‘I need this,’ I sighed, while he speeded up and got ready to fill me with his spunk. ‘I need it.’
He grabbed my shoulder so hard it nearly dislocated, his orgasm mightier than usual, then lay down beside me, beaded with sweat, his eyes wide with astonishment at what had just overtaken him.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I see. I know.’
It was a lovely afterglow and he seemed so happy to have found his kinky side and had some fun with it.
But I don’t think his reaction to the book will be good. I think that will change the game completely.
21 July
He waited until after dinner to bring the subject up. Of course, I couldn’t eat. I was too busy trying to second-guess his reaction, but he was playing things totally straight, being normal Dan, full of stories about his colleagues and complaints about form-filling.
I was washing up in the kitchen when he wandered in, picked up a tea towel as if preparing to dry, and flicked it at my bottom, making me jump and rub at it.
‘Oi!’ I said.
‘What? You like that, don’t you?’
‘Not always. Not when I’m not expecting it.’
‘Oh, so it’s you calling the shots, is it?’ He stood behind me and clasped his arms around me, holding me there with his chin on top of my head. ‘Funny, that.’
‘Why funny?’ I asked guardedly.
‘I thought you were into that whole submissive thing these days.’
I twisted my neck round to look at his eyes. His face was quite grave.
‘You saw that book,’ I said.
‘Yeah, I did. You can’t seriously tell me that, after everything you say and do at work, day after day, you believe all that guff about fixed gender roles and male and female energies?’
‘No, Jesus, no, I don’t!’
‘Well, thank fuck for that. I thought a tornado had taken our flat and transplanted it in Stepford.’
I shook my head. ‘I believe the same things I’ve always believed.’
‘That’s what I thought. You like a bit of kink in the bedroom but you’re still the same person … this book is a bit weird, though. I can’t figure it out.’
I took a deep breath.
‘Look, Dan. The thing is, I like kink. I like to be spanked for fun. But … I think I want something a bit more than that too.’ I put my hand in the washing-up water, which was far too hot, and withdrew it rapidly.
‘Put the Marigolds on,’ he said.
I made a face. I hated putting the Marigolds on. They made my hands smell fusty for hours afterwards.
‘I’ll be all right,’ I said, tipping a handful of cutlery into the bubbles.
‘You’ll scald yourself. Put them on.’
I ignored him, picked up the cloth, plunged my hands quickly into the water and gasped as I withdrew a fork.
‘Jesus, Pip, why? Your hand looks like it’s been skinned. I can’t watch.’
He let go of me and took a step back.
He was right. That water was boiling and my hand throbbed so much I could barely hold the fork. I put it under a stream of cold water, exhaling with sweet relief.
When the burning was soothed, I turned around and leant against the sink, facing him.
‘That sums it up,’ I said. ‘That’s what I mean.’
‘What?’
‘You’re so sensible, Dan, and so capable, and I’m not. I do things like that all the time, and I get frustrated with myself and then I get angry with myself and then … I don’t know. It just boils away in my brain, a great big swamp of self-loathing that keeps getting added to and added to. It’s not good for me.’
‘It’s no big deal, love. Just a silly mistake. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘Exactly. I don’t want to be hard on myself. I want you to be hard on me.’
My heart pounded, and the palm that had been hot and itchy from the scalding water was now sweating.
‘Like the guys in your book, you mean? You want me to actually … discipline you?’
I nodded vigorously.
‘I want to be held to account. I want to be corrected.’
He laughed, a tad nervously, and looked up at the ceiling.
‘I’m sorry, Pip, I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just … uh … unusual. Isn’t it? I’ve spent my whole life trying to be respectful of women, you know …’
‘It’s not about you being a man and me being a woman. It’s nothing to do with that at all. It’s to do with me wanting to submit and having this need. Oh, I don’t know if I’m putting it very well.’
‘So if I wanted you to spank me, that would be fine?’
‘Well, I’d find it hard, because I don’t like dominating, but in principle, yes.’
‘Right. I don’t, by the way. Want you spank me, I mean. I’m not that way inclined.’
He tried a smile. I tried one back. It was encouraging, at least, that he hadn’t walked out of the door with words of a ‘no dice’ variety.
‘I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to,’ I said. ‘It’s just a thought. Just a thing I’ve been pondering. I wanted to find out a bit more about it so I got a book. I’m not demanding anything of you.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No. God, Dan, I’m happy with you. I love you. I don’t want you to change and I’m not some unsatisfied wife eaten up by sexual frustration. Far from it. But I think, for me, this discipline thing would work so well … it’s just a thought. That’s all.’
‘You have some interesting thoughts, don’t you, Twink?’ he said. ‘Now put those flaming Marigolds on, for Christ’s sake.’
And there the matter ended. (I did put the gloves on.)
25 July
This has been the hardest working week in recent memory. Two of my kids have been in trouble with the law while another took an overdose. I spent all of last night in A&E with her, lobbying furiously to get her a place in an adolescent mental health unit. We got a bed in the end, but I feel like I’ve fought through every one of the seven labours of Hercules.
