Confessions of a Kinky Wife
Confessions of a Kinky Wife
Justine Elyot
Is it possible to be a confident twenty-first century woman and submit to your lover?From Justine Elyot, the bestselling author of ‘On Demand’ and ‘Kinky’, ‘Confessions of a Kinky Wife’ is the perfect read for anyone who loves Sylvia Day’s Crossfire trilogy or ‘The Secret Diary of a Submissive’.It's difficult, as a modern woman, to admit that you want your lover to punish you. Not just a fun spanking in the bedroom – real punishment.Philippa knows what she wants. She wants her police officer husband to take her in hand.But how do you ask your lover to hurt you? And, if they're willing, how do you make sure that being taken in hand doesn't get out of hand?Philippa and Dan explore the secret world of Domestic Discipline. Perhaps it will suit them, perhaps it won't. But they mean to find out, one way or the other.Other titles in the Secret Diary series are:Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse by Lily HarlemConfessions of a Kinky Divorcee by Lana FoxConfessions of a Greedy Girl by Madelynne Ellis
Confessions of a Kinky Wife
Justine Elyot
(http://www.mischiefbooks.com)
Table of Contents
Title Page (#u9b77001f-5067-56e6-853c-e56ef4028d46)
23 June (#ua79b5d46-4566-5a7a-9698-382b7bae23fd)
24 June (#u80337070-a9c4-50c8-bef8-cc0b066f13aa)
15 July (#u8a5ebb22-a3ea-5d68-acfd-62080449fc2f)
17 July (#uc00b7295-e793-57bf-bb53-050245591ab7)
20 July (#u79dda10f-5757-5050-8bce-5f56b327fe0b)
21 July (#u9d7e6cb0-409d-59ee-8e3b-d365651f013d)
25 July (#u64f90a9a-2694-5005-8f5f-b715c14794e3)
26 July (#u6e3a5f45-6062-592c-a9d3-0678bdf41237)
27 July (#litres_trial_promo)
1 August (#litres_trial_promo)
3 August (#litres_trial_promo)
5 August (#litres_trial_promo)
7 August (#litres_trial_promo)
28 August (#litres_trial_promo)
30 August (#litres_trial_promo)
25 December (#litres_trial_promo)
More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)
About Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
23 June (#ulink_e07f3724-4ef5-58e7-9586-e0930e3f73e0)
OK, tonight’s the night. It really is. It has to be.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve almost brought the subject up.
I’ve rehearsed the words seventy-three times while I’ve cooked ‘special’ meals or clipped my stockings on to my suspenders or even just lain sprawled with his head in my lap watching something vaguely sexy on TV.
I always start with some kind of mention of how I’m a ‘bad girl’, just to see what he might say to that. But he always says, ‘Just the way I like you, love,’ and there we are, taking the vanilla fork in the road again, while he reaches for another handful of popcorn and pats my thigh absent-mindedly.
This makes me sound like some kind of unsatisfied horn dog but I should stress that I’m not unhappy with our sex life, and he can be prevailed upon for some slap and tickle when the mood’s right and we’re in the thick of things. It’s always jokey and short-lived and self-conscious, though. A couple of quick swats on the bum when I bend over for rear entry, for instance, because he likes the way my cheeks jiggle. I always moan over-dramatically, encouraging more, but he must think I’m just desperate for him, because he never repeats the move.
Yeah, I know it’s ironic. Communication. Exactly what I spend all day teaching troubled teenagers about. Yet, when it comes to translating my fantasies into words for my lovely husband, I’m useless.
But tonight I’m taking the bull by the horns. (Please provide your own rude joke.) Could any night be more perfect? Our third wedding anniversary. And what’s your third wedding anniversary? Oh, yes – leather!
I’ve heard all the bawdy suggestions, thanks. Catwoman outfit, check. Strap-on, check. Gimp mask, check. None of these are what I had in mind for him, though.
I went to a little shop in town that specialised in leather goods. It was surprisingly hard to find exactly what I wanted. Everything was the wrong colour or gimmicky, over-designed with stupid monogram buckles.
