‘Yes, yes.’
I could barely keep my limbs in position now. I was streaming with sweat and my bones wanted to collapse. If I shook any more violently, my teeth would fall out.
‘God! Yes!’ he roared, giving my bum a hearty smack as he rode into his climax. He fell on top of me, squashing the breath from me, but didn’t pull out.
I was grateful for this. I hadn’t quite reached my own orgasm and wondered if a little bit of wriggling underneath him might just …
He knew what I was doing and he slipped his hand beneath his stomach and my bottom and began playing with the plug, making the flange move around in a circle, while I ground my hips and pushed back against his still-hard cock.
‘Once wasn’t enough, eh, greedy girl?’ he murmured into my hair.
I flushed but wasn’t ashamed enough to stop now. I was going to get that orgasm and nothing else mattered.
Half a minute of jerking and bucking got me there, huffing into the duvet, enjoying the solid weight of my husband and the way it restricted my movements.
‘That’s it,’ I said after a minute or so more. ‘I’m dead.’
‘I hope not,’ he said, rolling off me. ‘I couldn’t do without you.’
We drifted swiftly into a snooze and didn’t really revive until we were in the shower together a couple of hours later.
‘That was a valuable exercise,’ said Dan, soaping my bum. He had pulled out the plug while I knelt on all fours on the bathroom rug. It had been the most humiliating part of the whole experience and I side-eyed it as it rested in soapy water in the washbasin, taunting me from afar.
My bottom felt a little sore, inside and out, but that was probably more to do with falling asleep with the plug inserted than anything else. I should remember not to do that in future.
In future.
That meant that I accepted that butt plugs were going to be part of my life. It was a done deal. No going back.
‘Valuable?’ I said with a yawn. ‘Why valuable?’
‘I learned that there’s no point spanking you with a plug in unless I want you to get wildly turned on. I’ll have to leave the plugs for afterwards. When you’re in the corner, maybe. Or use them separately, without spanking you at all. Hmm. I wonder …
‘I don’t like the sound of this wondering. What are you plotting?’
‘That’s for me to know,’ he said, parting my bum cheeks and dripping shower gel between them, ‘and you to find out.’
‘When will I find out?’
‘Behave yourself and perhaps you never will.’
‘You make me want to be bad, just so I can find out.’
He grinned and kissed my neck, smoochy and slow.
‘I dare you,’ he said.
28 August
I know it’s been a long time without a diary entry – three weeks – but we went away for a fortnight in the sun and all domestic discipline arrangements were deferred while I read blockbusters on sunbeds, sampled every different cocktail on the menu and tried to fend off Dan, who seemed obsessed with the idea of having sex on the beach. Not for me. The sand, ugh.
My natural tetchiness only lasted a couple of days after touchdown and for the rest of the holiday I was as relaxed as a cat stretched out on a sunny patio. Dan really had nothing to reproach me with, and besides, the Mediterranean climate didn’t seem suited to rules and routines. I expect it’s all in my head, but I think of all that as being a northern European thing.
It had been hot in town before we left, but heat at home is different. It means sweating in your work clothes, polluted air, stinking bins on collection day. It makes everything more stressful.
Lucky, then, that on the day we landed at Gatwick the British summer was well and truly over and we ran from the terminal to the car park through a gauntlet of hailstones.
And now, on Bank Holiday Monday, weather conditions were no better, which boded badly for the barbecue we’d been invited to by one of Dan’s police mates.
It’d been weird since we got back from Spain, as if one of us was waiting for the other to bring up the subject of our dodgy pre-holiday activities, but nobody wanted to be the one to break the silence. The two weeks away seemed to have re-set us back to our defaults. Me snappy. Him sighing. The odd silent stand-off, a few instances of under-the-breath muttering and passive aggression. I was creeping slowly back into my old, unwanted ways.
I didn’t want to go to the barbecue much and I did my hair and make-up grudgingly, wishing I could stay home and watch TV instead. After all, it was back to work tomorrow and I didn’t want to be drinking and staying out late. I was already in a mood of high dudgeon by the time I got into the car.
