by Virginia Rue
* * *
Bruce was fully recovered and home. Christmas wasn’t very merry that year, but everyone was grateful for family and friends. Calla helped Grace with the meal. Lillian Drake’s parents were staying with them while their daughter recovered at the hospital, awaiting placement in a rehab facility. It looked as though the young woman might well avoid prison. Judge Harris respected that his town’s artist donated her profit from the painting he bought to pay restitution to the pharmacy on Lillian Drake’s behalf. The community was shocked to find out it was the Drake girl, but quick to forgive. All the victims mainly just wanted to see her get help. The lost sense of security was the greatest cost, and mystery solved, was now restored. Calla hoped to gain some lenience with Bruce as well, avoiding him as much as possible in the meantime.
“Bruce asked me to tell you to find him before you leave today.” Grace’s simple statement had the effect of a sucker punch. They both knew what that meant, but there was nothing else to be said about it. Calla finished her coffee, got dressed and bravely tromped off in search of her husband.
Logically first checking the woodshed and then the wood shop, she didn’t find him. Wandering from garage to shed, high and low, she finally noticed a light coming from under the tack room door in the back of the barn. She walked back to the door and stood in front of it for a moment and almost knocked, but then just pushed it open. It was warm inside, thanks to a little potbelly stove in the corner. Bruce was sitting at a table littered with scraps of leather, rubbing mink oil into freshly cut straps.
“You know why I wanted to see you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I… well, you haven’t yet… oh, I just want to get it over with!”
“We are not going to ‘just get it over with’, Calla. It will definitely not be over with so quickly as you’d like. Now, I want to hear you say it. Why are you here?”
“Don’t make me say it. It’s too hard.”
“Exactly!” Bruce cut off her whining. “Because it was too hard to say something and too difficult to face the consequences to yourself, Lillian lived in that cave for nearly two more weeks while you mustered the courage to open your mouth. Now, the next words out of your mouth better be ones that demonstrate you clearly acknowledge why you are here.”
“I am here… to be… disciplined… for disobeying you and driving up into the woods that day when you told me to stay on the main roads.”
“A very small part of it, Calla. What else?”
“Keeping it a secret for so long, what I knew. I should have not been such a coward and told you right away when we figured it out.”
“Well put, Calla. And that is why this will not be over with quickly. It won’t even be over with today, or next week. You need practice. You are going to get practice coming to me and telling me whatever I may need to know, and practice accepting the consequences. For the next six weeks we have a standing date, this day and time every week. Don’t make plans to do anything but to come and find me to tan that ass. It will be a good time to tell me anything else I should know since you’re getting spanked regardless. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now go bend over that saddle.” Bruce gestured to the saddle in the center of three on a long saddle rack. Calla practically ran to comply as promptly as possible.
The first thwack of the strap had a hollow sounding thud to it, as did the second.
“Calla, stand up. Take down those jeans.”
As slowly as possible she unbuckled, unbuttoned, and peeled down her flannel-lined denim, revealing a pair of Bruce’s flannel boxers underneath.
“Now aren’t you off to a bad start in your lessons on accountability? It’s going to be a hard six weeks on that soft behind. Pull ‘em down.”
Calla pulled down the boxers to show one more layer. Instead of her regular underwear, she had on a skirted bikini bottom.
“Since I know you weren’t planning on going for a swim I see you went to great lengths to avoid the necessary effects of a well-deserved punishment. Obviously you need more practice than I thought. Those six weeks have just turned to eight and you will be bare-assed, so wear as many pairs of underpants as you want. Maybe by spring you will realize it is better to be honest with me, and as quickly as possible. Now, pull that down, and anything else you have on under it, and get those cheeks in the air, Calla Cowen!”
Bruce was now fully infuriated and everyone within a mile of that barn knew it. Calla spent a half hour bent over that saddle. Between his swatting and her hollering, there was no question as to how strongly Bruce felt about a lie of omission. Deliberately withholding the truth was as good as telling a lie. Half way into it he thought he was done and let her up. When she started trying to pull up all those layers, he got angry all over again and said, “Nope, I changed my mind. Back over.”
