Unexpected Consequences Page 8

  A growl of enjoyment rumbled in Jared’s throat, and an answering moan erupted from hers. His stubbled jaw rasped pleasurably against her delicate skin, the tiny prickles ratcheting up her desire. He nipped and nibbled on her pussy lips. She arched her back to deepen the contact and absorb the feeling into her very bones.

  He seized her clit with his mouth as he invaded her channel with two broad fingers. When he sucked directly on the tiny bud, she moaned as savage pleasure bombarded her. She pummeled Jared’s shoulders, but her efforts had little effect on his determination.

  “Oh God, Jared. Please, please…” She gasped, uncertain what she was begging for. “You’re killing me.” Only dimly was she aware of the pain searing her bottom as she writhed on the bed.

  Her clit was growing tighter and tighter, and Melania’s hips thrashed, her body seeking ultimate satisfaction.

  Abruptly Jared released her. Her protest died in her throat as he grabbed her legs and flipped her onto her stomach.

  “On your knees,” he ordered roughly. He burned one tender cheek with a slap, then the other, the stinging pain amplifying her lustful hunger. Mewing, eager, desperate, she scrambled to obey and braced herself on her elbows as she raised her hips. Melania’s pussy convulsed, and she feared she would come right there. Her body teetered on the brink of orgasm. A stroke, a slap—any touch at all—was likely to hurl her over the edge.

  Jared loomed behind her. He spread her open and guided his cockhead to her slickened entrance. He felt huge and thick against her, stirring a response deep in her feminine core. A molten, liquid sensation flowed through her. Her breath caught in her throat.

  She dug her hands into the bed’s coverlet, and she whimpered in painful pleasure as he tunneled into her tight channel, inch by searing inch, stretching and filling until she was completely possessed by him, until the only sensation that existed was the feeling of Jared inside her body.

  This was what she had needed all evening long, this union of body and spirit that rendered all the problems of the day insignificant.

  His cock fully seated, he paused to allow her delicate tissues to adjust. Melania couldn’t wait. An urge to be fucked and fucked hard welled up. She needed his power and force to satisfy her longing to be dominated. Melania wanted to come with his cock pounding into her, battering against her womb. To urge him on, she tried to rock, but Jared dug his fingers into her hips and held her immobile. She sensed he was struggling to maintain control, but she refused to be denied.

  “I need you.” She squeezed, tightening her muscles around his erection. He growled a warning, but his body responded to her command, and his hips began to thrust, a slow slide at first, then picking up force and speed.

  “Damn you, Melania.” His guttural curse sent a victorious thrill coursing through her. He could no more control his response to her than she could to him. With each thrust his hips slapped her aching bottom, the tops of his hair-roughened thighs abrading her tender flesh, but the pain intensified rather than lessened her carnal hunger.

  She was hurtling through space and time in a starburst of light and sensation.

  “Come for me, Melania.” Her stomach fluttered at his throaty command then clenched when he slapped her sex, her pulsing clit, with the palm of his hand. He’d never done that before, and she cried out, not in pain or fright, but in alarm at the shameless, wanton way her body reacted. Fire exploded in her clit, then streaked through her pussy and contracting womb. She spread her legs wider, giving him greater access. Repeatedly he stung her clit, electrifying hypersensitive nerve endings. Melania let out a keening wail as orgasm hit with devastating force, destroying and gratifying at the same time.

  “That’s it, baby. That’s it.” His breath blew hot in her ear, and her heart swelled at his lustful praise.

  Seconds later he groaned as his own orgasm ripped through him. He spasmed, pumping his seed into her womb.

  Jared slumped over Melania, his harsh breathing matching the cadence of her gasps for air. Inside her his cock still throbbed, but the hand that had punished erotically now caressed with tenderness, smoothing over her breasts and stomach. He stroked her sensitive clit in lazy, gentle circles. He cupped her mound with one hand as the other curved over her shoulder. Holding her tight, he rolled to his side and tucked her into the spoon of his body. She sighed with contentment.

