Disciplinary Measures (A Rod and Cane Society Spring Fling) Read online

  But she needed to be disciplined. As this would be her first punishment spanking, an important precedent would be set. He needed to decide how to do it and how harsh to be.

  He half wished she’d withheld her confession a tad longer. He’d planned to give the minx the fucking she deserved. She’d omitted panties! He smiled and shook his head. He’d gone from zero to hard when he lifted her skirt to swat her tush and found her bare-assed, her sweet pussy exposed. To teach her a lesson, he’d permitted her to go out in public without underwear to let her worry about possible public exposure.

  The joke was on him. Her pantieless condition had consumed his thoughts, stirring fantasies. If he’d slipped his hand under her skirt, would he have found her naked cunt as wet as it had been every other time he’d touched her these past two weeks? What if he dragged her to the restaurant hallway, raised her skirt, and took her against the wall? Or fucked her on the hood of the car as motorists tooted encouragement?

  Her consent to be taken in hand at his discretion had awakened not only a sexual insatiability but also dominance in him, which expressed itself outside and inside the bedroom. Her submission during their sexual encounters filled him with satisfaction. And every time he dominated her and found her wet and wanton, her body begging for it, it bound him to her.

  The crack of his palm smacking her ass and her gasps and whimpers played like music to his ears; the blush of her rounded bottom as it quivered under his hand provided beauty to his eyes. He found many excuses to slap her ass. But until now it had been all in fun.

  For the first time, he would punish her for real. They had reached a turning point in their marriage.

  Chapter Five

  Linc set his grandmother’s wooden ladder-back chair beside the bed, retrieved his belt from the floor, and set it next to the chair.

  Gina huddled in the corner as he’d left her, but hiccups shook her shoulders, and she emitted sniffling noises. The light, playful smacks he’d given her before dinner hadn’t marked her with any color, but that would soon change. Her sexy bottom would blush very red indeed. He wished it was the result of an erotic spanking and not punishment, but he had to follow through.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  She did. Wetness trickled from her eyes. Her lower lip, swollen as if she’d worried it with her teeth, quivered. He disliked seeing her cry, but more tears were yet to come before the evening ended.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

  She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “No… Maybe.” She peered at him through a veil of hair. “Not you so much as the spanking itself.”

  Her answer reassured him. Domestic discipline shouldn’t make her fear him, but she should have a healthy respect for the consequences of disobedience, disrespect, and dishonesty.

  “And I’m upset that I let you down. That I disappointed you,” she added.

  He held his arms open. “Come here.” She ran to him, and he embraced her. She buried her face against his neck and shoulder; her tears dampened his skin. “I did some reflection too. I’m not disappointed in you. I’m proud of your restraint these last two weeks,” he said. “But your lack of communication and your dishonesty need to be addressed.”

  “I know.” She sighed.

  He brushed his mouth across her lips. “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you too.”

  “Let’s get this over with.” He pushed her out of his arms and led her to the chair. The ankle bracelet he’d given her tinkled with each step. Her eyes filled with tears when she spotted the belt, and she swallowed. “We’ll start with a hand spanking,” he said.

  He sat, and without further direction, she laid herself over his lap, bracing her hands on one side, her feet on the other.

  He warmed up her ass with a brisk massage. She relaxed against his thighs in pliant submission. He’d never loved this woman more than he did in this moment.

  “Thank you,” he said hoarsely over the lump in his throat.

  “For what?”

  He gripped her waist. “For trusting me.” He brought his hand down on her ass, leaving a red outline. She cried out.

  He slapped harder than he did for pleasure. Reflexively she attempted to block the blows, so he pinned her wrists against her lower back and continued to spank.

  He spread his swats around the plump surface of her ass but also delivered two and three spanks to the same spot to heighten the sting. When crimson handprints had blended to an even stain, he grabbed the belt and doubled it over. She had confessed. She had been good. He would be lenient with just a few lashes.

  Though she couldn’t see, she must have sensed what was about to happen, because she stiffened.

  He struck her ass with the loop of leather. The loud crack melded with her cry of pain. A scarlet strip stood out on her rosy skin. Red on red.

  He snapped the leather against her other cheek, and her color deepened. She shrieked with every blow when he whipped each side four times, then struck the sit spot at the tops of her thighs. She would remember this spanking for a long time, would feel its effects for a while too. He would carry it in his heart—the crack of leather on flesh, her tears, the throb in his palm from the hand spanking.

  But most of all he would remember her obedience. He vowed to do right by her—to love, respect, and discipline her. He promised himself he would be the man, the head of household she deserved.

  He dropped the belt to the carpet. “It’s over now, babe.”

  Sobs racked her body. Her ass glowed fiery red, and three of the lashes had welted. He fingered her raised flesh, and she jerked. He lifted her, and she curled into his arms and cried against his chest.

  “I-I’m s-s-sorry for not t-telling you,” she said.

  “I know you are. We can consider the matter settled.” He rubbed circles on her back. He kissed her ear and rocked her. “When the bill comes, I’ll pay it without mention.”

  “The spanking wasn’t fun like the other times.”

