by J. A. Huss
“You’re not here, Grace.” I lean down and pull her hair at the same time, making her head tilt back. “You’re still there, sweets.” She doesn’t say anything to that. But that’s her MO, right? Silence. “You refuse to go to therapy. You refuse to talk to people. You refuse to accept help. And whatever. That’s your choice. But marriage is a partnership, Grace. If you want to be married, then you owe me. So what’s it going to be? Stop or go?”
“Go,” she snarls. “If that will make you feel better, then just do it.”
“It will,” I assure her. “It will.”
She opens her mouth to spout off something sarcastic, but my hand comes down on her ass cheek so hard she jumps. “Holy fuck, Asher! What the—”
I smack her again, five times in a row without stopping. Five hard, flat smacks across her bare ass.
“Ow! That fucking hurts!”
I kiss her neck and then turn my mouth to her ear and whisper, “It’s supposed to, Kinsella. I told you, you’re gonna cry...”
“Why does this make you happy?” she asks. Her voice is already betraying her. She’s losing control very fast right now. “Why does hurting me make you happy?”
“I don’t like hurting you, Grace. I told you back on the island that none of this is about violence.”
“Well, it sure feels like violence to me.”
“That’s because you’re unable or unwilling to give in. Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I wanted?”
She stiffens but says nothing.
“No.” I answer for her. “You have never once asked me what I want.”
“So you’re punishing me for being a selfish cunt?”
“No again. I’m punishing you for not trusting me.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Why shouldn’t you trust me? I think that’s a far better question.”
She stays silent again. Only this time I’m not going to answer for her. The negotiations are over. “I’m going to let go of your hair and you’re going to stay right where you are. Do you understand?”
More silence.
I smack her hard again and she whimpers, but stays put. “When I ask you a question, Grace, the polite thing to do is answer it. And if you don’t want to answer, then you get punished. I’m going to punish you and the only way this is not going to happen is if you tell me to stop.”
“But if I don’t let you do this to me, then we’re over.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Then say no.”
She sniffles before answering this time. “But I don’t want you to walk out. I don’t want you to leave.”
“So you think you should be allowed to continue on with the way you’ve been acting?”
“No, but—”
“Tell me right now, Grace. If I let go of your hair will you stay where I put you?”
“Yes,” she says into the cushion.
“Ah. Finally you have to give in to something.” I let go of her hair and step away from her naked body. “Now I’d like to know how you want to do this. I’m going to spank you for all indiscretions, past and present. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” She turns her head a little so she can see me. Like she can’t believe I’m going there. But I am. I’m so fucking going there. “Grace? I asked you a question. Yes, what?”
“Yes, Master,” she spits. She looks me in the eye for it too. So score one for Asher.
I look away from her before I lose my nerve and instead look down at the bright red skin. Both cheeks are flaming. I hover my hand over them and feel the heat. “Wait here,” I tell her. “Don’t move.”
I don’t wait for an answer, just walk down the hallway to our bedroom and then turn into the bathroom. Grace has stuff all over the counters. Just shit everywhere. I flip the light on and start looking at the various bottles. I choose the one that says it soothes chapped skin, and head back to the living room.
Grace is right where I left her. Her eyes are even closed. “Don’t fall asleep on me, sweets.”
She open her eyes and whispers, “Yes, Master.”
I don’t like it. I hope she doesn’t think that’s what this is about. It’s not. I don’t want to crush her. I just need her to know I’m a man of my word. I told her when I knew her well enough I’d punish her for all her misbehaving. And even though I like the kind of misbehaving she did back on the beach, I’m less than thrilled about the way she’s been misbehaving since she came home.
It needs to stop.
I smack her ass one more time and she sucks in a gasp of air, but says nothing. “I know it hurts. You’re allowed to moan or cry.”
“I’m not going to cry.”
“OK.” I uncap the bottle of soothing lotion and drip it across the bright pink handprint left over from the last slap. This makes Grace sigh and relax. “You like that?”
“Yes, Master,” she says obediently.
I rub it in a little harder, squeezing the round globes of her ass. And after a few minutes of this seemingly innocuous rubbing, when she is good and relaxed, when she’s breathing deep and even, almost content, I give her five more quick, hard slaps to wake her back up.
She shoots up off the back of the couch for this, but my hand is there on her back, gently pushing her down. “Be still,” I tell her softly.
She relaxes again and my punishment repeats.
“Goddammit!” she squeals. This time she doesn’t take my direction, and instead of relaxing, she struggles against me.
“Tell me to stop if you want it to stop, Grace.”
“No,” she says defiantly. “I’m not gonna tell you to stop so you can blame this on me. But I’m sure as fuck not going to let you hit me for no good reason!”
“OK, that’s fair. How about I tell you why you’re being punished.”
“That would be a good start,” she hisses up at me.
I smack her hard again, this time across the back of her thighs. She squirms and twists, but the spreader bar prevents her from taking a necessary step to balance herself, and she falls right into my arms. “Don’t struggle, sweets. It’s a losing battle.” She growls out her protest, but since she can’t walk and her hands are bound, she is forced to lean into my chest.