  He smoothed the damp hair from her neck and nuzzled her dewy skin with his lips.

  Melania’s head whirled in awe. This evening the sex had been hotter than hot, and she felt as if the fire of their physical union had sealed their emotional bond as well.

  “You’re mine, Melania.” He claimed her breast with his hand and captured the turgid peak firmly between his fingers. He shifted so he could slip a hand between their bodies to caress the globes of her bottom. “Mine forever. I need you.”

  Her heart expanded in her chest as warmth flooded her soul. He was right. She was his, because he was hers.

  With his big body wrapped around hers, she could feel Jared take a breath. “What happened earlier—the spanking—we’re okay, aren’t we?” His tone sounded hesitant, unlike his normal confident, dominant self, and against her back, Jared’s heart thumped.

  Were they okay? Time would tell. Melania didn’t see how she could abide even one more punishment spanking, let alone a lifetime of them, but that was a problem for another day. An admission of uncertainty would hurt Jared, and she didn’t feel ready to deal with the issue yet. “We’re good,” she said, ignoring the twinge to her conscience at the white lie. A puff of air stirred the hair on her nape as Jared exhaled.

  She adored Jared and trusted he loved her above all else. Only that mattered right now. The rest could wait. The exhaustion of a body-shattering orgasm made her eyelids grow heavy. “I love you, Jared,” she murmured sleepily.

  “I love you, sweetheart.”

  Protected in her husband’s arms, Melania drifted to sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Melania’s skirt swirled around her bare legs as she bounded up the steps of the mansion headquarters of the Rod and Cane Society. Her mood was as bright and sunny as the late spring day.

  In the week since the dinner, Melania had returned to work after a month’s vacation for the wedding and honeymoon. The intimacy between her and Jared had blossomed like a carefully tended heirloom rose. Jared had never been more attentive, protective, or voracious in his appetite for her. He complimented her, touched her at every opportunity, and each night loved her to the peak of passion. The contentment that came from being pampered and indulged permeated down to her bones. Her bottom no longer ached, and the redness had faded into memory.

  A memory she had no wish to resurrect. One day she would have to confront the domestic discipline issue, but it didn’t have to be now, when her marriage was so ecstatically perfect. So when Liz had called to invite her to the Wives Auxiliary new member lunch, Melania was reluctant to accept, not wanting to examine the painful details that lurked in the shadows.

  Besides, the lunch was on a Saturday, and after she’d taken depositions all week, Melania figured Jared would want her home with him.

  But when she mentioned the invitation and that she was going to decline, Jared had pulled her onto his lap. “I think you should go. It’s only for a couple of hours.” He’d nuzzled her neck. “You’re a member now, and you’ll need to fill out some paperwork. Liz can show you around, introduce you to some of the other wives.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to belong to an organization that encouraged a practice she found unpleasant, but with Jared’s hands under her blouse, tugging on her nipples, his erection pressing against her bottom, her objection wilted. She didn’t want to disturb the intimacy they’d found by refusing outright. Besides, she liked Liz, and the older woman had been very kind. And if she was honest, Melania had to admit to being curious about wives who not only allowed themselves to be spanked, but who gave it their full and wholehearted approval.

  So here s
he was. Melania took a deep breath and opened the door to find herself in a rotunda. She’d never entered the Rod and Cane building before. She looked around curiously. A long time ago, the edifice had been a governor’s mansion.

  Her silver high-heel sandals clicked on the marble floor that still bore the state’s seal. Thick, luxurious drapes hung from floor-to-ceiling windows under a domed ceiling. More than a dozen portraits—oil paintings—graced the walls. The age of the portraits dated from the present back to the 1940s, judging from the style of dress of the men featured. She was reassured by the ordinary opulence of the rotunda. The building could still be the governor’s mansion. Her eyes widened, however, when she spotted a portrait of her father and realized the men in the paintings were former Rod and Cane leaders.