Then I’ve been at work all day, having to write reports. School holidays have started so the kids are kicking their heels, hanging around the centre demanding to be stimulated and fed and all the rest. I felt guilty about neglecting them to get the reports done, but I have a looming deadline and just had to leave them to play table-tennis and mess around on the DJ decks while I sat in the office with the door wedged open. Luckily Grant, my student assistant, turned up mid-afternoon and was able to keep more of an eye on them.
He offered to run the evening session to give me a break, but I feel like I should be there. There are some volatile relationships, especially among the older boys, and I worry that something will kick off in my absence.
So I nipped off at five, visited Jessie in the mental health unit (she seemed quite calm) and went home to grab a quick bite to eat before going back for the evening session.
‘You’re going back?’ Dan wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear it. ‘You look dead on your feet, love. Can’t someone else do it? Reva?’
‘She’s on holiday.’
I was too tired to even think about what I wanted to eat and just sank down on a dining chair, my head spinning.
‘What about that student bloke? Student Grant?’
‘Oh, he’s not experienced enough.’
‘I thought you said he used to be in the army and he’s thirty-eight years old.’
‘Yeah, but square-bashing and teen wrangling aren’t exactly the same thing …’
‘Whatever. He’s more than capable of overseeing a bit of disco dancing. Go on, call him and see if he’s free.’
‘He is. He offered to do it but …’
‘Well, there you are then. Problem solved. Call him.’
‘I’ll just worry …’
Dan snatched the phone from its cradle and thrust it at me.
‘Do it,’ he said. ‘And then you’re going to bed.’
Oh, God. I sud
denly realised. He was doing what I’d hinted I wanted him to do. He was taking control when I wasn’t able to do it for myself. But now he was doing it, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to! I just wanted to whine and make excuses and argue him into giving in. But then I would get a horrible evening trying to run a teen disco on no hours’ sleep while he stewed here, feeling pissed off and unlistened to.
When it came down to it, he was right.
‘OK,’ I said, and with that I was liberated. Everything was taken off my shoulders and I could float into deep peace and relaxation.
I called Grant, who readily agreed to run the disco. He would have helped out anyway, having seen how pale and lacklustre I’d been earlier. He thought I needed a night off.
‘Have you been talking to my husband?’ I asked, suspicious, but he just laughed and said he’d see me tomorrow.
Dan smiled encouragingly at me as I hit the ‘end call’ button.
‘See. Not that hard, was it? What do you want to eat? What did you have for lunch?’
‘Oh.’ I thought vaguely about the lunch hour, then remembered that I’d worked right through it, with some half-formed intention of popping across to the little newsagent over the road later and getting a plastic-wrapped sandwich. Later had never come around. ‘I forgot.’
The look he gave me made me bite my lip. It would have turned me on if I hadn’t been too tired to even remember what sex was. As it went, I just hung my head and said, ‘I meant to, but I had reports …’
‘We talked about this before, didn’t we?’ he said. ‘After you fainted that time. I seem to remember you promising me you’d take better care of yourself.’
‘It was just this once,’ I said, but then I remembered that that was a lie. ‘A few times,’ I amended. ‘Not often. Look, I get busy, you know I do.’ My tone had switched from sheepish to querulous. It wasn’t fair that I should be in trouble for working too hard.
Despite the fact that I fantasised about Dan taking control in this way, now he was doing it, I felt my long-buried rebellious schoolgirl making her presence known. It seemed like the default response – sniping and arguing.
I wanted him to stand firm, and yet I also wanted to win.
It was all too confusing and, in the end, my tiredness made the decision for me.
‘We’re going to discuss that in the morning,’ he said. ‘But for now – bed. Go on. No arguments. I’ll bring you some supper on a tray.’
I nodded, my eyes half-shut already, and drifted across the kitchen. He caught me halfway and held me close, kissing me goodnight. I wanted to sleep there, in his arms, but he sent me on my way with a pat on my bottom.
I think it could be a taste of things to come.
26 July
Be careful what you wish for.
Great advice, but impossible to follow. Wishes come unbidden and desires can’t be quelled. I wished for it, I got it. I really, really got it.
I was woken with a kiss.
‘Sleeping beauty,’ he said.
The room was still dark and my alarm hadn’t gone off.
‘Wass time?’ I tried to come to, but everything was blurred and the bed felt like a place I wanted to stay in for a lot longer.
‘Early,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d get up an hour earlier. We’ve both got work today, and I want to sort a few things out while they’re still fresh in our minds.’
Something about the way he said the words sent a warning pang right down to my solar plexus. Actually, it went a bit lower than that. I squinted at him through one eye.
He was sitting up in bed, looking ahead, his face perfectly grave. When he caught my glance, he raised an eyebrow, unsmiling.
If he was playing a role, he was doing it very convincingly.
I was scared of him. Actually scared.
But it was exhilarating at the same time.
‘You mean … about last night?’ I said.
‘Yes, I do. We have issues to address, Pip. Go and shower and brush your teeth and whatnot and then I want you straight back in here in your pyjamas. Understood?’