  Context, emotion, force—all defined the difference between erotic and disciplinary spanking. “No, punishment isn’t meant to be fun.” Cradling her, he stood. “Let’s put something on your ass.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I have some gel. It will soothe the pain.”

  She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “I’m not complaining, but what’s the point of spanking me if you eliminate the pain afterward?”

  He chuckled. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? Let’s say, since it’s your first punishment, I’m inclined to go easy. Besides, it won’t eliminate the discomfort, only ease it.”

  After placing her prone on the bed, he retrieved the items he wanted from the bathroom and sat beside her. He squeezed a dollop of aloe into his palm and smoothed the gel over a butt cheek. She gasped and tensed, but then relaxed, wiggled under his hands. “That’s cold! It hurts to be touched, but it feels good too.”

  “Would you rather I not apply the gel?”

  “No, I like it. I want you to touch me, even if it hurts.”

  At her words, blood coursed southward. How little it took to arouse him. He rubbed aloe into her other cheek, desire tightening in his body. “Your ass is burning hot.”

  “You don’t need to tell me.”

  With a fingertip he traced the welts streaking her ass. The mark of his discipline. He did not enjoy causing her pain. Well, perhaps a little. But what pleased him the most was how she presented herself to him, her submission. Besides curbing her profligate spending, domestic discipline had profoundly affected him also, evoking strong urges to protect, possess, and yes, punish her. The blush of her ass, the writhing of her soft body, her involuntary whimpers stirred a primitive gratification.

  He capped the bottle and stripped off the remainder of his clothing. Naked, he straddled her thighs, his erection bobbing against his lower stomach. He massaged her back and shoulders with firm but sweeping strokes. Splayed across her feminine form, his hands appeared large, his skin rough when
compared to the silk of hers. Her back was smooth and unmarred; her ass, red with just a few raised areas.

  His cock twitched, fluid pearling. Her face against the pillow, Gina closed her eyes and sighed, curved her lips into a smile. Relaxed, contented. Not quite the state he wanted her in, but that was about to change.

  He scooted lower and nudged her thighs apart with his knee. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.” She obeyed, and he knelt between them, grabbed a pillow. “Lift up,” he said. Her eyes flew open, but she did as ordered, and he wedged the pillow under her hips, raising her bottom. His chest swelled. He bent his head and kissed each red, welted mound.

  He ran his hands up and down her thighs before settling them on her ass, spreading her cheeks. With his thumbs, he separated her folds. He stared at her pink cunt and her brown, puckered asshole. His. Both of them.

  “Linc! What are you doing?” She lifted her head.

  “Appreciating the view.”

  She blushed to her roots and buried her face in the pillow.

  He grabbed another tube he’d brought from the bathroom. He’d been training her anally the past couple of weeks, and her back entrance tolerated his finger easily as he worked the cream into her. Next he lubed the silicone plug.

  “This will be larger than what you’re used to,” he warned. She’d gotten to where she could accept the smaller plugs without any discomfort, so he would take her to the next level. “You’re ready for it.”

  A tiny hesitation, then, “Yes, Linc.”

  He inserted the plug in increments, in part for her body to adjust to a girth much larger than what she’d gotten accustomed to, and in part because he loved to watch the penetration. The sight of her tight brown ring expanding, her body surrendering to the intrusion, fascinated him. She whimpered with the sweetest sound of pleasure-pain when he got to the widest part, and he held the plug right there so she’d feel the stretch, the burn. So he could savor the view. Then he seated it.

  Sometimes he plugged her during foreplay, removing the toy before intercourse; other times he bade her to wear one when she went about her household chores. Once he’d sent her to her job with one. Thinking about her condition had distracted him at his work and made him horny as hell. She’d reported a similar effect. When they’d both arrived home, the sex had been explosive.

  Using his clean hand, he penetrated her pussy with one, then two fingers. God, she was wet. And with the plug taking up space on the other side of her perineum, fucking tight.

  “Be right back.” He dashed to the bath to wash.

  Upon return, he stood beside the bed, stroking his cock, enjoying the vision of her rump, up and plugged, marked and claimed. Beautiful. “Get up,” he said. “Get out of bed.”

  She rolled off the mattress, wincing as her ass connected with the surface, then swayed on her feet. She raised her eyebrows with a question.

  “On your knees, please.” He pressed on her shoulders. She knelt, and he guided his cock to her mouth.

  Her submissive pose, her expression of desire, and her sultry moan as she took him into her mouth almost ended it for him. Pressure surged. So did panic. He grabbed a handful of her hair, twisted it around his fist to hold her off. She whimpered but remained motionless.

  So help him God, if she so much as twitched, he’d whip her ass again.

  He concentrated on building design plans until the crisis passed. He relaxed his grip but maintained a hold. “Okay.”

  She swirled her tongue around the thick ridge outlining the bulbous head of his cock and licked the fluid weeping from the tip. Shielding her teeth, she worked her mouth up and down his shaft. Heat and tension built with the sensation of her slick warmth enveloping his cock. He wound her hair tighter around his fist and thrust deep into her mouth.