  She glanced around and, not seeing Liz, took a seat on an ornate settee. She surreptitiously watched as perfectly ordinary-looking women and a few men entered and checked in at a desk at the far end of the chamber. The women outnumbered the men by at least three to one.

  When Liz arrived moments later, Melania rose to her feet and signaled her with a wave. Liz greeted her with an embrace. “I’m so glad you decided to come,” Liz said.

  “Thank you for inviting me.” Melania hugged her back.

  “You look so pretty.”

  “Thank you.” Melania had chosen the floral print skirt and the simple white corset top because it made her feel feminine, and she needed the extra confidence. Her jewelry was light; she wore only pearl stud earrings and a teardrop pearl pendant set in platinum that Jared had given her. “I wasn’t sure what to wear, what was appropriate. I hope this is okay.” Melania smoothed her hands over her hips to erase imaginary wrinkles.

  “It’s perfect. You’ll see a little of everything.” Liz wore taupe silk slacks, a cream-on-cream long-sleeved jacquard blouse, and another pair of ballet flats, also in cream. Classically chic.

  “You look very elegant,” Melania complimented her.

  “Thank you.” Liz smiled.

  Melania glanced around. “I expected to see more men.”

  Liz chuckled. “It’s a Wives Auxiliary event. The men clear out to give us space to do our thing. Are you ready? We have time before the program starts, so I could give you the grand tour, and maybe you can take care of some paperwork?”

  Melania nodded. “Jared told me there would be forms to fill out, and I would like a tour. This is my first time here. I met Jared at a Rod and Cane event, but it was held at a hotel.” She twisted her mouth wryly. “It was a fund-raiser for victims of domestic violence.”

  “We advocate domestic discipline, not domestic abuse.” Liz’s look was reproving, though her tone was even. “The society provides a haven to any member wife who is abused and assists with prosecution of the batterer. Thank goodness it has happened only rarely, so most of our effort focuses on helping women outside the protection of the Rod and Cane Society.”

  She touched Melania’s arm as she studied her face. “You’ve had some time to think about what happened. Do you believe Jared abused you?”

  “No! God, no.” Melania shook her head. She didn’t blame Jared. He’d been 100 percent honest with her about his expectations and his intentions. It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t paid attention. “I gave him blanket permission before we got married, and he asked me again before he did it.” She couldn’t deny she’d given her consent willingly. Naively, ignorantly, but willingly.

  “But truthfully, Liz? I hated it. It was awful.” Melania’s stomach fluttered. Besides being painful, the physical reprimand had awakened her from the fairy tale she’d built around herself.

  “How are things now?”

  “They’re wonderful. Better than wonderful.” A deeper level of tenderness and passion had infused their new marriage, but she was reluctant to attribute her marital harmony to spanking. She didn’t see how anything good could arise from something so painful and humiliating. It embarrassed her that she had been spanked, but it humiliated her more that the man she loved believed she needed one. She wanted to bury the entire uncomfortable incident.

  “Glad to hear it.” Liz was too polite to say “I told you so,” but Melania could tell from her expression she credited the positive outcome to discipline. “Let’s take care of the paperwork first, okay?” Liz gestured toward the opposite end of the room.

  They crossed the anteroom to the reception area, where Melania had seen people stopping.

  “Good morning, Janeka,” Liz greeted the receptionist. “This is Melania, Mrs. Jared Traynor. She needs to complete her new member documents.”

  “Welcome, Mrs. Traynor.” The elegantly dressed African American woman smiled. She wore a dark rose name badge on her jacket that read Mrs. Lewis Johnston. “We’ve been expecting you.” She pulled a folder from a small stack.

  “This is your member manual.” She handed Melania a slim booklet. “It contains the rules of conduct, the various committees you can join, a calendar of events, and a member directory.”

  She extracted a sheet of paper from the folder. “This copy of the rules is for the Society’s files. Please read it and initial the confidentiality section here.” She marked an X in yellow. “And sign at the bottom. You’ll want to use your given legal name.”

  Melania picked up the pen and started to sign.

  Liz stopped her. “You need to read that first.”