‘We aren’t staying late, are we?’ I griped as Dan turned the key in the ignition.
‘No, no, not late. I can’t drink anyway, since I’m driving … unless you want to …’
‘Drive home? Oh. OK.’
There were advantages to this course. I could leave when I wanted, as the designated driver, instead of waiting for Dan to finish an interminable round of cop anecdotes. They were good anecdotes, but I’d heard them all before.
And I wouldn’t risk a hangover. I know it’s easy to intend to stick to no more than two alcoholic drinks, alternate them with water, blah blah, but somehow two often seem to stretch to more, especially when people refill your glass without asking.
‘Really?’ Dan stared at me, delaying putting his foot on the accelerator. ‘You’re sure? Even though we have to go through Smash-Up Junction?’
‘Well, it should be OK later on at night. It won’t exactly be rush hour.’
‘Cool. Thanks, love.’
Dan was chipper as he guided us through Bank Holiday traffic to his friend’s place on the other side of town.
He lived in an apartment complex with an underground car park – the barbecue was on his roof terrace. At least, that was the idea, but the driving rain forced us all indoors and he had to make use of the oven instead.
I turned down all offers of wine and beer and stuck to Coke. These dos were even more boring without alcohol, though, and I couldn’t really join in with all the shop talk that was going on. I had to content myself with over-eating and smiling indulgently at Dan’s stories. Perhaps I should have brought a book.
After two hours of this, I suggested that perhaps we should go home.
There was a chorus of protest, in which Dan joined.
‘We’ve only just got here.’
I think he was on his third can of lager, or it might have been his fourth. He was at that stage where he wanted to hold forth to an avid audience, and delight in his eloquence and popularity. Two more cans and he’d be telling everyone how much he loved them.
I’m sure I’m just as annoying when drunk, but it’s nails down a blackboard to watch this kind of behaviour when you’re sober.
‘It’s a work night,’ I said, as calmly as I could.
‘For you,’ he said. ‘I’m on nights tomorrow and Wednesday. C’mon, another hour won’t hurt.’
‘Fine,’ I said, in my best ‘I mean the opposite of fine’ voice.
I left the group and went into the kitchen.
If I had any more Coke I’d turn into a gibbering, bug-eyed caffeine freak.
One glass of wine. Not enough to take me over the limit.
I knew Dan strongly disapproved of drinking anything before driving, but I figured one wouldn’t hurt. He wouldn’t know, being beered up to the gills himself.
I poured myself a Pinot Grigio – because it wouldn’t give me a purple tongue, never accuse me of having no talent for crime – and sat myself on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter. I took down a cookery book from the shelf and began to read as I sipped.
About ten minutes into this, one of the female cops from Dan’s division whom I vaguely knew came in and started chatting about recipes. The chat sort of drew me in, and by the time I realised she’d poured me another, I’d half-drunk it.
Shit.
Now I was over the limit.
It was all Dan’s fault! Why did he have to stay another hour? Pure selfishness!
As was my old habit, I was converting my anger at myself into anger at him, but I couldn’t see it at the time. I was blinded with righteous wrath and wine.
I put down my glass and went back into the main living area. Hearty male laughter rang out from the corner sofa where Dan and his mates were settled.
As I entered, Dan looked up, put down his empty can and half-rose to his feet. He fell back, precipitating another gale of laughter.
‘Oops,’ he said. ‘Ready to go, my angel?’ he asked, putting his hand over his mouth to suppress a burp. Yep. Drunk as a skunk.
‘If I’m an angel already, yes, definitely,’ I said, to chuckles.
I didn’t want to confess my crime in front of all these people, though.
I waited until Dan had done all his elaborate goodbye rituals, slung a slightly clumsy arm around my shoulder and made his way to the lifts.
‘Good party,’ he said, obviously making a massive effort not to slur. So he wasn’t that far gone. ‘D’you enjoy yourself, babe?’