What I wanted was a plain, old-fashioned man’s belt, tan leather with that authentic cowhide kind of look and feel. Smooth on one side, suedey on the other, and with a big brass buckle. And the weight had to be right. I don’t mean right for sitting around his hips and keeping his trousers up either. I mean right for wrapping around his fist and giving me a good thrashing with.
I browsed dozens of the wrong kind, wrinkling my nose at their unsatisfactory smell. They were too light, borderline plasticky. I needed that good, deep leather aroma that travelled like lightning from my nostrils to my clit.
When I found it, I had to take a moment, look over my shoulder to make sure nobody saw me, and breathe deep and long.
Oh, yes. That was the one. Right colour, right weight, right buckle, right feel, right smell. This was the belt my husband could whip me with.
I felt ridiculously coy taking it to the counter. I had to keep telling myself that it’s perfectly usual for a man to receive a belt as a present and nobody’s going to assume I’m a pervert. But I just felt that the man who untagged it and wrapped it and took my money knew perfectly well what I wanted it for. And he thought I deserved it too.
By the time I left the shop, I was in a stew of arousal. I walked to the car with wet knickers and nipples punching their way out of my bra cups. When I got home, I took the belt out of its bag and lay on the sofa, sniffing it, while I slipped my hands inside my knickers.
I fantasised about Dan coming home early and catching me at it. In my fantasy he was still wearing his uniform, even though he has to change at the end of each shift in real life, and he strode over, snatched the belt off me and ordered me over the back of the sofa.
‘What have I told you about that?’ he said sternly, pulling my knickers down to my knees. ‘You don’t do it without me. You don’t come when I’m not around. Is that so hard to understand?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘So why can’t you behave yourself?’
‘I guess I’m a bad girl, Sir.’
‘Yes. And you know what happens to bad girls.’
He was wrapping the buckle end around his fist.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘What?’
He trailed the V-shaped end over my bare bum cheeks, cold and ticklish.
‘They get punished, Sir.’
‘That’s right. You’re going to learn your lesson, Pip. It’s going to be a hard one, but that’s what you need.’
That’s what I need. Oh, yes.
He was only halfway through the spanking, the leather falling full-strength, heating my arse like fire, before I came, really hard. I jerked around so much that the belt slid off my face and on to the carpet.
No sign of Dan, though. Hardly surprising because his shift didn’t finish till nine.
My orgasm had ironed out the knots a tough day’s work had added to my spine, though, so it was all good. I headed for the shower and thought, yet again, about how I was going to talk him into what I had in mind.
So, anyway, wedding anniversary. Tonight’s the night and I’ve got champagne on ice for when we get home from the restaurant. I’ve also got the dark red silk underwear on underneath this dress. I’m waiting for him to change into his best suit and then we’re off out. The Talk will happen. Wish me luck.
24 June (#ulink_da4c887d-ec44-5198-882a-3de2ab117619)
It was a lovely night, amazing food and the most romantic setting, overlooking the river, but the restaurant was a little … intimate. By which I mean that it was very difficult not to overhear the conversations taking place at other tables.
This made me nervous, and so did Dan, because he looked so bloody gorgeous. He had on the dark suit he wore to my sister’s wedding and he knows I can’t resist him in that. He knows because he got to shag me up against the register office back wall while the groom’s family photographs were being taken on the front steps. He looked utterly, unbelievably, mouth-wateringly sexy, with his two top shirt buttons undone, so a little chest hair tantalised the eye.
Dan looks good in everything, mind you, whether he’s patrolling the streets in his uniform or mowing the lawn in ripped jeans and a tight T-shirt. He makes my tongue hang out. I have to keep remembering to put it away. He’s tall and dark and all the running after criminals keeps him fit. He has a face that can do anything, as well. I’ve seen him go from boyish twinkle to roguish glint to 100 per cent wicked in the time it takes to raise an eyebrow.