  Then he yanked away. He lifted her and plopped her on the bed’s edge. He ignored her cry when her chastised buttocks hit the bed, and dropped to his knees between her legs, forcing them wider still. He filled his mouth with her taste and texture, licked at her cunt. He groaned as he feasted on swollen pussy and feminine desire. He pulled back her clitoral hood, spread her folds, and lashed the engorged nub. Moaning, she bucked against his face, yanked his hair to pull him closer.

  With his free hand, he pinched her nipples. Then he abandoned her cunt for a moment to bring his mouth to her tit. He sucked on a turgid bud forcefully enough to bring blood to the surface, then bit it. She whimpered but pressed into his mouth. “Oh God, Linc.”

  “You like that?” He sucked and bit again, shoved two fingers into her creaming, clenching cunt.

  “Yes. Don’t stop.” Her eyes were glazed, her nostrils flared.

  He lovingly punished the other nipple until both looked like raspberries. She might be bruised in the morning. He crushed her mouth under his lips, took his pleasure, staked his claim, then brought her hand to her pussy. “Hold yourself open,” he ordered.

  She exposed herself, and he growled, drawing on her clit while banging her cunt with two fingers. Deep inside, her muscled walls contracted.

  “Oh God, Linc!” She panted, her entire body quivering. “I can’t hold it.”

  “No! Don’t come.” He speared her clitoris with his tongue to challenge her further. She jerked and scrunched her face as if in pain, fisted her hands until her knuckles blanched. He sucked the nub, watching her sublimate her body’s demands to serve him. God, she was beautiful.

  “Linc.” She tossed her head from side to side. “Please let me. Please.”

  The please did it. He leaped to his feet and positioned his cock at her weeping slit. Tightened by the toy, her body resisted at first, but he covered her mouth with his and thrust hard and deep. She cried out, but he kissed away the sound.

  Her cunt squeezed his rod like a vise. He groaned.

  He paused to let her to accommodate the double penetration of cock and plug, but when she locked her heels around his ass and lifted her pelvis, he braced his fists on the bed and fucked her with a swivel and a thrust, grinding his cock against her clit. She whimpered, but he knew the sound came from pleasure. He pounded into her, his thrusts pushing her away, and he captured her against his chest, fucked faster, harder. Needing her to unravel.

  “Now. You. May. Come,” he bit out.

  She exploded, screaming his name, her cunt convulsing. He emptied himself of everything but love and a sense of ownership. His. She was his.

  Chapter Six

  “Bank…check. Dry cleaners…check.” Regina ticked through her mental list of errands after work. She wanted to get her chores done early in the week because she and Linc were going to a Rod and Cane Society retreat along the coast for husbands and wives new to the lifestyle to learn more about DD.

  Their attendance would be tantamount to admitting that she and her husband practiced domestic discipline. Although eager to learn more, it embarrassed her that everyone would know her husband spanked her. She expected some awkward moments.

  But when you were over-the-moon happy, what did discomfort matter?

  She had expected to hate domestic discipline, not love it. Six weeks had passed since the experiment began, a month since the punishment. She loved Linc more than ever and trusted him with her heart, soul, and body. As he’d promised, when the credit card bill came, he’d paid it without a word of censure. It was so pleasant not to fight, not to rehash old issues, not to have to worry about what she’d done.

  She’d never felt more loved, more cosseted, more respected. So when Linc sat her down and suggested that another month of shopping restriction would be beneficial, she’d agreed because she trusted his judgment. After her restriction ended, she would receive an allowance to give her a limit. She could admit now that she needed him to set boundaries for her. After soul-searching, she realized she spent money as an emotional response to stress, to soothe herself when she was upset or to avoid facing a problem. She counted on Linc’s loving support and the certainty of physical consequences to keep her on track.

 
She glanced at a favorite clothing store as she drove past but ignored the tug and headed for the supermarket. She’d pick up a couple of steaks and a bottle of wine, treat Linc to a meat-and-potatoes meal.

  On Eleventh Avenue, she performed a double take at the sight of a tall, dark-haired man, a helmet clutched under his arm, bent over a motorcycle at a dealership. She swiveled her head to get a better glimpse, but she’d gone too far to see. That’s not Linc. What are you thinking?

  She stopped at a red light, drummed her acrylic nails on the steering wheel. Not Linc. That man looked like he was prepared to hop aboard the bike and take it for a spin. The light changed to green, she pulled into the intersection, executed a U-turn, and went back to put her mind at rest.

  She inched close enough to get a good look but not so near that she would attract attention, and watched as the salesman dropped a key into the man’s outstretched palm. He was the same build and size as Linc, but he’d donned the helmet, and she couldn’t see his face. The man who couldn’t be Linc straddled the motorcycle, revved it up, and roared out of the lot.

  She performed an illegal U-turn and followed him. You’re gonna feel like an idiot, she chided herself. Linc wouldn’t buy a motorcycle after putting you on shopping restriction, after spanking you. But with every turn that led closer to her house, hope dwindled.

  Her heart hammered when he motored down a quiet residential street. Her street. Tears flooded her eyes when he steered into a driveway. Her driveway. She slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road. He cut the motor, leaned the bike on its kickstand, and swung off. The world shattered at her feet when he removed his helmet.