The Obedient Wife (4 page)

But damn, it hurt, too!  She never knew exactly how he managed to set her skin afire so quickly and expertly - except for raw enthusiasm, for which he never seemed to be lacking.  Her entire bottom was evenly ablaze - a tribute to his expertise - leaving none of it neglected and none more
well-roasted
than the rest. 

She had to admit that scenario had never happened to her.  Sean was much too attentive to her to allow that.  He had told her, often, how much he enjoyed seeing the flesh of her distinctly
un
tanned
rear end turning what he described as “a lovely shade of pink, and then successively deeper shades of angry red.”  One thing was certain - none of her bottom felt neglected tonight!

She, of course, hit him whenever he decided to wax eloquent about the horrible states in which he left her bottom.

The hairbrush was a particularly hard implement for her to come to grips with, since she didn’t own any other brushes and she used it every day to tame her hair into submission; he used it to enforce her own submission.  Somehow it felt as if her hairbrush was getting the best of her, and it was.

Unfortunately, this was just the first spanking.  It was supposed to be a smaller one, just for having forgotten herself in the heat of the moment enough to
have apologized
.

But Sean took unusual things to heart, and he really hated it when she said anything denigrating to herself. She knew him well enough that she should have expected that this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.  None of her spankings were.

By the time he finally let go of her - to reach for something even worse, she was quite sure - she was quite certain that she could have fried an egg on her backside
,.
  Ginger felt as if her milky white skin had been boiled or burned somehow, because his gift - such as it was - kept on giving.  The initial horribly painful swats had a lingering effect that left her with rhythmic waves of pain that came and went in time with her pulse.

Just when she was trying - only somewhat successfully - to distract herself from the condition of her roasted flesh, she heard the words she least wanted to hear - whether she’d been spanked or not.

“I want you to bring me the cane.”

He said it calmly, not nastily or angrily or even loudly - not in a manner that would inspire tears in the least. 

Of course, that was exactly what it did, though.  Ginger didn’t just cry, she wailed.  To hell with worrying about what the neighbors thought - especially since they didn’t really have any.

Regardless of her angst she knew he expected her to obey him, so she climbed down from the bed as slowly as she dared, sneaking only occasional looks at him.  He was standing there like the unyielding mountain she often thought him, arms crossed over his chest, unabashedly naked.

And quite fully aroused, if she was any judge. 
As was she.

He didn’t appear the least inclined to be lenient with her, unfortunately.  Despite that fact, she could tell by the way the corners of his mouth were twitching that he was having a hard time not smiling at her comical slowness in heeding his command. 

Ginger figured she had the timing about right by now; she knew just about how far she could push him.

She thought.

And then, as she turned to reach into his closet, to the umbrella stand that had never contained an umbrella in its life, she realized just how wrong she was when he delivered five hard clandestine smacks, saying, “Honey, I would think that when you’ve been sent to fetch your cane you’d be much quicker about it, considering that - one way or the other - that rod is going to end up in my hands and the longer you delay, the more strokes can be added . . .”

She shrieked at that horrid pronouncement and whirled to give him the hated implement.

There was no “thank you” or praise for having been brave enough to do so.  Instead he just said, “You know what position you should be in, don’t you?”

She did, but dreaded it fiercely.

In one corner of their bedroom was a vanity that he had surprised her with for their fifth anniversary.  It was antique mahogany, an absolutely gorgeous piece with a marble top - which he knew she loved - a trifold mirror and volumes of deep drawer space on either side.  As generous as the gift was, though, she knew that he was just eager to get her to organize her huge collection of perfumes, makeup, hair sprays, mousses and gels that daily threatened to take over their shared sinks area in the bathroom.  His poor one bottle of Polo, toothbrush, toothpaste and floss hadn’t a prayer against the sheer volume of her notions and potions, as he called them.

It was a thing of beauty, and the only part of it she came not to love was the chair he’d bought to go with it, which had a generously padded seat. It was a straight-backed affair, and he put it to too many nefarious uses for her comfort.

She’d tried once to replace it with a very pretty low stool with a gorgeous tapestried cushion that could never be employed for any
other
purpose, but that had mysteriously disappeared during the day, somehow, and when she got home from work, the same chair was back in its usual spot . . . resurrected, somehow, from where she’d hidden it at the very back of her dressing closet.  Sean had held her chin in his hand as he told her - in no uncertain terms - that the chair stayed exactly where it was.

Now here she was, draped over the back of it - yet again - a kinky sacrifice, and there he was, standing to one side of her with that horrible thing in his hand.

Not the fun thing, the awful thing.

Her fingers were wrapped around the edges of the seat cushion, her nails biting into the soft wood as she felt him put the length of that thing across her bottom- not as a stroke, but just to remind her of what was coming.

“Now.  You closed your legs to me night before last, didn’t you?”

She desperately wanted to just nod, but he would not consider that an acceptable response.  “Yes, Sir.”

“It wasn’t because you were sick or hurting or any reason other than you got a wild hair up your ass and decided to see if I was paying attention, right?”

Well, she wouldn’t have put it
quite
like that, but in essence, she supposed, he was right.  She didn’t have a very good reason for why she’d misbehaved like that.  She’d
just .
  .  .
wanted
to.  Sometimes when they made love, it was more than a bit overwhelming for her, and she had just wanted to stop the feelings that were flooding her body for a moment in order to gather together the scattered pieces of herself that tended to fly apart the moment he touched her intimately.