I remember how he bowled me over the first time we met. I sat there on that orange moulded plastic chair, watching him in a trance. I’m not sure I breathed once in the twenty minutes it took for him to question and charge the kid I was acting as Appropriate Adult for. The only thought in my mind was Who? Is? That?
Obviously I stayed professional, much as I was dying to play footsie under the battered, cigarette-burnt old desk. The way he flicked his eyes over me from time to time made me think there might be a little bit of something similar going on with him too.
When I left the station, he caught me on the steps, all breathless and tousled. God, I wanted to wrestle him to the floor then and there. I restrained myself, what with being in the company of a furious fifteen-year-old, and simply nodded and smiled while he volunteered to give a talk on police/community relations at my Vulnerable Young People’s group.
I think I actually said, ‘Awesome!’
The fifteen-year-old teased me about it all the way back to the children’s home.
‘He wants you, Pip. Better watch out if you don’t want Plod in yer knickers.’
I blanked this line of conversation, but inside I wanted to hear more.
He came and did the talk to a group who started out hostile and ended up charmed and positive. He has the knack of making people want him to like them, so that they strive to please him. It’s a neat trick – I wish I had it.
Anyway, he’d won them over, so just imagine how I felt. He’d seduced me already – the physical side of it was a mere formality. We sat in my office after locking up the building and shared a bottle of wine and talked very earnestly about the social issues affecting my Vulnerable Young People until the switch flipped and every single thing we said seemed to be a form of verbal foreplay.
We kissed against my filing cabinet and ended up at my flat. I don’t think we’ve spent a night apart since, shift patterns permitting.
And now here we are, three years married, and he’s still the funniest, sweetest, kindest, most capable and sexy and sometimes slightly annoying but not that much man in the world.
So why the hell was I contemplating asking him for more?
In the low-voiced, elegant atmosphere of the restaurant, I panicked. I couldn’t go through with it. What if I scared him? Why would I risk my marriage to this man?
The first thing he said on sitting down was ‘I’ve got a little something for you.’ And he rustled a package inside a shopping bag.
‘Can’t we … do the presents at home?’
‘But you’ve brought mine.’ He looked puzzled. I love his puzzled face. Just adorable.
‘I know, I just … it’s a bit … it’s not very private here, is it?’
‘Oh.’ His eyes lit up. ‘That kind of present, eh?’
Fuck. Now he was expecting something from a sex shop. Oh, God. I wanted to bolt from the restaurant, take the belt back to the shop and exchange it, quickety-quick, for a lacy basque and a set of nipple tassels.
‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ I said.
‘It’s my wedding anniversary,’ he said. ‘If I can’t get my hopes up on my wedding anniversary, when can I get them up?’
‘Good point,’ I said, then, suddenly inspired, ‘So, what are your hopes?’
What if I could bring him to confess his own hidden desire for kink? What if he longed to redden my bottom but was just too worried it would appal me?
‘For tonight?’
He was about to lean over the table and murmur into my ear, but the waiter appeared with our champagne cocktails and menus, so the moment was lost.
‘I really want to give you your present,’ he said, sipping and watching me.
‘I don’t mind waiting.’
‘I know you don’t. But I want to give you it now. I’ve been looking forward to it.’
‘Oh …’ I looked around. Everybody seemed pretty involved with their own conversations. ‘Go on, then.’
He beamed and handed over his bag, then retreated into his champagne glass, sipping with measured calm.
I opened the delicate tissue wrapping and had to clap a hand over my mouth to stop myself screaming.
‘Happy anniversary, my darling little Twinkletoes,’ he said, flushing with pleasure at my reaction.
‘Is this genuine?’
‘It’s not a bloody knock-off. What do you take me for?’
‘A genuine Mulberry Alexa? Christ, Dan, these cost a fortune.’
‘Well, I got it from an outlet store,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ I turned the deliciously soft tan leather every which way, putting it up to my face and sniffing, just the way I did with the belt. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever been given.
He was perfect. Why would I want to change him? I felt guilty and cheap for even considering it.
