His Firm Hand

by Shelly Douglas

  “Dad, let me take your jacket,” Michele politely offered.

  Chuck wriggled out of his sleeves and as it slipped off, he turned around, beaming a toothy smile. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You’ve never looked more beautiful, Michele.”

  “Thanks, dad.” As Michele turned away with blushed cheeks to hang Chuck’s jacket in their closet, he turned to Paul and gave him a warm handshake, pulling him closer. “Thanks for everything you’ve done,” he whispered with a simultaneous wink of the eye.

  “It’s been my pleasure.” Paul winked in return.

  “Someone’s going to win an Oscar nomination tonight, and I’m not sure if it will be you or dad,” Denise whispered to Michele before properly introducing her friend Glen to the cluster of family and friends.

  With everyone still standing around, Paul directed the group to follow him into the kitchen. “Since we’re all family here, you can help yourselves to the beverage of your choice.”

  “Are you kidding? I have to make my own vodka martini tonight?” Dave whined with a grin.

  “I want a chardonnay,” Marsha squawked.

  “Me too,” Marianne added.

  “I’ll have a glass of pinot,” Denise chirped.

  “Vodka martini sounds good to me, Dave.” Glen waved his hand.

  “I could go for a beer,” Chuck said with a finger in the air.

  “Okay, I get it, I’m the official bartender for the night.” Dave shook his head and chuckled cheerfully. “What are our hosts drinking?”

  “I’ll join Chuck and have a beer!” Paul yelled above the rest of the conversation.

  “Just a Diet Coke for me and the other kids,” Michele said solemnly. “Daddy, this isn’t fair,” she whispered to Paul.

  “What’s that, Michele?” Chuck responded, overhearing her comment.

  “Oops, sorry… scratch that.”

  Paul smiled at the small misdirected comment.

  Michele responded to her husband with crossed eyes.

  * * *

  “Dinner is served!” Paul announced as he walked into the dining room with his perfectly prepared turkey. Michele followed closely behind with a tray full of mashed potatoes, yams, homemade cranberry sauce, and dressing.

  “Everything looks wonderful,” Marianne said, cheerfully elbowing her husband.

  “Does anyone want a refill on their cocktails, or is everyone having wine with dinner?” Dave inquired.

  “I think I’ll switch to water. Michele, what about you?” Paul lifted an eyebrow in her direction.

  “I guess I’ll have water, too,” Michele responded with a pouty face. “Daddy, are you going to carve the turkey? I think everyone is getting hungry.”

  “Sure,” Paul and Chuck responded in unison.

  Chuck gave Paul an odd look. “Wasn’t she talking to me?”

  Denise, Marcia, and Dave all snickered.

  “What in the hell is going on?” Glen asked Denise under his breath.

  She promptly kicked his leg under the table. “Shush, I’ll explain later.”

  “Of course, Michele was addressing you, Chuck. Please, would you do the honors?” Paul threw his wife a mortified glance.

  Michele observed as Chuck carved the turkey, while Paul looked on through unblinking eyes. She couldn’t help but be amused with the scene as her obsessive husband watched someone else attend to his turkey and smiled as Dave poured wine in everyone’s glass. It was fun for her to have a bird’s-eye view of friends and family engaging in conversation, passing holiday dishes around the table.

  Once everyone was served, Paul cleared his throat and tapped his fork onto the tall water glass. “I just wanted to say how good it is to be together. We should do this more often than once a year.”

  Michele reached across the corner of the table and squeezed Paul’s hand. The rest of the table raised their glasses in agreement.

  “Someday, we might even have some grandchildren around the table to enjoy,” Chuck blurted out.

  “Please don’t start, Charles,” Marianne scoffed in a muffled tone.

  “What? Did I say something wrong? I have two beautiful daughters, and all I’m saying is that it would be nice to have a couple of grandkids. Maybe I could make up for all the time I spent away from home.” He looked at Michele, obviously hoping for forgiveness.

