Milestones

by Hensley, Alta

  She caught a glimpse of their leather paddle beside him as she bent into position. Leather was always a relief over wood. The kiss of leather was stingy, but the pain remained on the surface. She feared wooden paddles.

  She felt the cool implement laid across one cheek to prepare her, to let her know or guess which implement he’d selected. He peppered her bottom with a dozen light spanks before speaking. “Claire,” he began, increasing the intensity of the smacks. “This weekend we will engage in domestic discipline boot camp.” He spanked even harder and she began to emit little cries as her hips bobbed over his thigh in a vain, but instinctual response to avoid further pain.

  “It will be a chance for us to reconnect and strengthen our individual roles and to grow closer as a couple. I know you have been trying very hard to obey me and be a good wife this last week and I appreciate your efforts. This weekend is not to correct you in any way. It is only for us to deepen our dynamic.”

  His reassurance released something in her she didn’t know she harbored—a worry that she was still not good enough, not living up to her commitments or being the wife she wanted to be. The sadness of it welled up in a rush of emotion.

  “I will give you three spankings a day—a light, moderate, and severe punishment, although, as I said, it’s not to correct. You will be punished immediately, however for any infractions, no matter how small, and I will be instituting various rules to test your obedience.”

  His words sent her into the deep submission. It affected her like a drug, causing her insides to turn molten, her body pliable. She relaxed into the paddling he delivered, hardly registering any pain with the steady strokes. The unshed tears from her self-criticism a moment before still pressed at her, though, begging for release.

  ****

  Luis paused in his spanking and rubbed Claire’s beautifully reddened cheeks. He’d felt her go limp, indicating she had reached full submission. He lifted her torso so she sat on his thigh, expecting to see desire her eyes. Instead,, he found guilt.

  Domestic discipline was a tricky thing, he’d learned. For him, spanking was an erotic power, a wielding of dominance that turned him on. He loved Claire’s tight little dancer’s ass, loved marking it with his hand or implements, loved the cries and whimpers she made. He wasn’t a true sadist—causing her real pain bothered him, but he certainly enjoyed bringing her to the edge.

  For Claire it was something more complex than having attention paid to an erogenous zone. There was shame tied in, and yet somehow it was part of the turn-on for her. The expression she wore now was one he often saw after she received a genuine punishment spanking. Sometimes he could spank past it—get her to release her guilt in a puddle of tears and start fresh again. Sometimes she would remain quiet and cowed for a few days after. He hadn’t expected it now; since he’d made it clear the spanking was not for correction. Still, his wife was so hard on herself she had gone there anyway.

  He touched her face. “Looks to me like tears would be beneficial. Bring me the hairbrush.” He enjoyed making her fetch implements—the added humility of presenting him with it was a turn on.

  “Luis, no,” she whined, even as she stood up to obey.

  “There’s no telling me ‘no’ during boot camp, querida. You just earned yourself an additional spanking.”

  She whirled in dismay, the brush in her hand. “I wasn’t telling you ‘no’,” she protested, “I was begging you ‘no’.”

  He kept his face blank. “I’ll take that into consideration,” he said, offering his hand to help her over his lap. Her eyes pleaded and he could see she was already close to crumbling. He settled her, this time with both her legs over one thigh, his other leg scissoring over the top. He spanked slowly, steadily, at a medium intensity, giving her time to find her emotions and bring them out. She knew her tears were his goal, granting her permission to completely let go.

  Twenty-five strokes in, she began to shake with sobs. He lightened the intensity and spanked a little more, to be sure she got it all out. Then he set the brush down and rubbed her back, smoothing his hand across her silky skin. He was disappointed the spanking had turned out this way—he’d had grand expectations of it being the preamble to hot, kinky sex, but he knew it would still foster intimacy.

  He lifted below her knees and rolled her torso over to cradle her in his arms like a baby, standing and walking to the side of the bed where he settled them both. She curled into him, pressing every part of her body against his, as if she couldn’t get enough contact. He responded by taking off his clothes to bring them skin to skin. Her tears wet his neck but her hips pressed forward in a needy request.

  It took him a moment to shift gears from tender caretaker to lover, but his cock got in gear before his brain, responding to the feel of her wet heat rubbing over it. He slid into her without any need for guidance, her slit ready and positioned for his use. Groaning, he moved inside her, pressing her to her back and resting on his forearms to maintain maximum contact. Her arms were in a strangle-hold on his neck, her legs wrapped so tightly around his waist he could not withdraw at all for a good in-stroke. Instead, he pinned her pelvis to the bed, pushing in and up, grinding into her until her fingernails dug into his shoulders with need.

  “Please.” Her voice sounded so small.

  He drew away and pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “Please what?” he demanded.

  “Please… fuck me, Luis? Please?”

  He lost all control, the vulgarity on her lips turning him primitive as he plunged in and out of her with a frenzy, growling like a wild animal.

  “Oh yes, oh yes,” she whimpered, still clinging to him as if her life depended on it. Her orgasm was strong, milking his cock for its seed, drawing him deeper within her. The kind of orgasm that could make a baby. It hadn’t been wild and kinky, but it was beautiful, just the same.

