Sweet Salvation

by Maddie Taylor

  Four hard stinging slaps followed the first two in quick succession. The fire his hand was creating in her bottom also brought the sting of tears to her eyes and a dryness built, constricting her throat. She was in the wrong here and she knew it, despite her arguments to the contrary. In acknowledgement of her guilt, she lay across his thighs, quietly accepting his sentence while he applied another four swats to her increasingly tender butt.

  After the twelfth searing blow he rested, or rather, he gave her a rest as his hand began gliding over her heated flesh, rubbing and squeezing. Was he done? He hadn’t told her the number he had in mind, just started laying into her naughty bottom. She hoped it was over, as she was already aroused and eager to move onto more pleasant matters. Hope turned to anticipation, her breath catching in her throat, when his fingers moved between her spread thighs and he began a gentle exploration. She knew she was soaked. It never failed. A spanking always aroused her, whether bringing pleasure or pain, if she was good or bad, as foreplay or punishment. She guessed it was her kink, and Marc preyed upon it to perfection.

  Their lovemaking, although hot and steamy at a minimum, turned fiery and more passionate after a mutually enjoyable spanking, even one for punishment. Although not a common occurrence, she’d been spanked as a “corrective action” before. Yes, that’s what he’d called it in all seriousness—as well as “attitude adjustment” and “behavior modification”. She’d learned that if she took her spanking well, without sassing, kicking, or complaining, it was over quickly. She was forgiven and often rewarded with cuddles, kisses, and hot animal-like sex. Misbehavior during the spanking, however, earned her more and delayed her reward.

  During one of her rebellious episodes, she’d kicked and cursed him with every breath. Her behavior had earned her triple the swats he’d intended and proved he wasn’t going to put up with bratty behavior. He’d scolded the whole while. Jessie had settled down toward the end, apologizing and submitting, which she knew she should have done from the beginning. Afterward, even though she’d been contrite, he’d stood her in a corner ‘for introspection’ anyway. Wow, that had been a shocker and a revelation. While standing in that insufferable corner for twenty minutes, her blazing butt bared and on display, she came to the realization that she would have rather had an encore performance of the spanking. Hating corner time, she decided then that it was in her best interest to avoid it, at all cost, in the future.

  Usually limited to twelve spanks, she figured she had really ticked him off this time, when he began another dozen. The second round was similar to the first but not exactly. Swats landed on the swells of her bottom, but this time, he paused after just a few. At the sixteenth swat, he stopped to rub and caress her enflamed skin while he asked questions, requiring a verbal response.

  “Why are you in this position, cara?”

  “Because of my new job,” her voice trembled in answer. While her butt was burning, the discomfort wasn’t the source of her tears. It was her emotions, which she struggled to control. “I didn’t uphold our agreement.”

  “That’s right.” Four more spanks followed before he paused again. How many was that now—twenty? He resumed his intermittent stroking and she squirmed beneath his hand, her tears threatening to overflow. She had been determined to get through it this time without blubbering like a baby—she hated that. Only four more and she was done. She would have made it too, if he hadn’t continued his interrogation, but his questions persisted.

  “Why do you think I’m so upset by you breaking our agreement?”

  With a shuddering breath, she managed to squeak out, “Because I’m gone so much.”

  “Why would that bother me?”

  Damn him, he knew exactly what he was doing. He had always said she kept things bottled up inside and that an emotional release of her tension would make her feel so much better. He’d suggested that a spanking could be therapeutic, by getting her to let go. He should have gone into psychiatry instead of bones.

  A particularly stinging swat startled her, reminding her he was waiting for an answer.

  “Why would that bother me, Jessie? I don’t begrudge you a career.”

  “I’ll talk to my boss today,” she said with a sniffle.

  “That doesn’t answer my question, bella.”

  “You want to spend more time with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you miss me when I’m gone?”

  “Yes, but why do I miss you?”

