Authors: Saorise Roghan
She pulled air into her lungs and
ran her tongue over dry lips.
She stood
up with as much dignity as she could muster.
Joan of Arc heading for the stake.
“I apologize
again
for my rudeness Mr. Kincaid.”
She started crying again which pissed
her off but apparently she wasn’t even going to be allowed control over her own
tears.
You Flaming Dick
.
“Put your hands flat on Mr.
Kincaid’s desk,” Andrew said.
Denise whirled
to face him, staring in disbelief.
“I want a physical demonstration
of your acceptance Denise.
I wish
to know I’m not going to have to resort to cave man tactics when we’re married.
While you apologized to Mr. Kincaid, punishment is certainly in order.”
Denise sucked air into her
lungs in a futile effort to control herself.
“Yet you claim
you won’t use physical discipline for small problems with my brothers? But
you’re going to spank me for rudeness?
“I won’t accept childish
behavior from my wife. As a rule, I
do
intend to confine physical discipline to privacy.
The lack of privacy in this instance serves a purpose.
As I said, I am demanding a physical
demonstration of compliance.”
Denise trembled with
rage but managing to keep her body from instinctively fleeing and her mouth
from making a bad situation any worse.
She turned away from Andrew
and placed her palms down on the desk.
She spoke distinctly.
“I will hate you for the
rest of my life.”
“I’m sorry to hear
that.
Lift your skirt and drop
your pants.”
Denise whirled around
again.
Andrew cocked a brow and
crossed his arms.
Tears streamed down her face.
An intro to psychology class had
mentioned a tidbit Denise could now attest to:
powerlessness provoked anger which if suppressed did lead to
tears.
Facing the desk,
Denise slid her hands under her dress, lowering her underwear to just below her
bottom.
Then she hiked up the
skirt.
Biting her lips, she placed
her palms back on the desk.
She could hear
Kincaid’s breath hitch.
Wasn’t this the male fantasy?
Fear bloomed and ripened inside
her.
She heard a sound she
understood was Andrew’s belt being pulled through the loops of his pants.
She jerked involuntarily from the
desk. Forced herself back in place and squeezed her eyes shut.
She expected the belt. The
flat of Andrew’s hand cracked without warning across both cheeks of her bottom
without warning, strangely intimate.
She jumped, more from shock than pain, and again forced herself back to
her place on the desk.
Kincaid had
pushed himself away from his desk, the prick.
He wanted a good view.
She could see his lap. The bastard had a hard on.
Andrew’s hand met her bottom several more times.
They were sharp slaps, stinging,
incredibly embarrassing more than anything.
From the corner of her eyes she saw the belt, doubled, idly
hanging from his other hand.
Her
hair had come loose into a curtain partly hiding her face, a small
blessing.
Zander, her youngest
brother, would be 18 in 6 years.
Would
she have to stay married in order for him to get the money for college?
Something to figure out.
Let’s assume so.
So say ten years.
Then she’d kill the
mother
fucker
.
The
next thing to meet her butt was no hand. She flew away from the desk
whirling.
“You cocksucker!”
Andrew blew out air.
Kincaid
muttered, “Jesus! Keep your mouth shut woman!”
“A couple more, Denise.” Andrew
said.
Was that
kindness in his voice?
“You’re doing great,
baby.”
“Don’t you fucking call me baby!”
The doorman probably heard her.
Kincaid moaned.
“We’ll worry about language during discipline another time,” Andrew
muttered, and delivered five
more strong
wallops to
her backside.
His hands,
reaching for her panties and skirt, sliding them into place, startled Denise.
She was sobbing uncontrollably now.
The belt had been very unpleasant but she understood the real pain and
her tears were about the feelings of powerless suffocating her heart and soul.
She jerked away from the
desk.
Andrew
handed her a tissue and stood while she blew her nose.
His hands reached out to grasp her arms, as
if to pull her to him.
Denise
punched his chest with both fists, pushing back at him with a ferocious rage he
ignored. Moving around her, he placed his hand at the small of her back, and
then ushered her past the desk and opened a door.
“Take a few minutes.”
She fled into
the bathroom.
In the cool
stillness she sat crouched on the toilet sobbing.
The sobs increased when her inflamed rear hit the seat
When she could, she
got up and lowered her underpants, hiked her skirt around her waist, and aiming
her butt at the mirror, turned to look over her shoulder in disbelief.
He butt was bright red, with even darker
streaks slashed across her buttocks.