Calla hung there apologizing and sobbing while Bruce yanked off her boots and each layer of clothing to emphasize his disgust.
“Now you’re gettin’ it for daring to come in here with a padded behind. You must take me for a fool, Calla!”
The belt fell up and down her bottom and thighs, making her jiggle and dance as she struggled to stay in position. Bruce couldn’t help but notice that, with her legs no longer bound together by her bulky pants and underclothing, each swat that landed close to the inside of her upper thigh made her legs fly apart and her butt lift up in a quick jerk. The man in him found the sight amusing, despite his anger and her agony, and he did it deliberately every few swats, like a puppet master. Knowing her flesh had all it could stand of the belt; he put it down and continued his penalty performance by hand. Retribution given and justice served, his anger began to dissolve and his smacks became less severe. Purged of his fury, he became heatedly aroused by the sight of his wife bent over like that, naked from the waist down. He was suddenly very aroused. And why not indulge? She was his.
Calla felt the lessening force and renewed her efforts to hold perfectly still. She sincerely understood why she was punished and was grateful it would be over with and behind them. As relief began to wash over her she realized he was no longer aiming for her bottom. She squeezed her legs closed, only to have him gently push them apart again.
“Keep them spread… wider.” He kept slapping her woman parts and watching them swell as he swelled more himself.
“I love you, Calla. I love you with every breath I take. I hate to have to discipline you, but I do cherish the gift of your submission.”
Calla’s feminine inclinations betrayed her searing flesh as she spread her legs a little further and arched her back to better accept his palm. Her desire for him at that moment was as irrational as it was irrefutable. She truly hated to be spanked and would do and say almost anything to get out of it. Bruce made sure there was nothing playful or fun about it. It was downright unbearable. But, once it was over with, her heart held nothing but love and gratitude, and every inch of her body was tuned in to her husband. Though unexplainable, the phenomenon was a gift, as confounding as it was sweet. And now this?
Bruce stopped spanking and began a rapid undulating massage of Calla’s vulva, with particular attention to the hard knob of her clitoris with his fingertips. While one hand was at work on his wife’s swollen and increasingly slippery slit, his other slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his own pants, releasing his already glistening cock. Bruce knew Calla’s body and knew the way she caught her breath right before she would come. He stroked himself a few times and waited for the moment, then plunged into her, eliciting a moan of rapture as he began the brief and pleasurable pounding that ended in his own release.
Putting her clothes back on in the afterglow of their intimacy, Calla thought jokingly to herself, ‘maybe the next eight Mondays won’t be completely unpleasant.’ Trying to dress her painfully throbbing behind expelled her humorous thought, just as Bruce spoke.
As if reading her mind, “Ten o’clock next Monday, and don’t expect such en
joyable aftercare over the next eight weeks. In fact, plan on spending an hour. If I don’t paddle you for an hour straight (she knew he wouldn’t) plan on standing, or maybe sitting, in a corner to meditate upon your lesson, either before or after, depending upon what I’m busy with. Just keep your schedule clear and be prompt. Between ten and eleven your behind is mine.” He wanted to make it perfectly clear that all was not forgotten in passion.
“Yes, sir,” Calla replied with the reverence of a freshly spanked woman.
Chapter 6
Mind Your Manners
“Rehearsal Dinner? I still can’t believe we have to rehearse. Do I have to dress up for this rehearsal dinner?” Clayton was growing tired of formalities, and Lexi’s mother.
“My parents really want to make it a special dinner since you insisted on paying for our wedding. Well, my Mom does. I think Dad is impressed and glad. Plus, he’s still paying for my education.”
“I don’t think you mother likes me much.”