  She knew where he was going with this and her voice broke with emotion as she announced with a sob, “Because you love me.”

  “Yes, bella mia, I love you. You are more important to me than anything and I don’t intend for anything, even our careers, to keep us apart.”

  The final four were always the worst, and this morning was no different. Delivered to her sit spots, these last four scorching blows would stay with her all day. Every time she bent to help a patient, or sat at the computer to chart, she would be reminded of this time over his lap, and how she felt at this very moment—loved. After all, that was his intention.

  When he was done, he lifted her onto his lap and held her close. “I’m serious about this, Jessica. I’m tired of you practically living at that hospital. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she cried, succumbing to tears as she wrapped her arms around him.

  “I want to be with you. That’s why we’re getting married, isn’t it, to spend our lives together?”

  “Yes, I want that too, Marc. I swear.” Her voice was muffled as she wedged her tear-streaked face against his neck.

  He held her as she cried. His big hand stroked her back as he murmured soft, heart-melting words of love and encouragement. Marc had spanked her several times before, usually for the same reason; putting their relationship in jeopardy. He said often that he was not going to have a cold, distant marriage and that he would take whatever measures were necessary to keep their union happy, intimate, and strong. The whole scene, even the spanking, served to make Jessie feel closer to Marc, as well as loved and cherished. Ironic that a spanking made her feel valued. As odd as that seemed, it was how she felt, and spanking usually settled her, as he called it, and got their usually accordant relationship back on track, like now. They cuddled close until Jessie’s phone intruded with a message alert.

  “That’s Elaine.” Jess sniffled as she pushed away from his chest. She wiped at the wet spot her tears had left on his chest, reluctant to leave after such an emotional scene.

  Marc grabbed her fingers and brought them to his mouth. “Let’s get you dressed and on your way.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know, cara. Let’s just fix this.”

  He helped her off his lap. As she stood, her sore bottom brushed against his rigid erection, prompting a groan from him. Adjusting his cock in his too-restrictive lounge pants, Marc grunted, then pulled her in for one more hug, his hands gently caressing her warm backside.

  An answering ache pulsed between her thighs and she squirmed, the movement causing her pants and panties to fall around her ankles. She kicked them free. What the heck, she thought, as she climbed back into his lap. I’m already late. What’s a few minutes more?

  Straddling his thighs, she pulled his mouth to hers for a hungry kiss. “Make love to me, handsome,” she gasped when they parted for air.

  “I thought you had to go?”

  “I do, but I don’t care if I’m late anymore. I need you.”

  His hand sank into her hair and with a firm twist gently angled her head enough for their eyes to meet. “You know this isn’t about sex, don’t you, Jess? I miss you, cara, not just your sweet pussy, I miss all of you.”

  “You ‘ole charmer, you,” she teased with a weepy chuckle. “How can I resist when you say such romantic things.” She ground her slit against his rigid length, brushing her lips against his as she spoke, reassuring him. “I know it isn’t just about sex, handsome, but for now, c
an we pretend it’s all about my sweet pussy? Please?”

  A rumbling growl emanated from deep within his chest. Jessie quivered as the vibrations transferred from his hard body to her much softer frame. He effortlessly flipped her onto the bed; the strength and power in such a move, the way he could position her, maneuver her, protect her, always sparked her desire and made her wet. If she’d been wearing panties, they’d have been drenched by now. She lay flat on her back, and with his strong hands easily spreading her legs wide, he entered her in one deep stroke. His hands pushed up her scrub top and bra, baring her breasts for his ravenous mouth as he rode her, setting a rapid pace with the pounding of his hips.

  Arching her back, Jess drove her hands into his silky soft hair and clung to him. She groaned as he sucked her nipple, making it unbearably hard, before biting it gently. She writhed beneath him when his hand came up to play with the other rigid nub, rolling then pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. Unable to contain her frantic need, she came. The agonizing pleasure/pain at her nipples and the deep driving force of his cock was too much to bear as she convulsed around him in a stunning, shouting release.