‘Er, yeah. Maybe a bit too much.’
He gave me a puzzled look as we stepped out into the basement car park.
‘Whass that?’
‘The thing is …’
We arrived by the car. There was nobody else around.
‘I can’t drive back.’
‘Oh, Pip, you promised. Look at me. I can’t.’
‘I had a drink. Two drinks.’
This seemed to sober him like a fingersnap between the eyes.
‘You did what?’
‘I know, but I was bored. And you were getting drunk. I’d had too much Coke. And I only meant to have the one …’
‘Philippa, one is too many. You know how I feel about that. How many times have I told you about the fatal accidents I’ve had to attend, thanks to some twat thinking they’re cleverer than the drink-drive laws? Eh? I can’t believe you’d …’
‘I know, I know, I only meant to have one …’
‘That’s what they all say.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not getting in the car, am I? I’d never do that.’
‘Damn right you’re not. Jesus. I can’t believe you’d do this. I’m … right. OK. This is the perfect example of when I should …’ He paused and took a breath. ‘Bend over the bonnet.’
‘What? No!’
‘Do as you’re told, Philippa. I’m very disappointed in you tonight.’
I looked back at the lift door and took another desperate scan of the car park. It was deserted. And something in Dan’s eyes made me feel the impossibility of defying him.
‘What if someone comes?’ I asked in a very small voice.
‘Then I’ll stop. I’m only going to give you a taste of what’s to come. I want to sober up before I deal with this properly. But the book says punishment is more effective when it’s immediate. So … please …’
I could hardly believe I was going along with this, but I turned away from him and rested my elbows on the dusty bonnet of the car. It needed a wash, I thought irrelevantly. I traced a pattern in the dust, thinking of the filthy white van that used to be parked up our road in the grime of which some knob had written, ‘I wish my wife was as dirty as this.’
I yelped out a plea when he lifted up my skirt to reveal my knickers.
‘Must you? This is a public place.’
‘If you can’t do the time, love, don’t do the crime,’ he advised.
I felt the cool air of the basement chamber settle on my thighs and the exposed parts of my bottom. It combined with the slight wine haze to form a sensual cocktail that was much more sexy than I expected it to be.
Suddenly, I was looking forward to the first stroke.
Until it landed, loud and sharp, on my poor bum. My knickers were no protection at all, pathetic stretch lace numbers that served only to hold the sting in and increase the heat.
‘Don’t,’ said Dan, smacking a second time.
‘Drink.’
‘Ow!’
‘And.’
‘Stop it.’
‘Drive.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘Unrepentant?’ he asked dangerously.
‘No, I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t had the wine.’
‘Just.’
‘Argh!’
‘Say.’
‘Oh, that hurts.’
‘No.’
‘I will! I did. I tried to.’
Another voice added to our fraught debate.
‘Is everything all right here?’
A middle-aged man in a blue uniform stood by the lift door.
I shot up and rubbed my bottom, hiding behind Dan.
‘Fine,’ he said.
‘You realise these premises are monitored by CCTV?’
‘Oh … no. We didn’t.’
‘So I gather. Perhaps you should go home, eh? These things are best kept private.’ He gave Dan a mortifying little wink.
Even worse, while this conversation was ongoing, one of Dan’s friends appeared, jingling his car keys.
‘You all right, Danno?’ he asked, looking after the concierge as he lumbered back off to his secret den of cameras.
‘Yeah, just found out Twinkletoes here is over the limit. Going to have to call a cab and pick the car up tomorrow.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ I hissed.
He always called me that in front of his friends. It drove me mad.
‘I’ll give you a lift,’ offered the friend. I think his name was Patrick. ‘Sears Corner, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. Would you?’
‘It’s on my way.’
‘You’re a star, mate. C’mon, Twink. Let’s make the best of a bad situation.’
I sat in the back seat, feeling the burn from the spanking, while Dan went in the front, beside his friend.
