“What is it, Claire?” he asked softly.
She shook her head against his chest and he could feel her tensing up again.
“Shh. Don’t get upset. Just tell me.”
She drew a shaky breath. “I’m not ready for that,” she croaked.
He was mystified over her irrational behavior. He had not expected his efforts at leading the charge on getting pregnant to be met with such resistance. “Why not?” he asked, trying to keep the sharpness out of his tone.
She noticed it and pulled her head away from his chest, frowning up at him. “Luis, do you know what fertility doctors do? They pump you full of hormones and then you end up with quintuplets.” She spread her hands. “It’s not natural. It’s not what I want for myself or our baby.”
He rolled his eyes, irritated.
Claire stamped her foot. “I want a natural birth.”
Chapter Two
Luis took a deep breath and sighed. “I am on board, Clarita. I am. Okay, I get it.” He stepped away from her and toweled off, then confounded her by dressing and leaving the bedroom without another word.
As her initial sense of abandonment faded, she considered Luis’s feelings for the first time. He had made a very sweet effort to help move them forward toward their goal of getting pregnant and what had she done? Pissed on him.
Damn.
She pulled on her pajamas and padded out to find him. He sat on the sofa, watching TV with the boys. She deposited herself on his lap without invitation, relieved when his arms immediately cradled her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered in his ear. He responded by kissing her neck. She stayed there for the rest of the show, snuggled into him, hoping when it was over he would take her back to the bedroom.
He did.
“I’m not opposed as a last resort,” she began, the moment the door closed. “I just didn’t think we were there yet. And when you suggested it, I guess it felt like a failure.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“Thank you for going to all the trouble…”
Luis’s face softened. He shrugged. “I should have realized. You’re an alternative health care practitioner. You don’t appreciate medical intervention.”
“If we have to go that route, I’ll do it. I’m just not ready to give up on natural methods yet.”
Luis lifted his chin. “Lie over that bolster and pull your panties down.”
Her pussy clenched. “Am I in trouble?” she asked as she moved to obey.
“Just a little.” His voice had deepened, the thick honey tones sending a shiver of excitement down her spine. She craved his discipline now, though a short hour earlier she would have resented it. Spanking was full of subtleties like that. A spanking with the same implement might hurt one night and give pleasure the next, depending on the context, tone or even her hormonal cycle.
She positioned the round bolster on the bed and laid her hips over it, reaching back to shimmy her pajama bottoms and panties down to her mid-thighs. She hid her face in the bed, waiting to see what Luis had in store for her. The feel of something cold on her anus made her jump and squeeze her cheeks together. A quick slap on one cheek reprimanded her reflex. She relaxed and held still, arching a bit to offer herself to him. The cool tip of the stainless butt plug met the pucker of her back flower and she willed herself to relax, fighting the instinct to tighten and resist.
Luis did not say a word, his silent treatment making the experience more suspenseful. He pressed the plug forward, and she modulated her breath, pacing it to remain open for him. The plug stretched her until the widest diameter of the bulb pressed through, then filled her inside as it moved in to the neck. She moaned. It felt punitive, the way he’d pushed it in first thing, without any touching, any warm up, any stimulation. And the paradox was that having it inserted punitively was all the turn-on she required.
She heard the jingle of his belt coming off, and like Pavlov’s dog, her reaction was automatic—a shudder of simultaneous fear and excitement coursed through her, causing her to squirm on the bolster. Though she knew he was in casual clothes after the shower, she pictured him instead in his more frequent disciplinarian garb—his “mayor clothes”—slacks and a button down shirt. He was her tall and slender version of Benicio del Toro.
“I think it will be twenty,” he said, his tone cavalier. He swung the belt with that single preamble, striking below the butt plug, on the place where butt meets thigh.
She sucked in her breath between her teeth. He had not asked her to count out loud, though he had given a number.
He struck again in exactly the same place. “I could be spanking you for an attitude adjustment,” he said. The belt snapped again, this time catching the edge of the butt plug, its movement within her causing her to groan. “I could be spanking you for maintenance.” Luis must have enjoyed her groan, because this time he aimed directly over the butt plug, pushing it forward, then tugging it to the side with the impact.
She squealed. “Luis!” she protested.
“Was that too much?” The rumbling purr of his deep voice came like a caress.
She could not answer.
“I could be spanking you for walking away when I was talking to you.” He brought the belt down again, this time on the backs of her thighs, where she hated it.
She yelped loudly, thankful Luis had soundproofed their room so she did not have to worry about the boys overhearing.
“Except I walked away from you, too, didn’t I?” he mused, striking again. “No, mi amor. Tonight I’m spanking because you hurt my feelings.”
The pleasure of his dominance morphed to shame. “I’m sorry,” she wailed.
As if he sensed the change and it was not his desired effect, he clipped, “No. I don’t want your ‘sorry’. I just want to spank you. And I can,” he said, delivering another stripe on her low buttocks. “Because you gave me that right.”
