Under His Roof

by Quinn, Sadey

  She nods.

  “Are you ready to continue?”

  “OK,” she whispers.

  I go to the daybed and arrange pillows for her to lie across. “Come here, Suzanne. Time for round two.”

  She doesn’t look at me as she walks across the room. I guide her to lie right over the pillows so her butt is in the air and then I retrieve the second paddle—one of my most severe implements.

  I know that Suzanne knows this. She picked it so that I would give her what she needs.

  I bend down and stroke her hair, trying to comfort her because I know there is a hurricane of emotions inside of her waiting to be released.

  “I want to tie you down,” I say. “But only if you agree.”

  “All right,” she whispers. She knows this will be a tough lesson.

  I use thick cotton straps to secure her wrists together and then I hook them to the head of the bed. I do the same with her feet at the foot of the bed and then I stand back to admire her. She does look attractive to me now, now that she is doing what is right. I can see the transformation inside of her and my heart swells with pride.

  “You’re doing so well, Suzanne,” I say.

  She swallows and tries to smile. “I feel horrible,” she says.

  “You can tell him what you did?”

  She shakes her head, then pauses. “Maybe. But I need this first, David.”

  I’m stunned that she used my first name.

  “I do,” she continues. “I know I’m going to hate this but I want it.”

  “I want your behavior to change. If you want to come here to be spanked, that is fine. But I’m sick of you getting into trouble, risking your husband’s career, just for some fun with a disciplinarian. I’m better than that, understood?”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  “Fifty,” is all I say in response.

  Suzanne tenses and waits and I plan to take my time. To be quick would risk hurting her.

  The crack of the rubber against her flesh startles even me! She gasps loudly in pain and moans as the agony spreads through her behind. I admire the mark the paddle has left on her buttocks. It nicely covers both of her cheeks, and my expertise will make sure the impact is well distributed.

  I work as slowly as I can make myself, at times even using my watch to give her a half minute in between each blow. She is crying and I’m doing my best to ignore her. As much as I like to help my clients grow for the better, it pains me to hear them cry.

  At twenty five spanks I set the paddle down and drop to my knees to check in with her.

  “I can stop now,” I say. I brush some of her blond curls from her face and try to comfort her with a warm smile. “I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

  To my disbelief she shakes her head. “Please, David. Finish it,” she chokes.

  I sigh, not sad about her decision but not happy either, and get to work continuing the punishment. She is in such agony that it is hard for me to continue but she never says ‘stop’ and I really want her to get what she needs.

  She is taking it, and I am watching her transform.

  This is why I do what I do. For these moments. When I give a client something no one else in their life can give them. It is unfortunate that there aren’t people in Suzanne’s life that she can trust to treat her this way, to spank her and scold her.

  At forty, I pause. “You have ten more to go. Do you have anything to say for yourself, Suzanne?”

  She speaks softly, but her voice is full of strength. There is no hesitation to her words. “I’m sorry David. I’m sorry to you and to my husband.”

  “You’re doing great. I know you’re sorry. Are you going to try to be a better wife?”

  “Yes!”

  “I have a request for you,” I say. I whack her hard with the paddle and she howls in pain. “I want you to strive harder. Fulfill your potential.” Another firm spank makes her buck against the ties that hold her down. “Is that understood?”

  “Yes, David! I promise!”

  “Eight more.”

  The last eight spanks could hardly be called spanks. I hit her lightly because she’s already where she needs to be. Her emotional pain has surpassed the physical and she is letting it all go. She needs no more pain but she does need me to finish the job.

  When I’m done I untie her. She looks at me, teary eyed, and her mascara is running down her cheeks. I’ve never made her cry before.

  “I’ll give you some time,” I say, squeezing her shoulder in a loving way. “I’ll be around, just shout if you need something”

  I leave the door open and give her the time she needs to heal. When she finally comes out and finds me, she is still sniffling but she looks refreshed. Like she’s been to a healer. Her confidence has returned and she winks at me. She holds out her hand and I take it and we shake.

  “Thanks, David,” she says. She’s sincere.

  “You’re very welcome.” I’m elated by her behavior. “I’m so happy you came to see me today.”

  “Me too.”

  I watch as she heads to the front door and I see that she’s ready to go. Back to her life. Her husband. Reality. I follow her out and as she leaves she turns back to me.

  “I… I don’t know when I’ll need you again.”

  I smile. “Suzanne, I know you don’t.”

  She looks relieved and I am fairly certain she’s just fired me. Which I’m happy about.

  That afternoon I receive a ridiculous sum from a Mrs. Suzanne Phillips. With a note: “This is Suzanne’s husband. Thank you for your help.”

  ~5~

  Rachel

  One month after my session with David and I’m still feeling great. I’m doing my best to be friendly, with some minor slip-ups, and I’m even trying to train my brain to think happy thoughts about people.

  But I cannot shake that I want more.

  I think back to the session, trying to understand why I would want to be spanked again. It wasn’t as if I derived pleasure from the spanking. There’s just something about the overall dynamic with David that I can’t stop thinking about. He was so caring and sweet. Yet dominant and stern.

