by Maggie Ryan
"I can try, but if I hate it, will you stop?"
"Stop?"
"Yes, when—I mean if you ever spank me—if I say stop, will you?"
Giving her hands another squeeze, he'd shaken his head. "No, sweetie. I would be in control, the head of our relationship. I would be the only one to decide when the spanking was over…"
"But that might take like… like forever!"
This time he couldn't withhold his chuckle. "You are just the cutest thing. I promise, no spanking would last forever. The spanking would last until I was sure that you'd gotten the message that the behavior which earned you a trip over my lap was not acceptable and that the lesson I was imparting on your behind was imprinted in your brain."
She'd blushed again but finally gave a little nod. "All right. Let's try it. I hate arguing and I hate feeling unsettled."
"A spanking will help with both," he'd promised.
It had taken a half-dozen trips across his knee, the first few with her arguing and coming up with some pretty creative excuses which he ignored, but she'd finally admitted that the dynamic was working for her. He'd grinned when she'd qualified that she still didn't like it, but that since he'd started holding her accountable for her actions and spanking her when he believed she'd earned one, she felt far less guilty and far more settled. That didn't mean she didn't still try to worm her way out of a spanking, but it did mean that when she was squirming, sitting on a sore butt, she knew she'd earned it.
Chapter 3
"Come here, Cara." He waited until she turned before he unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and began rolling up the sleeve. She'd once told him that just seeing him do so had her bottom twitching. He didn't speak again until he had rolled both sleeves up to his elbows. Spreading his knees, he smiled as she obediently stepped into the space, her eyes downcast. "Tell me why I'm going to switch your bottom, Cara."
Her chest hitched as she took a breath and lifted her eyes to meet his. "I lied to you about the bachelorette party. We didn't just stay at Jennifer's apartment. The others wanted to go to the club and… and I went with them."
"You know that I wouldn't have stopped you from going if you'd called me, right?"
"I thought you might because it was a… a male strip club."
"Honey, I'm not stupid. I've been to plenty of bachelor parties, and at almost all of them at least one stripper shows up. I know that some women pretend to be shocked, but I also know that there are often male strippers at their own last hurrah. You are not getting switched for going to a club. Try again. Tell me exactly what happened."
"I-I'm not exactly sure what you mean. Some of it is a bit fuzzy," she admitted. "All I remember is going to the club, watching the men, um… dance, and then drinking. I know that we might have gotten a bit rowdy. Maybe I drank more than I thought but I didn't drive or anything. We took a cab to the club. That was smart, right?"
"Yes, that's probably the only thing that is going to allow you to sit for the next week." Max sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket. Powering it on, he found the photo he'd been sent and turned the screen towards her. "Perhaps this will jog your memory."
Her eyes went to the phone and then her mouth dropped open. "Oh, God… I-I don't remember that. Who took… where did you that?"
"That's not the point. The point is that you were far more inebriated than you confessed. Unless, of course, you've decided that you'd rather rub up against some strange man than me?"
"No, oh, God, no. I swear to you, I don't remember dancing with… with him. Please, Max, please believe me."
Watching her eyes well with tears and hearing the shock in her voice wasn't even necessary. He'd known that she would never behave the way she appeared in the photo if she wasn't drunk as a skunk. Still, she had to learn that every choice had consequences and being in such a compromising position, too drunk to even understand that fact was definitely why he was going to tear into her posterior.
"I don’t see my precious Cara when I look at this. I see a woman I hardly recognize," he said, tapping a fingertip against the photo. "Instead of the sweet girl who I hold and cuddle in my arms, I see a woman who is so drunk that she doesn't even know that she is dancing with a complete stranger, a man who is wearing nothing more than a fancy jockstrap. A woman who has yet another drink in her hand. Tell me, Cara, exactly what were you thinking?"
"I-I wasn't… I guess I… I am so sorry," she said as she burst into tears and thrust the switch towards him. "Please, switch me and forgive me. I'm so, so sorry."
Taking the switch, he laid it down at his side as he leaned forward and placed the phone on the floor so that she'd have no option but to stare at the image he'd described. Reaching forward, he slid his hands beneath her short t-shirt and tugged her panties down to her ankles before guiding her over his left knee. She whimpered when he placed his right leg over both of hers, the position silently confirming that this was going to be a lesson she was sure to remember.
"I want you to keep your eyes on that picture, young lady. I want you to take in every single detail. Your choice to go out on that floor and allowing some stripper to rub himself against you has guaranteed that your behind is going to be in a world of pain. It's going to hurt but I want you to realize that even as much as it does, it is nothing compared to the hurt you'd feel if he'd dragged you off and raped you." Though he was pretty positive the club employee would never have done such a thing, he also knew there were men out there who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of a woman.
He ignored her wail, knowing it was just now occurring to her what could have happened. He knew that Cara, as well as many of the others involved, had no idea their actions had been photographed and sent to their men. It had been the consensus of the men that they'd wait to punish the women until they were totally sober, and since most of the guys were on his same shift, it made it possible to wait a couple of days. Besides, they all agreed that if they'd taken their ladies in hand at that moment, none would be able to sit for a month.