  Marc was quick to follow, powering into her faster and harder, until he too plunged over the edge. He collapsed atop her; both breathing heavily as they refilled their oxygen-deprived lungs, bringing their heart rates back to normal. After a few moments, her tenacious caller tried again, her ringtone—Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer—ascending in volume, tormenting them from across the room. He lifted his upper body and gazed down at her. His angry brown eyes from moments ago had given way to the familiar golden brown shade, still warmed by his passion. They now twinkled with amusement.

  “What happened to Blaze of Glory?”

  She shrugged. “A girl’s got to mix it up a bit.”

  “My girl’s an 80s hair band junkie. Go figure.” He laughed softly as he pulled out. Immediately, she missed him filling and completing her. He stood and pulled her to her feet, hugging her close with his lips pressed against the top of her head. His hand stroked down her back, cupping a still warm cheek and squeezing firmly. “I guess you’d better get a move on, but remember what we discussed, Jessica.”

  She was sorely tempted to explain that a discussion usually called for a two-way conversation, perhaps an exchange of ideas and that his way was more like a pronouncement. Wisely, she decided against it, not having the heart or the time. As she rushed out the door, Marc handed her a to-go cup of coffee with one last sweet kiss and an ‘I love you’ whispered against her lips. That was all she needed to convince herself she’d been right to let it slide.

  As she worked her shift, once again shorthanded and assigned twelve post-op patients instead of eight, she reflected on their ‘discussion’ and knew he was well within his rights to be angry. He’d worked at the hospital for years as a staff physician and knew the politics. He had warned her the job would consume her life, and he’d been right. When she’d come to him about the opportunity a few months ago, he had adamantly told her no. They’d only been living together a short time and were still trying to find their way as a couple. Jessie knew of his heavy-handedness by that time. He had owned up to that character trait and more. Strangely, his dominance had been one of the things that had attracted her, along with his intelligence, quick wit, and playful side—his smokin’ hot body was a given. He’d never really put his foot down or forbidden her to do something she wanted—within reason, of course—especially about her career. Sure, they’d had the whole head of household discussion, Marc being traditional, even old-fashioned in his views on relationships, but it had been all theory until she’d mentioned the promotion.

  Jessie had of course blown a gasket and they’d had their first big fight as a couple. Marc didn’t understand how important working was to her. She doubted he could relate to a girl from a working class background, whose mother had to scrimp and save just to get her school supplies each year. How could he understand the stigma of being poor when he’d come from wealth and influence? He didn’t know that not having the newest fashions could make a teenage girl a social outcast, or that having to search through second-hand stores for someone else’s castoffs was humiliating. She recalled a time in middle school, when one of the mean girls recognized the old dress Jess was wearing and pointed it out, snickering maliciously with her friends. Marc couldn’t possibly imagine the indignity she’d felt. It would make any fourteen-year-old want to crawl under a rock and die.

  Jess had suffered many such disgraces in silence. She couldn’t tell her mom there was a stigma to being one of ‘those poor kids’ on the free lunch program. She didn’t tell her that she stopped going through the line at twelve. The day she’d made the high school cheerleading squad, she hadn’t told her mom that either. Instead, she’d quit the next day because the uniforms were too expensive and the entry fees for the competitions beyond their means. She wasn’t about to let her mom work more overtime for that, even though it had been something she wanted more than anything.

  Inspired by adversity, she’d worked hard, gotten good grades, and earned scholarships. She’d done so well she had earned a free ride. True, it wasn’t all free and she’d had to pull her shifts in the cafeteria under the work study program, but it had all been worth it when she’d earned her nursing degree. Now she worked harder than most to keep what she had, even though being with Marc meant she didn’t have to. She had decided early on after digging herself out of poverty, that when she married, for better or worse, she would always have a financial safety net to fall back on. Just in case, like her parents, her world spiraled out of control.