  Melania grinned. “Spoken like a lawyer.” She scanned the document. The rules appeared innocuous: act respectfully, be on time to events, actively welcome new members. No jeans or shorts were permitted in the building. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, shocking, or even signature worthy. Melania shrugged.

  The confidentiality clause prohibited members from revealing to nonmembers any information about the Society. Violation of this rule would result in immediate disciplinary action.

  Melania initialed at the X and signed her name.

  “You’ll need this any time you wish to enter beyond this reception area. Guard this with your life.” Janeka handed Melania a light pink badge imprinted with the name Mrs. Jared Traynor. As Melania pinned it to her top, she noticed Liz had donned her badge, a red one bearing the name Mrs. Otis Davenport. That all the badges bore their husbands’ names with a Mrs. tacked on did not escape her attention. She also wondered about the colors.

  “Do the colors have any special significance?”

  Janeka nodded. “The Auxiliary has five tiers of membership. New members are light pink. Liz, as one of the highest-ranking members, has a red badge. She is the Auxiliary’s liaison on the Society’s advocacy and legal committees. We have only a handful of red-badge Auxiliary members.”

  Melania raised her eyebrows. “I am in esteemed company.”

  “I want other women to get as much out of domestic discipline as I have.” Liz looked at Melania. “Now that you’re official, let’s do the tour. We’ll start with the museum promenade.”

  They said good-bye to Janeka and rounded the desk to the heavy wooden double doors behind it. A burley, uniformed man greeted them with a nod, discreetly checking their name badges. He served as a bouncer and doorman rolled into one, a living example of the importance the Rod and Cane Society placed on security and privacy.

  With a flourish, the guard opened the intricately carved doors and ushered Melania and Liz into the wide hallway. The marble floor continued into the hall but was protected by thick, sound-absorbing oriental rugs. More velvet drapes, these pulled closed, adorned the windows. Huge chandeliers dangled from the tall medallioned ceiling, while crystal wall sconces cast an ambient glow. Several high-backed sofa rounds, their red leather upholstery worn to a smooth patina, formed a row down the center of the hall. Women congregated in small groups, chatting, while a couple more with pale pink name badges peered into mahogany display cases.

  Melania could have appreciated the understated, elegant opulence if not for the paintings.

  Her gaze was riveted to the artwork. All similarity to a governor’s
residence vanished, and she understood why security was so tight. The heat of shock and embarrassment flooded her face.

  The paintings depicted women being disciplined. The oldest ones showed ladies, their dresses and petticoats ruched around their waists, their drawers down to their knees as a switch from a tree branch was applied to their buttocks. Flappers with bobbed hair and sleeveless dresses bared their bottoms to leather straps and wooden paddles. Against the backdrop of a 1950s-era kitchen, a housewife was being paddled over a man’s knee. Melania wondered if the woman’s crime had been not putting to good use the new laborsaving appliances she could see in the background of the painting.

  “You understand the need for discretion,” Liz said softly.

  Melania nodded, although for all the attention the other women paid the paintings, they could have been of flowers or still lifes of fruit. Was she the only one shocked by them? She understood why a man would want to rein in his wife’s behavior; she still failed to fathom why a wife would want to be spanked or would advocate it for other women. Even if Melania knew she deserved punishment, she still wanted to avoid it!

  Melania realized a good portion of her ignorance about Rod and Cane was not her fault, as her parents had hidden the truth about their practice and the organization. However, she didn’t blame them. How would one’s parents explain that Daddy spanks Mama when she’s bad? What if she had known and had mentioned it to her friends at school? She shuddered to think of the complications she might have unleashed. No, her parents were right to keep their private life tucked close.

  There had been a couple of clues to their lifestyle, but all of them were circumstantial and meaningless without the context, which she hadn’t had. Her mother always deferred punishment of Melania to her father, telling her discipline was a husband’s duty and prerogative. And there was the wary look her mother would get if asked to meet Melania’s father in his den. But how was Melania supposed to know what that meant?