Her soft hot breath travels across my skin and brings my cock to life. “That last slap was for being sarcastic.”
“And the others?” she asks, risking more punishment.
“Those were owed to you from our fun first night on the beach. Satisfied?” I grab her by the elbows and lift so she can regain her balance, and then I scoop her up in my arms. Her legs are still spread open as I carry her around to the front side of the couch and take a seat. “For the rest of your punishment, you have two choices because I’d like to sit down and enjoy my view of your beautiful pussy. Would you like to bend over the coffee table or lie across my lap?”
“Your lap, please.” She hesitates for a moment and then adds, ”Master,” to the end of her sentence.
I urge her to flip over so her stomach is across my thighs and then I lean down and whisper, “I love you, Grace.”
“I hope so.”
“Don’t doubt me.”
“Why do you want me to cry?”
“Because you need to let it out.”
“I did let it out. Back at the hospital.”
“Grace, five minutes of tears is not crying. You refuse to give in to therapy, fine. I’m not going to insist on anything.”
“But you insist that I cry here tonight. Because you’re hitting me.”
“I’m spanking you, Grace. Something that turns you on. It’s erotic. It’s not about hurting you. And this is not about making you cry. You will cry because it’s natural.”
She stills. Perhaps to think about this. “Do you want to know what I did in Colorado?”
“No.”
She stays silent for almost a minute after that answer. “Why not?”
“Because if you
wanted me to know, you’d have told me before I left for work.” I trace a fingertip down the backside of her thigh, into the soft cavity behind her knee—this makes her stifle a giggle—and then continue down her calf where I squeeze and knead the muscles there until she moans. “Feel good?”
“Yes. So good.”
I smack the back of her thigh. A quick downward motion, barely touching her skin, and then a retreat.
It stings my hand so I know it stings her thigh worse. She wails a complaint, but I immediately slip my fingers between the open folds of her pussy and stroke her gently there. “Better?”
She makes a sound that is halfway between a moan and a growl and I smile because she has no idea whether she should cry or come.
But then she sniffles and I know I’m on the right track.
My fingers leave the warmth of her pussy and trace a wet trail up her spine. She bucks a little, but tries her best to be still. “You’re perfect, Mrs. Asher. And if you only take one thing away from tonight, let it be this. The spankings are about trust.”
She takes a breath like she wants to say something, but then she stops.
“Tell me, Grace. If you have something to say, tell me.”
“I’m not very good at this.”
“Neither am I.”
Her head turns and she relaxes. Her face pressed into the cushions of the couch. “That’s funny. You’re the one with all the experience.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never done this with a woman I cared about before. It’s new for me too. Before you, Grace, this domination stuff was about sexual release and satisfaction.”
She lifts her head from the cushions and tries to look at me. “And now?”
“I told you. Trust. You don’t trust me. And to be quite honest, I don’t trust you either. I feel like you’re perpetually on the verge of walking out. I can’t live like this, Grace. I can’t. I need to know if you’re in or not.”
“I’m your wife. I’m in.”
“You’re my wife on paper, that’s it. I want you to be my wife, Grace.”
“Will spanking me make me your wife?”
“Do you hate it?”
“No. It’s just demoralizing.”
“But effective. I have you here, face down in my lap, talking to me about things you’d rather not. That’s not demoralizing, that’s progress. This relationship is a give and take. I hate to say this, sweets, but you’re been doing a lot of taking.”
She balks and tries to lift her upper body, but my hand is swift on her bottom. The crack sounds off simultaneously with her yelp. “Stay put,” I order her. “I’m not fucking around. You earned this spanking. Now it can be pleasant and sexual, or it can be harsh and demoralizing. It’s your choice.”
“How is it my choice? You’re the one who gets to dole out the punishments.”
“And you’re the one who gets to decide when you get punished and what form that takes. Do you want to be punished like this?” My hand smacks down on the back of her legs, right where they meet the upward curve of her ass. But before she can cry out, I’m rubbing her and slipping my fingers inside her pussy. “That feels good, Grace. It’s not about pain, it’s about control. You resist my control because you don’t trust me. And I’m telling you right now, you’re making both of us unhappy by doing that.”
“You want to leave me.”
“I don’t want to leave you. I love you. I married you. I want to fuck you and boss you around and make you have my babies. I want to keep you forever. You’re the one who’s got one foot out the door. I want you to commit, Grace. And the first step is to submit.”
She’s silent for a few moments as my words sink in. I don’t want to say this. In fact, I’m terrified to continue. But it needs to be out in the open. It needs to be done. “Are you willing to do that? Or do you want to end this marriage?”
Chapter Ten
#EpicQuestionsCount
DO I want to end this marriage?
My instant response is no.
But… I stop myself from saying the word. Because he’s asking me an honest question and that deserves some introspection. I became his wife under less than ideal circumstances. I don’t even remember it. As far as I’m concerned, this is the first time I’ve had a say in this marriage at all.
“Grace?” he prods.