  He rolled to his side, still inside her, collecting her into his arms to hold her close. She fell asleep in less than ten minutes. He lay still, listening to the sound of her deep, slow breaths, knowing in every cell the honor it was to be her man.

  Chapter Three

  Claire woke still wrapped in the comfort of Luis’s body. Bliss. She still couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have found a man like Luis who understood her needs so well. She stood up and walked to the bathroom. When she returned, she threw on a t-shirt and headed toward the door to make breakfast.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Luis’s voice was sleepy. “I didn’t say you could leave the bed and I didn’t say you could put clothes on. Get back here.”

  She giggled, crawling back on the bed and straddling him for a kiss. He stroked up and down her sides inside the t-shirt, his thumbs arriving at the puckered tips of her nipples, where they lingered.

  “Why is this still on?” he asked irritably, tugging on her shirt.

  “Sorry,” she said, pulling it off and throwing it across the room in one motion.

  “Mmm, that’s better,” he rumbled, cupping her breasts in his palms and squeezing. “Are you ready for your first spanking?”

  She bit her lip, remembering his promise about boot camp. Three spankings a day— light, moderate, and severe. Would they be in that order? She felt the familiar sensation of fear mingled with excitement as she ran her fingernails over the light fur on his chest.

  “Okay,” she squeaked.

  He gave her flank a squeeze. “Good girl.” He lifted her away from his body so he could sit up leaning against the headboard, then patted his lap. “Come.”

  He positioned her the way he wanted, arranging her bottom to give him the optimal target before stroking her backside in a gentle caress. She relaxed, despite her knowledge of the pain to come. Luis started with slow, lazy smacks with plenty of rubbing and fondling in between. She loved how he took his time it—loved being his sole focus, without the distractions that often turned her spankings into quick, clandestine affairs. After a time, he built up the speed and intensity, cau
sing her heart rate to increase.

  “Okay, mi amor,” he said, patting her bottom. “Your warm up is over. Now for the real spanking.”

  “Aw,” she protested, not ready for real pain.

  “Muevate,” he said, giving her a gentle shove to move off him. He stepped out bed and arranged the pillows into a pile near the edge.

  She swallowed. He had meant it when he said “real spanking.” She positioned herself over the pillows without being told. “I’m not in trouble?” she asked, though he’d already explained the spankings were not for punishment.

  Luis bent over his suitcase, presumably rummaging for an implement. He emerged with his belt. It was a wide, pliable leather belt—her favorite of his for a spanking. It was so much better than the thin, stiff ones. Even so, the sight of him doubling it and walking toward her caused her heart to pick up speed and her palms to sweat.

  She grabbed a corner of the blanket and pulled it to her mouth to bite on.

  “No, amorcita, you are not in trouble,” he said, just before he delivered the first stripe.

  She gasped, cringing as the line of fire crossed her bottom.

  “The purpose of the spankings is for us to practice our domestic discipline skills. Your very sweet, oh-so-luscious ass will stay sore all weekend so you remember your place as my obedient wife.”

  He laid three more stripes across her cheeks, hard enough to make her bob on the pillows in reaction. She hid her head in her arms.

  “And I, as your head of household, will be governing your every move.”

  The combination of his words and the pain of his continued whipping sent her flying into submissive headspace.

  “You will call me ‘sir’. You will remain naked at all times. Don’t worry—we can leave the fireplace lit so you are not cold.”

  She lifted her head from her arms, her logical brain picking back up and with it, returning the sensation of pain. She gave a loud yelp of protest. “Are you sure? Ack! I brought some things you—ouch!—might enjoy seeing me in.”

  Luis stopped whipping her. “Hmm… you have intrigued me. All right, little wife. I may deviate from that rule in favor of other pre-approved outfits.”

  She giggled, reaching back to rub her smarting cheeks.

  Luis snapped the belt across the backs of her legs and she screeched in protest.

  “You certainly know better than to rub in the middle of a spanking.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, yanking her hand back to safety.

  “You’d better be,” he warned, applying the belt with vigor several times.

  She hid her head again, whimpering.

  Luis trailed the belt over her thoroughly tanned cheeks. “Tell me the truth now, Clarita, was that enough of a spanking to keep you sore until this afternoon?”

  She hesitated. She wanted the whipping to be over. But regardless of how intense a spanking felt in the moment, the results rarely lasted more than an hour or two and this one was no exception. She did not lift her head, but gave a small shake.

  Luis rubbed her low back with his large hand. “Thank you for your honesty, sweetheart.”

  She hunched her shoulders, knowing he would begin again. He did—with force. She counted twenty more stripes—the kind that took her breath away. If it had been a punishment, she certainly would be crying by now. Funny, how the different intent behind a spanking could change her entire reaction to the same level of pain. But dancers were natural masochists. She could take a lot more than most.

  It ended at last and Luis scooped her into his arms on the bed, cradling her like a baby on his lap. She trembled in his embrace, her body still in shock.

  “Good girl,” he said, kissing her hair. “You took your spanking so well, Claire. Thank you for being so brave.”

  She snuggled in, his praise and his strong arms the only balm she needed to recover.