‘You don’t have to say anything. It’s written all over your face.’
He sat back and basked, while I became conscious of the indulgent good wishes of the other diners. Suddenly the parcel at my feet became my nemesis, a terrible mistake. I should have got him something else.
Too late.
‘So, come on then. Hand it over.’
He held out a palm. Lately, he couldn’t do that without me imagining how it would feel cracking down on my bum. Tonight was no different.
I shut my eyes for a second of unspoken prayer, then reached down for the gift.
The shop had been a high-end establishment and they had put the belt in a smart silk-lined box with a gold monogram. When Dan unwrapped it, I think he was expecting something you’d find in a jeweller’s, like cufflinks or a watch.
He looked surprised when he opened the box.
‘Oh,’ he said, pulling it out. It was rolled up like a coiled snake, a deadly spiral in his hand. ‘This is a very de luxe number, isn’t it?’
‘Do you like it? I just thought it would look really good on you.’
Suddenly I was desperate that he didn’t guess my true intention. I wanted to turn back that tide, ignore my stupid repressed fantasies and live with what I had.
‘It looks vintage,’ he said.
God, he had uncoiled it and was letting it slide around his palm, then he pulled it taut between his hands and I nearly doubled over with arousal.
Surely he must see the effect this had on me? Instant wetness, so much so that I worried about leaving a damp patch on the chair.
‘It’s pretty sexy,’ I said.
He gave me a crooked smile. ‘You think?’
Waiter-with-chronic-bad-timing appeared to take our order and the sexual vibe lowered to a simmer, but it was nonetheless there all the way through the three courses, especially since the belt lay on the white tablecloth for all to see.
I imagined that everyone knew what it was really for.
Everyone knew that it had been left there, in my line of sight, to remind me what awaited me after the meal. They were all aware that, once the last mouthful of dessert had been swallowed, I was going to be escorted out through the kitchen to the back yard, bent over a barrel with my dress up and knickers down and strapped long and hard by my elegantly besuited husband.
What for? I tried to make up a reason, but I was fatally distracted by my own lust and the growing excitement in the pit of my stomach. It made for an uncomfortable eating experience, but three courses were a challenge for me anyway, so I picked and pecked at my food.
‘Aren’t you going to eat that?’
Dan, his appetite as reliably healthy as always, plucked a tuile biscuit from my plate and bit into it.
Some of the other diners had left the restaurant now, and we had a little more latitude for un-eavesdropped conversation.
I stroked the edge of the belt with one finger and said, ‘Do you really like it?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve wanted to get you one just like it for ages.’
He just held his smile, expectant, waiting for me to elaborate.
‘I think it would feel nice,’ I said hesitantly. Oh shit, now it was coming out. Could I take that back?
‘Feel nice?’ he said.
I stared down at the melted ice cream on my plate, too mortified to continue.
‘You’ve gone bright red,’ he said, but his smile slowly widened. ‘OK, I think it’s time to get the bill and get the hell out of here. Things just got interesting.’
The restaurant was a short distance from our flat by the harbour. Dan walked me back with one hand around my elbow, the new belt wrapped around his other set of knuckles. Damn, it looked good there. Man and belt in living harmony. I was wildly optimistic as we headed into the lift and, as was our tradition, snogged all the way up to the third floor.
We tipped ourselves out and fumbled the key in the lock and somehow didn’t collapse on the hall floor. Instead we made a kissing, grabbing, lunging progress into the living room and managed to stay upright all the way over to the sofa.
He pinned me to it and I felt that soft leather brush my wrist.
‘So, then, Pip,’ he said, his wide white grin inches from mine. ‘Tell me what you meant when you said my belt would feel nice. Because, as far as I’m aware, belts are meant to keep trousers up. How could that make you feel nice? Hmm?’
‘I just thought … you know … it’s so soft and it smells so good …’
‘Don’t. I know what you thought.’
‘Do you?’
My heart jumped high, sealing up my throat so I could barely breathe.
‘Fancy a bit of slap and tickle, do we?’