When she and Luis began their relationship, she had insisted she was not interested in erotic spanking, wanting the punishment and guidance of domestic discipline. Luis had taught her how fluid it all could be. His spankings could be pleasure or they could be punishment or they could be an infinite number of shades between. And though she’d rejected the idea of spanking for no reason, the idea of Luis spanking her simply because he desired it now turned her insides molten.
At the same time, the delayed sting of the welts began to overtake her, the overall effect dizzying.
“How many is that, Clarita?”
His voice came from far away, took a long time to process. “I don’t know,” she managed to mumble.
“You didn’t count? Let’s begin again, then, shall we?”
“Noooo,” she moaned, though her voice sounded more wanton than plaintive.
“Count for me, Claire.” His voice came soft as velvet, a stunning contrast to the sharp bite of his belt.
“Oomph. One,” she muttered. Her pussy throbbed. She wondered if he would allow her to touch herself during a whipping. Or if that would even be safe? The belt came down again on the backs of her legs.
“Two!” she exclaimed with a tinge of anger.
“You don’t like it there, do you, Claire?”
“No,” she whimpered. He applied the next few strokes with steady care, striking the same spot, just below the plug. Her breathing came fast and labored as she counted for him. “Three, four, five… six!”
He pressed a hand on her low back and angled the belt, striking precisely around the plug with diagonal strokes, first on one cheek, then on the other. She counted the strokes, her entire body buzzing with pain and arousal by the time he reached a dozen. Could she orgasm from a spanking alone? She felt unbelievably close.
He delivered the last eight across both cheeks, striking her sit spots relentlessly. Her numbers came as whimpers, but she was nowhere near tears.
She heard the belt drop onto the floor.
****
So beautiful. The sight of her freshly spanked bottom b
ent over the bolster, the smell of her arousal, the sight of her slick nectar dripping between her legs. Her submission made him feel powerful, erased all conflicts between them.
He put the heel of his hand over the butt plug and pressed it forward, enjoying her groan. “What is our rule about sex?” he demanded.
“I am always available to you.”
It was a rule Claire loved, because she said even if she was not in the mood, the idea that refusing him would be a spankable offense, immediately put her in the mood.
“Spread your knees for me, Claire.”
She widened her stance obediently and he slapped his hand between her legs, punishing her pussy. She jerked in surprise, her bottom listing away, but immediately returning to position. He delivered three more spanks before stripping off his clothes.
“Put your knees back together,” he ordered, straddling her legs.
She gave a pleading moan, pushing back, eager for his entrance. They were so ready for each other, he slid in without needing a hand for guidance. Hot. Wet. Lush. Libidinous. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her tight muscles gripping his cock. By the sounds she made, she could orgasm at any moment.
Reaching forward, he cupped his hand under her chin, lifting her upper body upright into a backbend. “Do not come until I tell you,” he growled.
He didn’t know where that had come from—they’d never played with orgasm denial before. Claire’s wail of protest almost sounded like panic, she was that close, that needy of release.
“You were a naughty wife,” he said, pumping into her, rocking her forward on the bolster with each thrust. “Naughty wives get whipped before they get fucked.” The slap of flesh against flesh was the symphony accompanying their dance. “And then naughty wives get fucked hard.”
Claire was whimpering continuously now. “Please, please, please, please,” she begged.
“That’s right,” he said, pounding harder. “Beg for it, Claire.”
“Please. Please.”
His own release thundered forward. He released her chin, fearful he might hurt her as his thrusting became erratic and rough. He gripped her hips instead, plowing deeper, giving a shout as his orgasm crashed in all around him. “Now, Claire!” he gasped.
She let out a scream and her vaginal muscles convulsed, tightening all around him, sucking his seed forward in the action so perfect for conception. He had not pulled one like this out of her in months. She reached back, grasping his hips and pulling him deeper still, holding him tightly against her firm little ass.
They panted together, collapsing in a tangled heap. He pulled the bolster out from under them and gently removed the butt plug and brought it to the bathroom for cleaning. Claire sprawled in a boneless bliss on her back and he nuzzled in beside her when he returned, drawing spirals around her breasts, down her flat belly.
“Too bad today is only day eight of my cycle,” Claire said at last.
He propped up on an elbow and gave her his sternest look. “Are you still tracking? That’s another spanking.”
She gave a rueful smile. “Sorry. I forgot. It’s a hard habit to break.”
He rolled her over and she threw her hand behind her to cover. “No, please. I’m too sore. Please, Luis?”
He gave her four hard spanks and rolled her back over, kissing her with all the love in his heart.
She must have felt it because she burst into tears. “Oh, God, Luis, I love you so much. I love you so much…”
“I love you, too, querida. Por siempre.”
In the morning he found her in the kitchen while the boys were still in their rooms. She had risen early and was churning out stacks of fluffy banana walnut pancakes, crispy bacon and scrambled eggs.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. “Buenos dias,” he murmured.
“Good morning, yourself.” Claire never attempted to speak Spanish to him, though she understood it well enough. Her father was of original Spanish descent, like so many in New Mexico, but she had not spoken the language in the home. His own sons were similar, as his ex-wife hadn’t spoken it. They understood him, but seemed embarrassed to speak it themselves, even though their pronunciation and accents were flawless.