  The rest of the gathering put their heads down and continued eating.

  Before long, the individual conversation resumed and well-deserved praises for the in-house chef were unanimously echoed. Chuck thoughtfully chewed a bite of his turkey, watching Michele.

  “Dad, is it my imagination, or are you staring at me?” Michele asked.

  “I don’t know, there’s something different about you. I guess it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.” He tilted his head. “You seem… younger. Marianne, what do you think?”

  “She looks the same to me; it’s all in your head, dear.”

  Chuck shrugged his shoulders before taking a forkful of dressing.

  “Michele, I love the skirt you have on. Mom, don’t I have the same one in another color?” Kristin asked Marsha, who instantly smiled and nodded.

  “I can’t remember. Is your bathroom at the top of the stairs?” Chuck innocently asked his daughter in a quiet tone.

  “Why?” she answered with a look of terror in her eyes, wondering if Paul remembered to close the door to her playroom that was located next to the bathroom.

  “Because I need to use it?” He turned and shot a confused look at Marianne.

  “We have a small one on this floor. It’s much more convenient,” Paul added as he rose out of his chair to point Chuck in the desired direction.

  Dave raised his glass. “Here’s to owning more than one bathroom. We have three,” he slurred proudly.

  Brenden shook his head. “Mom, I think dad started the evening with too many martinis.”

  “Honey, you’re officially cut off.” Marsha grabbed Dave’s wine and quickly poured it into her glass.

  Kristin raised an eyebrow at her mom. “I’ll do the driving home tonight.”

  “Good idea, kiddo,” Dave mumbled.

  Much to Michele’s delight, the rest of the evening’s exchange centered on shopping, work, retirement, and other mundane subject matter. Shortly after the coffee, pies, and chocolate-covered turkeys were inhaled, the energy among the group began to wane.

  “Marianne, all I want to do is go home and unbuckle these pants.” Chuck patted his stomach in satisfaction.

  “I think we might need to skip your Grand Marnier nightcap this evening,” Marsha said with a loving eye-roll as she edged Dave’s elbow off the table.

  With that last comment, the rest of the group stood and made their way to the front door. When they were finally alone, Denise pulled Michele aside. “Daddy was actually pleasant to be around tonight. What got into him?”

  “I’m not sure.” Michele threw an appreciative look in Paul’s direction. “But it looks like retirement is definitely agreeing with him.” Paul quickly nodded his head and flashed a Cheshire cat grin in recognition of her gratefulness.

  “It’s like an early Christmas miracle,” Denise whispered, hugging both of them.

  Michele and Paul stood in the doorframe and finally waved goodbye to everyone. “Drive safely!” Paul yelled out as he watched Dave hand his keys over to Kristin.

  “Get a good night’s sleep, Michele Anne. We have a big day tomorrow,” Marsha called out, wagging her finger before getting into their car.

  Paul closed the door behind them as they walked back into the house. “So, it sounds like you have a big shopping excursion planned with Marsha. Don’t you usually spend Black Friday with Denise?”

  “She and Glen have to work long hours tomorrow. One of the pitfalls of retail.”

  “Mmm. Black Friday sales or not, Christmas shopping with Marsha could cost me a fortune. Remember your little trip to Nordstrom on Halloween?” He shook his head and laughed. “Hey, I think
everyone had a good time tonight,” he said, starting to collect the dessert plates from the table.

  “Yep, and we only had two really close calls.” She moved closer to help remove the empty coffee mugs. “By the way, did you remember to close my playroom door?”

  “Sorry,” Paul said in an apologetic tone. “I totally forgot. Good thing Chuck didn’t insist on going upstairs. I can only imagine the look on his face if he’d peeked into the room… it’s like a time warp in there.”

  “It was definitely a risk having them here for dinner, but I’m glad we did it.” She exhaled a long breath. “I feel a little guilty that my parents are the only ones not aware of how we live. We were like a couple of teenagers sneaking around.”