“She is just weirded out about you being raised as a Mennonite. I never should have told her. She thinks you’ll end up taking me away in a horse and buggy to some place with no electric or telephones.”
“That’s Amish, and they use telephones. They just don’t put them in the house, probably so mother-in-laws can’t stay on it for hours on end chewing a daughter’s ear off about rural living and all the missed opportunities one would have so far from the city. I have a master’s degree in agricultural engineering and she acts as if I’ve never used indoor plumbing.”
“Please just entertain her. She means well. She just thought I’d marry a lawyer or something, if I married at all. She’s a little dramatic about her only child getting married.”
“She’s a little rude. She asked my mother to wear ‘normal’ clothes to the ceremony so the pictures wouldn’t be awkward.”
“What? I’m so sorry. She’s so embarrassing. There really is no filter between her mind and her mouth.”
“For you. I will endure her for you. She must have some good qualities if she made you. Are you sure YOU weren’t adopted?”
Clayton’s parents showed up for the rehearsal and rehearsed sitting on the front pew while everyone else rehearsed walking and standing and turning. Mrs. Green directed as if they were getting ready for a Shakespearean play. The minister gave up and got out of the way until she finally had her mind made up as to how and when who would stand where. The wedding chapel, as it was called, was a historic church no longer used for weekly services. It sat about eighty people when filled to capacity. The tall white steeple stretched higher than the church was wide. Sitting on a little knoll at the edge of town, it could be seen from every direction in Walnut Bottom. The couple agreed it would be the perfect place for their little wedding and thought they would enjoy being able to see the place where they were married every time they came to town.
Mrs. Green called it a cold little shanty. Mr. Green was becoming more obviously annoyed with his wife’s bossy demeanor and snarky remarks. His grim expression and downcast eyes spoke to his rising anger and embarrassment. Margo Green was oblivious to the fact that everyone was dreading sitting down to a meal with her, especially her own husband.
“The Brass Lantern Inn? Are you sure this is the best you could have done? Why wouldn’t you get married in the city? Then we could have had the rehearsal dinner somewhere in Greenwich Village. And why do you insist on having the reception here, too?”
“Mom, what’s wrong with this place? The ballroom is beautiful. The original chandeliers in there are worth more than your BMW. It’s classy, the food is good, and I like it.”
“I think this is a gorgeous place, honey. Our room is quite luxurious. This place is quite charming. Relax, Margo. Just try to enjoy yourself.” Mr. Green cut off his wife’s newest tirade.
The rest of the meal went on, course after course as they struggled to find neutral conversation in which the Yoders, Greens and Cowen family could all participate. There was a lot of talking about the weather.
“I hope we don’t get a blizzard,” Calla said.
“They’re only forecasting a dusting. The worst of it is supposed to pass to the east,” Bruce informed them.
“But a nor’easter is difficult to predict,” Lexi’s dad pointed out. “A few years ago what was supposed to be a few inches shut down the whole east coast.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Russ? Getting snowed in here all winter in this quaint little place?”
“Maybe I would. But where would I keep you, Margo? Do you suppose there is some kind of holding cell in the basement? ”
“Very funny. I don’t miss the snow. I can’t wait to get back to Florida. It’s sixty degrees out there right now. I bet you don’t mind this cold Mrs. Yoder.”
Sarah shook her head, “No, I’m used to cold winters and this isn’t so bad. Though I feel it in my knees more than I used to.”
“I guess you stay plenty warm in that get-up, with all those layers. So, did you find something nice to wear for the wedding, for the pictures like we discussed?”
Sarah’s patience had reached the limit of her human ability. “Perhaps I’ll take a couple of these napkins back to the room with me and sew up a little dress like yours. Should only take a few minutes.”
“Hold your tongue, Sarah,” Isaac Yoder quickly, but quietly, admonished his wife. “I apologize, Mr. Green. Sarah didn’t sleep well last night.” He was genuinely embarrassed that his wife had stooped to Margo Green’s level, though he understood her anger. Sarah had made herself what she felt was a beautiful new dress for her son’s wedding, in keeping with her traditional attire. Also, she did not, in fact, sleep well the night before, as she’d stayed up hand sewing a new bonnet.