Picking up the switch, its tap against her bottom had instant results.
"Oh, Max, please—"
"Ready?" he asked, again tapping the end of the switch gently across each glowing globe.
"Ye-yes, sir."
"Then stop clenching your cheeks. I want them loose and soft so that you can feel every stroke of your switching. Keep your hands down and your eyes on that picture. Understand?"
"Yes. I'm so sorry."
"I know, sweetie, but I'm afraid you're about to be even sorrier."
Cara knew it wasn't acceptable to lie but also knew that admitting she wasn't ready wouldn't be the proper answer. Her bottom was already tender from her earlier spanking, but she knew that she'd yet to accept the first awful bite of the switch. When it stopped tapping against her buttocks, she dropped her eyes back to the horrid photo. Seeing herself looking so out of control, she accepted her fate and actually pushed her bottom up.
"That's my good girl," Max said, his palm replacing the switch. "Grab my ankle if you want, honey, but don't reach back."
She took him up on his offer, taking a firm grip on his leg. She barely had time to register the hiss of the switch displacing air before it landed with a snick across her bottom. "Ow!" she yipped, her hips bucking as another line of fire was painted a fraction of an inch below the first.
"Please… oh, please!" Her pleas did nothing to stop the switch from descending again.
"Cara, settle down. Tell me, are you proud of that photo? Do you want to print it out, buy a pretty frame and wrap it up as a gift to your parents?"
"No!" she wailed as he paused to easily pull her back into position.
"Do you want to blow it up and frame it for the mantel?"
"No!" she sobbed, wrapping her hands around his leg again, her tears splashing onto his phone to blur the damning photo.
"Then, settle down and accept the lesson. Let the pain remind you that I love you with everything I have. Let the fire I'm lighting on your botto
m convince you that I take my responsibility to keep you safe from harm very seriously, be it from some intruder into our home or some stranger at a club. Let this switching teach you a lesson and then, Cara, you can delete that photo and we'll never think of it again."
Though it was hard, she nodded and forced herself to unclench her bottom. She was soon sobbing again as he continued to lay tracks down her cheeks, one after another until the switch reached her sit spot.
"Oh, please. Not there!" she whimpered, attempting to twist off his lap for the first time.
"Cara," he warned, lifting his knee to tip her further forward.
She squealed, her palms planted on the floor. "You're going to make me fall off!"
A loud smack was his response to those words. "Stop fighting me. You know that not only aren't you going anywhere until we are done, but that I need your bottom in a proper position. I need to be able to see my target and what I'm doing."
Looking back over her shoulder, she snapped, "Really? Didn't your eye-exam come back stating you have 20/20 vision? Ow!"
He shook his head, his hand rubbing over the spot he'd just swatted. "That, young lady, just told me that despite your promise to behave, despite the stripes on your behind, you have yet to truly accept your lesson."
"I'm not… it just really hurts when you spank me there." When he just continued to rub his palm across her bottom, his eyes locked on hers, she could feel the fight leaving her. He was right… she deserved this. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be snarky… it's just… Max, it really hurts when you spank me there."
"I know, honey. Let's just get this finished, okay?"
Nodding, she wiggled back to balance herself and as he lifted his knee again, she braced her hands on the floor, took a deep breath, and lifted her bottom, offering him her sit spots. These would sting like no other. Her screech was loud as two lines were added to the most sensitive area of what he referred to as her "sweet spot." She had absolutely no idea how many stripes she now wore as witness to her stupidity but knew without a doubt that she'd earned each and every one. When she was lifted from position and set onto his knee, she wailed at the contact until he picked her up, stripped her panties off her feet and moved her so that she was straddling his legs, her striped butt hanging in the open space between his thighs.
"I'm so sorry, Max. I am so ashamed and I swear I'll never ever go into another club as long as I live."
"Babe, let's not make promises you can't keep," Max said.
"Well, I'm never going into a strip club again."
"That I can accept," he said, bending forward and kissing her forehead. When he handed her the phone, she gladly sent the photo into oblivion before wrapping her arms around him and leaning in to rest her cheek on his chest. Her bottom throbbed and yet the steady thud of his heart beneath her ear centered her. He held her tight for several minutes as they both absorbed the comfort each needed from the other. When he moved his hand to cup a hot little cheek, she moaned but didn't pull away. Instead, she pressed back into his hand.
"Sorry, babe, we need to get ready."
"Ready?"
"Did you forget we have class?"
"Yes," she said, giving him a sheepish grin.
He smiled and bent forward to give her a quick kiss. After a final pat was delivered to her backside, he guided her off his lap.
"Thank you, Max," she said, again wondering at the dynamic they had decided to accept into their relationship. Others might think domestic discipline was archaic at best and abusive at worst, but she had never felt more loved, more protected and calmer than when she and Max had started practicing the dynamic six months earlier. No matter that her bottom ached from her spanking, she wouldn't care to change a single thing about their lives.
Max stood and then bent to kiss her. "You're welcome. Now, we've gotta get a move on." She watched him pick up the switch, which appeared as fresh as it had when she'd prepared it.