  ****

  He held his little wife until she stopped shaking, murmuring every endearment he could think of. The sight of her freshly whipped ass excited him, perverse though it was. He liked spanking her far better when it was for play rather than punishment. He pulled her back over his lap, and knew the spanking had been sufficient by the fearful gasp Claire gave.

  “No, I’m all finished spanking, mi corazón,” he said, running his hand over her swollen orbs. “I just like to inspect my work.” He stroked her for a few moments, then parted her cheeks, looking at the pucker of her anus. Reaching to the side table, where he’d previously installed a few toys, he picked up the bottle of lube and squeezed a dollop onto her orifice. She flinched and he gave a gentle slap. “Stay open for me.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said in a quavering voice.

  “Good girl,” he purred, pressing a finger at her entrance until she relaxed and allowed him entry.

  She gasped, tightening her thighs but keeping her cheeks relaxed.

  He worked his finger in and out, making her squirm and whine with need. When she seemed sufficiently wound up, he removed his finger, reaching for the stainless steel butt plug.

  Claire lay panting across his lap, the muscles in her back taut in anticipation. He nudged the plug against her back hole and pushed, gradually gaining entry and earning several keening cries as he pushed past the largest diameter before it entered fully.

  “You will keep this plug in to remind you who you belong to,” he said, his voice thickened with desire. He wanted to take her right there, but his idea was to make them both wait—to keep her on the edge of desire for several hours before allowing any release. He wanted another baby-making orgasm out of her.

  He gave her bottom a pat. “How about breakfast?”

  She lay still, as if adjusting to the idea they were not having sex at the moment. “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice tinged with surprise. “Do you want to screen my outfits?” she said, scrambling up from his lap and climbing off the bed.

  He grinned, leaning back for the show. “Yes, please.”

  She reached behind her, touching the plug in her reddened ass—an incredibly beautiful sight. Catching him watching, she blushed and ducked her head, walking to her suitcase. She pulled out a black satin bustier that laced up the front and barely covered her breasts.

  “I approve.”

  She giggled, pulling out a pair of thigh-high fishnet stockings.

  “Yes, I approve,” he said, not waiting for her to model them. “I’ll jump in the shower and look forward to the picture you’ll make cooking breakfast like that,” he said, his cock saluting her as he walked to the bathroom.

  After he showered and dressed, he found her in the kitchen.

  Por Dios.

  He was not going to make it a few hours. The visage of Claire standing at the stove in nothing but a pair of stockings and a corset was too much. Framed between the black garments her pert little ass displayed the butt plug and the red lines of his whipping. He couldn’t make himself sit back and enjoy. He needed to touch, to claim, to have what belonged to him.

  He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his fingers reaching between her legs.

  Her pussy dripped with moisture, the folds plump and swollen for him.

  “Oh God, Claire. You’re so ready for me.”

  She pressed her hand over his, urging his fingers deeper.

  “You want more?”

  “Yes, sir,” she pleaded.

  “Turn off the burner,” he commanded, though the vegetables were only half-cooked.

  She obeyed, turning to face him with an eager expression.

  He pointed to the overstuffed chair in the living room. “Bend over the arm of that chair.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He followed closely behind, his hands on her hips the moment she bent over. Pressing into her, he gave the butt plug a shove with his low belly.

  Her startled cry had a wanton pitch. “You’re my wife to fuck, and I’m going to fuck you hard, Claire.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, the excitement in her voice the only enco
uragement he needed to take her as roughly as he desired. Grasping her shoulders, he drove into her, bumping the plug each time to give her the sensation of double penetration. She moaned for more, even as her cries told him his force approached her limit.

  “Yes, Claire, oh God, yessss!” He came sooner than he’d wanted to but with full satisfaction. Claire followed moments later in a series of contractions and sobs of pleasure.

  He leaned against her, his cock still twitching within. Stroking the front of her neck, he pulled her head back toward him. “Beautiful girl. So sweet.”

  “Luis,” she murmured.

  He withdrew from her and went to get a washcloth, then realized the importance of keeping his seed within her. He scooped her legs up and slid her onto her back on the armchair, lifting her legs in the air. “Hold your legs up here, sweetheart,” he said, helping her to grasp behind her knees.

  He stroked her thigh and bottom, then fingered the plug. “How does this feel, Clarita? Can you leave it in or are you getting sore?”

  “Sore,” she admitted.

  “We’ll take it out, then,” he said easing it from her body. “Sweet girl. You’ve been so good.”

  She blinked, blushing and smiling.

  He kissed her muscled calf. “You just lie here, I’ll shower, then finish breakfast. What were you making?”

  “Omelets,” she said, blowing him a kiss.

  ****

  She could get used to being cared for this way.

  She should enjoy it to the fullest, because this could be the last time the two of them focused only on each other for many years, if they managed to have a baby. A stab of pain broke through the gratitude before she shoved it back.

  Why couldn’t she just revel in his love and attention, just be in the moment? Why did she always have to look at what they lacked? A tear escaped the corner of her eye, dripping toward her ear.

  Gah. Enough of the same bitter drama.