I giggled, writhing happily underneath him. Yes! This could happen. This was starting to happen.
‘Maybe more slap than tickle,’ I whispered.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Do I have to sign a consent form?’
‘Story of my life. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. But no. I think in this case a verbal agreement holds good. Go on then. Turn over.’
He let go of my wrists and knelt up, watching me flip myself on to my stomach. My face rested against a velvet cushion, handy if I needed anything to yell into. We didn’t want to disturb the neighbours, after all.
I felt the tickly swish of my skirt being raised. It was a shame I had to imagine the look on his face as he uncovered lacy briefs and matching suspenders and stockings, but I’d seen it often enough before and at least I got to hear his low sigh of pleasure.
Rather than any sharp and sudden smack, the next physical contact was his lips on the low curve of my bottom, kissing their way over every inch of the flesh my knickers weren’t protecting. This kindled an amazing tingle, flooding my pussy and making my skin super-sensitive until I began to rather dread what I’d asked for.
Could I take it back and just carry on with this instead?
His fingers slipped inside the lacy elastic of my knickers, then down the suspender straps, pulling them out and letting them snap back so that I squealed.
‘Thought you’d like that,’ he said, his hands between my thighs now, pulling them apart. ‘Since you’re into pain these days.’
‘It’s not that I’m into pain,’ I said, my voice muffled by the cushion.
‘No? What then?’
‘Just … the whole idea turns me on, that’s all.’
‘The whole idea?’
‘Yeah. Being, I dunno, taken in hand. Dominated.’
‘Oh, so it’s a headspace thing.’
‘Totally.’
‘And I’m in charge, am I?’
‘If you want to be.’
‘So what if I just want to order you to get on your knees and suck me off?’
I huffed. I hoped he wasn’t going to miss the point now.
‘If you want to do that, do it. But it’s about both of us getting what we want, not just one of us.’
‘Right. And what you want is a good, sound spanking, is it?’
Oh, just hearing the words, spoken by him in his ‘arresting officer’ voice, could have got me off then and there.
‘Mmm, oh, God, yeah.’
‘Well,’ he said, his fingertips grazing the crotch of my knickers, stroking it up and down, up and down until my hips were undulating in sympathetic rhythm. ‘I’m not sure what you’ve done to deserve it. Apart from buy me a lovely anniversary present and give me three terrific years of marriage but … let’s say that you’re in trouble for having a bum that stops traffic.’
I snorted and tried to kick my legs but, as he was kneeling on them, that didn’t make much difference.
‘Oh, yes, you stand accused of conducting your arse without due care and attention, so that everyone on the public highway was distracted by it. How do you plead?’
‘Guilty,’ I proclaimed, steeling myself for the first blow.
It was much lighter than I anticipated, a little exploratory slap, so flimsy and weak-wristed I twisted my neck and frowned at him.
‘That’s it?’
‘Thing is, love,’ he said, his face crumpled in apology. ‘I’m not sure I can hurt you. Do you really want me to make it sting?’
‘Don’t hold back,’ I urged him. ‘I’ll tell you if it’s too much, I promise.’
‘Well, OK.’ He tried again, and this one made a most satisfying echo, his hand falling quite heavily across the meat of my right cheek. Oh, it hurt, but not too much. Really, just enough. I wondered how much it would take to get my arse really bright red, because that was what I wanted. No half-hearted blush pink, or rapidly fading warmth. I needed the full effect.
‘Harder,’ I said. ‘I’ve been bad.’
‘Have you now?’ More deliberate, forceful smacks landed on my rear. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about that. What have you done?’
‘I had bad thoughts,’ I gasped, starting to feel the burn spread through my lower body. ‘When you were on night shift, I thought about things you could do to me. All the time. And it made me touch myself.’
‘Oh, you naughty thing,’ he tutted, spanking steadily. ‘Perhaps we should have a rule. No touching, except by me. What do you think?’
‘Yes, yes.’ I grasped on to this eagerly. I had often fantasised about being punished for masturbating.