Sarah obediently did not say another word. Margo, however, gasped and clucked and expressed how appalled she was at the insult, despite Mr. Green’s best attempts to quiet her.
“Mr. Yoder, it is I who owe the apology. Your wife is a lovely woman and a fine lady. Rest assured that mine will be, as well, by the end of this night.” Raising his voice just a bit, he said to Margo, “Not another word from you. We will discuss your concerns later… in private.” Emphasizing the last two words, Mr. Green finally shut her up.
Margo’s mouth slammed shut like a door; her daughter thought she heard it close. She sat in shamed silence through the remainder of the meal. She knew her husband meant to spank her later. Though it had been a very long while, she certainly knew he would. Wondering if anyone else at the table understood his meaning only made her blush more. Since she wanted no dessert and was squirming nervously, Russell suggested she go back to their room and “get comfortable.”
Knowing his meaning exactly, as did everyone else, she gave her daughter a quick kiss on the cheek, said very polite good nights to everyone, including Mrs. Yoder, and went back to their room.
The waiting was torturous for her. She paced and flopped down on the bed. Then got up and paced more and flopped down on the chair. Then she started picking up random objects and banging them down angrily, the ice bucket, pillows and a travel bag. When Mr. Green finally opened the door she was nearly frantic, wringing her hands and stuttering out excuses as she stood and sat and stood again, not quite sure what to do with herself.
With deliberate slowness and calmness Mr. Green crossed the room, hung his jacket, and picked up his suitcase. He walked it to the bed, paused to roll up his right sleeve and opened it, paying no mind to Margo or her ramblings. From the bottom, he lifted out a paddle she had not seen in years. The last time he’d spanked her was with his bare hand and that was bad enough. At the sight of the old nemesis, her knees went out and she crumpled to the floor.
“Nooo. Oh, no, no, no, no.” She wasn’t even talking to him anymore, knowing her fate was sealed. She sat chanting to herself, “Oh, no, no, no, nooo…”
Walking over to her and yanking her up from the floor by her arm, snapped her out of her chant of denial. She immediately entered
into deal making. “Please don’t. I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Yoder. Just don’t do this and I promise I will make it up to...”
“You will take your paddling AND apologize to the Yoders, and our daughter and Clayton. I had a feeling I would need to put you over my knee by the time this was all done. Sometimes I hate being right, but I think I may enjoy busting your butt this time. You were so indignant and rude all day, actually, all week! I could tell before we even left Florida. I should have just paddled you good before we went to the airport and I would have spared everyone some grief. You think you’re so much better than everyone here. Real high class, don’t you?”
“No, sir.”
“Can you give me one good reason not to paddle you?”
Knowing she had nothing helpful to say and it would only make it worse to try, she gave the reply of acceptance, “No, sir. I can’t”
Mr. Green pulled out an armless, antique chair from the desk and turned it around. He sat, spreading his arms in invitation, not needing to say another word. Margo promptly placed herself over his lap, with her dress up and hosiery down. She knew the routine and what he expected, and hoped at this point, there might at least be time off for good behavior.
On the way to the car the Yoders passed under the window of Mr. and Mrs. Green. They couldn’t help but hear the clamorous noises of a sound paddling. When Isaac saw the grin on Sarah’s face he changed his mind about overlooking her sharp remark at dinner. “Don’t look so pleased, wife. You are next. Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Sarah. And it does not please me to see you take such joy in Mrs. Green’s suffering.”
“But she deserves it. I would never behave as terribly as she has. And that dress, it was barely a nightgown. Her breasts were pouring out the top and her nipples threatened to poke holes through the fabric, then she sits and complains of the cold, dressed like that. Ridiculous, petty, snobbish woman! Why, she…”