But now she most definitely wished she’d just allowed the moment to pass, especially since he began laying tracks across her throbbing bottom the instant she agreed with him, each stroke leaving behind a scarlet ridge that she’d feel for quite some time - that would haunt her and make her consider her behavior a
lot
more carefully . . . for a while, anyway.

Her yips and yelps at the swats he’d delivered with his hands and even the brush paled in comparison to the full on groans, moans and outright screams when that thin but sturdy rod snapped across both of her upturned hillocks.  Worse, she knew he that wasn’t even putting a quarter of his real strength behind them, thank God.  Somehow he always managed to walk that delicate line perfectly, so that she felt most thoroughly chastised but never crossing into any area that might have smacked of abuse.

He was much too careful of her - much too attuned to her - for that.

Yet he did challenge her limits, and had proven many times in the past that she could take much more from him than she thought she could.  It seemed as if this was going to be one of those times.

Of course, he lectured her throughout it all.  They’d been together for so long that - if she’d been able to be the least coherent while over his lap or bent over this chair - she could probably have mouthed the words to most of them along with him, but of course that wouldn’t have been the brightest thing to do, either.

“Didn’t I tell you from the first time we were together - practically from the moment we met - that you were never to close your legs to me?” he asked rhetorically.  “Ever?”

He had and she had looked quite apoplectic at the idea. He had stepped up and taken control of her from the first, even when he probably wasn’t absolutely sure that that was what she wanted.

But he’d known, somehow, it was exactly what she
needed
.

Chapter III

They had met when Ginger had agreed to spend some time that summer - too many years ago to want to recall - at her girlfriend Charlene’s family’s camp on
Tunk
Lake.  It was one of the few family camps that had been allowed to remain in existence when the state came in and turned it into a park. The lake was one of the coldest, cleanest and deepest in the state, and was never going to be any more developed than it already was, with the small state park beach and about five family camps well hidden along the vast shoreline, so much so that it looked completely undeveloped.  Each camp had acres and acres of dense, primeval forest between it and the next camp, so all were essentially completely isolated from each other.

It was a tradition among the families to name their camps, so Charlene’s family had named theirs
Upta
, as in “I’m going
upta
camp this weekend. 
Wanna
come?”

That exactly what Charlene had said to her when inviting her up.  Explicitly detailed directions were given, coordinates laid down, and search and rescue teams were alerted as Ginger had a notoriously bad sense of direction.  Just a few days later she found herself and her ancient Toyota chugging up
Tunk
Mountain, peering around anxiously at the gorgeous scenery and trying not to miss any of the multiple turns her friend had mentioned.

When she finally arrived, she found she was not alone, and it wasn’t her friend that greeted her but rather her brother’s friend - Sean Aloysius Montgomery.

“Are you Ginger?” he asked, already taking the small bag she had packed out of the trunk of her car before she could make a grab for it.

Surprised - and not at all unpleasantly so - by the appearance of this gorgeous hunk of man, Ginger nodded.  “Guilty as charged.”  He was already headed into the huge log cabin, so if she wanted to see where her clothes ended up, she had no choice but to follow him.

“I’m Sean Montgomery, Charlene’s brother Scott’s friend. Charlene is late, as per the usual Montgomery habit, but she - and the rest of the family - should be here before long.”

She should have realized her friend would be late and planned not to arrive when there was just one other person there - however sexy. 

Charlie hadn’t said anything about her camp being quite this big, but Ginger would have bet it slept ten or twelve or more, and it was as gorgeous inside as it was out - homey but beautifully decorated in the brighter earth tones of deep turned-leaf red, soft oranges and varying shades of brown.

It was a picture perfect representation of how a camp
should
look.

He was already well ahead of her as she lagged behind admiring the house, but she caught up to him on the stairs and enjoyed the view from behind as he sauntered up them.  “I’m going to put you in this room, where at night you can sometimes hear the loons calling to each other, and the sun will wake you up naturally every morning.”

“At
dawn
?” she asked, unable to keep the alarm from her voice.  Loons at night were one thing, but dawn was an entirely different prospect.

That tickled him, apparently, because he almost giggled at her abject shock and horror.  She loved the sound of a big man giggling.  “That’s generally when the sun rises, yes, Ma’am -”

Ginger’s eyes popped out even more than they had when she’d seen him.  “Oh my God, you did
not
just ‘Ma’am’ me!”

A bright blush spread over that beautiful face of his - which surprised her somehow.  He didn’t seem the type to blush.  The rest of him, though, didn’t seem in the least concerned about her comment.  In fact, he took a step closer to her, not in a threatening way, really, just a calm,
assertive
one.

“I meant it as a term of respect, not a comment on your age.”

His explanation wasn’t much better than the original insult, but she let it go lest he continue to dig himself even deeper.  Besides that, there was something about the look in his eyes made her not want to push him too much.

It made her
want
to jump him and pin him to the bed, but not push him.

He looked like the kind of man who’d be somewhat dangerous when cornered - or even challenged much, for that matter.  He positively reeked of dominance, and she had a distinct weakness for that type of man.

A
distinct
weakness.
  She could feel the evidence of that fatal flaw dampening her panties as she watched him put her small suitcase on the bed.