‘Designated driver forgot her designation, eh?’ said Patrick jovially, reversing out of the space.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ I muttered.
‘So what did the attendant guy want?’
‘Oh, nothing, just wondered why we were hanging around in the car park without getting into the car.’
‘Really?’ Patrick left a question mark in the air, as if he knew more.
‘What, do you think I’m lying?’ Dan sounded slightly aggressive, the beers returning in full effect.
‘Blimey, Dan, you sound like one of our suspects. I was just wondering if you realised that there’s a live stream to the car-park CCTV on Jim’s laptop.’
I saw Dan’s shoulders tense and I bit my lip, not daring to react. Had we been seen?
A long beat of silence ended with Dan saying, ‘Seriously?’ in a low tone.
‘Look, it’s none of my business what you get up to in your –’
‘Who saw us? How many of them?’
‘It was just me. I was looking at some photos of Jim’s rock-climbing holiday last month, wanted to see if it was something I’d go for. Got bored and started fiddling around with stuff. Found the car-park cam and …’
‘Yeah, yeah, busted,’ said Dan resignedly. ‘Keep it to yourself, yeah?’
‘Of course.’ He took a quick look back at me. ‘You’re OK, Phil?’
‘God, yes.’
‘You’re sure?’
Great. Now Dan’s colleague was suspecting him of domestic abuse.
‘It was my idea,’ I said.
‘It’s all right, you don’t have to –’
‘Yes, I do. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. I asked Dan if he’d, er, do the necessary if things got out of hand. It all came from me. He wasn’t even that keen on any of it.’ I paused. ‘To begin with.’
Patrick, the tips of his ears bright red, mumbled, ‘Right.’
‘So,’ I continued, ‘I was out of order tonight, having too much to drink so I couldn’t drive home, so he gets to, y’know, deliver a bit of summary jus
tice. Crime and punishment, that’s your business, isn’t it? Not hard to understand, I hope.’
Patrick considered this. ‘Well, no,’ he said. ‘And not even any paperwork to fill in afterwards, eh, Dan?’
‘Not for me,’ he muttered, sounding slightly less stressed.
‘It’s different anyway,’ said Patrick. ‘Different strokes …’
‘Literally,’ I said and he laughed, thawing.
‘Well, that’s given me something to think about,’ he said. ‘When I saw you two down there at first, I thought something else was going on. Especially when he lifted up your skirt. I thought I’d better get down and warn you, before you got done for indecent exposure. And then you started … well, I couldn’t stop watching. I wasn’t sure I could believe my eyes. By the time I got down there, old Uniform was on the case. I know him, by the way, used to work at Sands Lane nick before he retired from the job. If you want me to have a word …’
‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary,’ said Dan. ‘I think he’s let it go.’
‘So,’ said Patrick, turning into our street. ‘If Dan winds you up, do you get to wallop his backside?’
I laughed again. ‘It doesn’t work that way.’
‘Tch. I thought we were all about equality these days.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘And it’s my equal right not to want to spank my husband. Besides, he’s practically perfect in every way.’
I said it with a certain malicious glee, knowing that Dan had had the nickname ‘Mary Poppins’ when he joined the force as a somewhat over-eager young constable. It served him right after all that Twinkletoes stuff earlier.
Patrick laughed heartily at that as he parked up outside our block.
‘Oh, well, all’s forgotten and forgiven, I’m sure,’ he said.
‘Thanks for this, Pat,’ said Dan, unbuckling his seatbelt. ‘You won’t say anything, will you? If this gets round the station …’
‘Don’t worry, mate. Though it’s a lovely juicy bit of gossip.’ He sighed.
‘Pat!’
‘Don’t worry. Night. Go on with you. Kiss and make up.’
‘Thanks,’ I whispered, making a quick getaway towards the communal door of the block.
Once inside, Dan sank down on to the sofa, put his head in his hands and moaned, ‘Fuck.’
Confessions of a Kinky Wife Page 10