‘So we have a genuine rule break to address,’ he said. ‘I think that calls for no knickers, don’t you?’
He paused and pulled the stretchy lace down to my stocking tops, baring my now rather warm bottom.
‘You’re wet,’ he said, crouching to inspect my exposed pussy. He prodded at the lips, holding them aside for a better view of the hidden guilty secrets. One long finger glided easily up inside me. ‘Very wet,’ he amended. ‘Not much of a punishment, is it, if it’s turning you on?’
‘I can’t help it,’ I protested. ‘My body does it for me.’
‘Perhaps we’ll have to think of something else. Something you really won’t enjoy. A nice big pile of washing up, maybe.’
‘Perhaps you’ll just have to spank harder,’ I prompted. This wasn’t funny, no matter what he thought, chuckling away up there with his finger shoved inside me.
‘Well, it’s worth a try, I suppose.’
He emptied my pussy and reverted to heating up my arse, but this time his technique was different, much faster and less predictable. It was infinitely more difficult to take and I was quick to squirm and yelp and try to pull my legs out from under him. He was having none of it, though, and he held me down, his fist in the small of my back like a human paperweight.
‘Feeling it now, are you?’
‘That. Really. Hurts,’ I complained, jerking my hips as best I could.
‘Do you want me to stop?’
I shook my head. The heat was building beautifully and I didn’t want to call time until my skin was tight with it.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure about this to begin with, but I think I like it now. I think I could take to this.’
I stuffed the cushion into my mouth, suppressing a howl as he laid a particularly wicked volley on both cheeks.
Be careful what you wish for.
‘Your arse looks gorgeous, all lit up and glowing,’ he gloated. ‘I think you might have created a monster, love. And we haven’t even got to the belt yet.’
‘Ow,’ I said. It seemed to encapsulate my emotions.
‘OK, let’s temper justice with mercy, shall we? I think that’ll do for your first time. Now.’ He put his forearm under my stomach and encouraged me gently on to my knees, with my face still buried in the cushion.
I heard the business of trousers being unzipped, fabric falling behind me.
‘Poor little pickle,’ he crooned.
I felt the tip of his cock butting into my juices.
‘God, you are so wet!’ he exclaimed, obviously impressed. ‘This’ll be like a knife going into butter.’
And it was. An exceptionally blunt, thick knife, right into my slippery slick butter dish, so to speak. I couldn’t get enough of him, pushing myself back on to him, especially when he rammed himself right up against my hot cheeks. He held my hips tight and I felt taken, owned, mastered. God, it was the hottest thing ever. When I came I bit into the cushion to stop myself screaming.
Afterwards, lying on the sofa all rumpled and hot and tired, he picked the belt up off the floor.
‘Didn’t even get to use this,’ he said, yawning. ‘But it’s coming to you. Happy Anniversary, love.’
I can’t wait.
15 July (#ulink_338fcd5b-db79-59fd-95c1-2bf6b45128fc)
We’ve had a busy few weeks, lots of overtime for Dan, and I’ve been trying to put together some summer-holiday workshops for my adolescents. Some additional family stress surrounding my mother-in-law (who else?) has also been ongoing, taking our attention away from our marriage and sex life to an extent.
We’ve fooled about a bit, but any kinky stuff has been spur-of-the-moment and limited to a few smacks with the wooden spoon while I’m making dinner or whatever.
And, while I like the fun aspect of it, and can’t complain at how it seems to have pepped up our bedroom activities, I can’t help craving something a little more. Do I mean more? Or do I mean different? I don’t know.
The thing is, I’m not good with stress. In my day job, I have to model absolute patience and absolute tolerance, but this has always made Dan laugh because he knows that I’m actually extremely impatient and intolerant a lot of the time. I nearly ruined our relationship in the first year of marriage by constantly blowing my stack over the slightest little thing. I kept blaming him for everything – if I couldn’t find the scissors, he must have put them in the wrong place, though half the time it was me who’d done it.