  No, Marc wouldn’t understand, and she really didn’t want to go there with him. Although he was well-grounded, hardworking, and extremely down to earth, a person’s background shaped them, shading their perspective no matter how much they tried to avoid it, or how enlightened they thought they were. He knew they had struggled, but Jess had never told him to what extent. She didn’t want him to picture her that way. She had put that part of her life behind her, and didn’t want to look back.

  Work was a challenge that day with her mind scattered, her thoughts buzzing around her brain like a swarm of angry bees. The buzz becoming confused with the maddening call bells that seemed never to cease. While her mind was troubled, her body was equally diverted, legs aching from sledding, bottom tingling from Marc’s firm hand, and her pussy and clit still tender and aching from the morning quickie. With all that going on, it was no surprise she’d forgotten the task he’d given her.

  Chapter Seven

  Stacy and Jessie walked up the wide steps to the main entrance of the Forest Hills Country Club hand in hand, both women treating the 100-year-old institution with a reverence usually reserved for the hallowed halls of Congress, not a golf club. A valet had parked Stacy’s car and now a uniformed doorman welcomed them.

  “This place reeks of money.” Jessie’s hushed voice bore a hint of disdain beneath the wonder.

  “Old, moldy, and crusty money, you mean. Hey, look, Jess, there’s the welcoming committee now.” Stacy giggled nervously although she found little humor in the situation. She nodded toward a group of men in golf gear. They were eighty if they were a day. Dressed for a round or two, they wore plaid pants, sweater vests over polos, and baseball caps. Stacy doubted they’d had any intention of teeing off today with snow flurries flying and the temperature below freezing. Rain or shine, they were probably at the club every day. Impressed that they were still active enough to get out of the house on such a cold winter’s day, she smiled politely and gave them a small wave. One nodded, the others just eyed her and Jessie critically before entering a hallway at the far end of the room.

  “We stand out like sore thumbs, Jess.”

  “More like two bad pennies among hundred dollar bills.”

  The image of two battered coins, worthless and unwanted was beginning to settle unpleasantly in her mind when a voice said from behind them, “Don�
�t mind them. They still haven’t gotten used to women being allowed in the club, let alone coming unescorted.”

  The girls turned to find a young woman dressed in a blue suit with a crest on the lapel. She was holding a large binder. Smiling expectantly at them, she inquired, “Miss Altman and Miss Swanson, I presume?”

  At their nod, she offered her business card to each of them. “I’m Kathy Fisher, the catering manager. Mrs. Baker is at your table in the dining room, if you’ll come with me?”

  As they followed her, she turned and asked, “Mrs. Trent won’t be joining us?”

  “No, she had a conflict.”

  Stacy glanced at Jessie. Her clipped tone told her that something was going on. Jessie and Marc’s wedding was scheduled for April and they were having it at the country club too. Jessie’s mom, Lillian, was working and unable to attend, so Joanne, who was like a second mother to Marc, had suggested Jessie tag along as bride-to-be and maid of honor, killing two birds as they say. Stacy made a mental note to ask about the issue with Marc’s mom later. For now, she wanted to get this wedding planning over.

  They spent the next hour on a tapas-like meal, taste-testing entrée options for their receptions. They even did a bit of wine tasting. Jared’s mother was helpful in that arena because as Stacy was the first to admit, she knew hops, not grapes.

  Joanne was supportive but carefully neutral, offering comments when asked and seeking Stacy’s opinion with prompting questions such as “Which do you like, dear?” or “What do you think of the beef?” She even came up with the idea of a score card to rate each dish and wine in case they had a hard time deciding in the end. Stacy had been dreading the task, but was pleasantly surprised that it was so much fun. After almost two hours, they had unanimously agreed on the entrées but were still debating the wine, no real hardship amidst plenty of tipsy giggles.