“I want you to clear your schedule for this coming weekend,” he informed her.
She turned around. Already dressed for the day, she looked radiant—the stress erased from her face, her skin as luminous as her gold hoop earrings. “Oh yeah?” Her voice had a seductive tinge and she pressed herself against him.
“Yeah. We’re having boot camp around here.” He leaned forward and nipped her neck. “Someone needs to learn her place again, even if it means she spends the entire. Weekend. Over my knee.”
Claire’s head dropped back, her eyes dilated. He kissed her glossed lips, his hand dropped to her ass. Unfortunately, Sam wandered in and he pulled away, giving her a wink. She whirled to face the stove and he knew his little wife was blushing.
The boys were enthusiastic about the home-cooked breakfast, thanking her and praising her until she giggled, looking pleased. They ate every morsel of food she put out, wolfing it down before it was time to grab their books and head out the door for school.
He gave her a kiss. “Be good,” he said, patting her bottom, making her blush and swat his hand away.
****
Claire’s clients did not seem nearly so tiresome that day as they had over the past few months. Her own body felt relaxed and her outlook felt bright. Luis was amazing. She felt so far removed from the distress she’d been experiencing, she almost floated. During her break between clients, she pushed the Feldenkrais table to the side of the room and put on a song. She hadn’t even begun work on the dance Luis had requested, though she had told Kristen, the director of Ballet Arts, that she might have a solo for the show. Kristen had responded with enthusiasm, saying she would leave a place in the program.
Finding a beautiful instrumental by Torque et Houpin, she cranked the volume and began to improvise.
It had been years since she’d danced professionally. Not since her pelvis shattered after she was hit by a taxi in New York City. In Taos, she’d been teaching again, but she hadn’t performed. Just follow what comes out. When you get stuck, go back and start over from the same place. She remembered the advice of one of the teachers at Julliard. And she had a starting place—this dance already had a theme. It was the overriding theme of her life at the moment—yearning.
She followed the music, closing her eyes, exploring movement that seemed to fit both the emotion of yearning and the sounds of the song. She discovered yearning was about being on her knees. It was about reaching. It was about twisting and falling and recovering and falling again. It was about looking heavenward. It was about fists and tugging on clothing and writhing in discomfort.
By the end of the hour, she had half the solo choreographed, the feeling of accomplishment further lifting her mood.
At dinner, Luis pulled another surprise on her. “I cancelled the appointment with the fertility doctor, but I made you an appointment with an acupuncturist here in town who specializes in fertility. Did you know acupuncture improves the chances of in vitro fertilization by 60%?” She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he waved his hand defensively. “I’m not saying we’re going to do in vitro fertilization.”
She giggled. “I know, I know.”
“So you’re going,” he said with that flick of an eyebrow that always made her toes curl.
“Yes, sir,” she said, grinning. They spoke that way in front of the boys, though usually with a teasing tone. Even Danny and Sam sometimes mocked their father with a “yes, sir,” when he issued an order, which always made her laugh.
Friday rolled around and she waited for instructions about their weekend, wondering if he planned to take her up to his (no, their now that they were married) condo at the ski valley. When she didn’t hear anything, she started wondering about dinner-- whether she should plan on
cooking or if he’d be taking her out.
She texted him in the afternoon. “Please give me a clue about this weekend? Need to know if I should get groceries??”
He text replied, “Yes, please buy everything we’ll need to hole up at ski valley this weekend.”
Holing up for the weekend. It sounded divine. They hadn’t had alone-time like that since their honeymoon almost a year ago. She drove to the natural food grocery store to load up for elaborate meals. As a woman who loved to cook, she took pleasure in using her skill to express her devotion to Luis.
He met her at home and they packed quickly and drove up to the condo together, where she baked salmon filets and steamed broccoli for dinner.
After dinner, Luis instructed, “Go to the bedroom, take off your clothes and kneel in the corner.” He fixed her with an implacable look that sent shivers of excitement running up her spine.
“Yes, sir,” she said, hiding a smile.
In the bedroom, she stripped and chose a corner to kneel in. It was a ritual Luis often used for punishment, but it seemed tonight was more for play.
He made her wait for a stretch, but her humbled position had already turned her mindset to submissive, an almost hypnotic state of obedience that overruled logic. She did not turn when he entered, just stared at the convergence of two walls as she waited for his instructions.
She heard him moving around, unzipping his suitcase and sitting on the bed.
“Come, Clarita.”
She stood, the blood returning to her legs as she closed the distance between them. He looked as sexy as ever—still in his button down shirt from work, the collar open wide at the neck. He rolled up his sleeves in the classic preparation for delivering a spanking, and one that always tweaked her.
His face was inscrutable, but his eyes glittered as he reached for her and guided her to straddle one of his knees, laying her torso on a diagonal over his leg and on the bed. He had a pillow for her, always the gentleman in assuring her comfort before he delivered pain.
Milestones Page 9