I did this so often that we ended up having a blazing row that must have kept the neighbours awake, with him threatening to move into the section house. Since then, I’ve tried to work on my temper, but I’m not sure my strategy of passive-aggressive stomping around and silent moodiness is really the best one.
Ever since he spanked me on our wedding anniversary, I’ve had this mad fantasy about him doing it as a genuine punishment. Not in an overbearing, patriarchal sort of way, but from a desire to help me overcome my faults and be a better person. Loving discipline, if that makes any sense at all. I’m tired of feeling guilty about my outbursts, or simmering and keeping all the resentment and irritation inside me. Perhaps, if he spanked it out of me, I’d be able to address my petty annoyances with openness and honesty, like a proper adult. Not that I’ve ever felt like a proper adult. Does anyone, ever? I constantly feel that events are spiralling out of my control and I want someone to take that control for me. I want it to be him.
But I’m afraid to broach the subject with him. I think he’ll feel weird about it. So I’ve kept it to myself so far.
I’ve ordered a book, though. The Guiding Hand – A Disciplinary Manual for Loving Husbands. Sounds like some kind of crackpot 50s-throwback thing, doesn’t it? But the blurb alone turned me on so much I had to order it.
17 July (#ulink_5a8ff055-421f-5988-8ebe-2a39164df8a6)
So my new book arrived and it’s fascinating. I can’t stop reading it.
I mean, I fundamentally disagree with nearly all of what the author thinks about male and female roles; a lot of it’s horrifically sexist, not to mention homophobic, but if you pretend it’s a manual for any dominant person and their lover – instead of traditional heterosexual married couples – it starts to make a bit of sense.
I would die if anyone caught me with it but I just can’t put it down. I’m so conflicted, it’s as if I have an even split down the middle of me. There’s Pip the right-on youth worker and Pip the submissive wifey. Oh, God, I really can’t do this.
I’m going to have to put the book away and forget about it.
It’s just a fantasy.
That’s all.
20 July (#ulink_521f581a-0b8b-5103-800b-41cf3cb2db3b)
Oh, bugger.
Dan has found the book.
Everything had been going so well, too. We had the best night last night, and he actually used his new belt on me.
We went out for drinks with friends and were both in a very happy, high, flirty mood all evening. I couldn’t help teasing him and making cheeky little remarks and there came a moment, halfway through the final drink, when he leaned into me and said, right into my ear, ‘My belt’s coming out when I get you home, missy.’
It was ridiculously exciting. I bit my lip and clenched everything in my effort not to squeal. I made puppy-dog eyes at him, as if begging him to reconsider, but I had to tone it down a bit in case people cottoned on.
He laughed and squeezed my knee and said no more about it, but the promise was so heavy in the air that I could barely swallow the last inch of my wine and longed for all the goodbyes to be over with, quickly, so we could get home.
As soon as we were through the door, he had me up against the hall wall, his hand braced above my head, his forehead almost touching mine.
‘Someone’s been begging for a belting,’ he said softly. ‘Haven’t they?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, coyly over-dramatic, the situation making my face burn.
‘Yes, you do, you minx.’
He held me by my chin and took a fierce kiss from me until I nearly lost the use of my legs and slid down the wall like a person in a cartoon.
‘Go on,’ he said, releasing me. ‘Get those jeans down and bend over the arm of the sofa.’
I stared at him, joyously open-mouthed.
‘Now!’ he ordered.
I scampered off at the double, and, shivering inside, unbuttoned and lowered the jeans. Once they were mussed around my ankles, I bent over the arm of the chair, presenting my bottom in its sensible M&S cotton knickers.
‘That’s it,’ he said approvingly, once he had come out of the bedroom with the belt. ‘You know you need it, don’t you?’
‘Oh,’ I lamented, not quite able to talk the submissive talk, good as I was at bending over.
‘No, come on, I asked you a question, love. Now, what’s the answer? Do you need it, or do you need it?’
I snorted. ‘Both.’
‘Good. Right, I think these might be surplus to requirements.’
He pulled the knickers down.