"What's that look for?" he asked, moving the ottoman back into its proper position.
"Nothing. I just, well, I thought for sure that it would be all bent or broken after giving me what… fifty strokes?"
His chuckle had her blushing as he again reached to pat her bare bottom. "Babe, you only have a dozen wheals."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. You can go look in the mirror if you don't believe me. But do it quickly, we're going to be cutting it close as it is."
"Yes, sir," she said, lifting onto her toes to give him a quick kiss before bounding out of the room, unaware of the sight she made with her well-striped ass bouncing beneath the white of her t-shirt. Once in the bathroom, she did turn to look over her shoulder, rubbing her hands over her bottom. Max was right. There were only twelve thin wheals the switch had left. Still, those dozen would burn for a long time.
Chapter 4
A half-hour later, they were seated in his truck. Well, he was seated and she was still attempting to find a comfortable position.
"Does that help?" he asked shooting her a grin as she shifted to her left hip. He chuckled when she swatted his arm even as he shook his head. "Careful, sweetie. I can always turn this truck around. There's a tree with plenty more branches just waiting."
Cara stilled instantly, biting back the retort that he was the one who said they needed to hurry. She could easily imagine him making a U-turn but couldn't imagine having to spend the next few hours with additional stripes on her behind. When he pulled into the parking lot of the culinary school, she suddenly remembered her surprise.
"Oh, I have something for you." Sifting through the detritus filling her purse, she pulled out the red envelope. "It's for your birthday."
"My birthday? It's a tad early, babe."
"I know but I have a good reason." Handing him the envelope, she watched as he opened it and pulled out the black card. She smiled as his eyes widened and his dimple appeared.
"Seriously? A chef?"
"Yes! You've really enjoyed these classes and I thought it might be fun to have you show off your skills as Chef Wright to your friends. But, since it is your birthday and you might not want to cook, I made sure I could change the date. That's why I have to give it to you early because I'll need to tell the manager if you don't want to cook on Sunday."
"I'd love to but are you sure? I mean, it's Valentine's Day and I thought we'd just spend it together."
"We will," she assured him. "I'm definitely expecting one of those invitations. You can ask up to twelve more people." She dug into her purse again and pulled out another envelope. "These are the invitations. It's up to you who to invite." Handing them to him, she then plucked one from the stack. "However, this one is mine. No way am I going to miss seeing you in that jacket and toque blanche. You need to be there two hours early to practice though."
Max slipped the invitations into his jacket pocket and then pulled her to him. "Thank you. This is a lovely gift, honey. I've always wanted to try flipping shrimp tails into a chef’s hat… excuse me, a toque blanche." He gave her a kiss before climbing from the truck and going around to open her door.
Cara managed to slide out with only a slight hiss and took the bag he offered. "Just promise me that you won't chop a finger off. Those knives are wicked."
"I'm more concerned about the heat of that grill," he countered, taking the remainder of the bags and then her hand. "Really, thanks. Wow, a chef at the hibachi grill. That's pretty cool."
Entering the classroom, they found their station and began to set out the required ingredients for that evening's meal. Cara bent over to get the skillet from beneath the counter and gave a soft groan, quickly straightening. Max didn't give her any sympathy for her plight but did offer to get the pans, which she gratefully accepted. The pull of her jeans across her recently switched butt was uncomfortable and a definite reminder that she had made some very bad choices.
"Hi, sorry we're a little late," Tony said, ushering Bridget into a workspace adjacent to theirs.
"No problem, we just got
here ourselves," Max said, the two brothers hugging after Tony unloaded his items. "How's my favorite sister-in-law?" Max asked, reaching for Bridget.
"I'm your only sister-in-law," Bridget said as he pulled her into his arms. "And, I have a distinct feeling that you know exactly how I am."
"Hey, don't blame me," Max said, kissing her cheek. "You ladies make your own choices." He popped her bottom and she squealed and swatted his arm.
Cara reached to rescue her best friend before she got herself into more hot water. The two hugged and Cara whispered, "I promise I didn’t say a word."
"You didn't have to," Bridget said quietly. "Evidently there are a bunch of photos going around. It's sort of hard to wiggle out of trouble when all those pixels are showing you sitting with some stripper straddling you and his you know what right in your face."
"I don't remember that," Cara said, her brow furrowing for a moment before she shrugged. "Come to think of it, I don't remember dancing with that guy either, but well, as you said, pictures don't lie."
The men were setting ingredients out and allowing their women to talk. Bridget looked up when a hello was shouted and waved at the third couple. "I wonder if everyone got in trouble? Jen doesn't have a hair out of place and looks radiant."
Cara grinned. "That girl always manages to look like a fashion-plate. I mean, who wears heels to cook?" The subject of discussion was soon being hugged by her friends.
"Before you ask, yes, I've got a sore butt and I'm supposed to apologize to you for not being a good role model and vetoing Monica's suggestion we go to the club."
"No apology needed," Bridget said. "It's not like we protested, well, Cara did, but not too loudly."
"No hard feelings?"
"No," Cara assured her, giving her a kiss. "But, you might want to apologize to your brothers. They were definitely not pleased."