  I keep telling myself that he is like that with all of his clients. I know it’s true. He is a professional.

  I just wish I had someone in my life like him, that I could be close to. It could even just be a friend, though I long for a strong-minded boyfriend. A man who wouldn’t hesitate to correct me a little if my behavior slipped.

  I have been asked out exactly four times in the last year. Two of them were men from work and I promptly shot them down. One was a guy from the gym. I went out with him once and that was that. He was just so… doting. Opening doors is one thing, but it was like every single thing he did was for me. I can’t take that kind of pressure. I already have a team of employees at the office who do the same damn thing.

  The fourth guy was one that I actually enjoyed. We chatted in a friendly way and he made me laugh. He was kind without being a pushover. When I suggested we go to a restaurant he didn’t like, he actually told me he didn’t want to. Amazing.

  But he never called me back and Samantha, who had hooked us up, didn’t have much to tell me about why.

  Sighing heavily and feeling sorry for myself, I debate e-mailing David, asking if it was possible that he is single and if so, would he like to try dinner with me? But I can’t do that to him. I imagine lots of his clients try to hit on him. I don’t want to put him in an awkward position.

  I just can’t stop thinking about him.

  After work, on a whim, I go to Maddy’s Place. The same young hostess seats me, this time in a booth closer to the front. She doesn’t appear to recognize me and I sneak a quick peek at the bar, ensuring there is indeed a bartender, before ordering a dry martini. No olives.

  “And a menu? Want to see one?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Sure,” I say. I add a quick, “Thanks,” as I’m continuing my effort to be a kind person.

  I don’t
know if David comes here often. His family owns it, so the chances of seeing him here are higher than anywhere else I can think of. Besides his house. And I’m not about to stalk the poor guy. The waitress comes back with the menu and I order a veggie burger and sip my drink while I wait. This restaurant is actually a nice place; dark, but not too dark, and the music is low enough that I can still think.

  I’m halfway through my meal when I see him. He’s behind the bar. He must have come in through a back entrance since I’d been watching the front door like a hawk. He is chatting with the bartender who does look like a younger version of David. I wonder if they share similar career aspirations.

  I take another bite, watching him, hoping he’ll turn to look at me. Will he recognize me? Hell, it’s been an entire month. I debate approaching him but can’t bring myself to do that.

  The bartender catches my eye and I turn away, blushing. Shit. When I peek again they are both looking in my direction. Shit, shit! So busted. Then David is there, at the side of the booth, smiling down at me.

  “Could’ve e-mailed if you wanted to see me,” he says.

  “I’m here for the burgers. I heard they were excellent.” Good cover, I think to myself.

  “Oh? And?”

  “And what?”

  “And how is your burger?” He is still smiling and I wonder what he’s thinking.

  “It’s fine. Good.”

  “OK. Well, enjoy,” he says.

  “Wait!” I say, way too loud. I’m blushing and he’s grinning. “Do you want to join me?” I ask. I look up at him nervously. He appears so friendly, but all I can think is: This is the man who took me over his knee and spanked me until I cried.

  “Sure. Let me get a beer. And a refill for you.” He picks up my glass and walks away and I exhale, relieved.

  Do not hit on him, I tell myself. But I want to. I want to put on my most seductive face and I want him to fall for me.

  You don’t even know him!

  He spanks women for a living!

  I shake all of my thoughts away, realizing I’m having a conversation with myself, and I concentrate on being friendly and nice. At the very least, I can show him that the discipline paid off.

  David is back with drinks and takes a seat across from me. “So how long has it been?”

  “A month.”

  “And how have you been?”

  “Good, actually. Great. And yourself?”

  “Good. I’ve been good.” He looks down at his beer and then back up at me and there’s that twinkle in his eyes. Playfulness. Kindness. “How’s your attitude doing?”

  I don’t really want to talk about it with him because it reminds me of bending over for him, being paddled, standing in the corner… “It’s fine,” I say after a long pause.

  “To be honest, I expected you back.”

  I shrug. “I’ve been feeling… nicer. I guess you fixed me.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Some people need regular sessions.”

  I swallow hard. So much for casual conversation.

  “You know, you paid me double for the last session. That means you have a free session waiting for you.”

  I squirm. It isn’t about the money. It’s about it being a business with him. I don’t want it to be business. “I don’t know…”

  “You benefited from the last session.”

  “I did.”

  “So why the hesitation?”

  Gosh, he is a straight to the point kinda guy. “I don’t want to say.” Honesty. Best policy.

  He’s chuckling. “I always have a hard time reading women.”

  “Really? I thought that was a job qualification of yours.”

  “I do all right with most. I take a lot of good guesses. But with you, I don't know what you're thinking.”

  I’m curious now. “What would you guess?”

  “I would guess one of two things.” He’s leaning forward and looking at me hard, though his voice is soft and calm. “You’re either afraid to come back because it was so emotional, and those emotions are hard to face. Or, you think you might like me.”

  I’m blushing because honestly, those are both right.