  Paul looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully before speaking. “We could always tell them, but do you want to risk it right now? You’re just starting to make progress in your relationship, and I’m not sure how they’d react.”

  “I’m too exhausted to think anymore right now. Can we leave the dishes until tomorrow morning, daddy? I’m soooo tired.”

  “Why don’t you go get your Sheepy-Time pajamas on and get ready for bed? I’ll load as much as I can in the dishwasher and soak all the pots and pans for tomorrow.”

  “I know this sounds so juvenile, but could you tell me a story tonight?”

  “Of course, kiddo. Get yourself comfortable and I’ll be upstairs as soon as I can.”

  * * *

  Michele snuggled under the covers in her flannel jammies as she heard heavy footsteps ascending the stairs.

  “Are you ready for your story, princess?” Paul asked, still dressed in his black button-down shirt and jeans as he sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Daddy, aren’t you going to put your sweatpants on and get comfortable?”

  “I will, sweetie. But first, I want to tell my best girl a special Thanksgiving story.”

  “Ooh, a holiday story. I hope it has a happy ending,” she said, slipping both hands under the covers to warm them.

  Paul cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful woman named Chellie.”

  “Chellie? I haven’t been called that since I was a kid.”

  Paul inclined his head toward hers. “Am I making up this story, or are you?”

  “Sorry, daddy. Please continue.”

  “Everyone thought Chellie was beautiful and told her so, but she just didn’t believe them.”

  “Mmm. Sounds like a case of bad self-esteem, if you ask me,” Michele interrupted as she shifted in the bed.

  “Perhaps, but her parents hoped that eventually she’d meet the man of her dreams and would become much happier and more secure in her life.”

  Michele squinted her eyes. “I thought this story was going to revolve around a holiday, but so far, there’s no mention of one.”

  “Be patient, my sweet, I’m just trying to develop the characters for you.”

  “Sorry,” she said with a smile, wiggling under the covers.

  “Are you having trouble getting comfortable? You’re awfully squirmy tonight.”

  “No, sir,” she said, quickly pulling the comforter up to her chin.

  “You seem so fidgety. Did you eat too much chocolate after dinner?”

  Michele bit her lip and inhaled a quick breath. “Nope, I’m fine.”

  “Sweetie, are you paying attention to me, or are you busy concentrating on something else?” Paul asked as his mouth formed a crooked smile.

  Under the sheet, Michele’s hardened nipple was being grazed by the tip of her thumbnail as the pointer finger on her other hand slid up and down a slick seam just inside the pajama bottoms. “What happened? Why did you stop telling the story, daddy?”

  “It seems you have your own tale going on right now,” Paul said. “And I’ll bet it’s a good one. Care to share with me?”

  Slowly, she shook her head.

  “If you’re being naughty under those covers, you better not lie to me, young lady,” he warned in a stern tone.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking about,” she admitted with an embarrassed face. “I’m standing in the corner being spanked and fucked at the same time. My tushy is very red and hot.” Her voice was breathless as she rapidly circled her hard, swollen flesh.

  “Mmm, and who’s starring in this kinky little fantasy of yours?”

  “We are, silly,” she said, giggling. “I know it’s only Thursday, but can the rules be altered tonight? After all, it is a holiday.”

  He pulled the puffy white comforter off of his wife and unbuttoned the first two buttons on the top of her flannel pajamas. His finger and thumb instantly went into motion, tweaking her taut nipple harder and harder as his other hand roughly shucked her pajama bottoms down, one side at a time. Paul’s head lowered, and with firm strokes, his broad tongue took over, licking up and down the inside of her saturated, swollen pussy. As her body writhed and trembled, he washed his tongue over her hard bud and closed his lips around it, sucking tenderly. Finally, with an abrupt force, her hips lifted off the bed, vibrating as her pussy throbbed and pulsed.