She sat down on the toilet seat and immediately
started crying again. It hurt. It took her a moment before her urine flowed. Her
vagina was soaked with her own juices. She intended to marry a perv who had
publicly spanked her and apparently she was a perv too because her stupid body
had responded with enthusiasm. Disbelief made her sob even harder.
Chapter Four
Married
life was not newly wedded bliss
.
The frown
decorating Andrew’s forehead deepened as he turned the car into the drive. He
listened as the gate hummed for several seconds before it finally lurched into
gear and performed roughly ¼ of the job before abruptly stopping. Andrew
stabbed the button again.
After
long seconds the gate retraced its path and remained shut. He rested his
forehead on the steering wheel, sensing a possible metaphor for his life with
this family.
He
let a full minute pass before he tried again. The gate remained solidly in
place and eyeing it with skepticism, he pressed the button with precision and
closed his eyes, keeping them shut for the duration of the humming, rattling,
wheezing, and the final clank at the other end of the journey.
The
nose of the car crept forward and a hoard of dogs raced to meet the car,
branching off at the last point before activating the invisible fence, to run
frantically back toward the house and surrounding buildings.
Andrew sighed.
It was unlikely he’d make it out of the
garage without at least one pair of feet landing on his chest.
He
swung his legs out of the car and at least ten of the dogs raced back to greet him.
He hissed at them, glaring and showing
teeth. They slunk back and Andrew left the car, reaching blindly into the back
for his briefcase, thereby keeping his gaze fixed on the dogs.
He hissed once more for good measure.
From
under the stairs leading to the porch, a feral cat hissed. Inside, the house
was quiet though everything was out of place, nothing quite right, really
clean, or working properly. He sat his satchel on the bottom stair and headed
to the back of the house where he expected to find the boys, at least.
Having
insisted Denise demonstrate acquiescence the once, they had married immediately
to meet the custody terms of her parent’s will. Andrew then felt a little room,
some extra space, was appropriate, even gentlemanly.
Since then she’d walked an
ever wide
berth around him, speaking politely, formally from a great distance.
“Dude!”
Lucas said, eyes never leaving the
screen in front of him.
A zombie
surged up from a pile of gore.
Zander
chortled, thumbs working furiously, and the thing exploded into green gook.
“Fucking zombie whore!”
Andrew
let his eyes travel through the gloom and eventually spied William.
The kid was hanging upside down from
the back of an immense settee to the left of a fireplace large enough to roast
a horse.
Ear buds in his ears, he
held an IPad much closer to his face than was recommended.
Aware that the kid was an
e-genius,
he
hoped
William wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at the precise moment
his new step-father stood looking at
him.
Except
for the one “dude” the three boys ignored Andrew completely.
He took in the piles of dishes, gear, and
clothing strewn across the room.
A
cat slept on a coffee table, curled in a box that still held a piece of pizza.
The situation was appalling.
Something had to be done and he knew
it.
No doubt that was why an
immense rock had taken up permanent residence in his stomach.
The
rest of the house wasn’t a complete disaster.
The housekeeper appeared to maintain some order in the areas
of the house where she might expect to find Andrew.
He located Denise in the open living area on the second
floor.
Playing solitaire.
Stacks of books and an open laptop sat
on the floor next to her. When she saw him she stiffened.
Andrew
sat down on a loveseat and looked at her.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
Her eyes went back to the game.
“And you?”
He
didn’t bother to answer. She couldn’t have exhibited less interest if she
tried.
“Did
the boys go back to school today?”
She
didn’t look up.
“NO.”
Nothing
else.
Not even the slightest recognition
his question contained dangerous flammables.
Personally, he was inflamed by her intelligence and
stubbornness. “Shouldn’t they?”
“There’s
no rush, surely.
They just buried
their parents.
No one expects them
to just carry on.”
“I
do.”
Her
head snapped up and her eyes meet his.
She flushed.
“What?”
“I
do.
I expect them to just carry
on.
And you.
I expect you to carry on too.
That’s what people do.”
Denise’s
face remained a polite mask but he could see the slight movement in her throat when
she swallowed.
“What are your
plans?”
Her
eyes widened, and her mouth opened but after a second or two she closed it
without saying anything.
“Would
you like to go back to school?
Do
you want to look for work?”
Denise
looked back down at her cards.
“No.”
“This
place is a disaster, Denise. Do you want to live here?
Or get another place?”
No
answer.
He watched her play a card.
Her eyes blinked -- she was holding back tears.
Denise had never been weepy, and for a moment, the he hated
the stress he had created in her life.