Maybe I did say ‘I do’ in Vegas. But that was hardly my choice. Because honestly, if he had asked me in the morning if I wanted to marry him, my answer would’ve been no.
My answer has always been no. For as long as I can remember, I have never wanted to marry anyone. Not even Vaughn Asher, movie star. In fact, I have no idea what marriage looks like. I never prepared for it.
“Grace, you’re making me nervous.”
All this is new to me. I’m at a loss on how to answer.
He unhooks the spreader bar from my ankles and throws it across the room and then he pulls my upper body up off his lap and then stands, leaving me on the couch. He walks out of the living room and I’m too shocked to stop him.
He doesn’t go to our bedroom, I know that because a few minutes later I see light flickering down the hallway. Lights coming from the home theatre.
A few minutes go by and then I hear sounds coming from the theatre room.
I’m making a huge mistake, I know this. But it feels wrong to say I feel the same as he does. I don’t.
I get up and walk down the hallway until I reach the theatre room and then I prop myself up against the doorjamb. He’s watching a George Clooney movie that I love about some escaped convicts during the Great Depression who become famous for a song they sing.
“I love this movie.”
“Me too,” he answers without turning his head to look at me.
“You never asked me.”
“I did ask you. You said yes.”
“I was drunk. I don’t remember.”
“Well, I remember.”
“You’re only one half of this team, Asher. You never asked me. Me. Sober Grace was never consulted. I can’t be held responsible for drunk Grace’s actions. I was beyond drunk. I blacked out. It’s not fair that I found out about our marriage from the TV. It’s not fair that it all happened in the same moment that I was taken again. It’s not fair that—” I stop talking because he never turns. Does he even want to know? Is he even interested? He says he wants me to trust him, but he scares me when he walks away. “I want you to ask me.”
“I want you to remember.”
“How do I make myself remember?”
Finally he turns his head. “Grace, you talked for hours on end that night. It’s impossible that you just don’t remember. It makes no sense. Yes, you were drinking. But you said so many things that night. Thoughtful, well-articulated things.”
“I don’t remember.”
He turns away again. “I’m not telling you. I refuse to paraphrase what happened that night. I won’t do it. I refuse to reduce it to a retelling.”
I sigh and walk around to the front of the massive square sectional couch. I crawl across it, my bound hands keeping me off balance a little, and nestle as close to him as I can, laying my head on his shoulder. “I want you. Is that enough?”
He doesn’t embrace me. He makes no move to cuddle me and make me feel loved. He doesn’t offer to untie my wrists.
“I’m past wanting you, Grace. I have you. Or at least I thought I did. And now everything is up in the air. I just want to settle. I’m tired of juggling life. I’m tired of coming home to an empty house.”
“You’ve been coming home to me for almost three months. That’s not empty.”
“No,” he says sharply. “How do you not see that you’re not here? This place is a fucking mess. You don’t do anything but mope. It’s a goddamned miracle that you came to see me at the studio this week. And to be perfectly honest, after the flight coordinator called to let me know you scheduled the jet, the more I thought about it, the better I felt. I was happy that you took an interest in something. Bu
t you went about your life. All fucking day. And never once thought about me. I don’t matter to you.”
“That’s not true. I…” I what? What am I trying to say?
“You can’t even say it. You can’t even admit you love me. You chased me for three years online, telling the whole world your feelings and your desires. You’ve fucked me in public. You married me. And right now, you can’t even say you love me.”
“I love you, Vaughn. I do. That’s not why I’m hesitating.”
“Then what is it?” His voice booms through the movie room and I startle backwards a few inches. “Why are you not here? Why are you unsure? What the fuck do you want from me?”
“Untie me.” I hold out my wrists. He looks down at them, then up at my eyes. I can see the pain in there. The uncertainty I’m causing him. I hate that I’m making him feel this way. “Untie me,” I say again.
He shakes his head, sighing a long breath of air that lets me know he’s beyond pissed. And then swiftly releases the knots that bind my hands. “There. You’re free.” He balls up the silk tie and throws it across the room.
I lay my chest across his lap and place my face alongside the cushions. My back is slightly arched and my ass is in the air like an invitation.
“What are you doing?” he asks, still very irritated.
“Making a decision,” I reply. “I want to be yours. Spank me.”
“Oh my God. You drive me insane, woman.” I chance a peek up at him and he’s rubbing his hand down his face, like he really is exasperated.
“Spank me for being bad.”
“Jesus, Grace. Why? Why are you doing this?”
I turn on my side so I can really look at him. And for the first time in years, maybe ten or more years… I’m honest. “Because I want to cry.”
He just stares at me, a wave of horror flashing across his face.
“I want you to spank me so I can cry. And then I want you to fuck me and make it better.”
His first smack is loud and hard. It stings. I lower my head back to the cushions and prepare for the next one. It comes swiftly. Then the next and the next. The stings become burns and then there’s no distinguishing one from the next. The sharp pain from each smack runs together until I begin to sob. They are soft at first. When they are just from the pain of his hands on my bottom, they are soft.