I think he wanted me to say, ‘Yes, Sir’ but I didn’t give him that satisfaction. Instead, I said, ‘Are you serious?’
‘Do I look like I’m joking, Philippa?’
Oh, bloody hell, Philippa.
It was enough to send me out of bed and into the bathroom without another word.
Under the hot shower jets I woke up properly, the citrusy scent of my shampoo acting like a stimulant to my senses. I put my hand on my bottom and felt the water stream over it. What sort of state might that be in by the time he was finished with me?
I pressed my thighs together and squirmed, feeling hot and breathless at the thought. I was going to be punished. Actually punished for my bad behaviour, and I had never looked forward to anything more. I didn’t care how much it was going to hurt – I hoped it would hurt a lot and I’d have to beg him to stop.
I washed myself carefully, getting every inch of myself as fresh and soft as I could, paying special attention to my bum. I wanted it to look good over his lap, or wherever he was going to put me. If the poor man had to do this terrible thing to me, the least he deserved was a nice view.
I towelled myself dry, scrubbed my teeth and put my pyjamas back on. They were thin cotton summer pyjamas – just plain white shorts and a vest. The material wouldn’t offer much protection, even if I was allowed to keep them on.
Allowed. The word made me cross my arms over my chest and shiver. I was going to be subject to Dan’s authority. Whatever he said in the next hour went. I wondered how naturally obedience would come to me.
Only one way to find out.
I stood dithering by the door handle for so long that he called out to ask if everything was all right in there.
His voice galvanised me and I walked into the bedroom, in pyjamas and hair wrapped in a towel turban.
‘You’ll have to dry your hair,’ he said. ‘I’ll get a shower while you’re sorting yourself out.’
While I sat at the dressing table, drying and straightening my hair, I looked into the mirror and noticed a few things. He had made the bed, but he’d put my pillows out in the centre of the duvet, one on top of the other.
Next to them, laid out neatly, were The Belt and my wooden-backed hairbrush.
‘Oh.’ I moaned out loud.
This was actually happening. I didn’t know whether to squeal or swear.
My hair was dry before Dan came out of the shower. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I didn’t dare approach the bed with its frightful accessories, so I simply sat quietly at the dressing table, rather compulsively arranging my nail polishes into colour groups.
When he came out, I couldn’t look at him, but I caught sight in the mirror of his smart dark trousers and white shirt. A wave of synthetic ocean freshness blasted my nostrils when he came closer and crouched down behind me, looking at my face in the mirror over my shoulder.
‘All ready?’ he whispered, putting his hands over my bare upper arms.
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back. ‘Depends what I have to be ready for.’
‘Go and sit down on the edge of the bed,’ he said.
I obeyed without thinking, sinking my bottom down into the comfort of the duvet. He took a seat opposite on the swivel chair, which placed him quite a lot higher than me. Instantly he was in the superior position, leaning forward, hands on his knees, demanding my full attention.
‘Now then, Philippa,’ he said.
I could barely breathe. He had exactly that calm, authoritative manner he used with his suspects in the interview room – firm but fair, always likeable but never to be crossed.
I thought I might fall in love with him all over again, even though I was fidgeting at the end of the bed, horribly aware of the objects behind me. Objects that might very soon be making harsh contact with my bottom.
‘Can you tell me what you think I want to discuss with you this morning?’
I chewed on the
inside of my cheek.
‘I skipped lunch,’ I muttered, fighting an absurd urge to smile. Now I understood why naughty kids caught in their mischief tended to smirk and fidget while they were being reproved. I was doing exactly the same things, and I just couldn’t stop myself.
‘Is something funny?’
The smile died and I shook my head.
‘No, Philippa, you’re right. It isn’t funny at all. Your health and your well-being are serious matters. Aren’t they?’
‘I s’pose.’
‘Look up and speak up.’
Christ, he sounded quite fierce. I swallowed and met his eye, very unwillingly.
‘Yes,’ I admitted.
‘So why did you neglect them yesterday?’
‘I told you why. I forgot. I was busy.’
‘Sweetheart, we all have busy lives. You aren’t unique in that. You need to organise yourself better, don’t you?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Definitely. Look, I frequently spend my lunch hour running after stupid people who think they can outpace me. That’ll make you forget to eat. But I always make sure I take a bit of time to replenish my energy levels afterwards. I never go without a meal. Because it’s important. If I don’t keep myself in good condition, those thieves’ll be running rings around me, won’t they?’
I shrugged, but my face made it pretty clear that I accepted what he said.
‘Yes, they will,’ he agreed with himself. ‘And it’s just as important for you. You have to deal with out-of-control young people. It’s vital that you’re on good form yourself and in control. You can’t go fainting away when two of your lads decide to get into a knife fight. You’re letting them down and you’re letting yourself down. Aren’t you?’
Dan’s style was heavy on the rhetorical questioning, it seemed.
I turned down the corners of my mouth and let it droop. I hoped this was sufficient indication of penitence.
‘Well?’
Confessions of a Kinky Wife Page 3