Authors: Samantha Blair
My mother had also started making regular calls, but they were to Kat instead of to me. She told my father that they were discussing wedding plans, but she always called between 4:00 and 5:00 during the hour between the end of Kat's workday and the end of my father's. It wouldn't do for him to hear those conversations.
I choked back the heartache when Kat told me what they really discussed. My own mother tried repeatedly to convince Kat to run from me. Kat had even broken down on a few occasions and tried to convince my mom that I was not like my dad, but she simply wouldn't believe it. I was a monster in her eyes, and I was becoming more and more sure that I would never be able to convince her otherwise. Even if we could escape my father's iron fist, the damage was already done. I began to doubt if she could ever trust another man, let alone me.
The weeks passed by quickly and soon it was Thanksgiving. Having no family of her own, Kat was, of course, expected to spend the holiday with my family and me. I knew that this would be another tense time, but I hoped to avoid as much conflict as possible by staying in my father's house as briefly as possible. I couldn't say I was looking forward to this day, but at least I would get to spend the holiday with Kat. For the last few years that we had been together, my parents had been unaware of our relationship, so we'd been forced to spend most of those important days in different locations.
Kat packed up the beautiful pumpkin pie that she had made, and we started the drive across town. My parents lived about forty-five minutes from us on the coast–just far enough to keep them from dropping in unexpectedly on a regular basis.
Just as we had done the last time, Kat and I reviewed rules, safewords, and codes frequently that week. I knew that my father was unpredictable, but I wanted to be as well prepared as possible.
Kat had never really become comfortable behaving in a sexual manner in front of anyone but me. We'd watched several other couples over the years (usually Cody and his current submissive of choice), and had visited a few clubs, but we did not, as a general rule, participate. I was far too possessive to tolerate another man looking at her. Occasionally, I would request that she dress in a manor that was more provocative than her usual style. I couldn't help it. She had a fantastic body, and I loved to look at her, but I had been in numerous fights over the years as a result. I did not respond well to men who coveted what was mine.
I had little doubt that my father would ask for another demonstration of Kat's submission today. My stomach was aching at the thought. It wouldn't be the first time that I had fucked a woman in front of him, but those women weren't Kat. She had done quite well with focusing on me the last time, but if she was going to keep it together, I would need to be on point. She responded best when I gave her no other choice. I couldn't allow her room to question my judgment. I would make it very clear to her what I was commanding, and she would obey me. That would keep us both safe.
I hope.
My mother greeted us at the door. A plastic smile was plastered on her face as she hugged me, and I tried hard to pretend that it didn't hurt me to see it. My father joined us a few minutes later. I forced myself to look at the ground so that I wouldn't see the way his hands moved over my wife's ass as he hugged her. I hoped that my own plastic smile was more convincing than my mother's.
Dinner was already prepared; so we sat down to eat immediately. I dictated to Kat what she could eat by filling her plate for her. My father approved. She only picked at it anyway. I'd take her out later for something to eat if her apatite returned.
I had almost convinced myself that we were going to be able to escape after a normal family dinner when it happened. Kat reached for a basket of rolls at my father's request and accidentally brushed her wine glass with the side of her hand. I had my head turned away from her, and I was not fast enough to catch it. The glass tipped over spilling red wine on my mother's white lace tablecloth. It wasn't even enough to break the glass, but the damage had been done.
My father was out of his chair in a flash, and before I could even react, he had pulled Kat from her chair. He had her pinned against the table, her beautiful long hair wrapped in his fist. He was screaming, but I couldn't understand the words. I was in shock.
It wasn't until he smacked her across the face that I was shaken from my stupor. I had to do something. Now!
"Father!" I jumped up from my seat. "No need to do that. I'll punish her."
Get your fucking hands off of my wife! I choked on the words that wanted to come screaming out of my lips. Putting my body between them, I pulled her from his grasp. Her body was ridged with fear, her eyes dry and shocked. It had happened so quickly that she hadn't yet processed it.
My father’s face broke out in a wicked grin. "Will you?"
I closed my eyes and dug deep for control. "Of course," I answered. "She is to be my wife. I can handle her insolence."
"I think I'd like to see that," he said, returning to his chair. "Now." There was no mistaking the command. My worst nightmare was about to unfold.
I took a deep breath. I needed to keep myself calm. I could not protect Kat if I was hysterical. This would be humiliating for her, but we would get through it together. It was only a spanking. I'd done a hell of a lot more to her over the years. If she closed her eyes, she could probably manage to make herself believe that we were alone in our playroom doing this for far more pleasurable reasons.
"Lift your skirt, Katlyn."
She complied, lifting the hem of the modest brown skirt up to her hips. At my insistence, she wore stockings and skimpy lace panties, but I could not take the time to admire them now. I swallowed thickly. I refused to look at my father. I kept eye contact with her. "Drop your panties."
She did not hesitate to do what I asked. I shielded her from my father's view as best I could without looking suspicious. I pushed my mother from my thoughts all together. If I looked at the pain in her eyes, across the table, I would lose it for sure. How much more could I possibly damage my mother’s opinion of me?
I pulled my chair back from the table and changed the angle. I laid Kat across my lap, pinning her hands behind her with one of my own. Her delicate little fist curled around my index finger and she squeezed quickly three times. Three for green, two for yellow, one long hard squeeze for red. She was okay.