  “But, those are just guesses.” He leans back and doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Care to enlighten me? Tell me if I’m close?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “Which, Rachel?”

  “Both.” I’m afraid to look at him but when I steal a peek he is smiling and I am relieved. At least he isn’t angry. “I’m sure lots of clients fall for you.”

  “It happens.”

  “Probably you’re used to it?”

  “Kind of.”

  I’m fidgeting and desperately wish that David would be more of a conversation leader. “So… anyway…”

  “I want to have you over for dinner,” he announces.

  My eyes fly up from the table to his face and I can see he is serious. “OK,” I say, still feeling shy.

  “Tomorrow work?”

  I think through my schedule. Tomorrow. No. Damn. “I have a late meeting.”

  “That’s fine. Friday?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Good. You know, I never do this.”

  “Have clients for dinner?”

  “Right. I… I want you to know that I would never want romance to get in the way of your discipline.”

  He looks seriously concerned and I’m wishing he would stop saying that word. Discipline. “I told you that I think you fixed me,” I remind him.

  “Yes. However, I believe you’re the type of person who would benefit from regular spankings.”

  Oh my god he is trying to kill me.

  “So, my point being, if we don’t click romantically, you can still always rely on me to be professional with you. You won’t lose me as a disciplinarian.”

  “And if we do click romantically?”

  He grins and looks playful, like a boy who’s about to do a fun trick. “Well, then you definitely wouldn’t lose me as your disciplinarian.”

  My stomach tightens. What the hell does that mean?

  “We’ll talk about it on Friday,” he says, getting up and taking the final sip of his beer. “You can come over anytime you’re done with work.”

  “All right.” I agree. He gives me a quick peck on the cheek. Then he's gone, back behind the bar. I signal to the young woman to bring me my check.

  At home, I call Samantha. I’ve been better at keeping keeping in touch with her—for the most part—since what I refer to in my mind as the Day of Discipline. She’s all bubbly and excited because she’s off to the beach for a few days with some of our friends.

  “I’ll miss you,” I say, and I realize I honestly will miss her. I really have improved.

  She pauses. “Yeah, I’ll miss you too. Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What made you change back to being you?”

  I shrug but realize she can’t see my body movements. “Don’t know. Just realized I was being horrible.”

  “Hmm. I don’t buy it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I told you that you were being horrible. So did some of your other friends. Anyway. I was just wondering.”

  I decide to change the subject. “I think I have a date.”

  “Whoa! Hold the phone! Rachel has time for a date?!”

  I giggle. “Yeah. Friday.”

  “Who is he? Some guy from work?”

  “No… I met him… well, I met him online, actually.”

  “Yeah, that’s more and more common these days,” she says, and I can see her nodding seriously on the other end of the line. Samantha in all of her dating wisdom. “Wait a minute. When did you meet him?” Her tone is slightly accusatory.

  “Um… about a month ago.”

  “Ah ha! That’s the change! I have to meet him, Rachel. Seriously. I have to thank him for whatever he did.”

  “That isn’t it,” I protest.

  “Keep telling
yourself that. All this time, who would’ve thought. You just needed to get laid.”

  “Sam! I haven’t slept with him.”

  “Whatever you say,” she replies in a sing-song voice. “OK, listen, I gotta go pack. I’ll call you first thing when we get back.”

  “Have an amazing time,” I tell her sincerely. Samantha deserves a great vacation.

  When I hang up I cannot think of anything but my upcoming date with David. At David’s house. I'm wondering if we should have our date in more neutral territory. If we went to a restaurant, I wouldn’t be constantly thinking about that room down the hallway, to the left, where David spanked me.

  And what exactly had he meant about dating me and being my disciplinarian?

  I lay down on my couch with a glass of red wine and let my mind wander back to that afternoon session with him. How vulnerable I felt, but how right it all was at the same time. How he was so at ease and comfortable in his role. How he convinced me to take more than I thought I could because he felt I needed it. And how he was right; I had needed it.

  When I returned home from that discipline session, I spent about five minutes studying the reflection of my ass in my bathroom mirror. It was bright pink but there were no bruises. I almost took a picture of it with my phone but felt too embarrassed.

  It hurt to sit down for a day, but only mildly, and then that was it. No marks lasted more than twenty four hours. I was impressed that such pain didn’t have a longer visual effect.

  A thought occurs to me and I sit upright on the couch, my eyes wide. What if David plans to spank me on Friday? I’m sure he doesn’t, but what if he does? I would prefer to avoid any awkwardness. So, I open up my laptop and write him a quite e-mail:

  David,

  I just want to make sure that we are clear that Friday is dinner. Not a discipline session.

  Rachel

  Two minutes later, he’s replied.

  Rachel:

  We’ll see.

  David

  What am I supposed to think of that?!

  Thursday at work is painful. Not physically painful, but mentally exhausting. Secretary from Hell is clearly trying to make my life miserable. Even though I’m nicer than normal, I cannot help but snap at her when I’ve found she has mis-categorized about thirty of our clients’ files. I am on the verge of firing her when she starts crying and sniffling and my heart lurches at the sight.