  Slowly, her body’s tension released and she settled back down onto the firm mattress. Her heart was still thumping as her husband brushed his lips over hers. “Are you angry with me?” she whispered, still a little out of breath.

  “I ought to lower that bare bottom of yours over my knees right now and see if we can achieve the same color it was in your little fantasy,” Paul muttered as he undressed and got into bed.

  “I didn’t eat the chocolate-covered pretzels tonight. Would it be alright if I have something sweet and salty now?” she asked seductively, feeling his stiff cock pressed against her back.

  He turned her and nodded as Michele’s lips eagerly kissed their way down his chest. Stopping at his belly, she softly rubbed her nose onto his skin.

  “It’s unbelievable what your scent does to me,” she purred, inhaling his natural musky essence.

  “I can’t think of a happier ending to a Thanksgiving story,” he deadpanned as her tongue lightly licked the velvety rim of his cock.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Where did you say we were going, daddy-o?” Michele asked as she put on her red fingerless gloves.

  “Daddy-o? It looks like someone has been busy watching TV shows from the 1960s,” Paul responded with a chuckle. “And to answer your question, I didn’t say, kitten. It’s a surprise.”

  “You never tell me anything!” Michele complained as she stomped her foot.

  Paul took one step backward. “You know darn well what position that fancy footwork will get you in. Now, you can put on a jacket or slide down your pants for a good old-fashioned spanking. The choice is yours, so which will it be?”

  Michele huffed as she reached for her short puffy brown jacket and followed Paul out the front door. “Why are we taking the big car and not the Miata?”

  Paul flicked his key fob to unlock the doors to the car. “We’ll probably need the extra room for our return trip.”

  “Are we going shopping?”

  He laughed. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” Paul glanced to make sure Michele’s seatbelt was on as he made a right turn out of the driveway.

  “Do they have a bathroom where we’re going?”

  “Oh, my God, do I still have to remind you to take care of business before we leave the house?”

  Michele shrugged and turned the volume up on the radio. “I guess the music will take my mind off of things,” she answered, crossing her legs dramatically.

  Ten minutes later, Paul pulled into the Scott nursery. “Why are you stopping here?” Michele’s eyebrows knit together with confusion.

  “We’re going to pick out a Christmas tree.”

  “But we already have a tree at home.”

  Paul puffed his cheeks in exasperation. “I thought we would get a live tree this year and plant it in the backyard after the holidays.”

  “You look like a blowfish when you make that
face.” Michele’s eyes rolled as she slumped down in the seat.

  “I wouldn’t move around too much, princess. Remember, you have a full bladder,” he joked as he opened the car door for her.

  “Daddy, if you don’t like the tree we own, we can always buy another one. I just saw a white version on QVC yesterday. All the lights and ornaments are already in place, and it’s available in three easy payments—”

  “I’m seriously considering installing parental controls on our television.” He paused for a minute, obviously pondering the thought. “Come on, humor me. Think about how depressing it always is after the holidays when we put our artificial tree in the attic. I just thought it would be nice to plant a tree to keep the memories of this year’s holiday alive.”

  For the next half hour they strolled up and down the aisles of the nursery. “My God, they have so many to pick from,” Michele observed.

  “Have you seen any you like?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But what’s up with the ball of dirt on the bottom?”

  Paul stopped to examine one particular tree. “It makes it easier to transplant, kiddo.”

  “But how are we going to get it into the house? It’s going to take a small army to move this thing.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve arranged for some help when we get home. But to be on the safe side, let’s keep its size on the small end.”

  “Okay, how about that one?” Michele pointed to the four-foot fir on the end of the row. “It’s really pretty and not too big.”

  “Seems like a good choice. I’ll get one of the kids to load it into our trunk.”

  Paul and Michele stood by the car as they watched three young boys, all about sixteen years of age, wrestle with the tree to fit it in the trunk of the car before tying it down. “Having second thoughts, are we?” Michele asked, noticing the look of concern on Paul’s face.