I almost told her to count. It was a habit that I'd become accustomed to, but I had never heard my mother count, so I chose to keep the number in my head instead. I gave her no warning. I simply delivered her punishment. How many strokes constituted an appropriate punishment for spilled wine? I had no idea. The whole thing was insane. It wasn't like they couldn't afford another tablecloth. It was a fucking accident. It would have to be pretty severe. This had nothing to do with the wine anyway. This was my father's way of testing my manhood. He was telling me that he would not hesitate to punish my wife if I was unfit to do it myself. I hated him. In that moment I hated him more than anything. I squeezed my hands into fists and fought with every ounce of control to keep myself from beating him to death right there.
Biting my tongue, I used that hatred to fuel my spanking. I brought my hand down on the soft curve of Kat's ass while she screamed and squirmed in my lap. I settled on twenty and delivered them swiftly. It would hurt, especially because her skin was still faintly bruised from a rougher-than-usual session two days ago, but it would not be unbearable. The humiliation would be far worse for her than the physical pain.
When I was done I righted her in her own chair, completely ignoring her tears. I could tell that she was trying to rein them in. She would have control of herself soon. She gave me three more quick squeezes under the table. I pulled my own chair back to the table and retrieved my fork to finish my dinner as if nothing had happened. I swallowed a cold lump of mashed potatoes before raising my eyes to my father.
Pretend it didn't happen.
"So, mother said that you were thinking about traveling to Italy," I said, grasping for the first conversation starter I could think up. My father gave me a calculating glare before filling me in on his travel plans. My mother silently brought coffee and pie to the table. Kat's sniffles settled down beside me. I wanted to hold her, reassure her, love her, but instead, I protected her. I ignored her.
I dragged the conversation out as long as I could to avoid any further incidents and then Kat, and I decided to take our leave. My father whispered something in Kat's ear as he said goodnight, and she managed to hide her reaction to it. I was proud of her. I was proud of us. We had survived another day, no matter how difficult.
When the porch light finally disappeared from the rear view mirror Kat finally spoke. "Would you like to know what he said to me as we were leaving?"
I looked at her. I wasn't sure that I wanted to know, but I knew that she needed to tell me, to get it out.
"He said that my ass looked very fuckable when it was pink."
I tightened my hands on the steering wheel until my knuckles were white. She put her gentle hand on my leg and turned her face to me. "I'm okay, David. We did okay." I tried to ignore the slight swelling on the side of her face where that asshole had struck her.
"I love you, David. No matter what."
I would never in a million years deserve to hear that.
I returned to school in the fall, eager to see David and anxious to get to my classes. David picked me up at the airport and went to work on me right away. He commanded me to masturbate in the car on the way back from the airport, and I complied. Just having him near me again had me coming almost instantly. God, how I had missed him.
We spent that first week adapting to our classes and returning to the routine of the previous year. I roomed in my same dorm again but David switched dorms to have a private room.
David and I continued to use the beach house on the weekends and our trust grew along with experience. It was one of those weekends when the terrible call came. I was asleep in David's bed with him spooned behind me when my phone woke me. It was in my bag, across the room where I had ditched it when we arrived. Who would call me at 3:00 in the morning? The only people who ever called were Cody and my dad. Why would they call this late?
By the third ring I had stumbled out of bed and accidentally woken David. He sat up and watched me curiously as I dug for it. The caller ID didn't display a name, but it was a Montana area code. Either my father had forgotten about the difference in times zones, which was highly unlikely, or this was an emergency.
"Hello?" I asked, my voice thick with sleep and confusion.
"Kat?"
"Who is this?"
"Kat, it's Scott Crowler, I work with your dad..."
I couldn't respond. That meant something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Kat, there's been an accident. Your father was checking out a noise complaint out by the mill and he somehow got caught up in some logs that came loose from a truck bed. He was killed, Kat. I'm so sorry."
I held the phone out, stunned as the world came crashing down around me. I couldn't breathe; I couldn't think. My dad was young and healthy. This couldn't happen.
"Kat?" David's voice came from across the room. "Kat! What's wrong?"
He picked up the phone as it fell from my hand. I briefly heard him speaking into it. He scribbled a number on a piece of paper and hung up. A moment later his strong arms were around me and he was rocking me back and forth like a child as I cried.
I spent the next week in a total daze. David made all of the arrangements and flew home with me to Montana. The other guys on the force pitched in and we gave my dad a nice sending off. After that initial call, I didn't cry much. I just became more and more numb to it all. Everyone kept asking about where I would live and what I would do, but I didn't have any answers. My dad was the only family that I had, and now I had no one.
When the funeral was over, David helped me to pack up the house. I wasn't ready to deal with it yet, so he helped me to find a caretaker that could look in on it while I was at school. He was incredible. I would never have made it through without him there to help me.
When we got back to school he gave me space and let me grieve, but one week turned into two, which turned into a month and then six weeks. I stopped going to class. I didn't want to leave my dorm. I lost weight that I couldn't afford to lose. David tried talking to me about it several times, but I was largely unresponsive. Truthfully I don't remember much of those weeks, but I know that it was a very bad time for me. I remember a deep feeling of hopelessness. I remember thinking about how unfair life was. I wished desperately that David had gotten a chance to meet my dad before he died. I remember trying to lift my arms, and having them feel like dead weights at my side. I couldn't function at all, and I was sure the grief would swallow me whole.
Sometimes David would physically force me to go to class. He even did my homework for me for a while, but he was risking his own grades in trying to help me, and he couldn't keep that up forever. With Christmas break quickly approaching, I was failing all of my classes, and he was becoming both concerned and irritated with my listlessness. He had given me plenty of time, and he was becoming convinced that I wouldn't be able to shake that awful darkness without help. Looking back, I'm sure that he was right. I wouldn't have survived at all if he hadn't broken through to me. I couldn't even get out of bed without him.