in the kitchen with me." He walked over to the sofa, looked sadly at her tear-streaked face, and reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Charlotte pulled away, kicking out at him with her foot. "There's no need for that," he said gently. "I know you're upset, but you wouldn't want me to carry on doing something that was making me miserable, would you?"
"You carry on with your job and you hate that," she pointed out.
"That's different. I have to work. But I chose to spend my life with you. And I'm still here for you if you want me. But you need to want me for who I am, who you married, not for what you think you want to turn me into."
Charlotte opened her mouth to argue, but realised there was nothing to say. She'd never told Connor about her spanko tendencies, just sprung them on him two years into their marriage. Her mistake had been to deny that part of herself—no, not deny; she just hadn't been aware back then that the loving discipline she craved really was an option in real life. If she were looking for a boyfriend now, she'd factor that in. It wasn't really her fault but it wasn't Connor's either.
"Let's try to put it behind us," he said. "Come on, let's eat, hey? And we need to talk about what we're going to do on New Year's Eve. It's coming up fast if we want to book anything."
New Year's Eve. The new millennium.
And she'd be going into it minus the thing she wanted most of all in the whole world.
She stayed where she was.
Twelve
/> Charlotte spent all afternoon in the study. She didn't turn on the computer or read, just lay on the sofa, feeling too wretched to move or do anything. The farthest she moved was to the toilet. Connor dropped into the study a few times, concerned.
"Are you okay?"
Charlotte shrugged.
"Would you like lunch now?"
"No!"
"Would you like a cup of tea?"
"No!"
"Would you like an ice cream?"
"What flavour—vanilla?" Charlotte couldn't resist the smartarse response, but Connor didn't understand it anyway.
"There's raspberry ripple and double chocolate."
"No."
Finally, he left her alone.
Nightfall found her still in foetus position on the sofa. She didn't draw the curtains or switch on the light. The darkness cocooned her, no one could see her humiliation. She looked forward to going to work tomorrow, being among colleagues, being Charlotte who could spot an incorrectly placed hyphen at a thousand paces, not Charlotte the sicko. She remembered her mum's lip curling when reading a newspaper article on a Conservative MP who resigned after a spanking scandal back in the 1980s. "What sort of pleasure do people get out of hitting each other?" her mum had said in a tone like Connor had used earlier, like spanking was the most disgusting thing imaginable. Her mum's comments had made Charlotte feel guilty, bad, about her fantasies. The shame was why she'd never told anyone about her spanking kink before and she never would again. Spankos needed to find each other for relationships to work. Charlotte was painfully aware of that now. Perhaps she always knew, but Connor's reaction confirmed it.
"Charlotte." Connor again. He switched on the light and strolled across the room to pull the curtains.
Charlotte blinked, adjusting to the sudden light.
"You can't stay here all night," he said.
Charlotte shrugged.
"Lottie." He perched on the edge of the sofa, placed his hand on her leg. She tried to pull away but he kept it firmly in place. "We have to talk."
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