‘You should have told me to take them off,’ I said, mildly surprised.
‘Are you telling me what to do? As it happens, I like pulling them down. It gives me a nice feeling. Right here.’
He nudged his jean-clad crotch into the lower curve of my bottom. It was hard already. When he pressed it into my pussy, he soaked it in my flowing juices.
‘Point taken,’ I said.
‘Now get that arse nice and high, ready to be kissed by the leather. More than kissed, I’d say. A good, long, full-on snog with tongues.’
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ I said, nervous now. What if it was unbearably painful?
He paused and put a hand on my bottom.
‘You OK?’
I nodded vigorously.
‘Fine, honestly. Just a little … apprehensive.’
‘Yeah, well, you’ll tell me to stop if it gets too much, right?’
‘Go back to being all mean and dominant, Dan. I’ll tell you, I promise.’
‘Right you are. Mean and dominant.’
He put his fist underneath my nose. It had the belt partly wrapped around it, about half of its length trailing away over the side of the sofa.
I took a good deep sniff and my eyes crossed with heavenly lust.
‘You’re getting that,’ he told me. ‘Kiss it. Go on.’
I laid my lips reverently on the supple hide, then watched it disappear from view.
I tensed my buttocks, but all that happened was a light, ticklish sensation as the V-shaped end of the belt dangled between my cheeks.
I twitched.
‘That tickles.’
‘It’ll tickle you some more. Stop tensing up.’
He patted my rump until I unknotted the muscles, cursing him under my breath.
I didn’t hear the belt fly through the air – I’d been hoping for that sexy whipping sound – so when it landed on my bum I was a bit shocked and my hand flew behind me to cover the little patch of sting it had left there.
‘Move your hand,’ commanded Dan, then, when I didn’t, he grabbed my wrist and tucked it under my stomach where it rested on the sofa arm. ‘No more of that or I’ll give you double strokes.’
I waited for the second, and then tried to work out if it was more or less painful than his hand. His hand was heavier and covered more area, but this had a unique viperish quality to it that promised torments to come.
It was deceptive in its lightness, little whispers of pain flicking over my bottom until he started to lay it on more heavily and then I began to rock and gasp. Solid bars of heat fell, one, two, three, then stopped.
I looked over my shoulder. He had put the belt down. Was that it?
‘No,’ he said, in answer to the unspoken question. ‘Just an interlude.’
He spread my thighs and began to rub my clit, gently, not enough to bring me off, but little teasing touches that had me pushing myself on his fingers and moaning for more.
‘Just as wet as ever,’ he said. ‘You want it, don’t you? God, you’re horny as fuck. Sorry, Twink.’
He took his fingers away and I pouted.
‘I’m not finished yet.’
The belt lashed down again and now it made a loud crack every time. I hoped our thin walls were enough to keep the noise from disturbing the neighbours. What on earth would they think we were doing? Would it be obvious? The thought that they knew Dan was giving my arse a good thrashing with his belt got me through six more hard strokes, keeping me soaking wet and ready.
He put the belt down again, just as I was starting to struggle. My breath staggered out in uneven pants and I prepared for more fingering, hoping he would press a bit harder this time.
But no.
It was his tongue, warm and wet, that pushed at my pussy next. He made a seal with his lips around my clit and breathed on it until it felt so hot and swollen I had to wriggle my hips furiously. Then the very tip of his tongue flicked at it, so tantalisingly I wanted to sob.
‘Oh, fuck, please,’ I wheedled. ‘Oh, yes.’
But he wouldn’t give me the pressure I craved. It was like having a feather lightly brushed over my clit, his devilishly unsatisfying combination of breaths and little tongue-tickles. I began to wish he’d get back to strapping me instead.
And so he did, six more firm strokes, and the harder he did it, the more I seemed able to take.
When he dropped the belt again, I was straining and beginning to sweat, but a strange kind of exhilaration made me want more.
Instead, Dan pushed the first couple of inches inside me and held it there until I begged him to fuck me.
‘Do you think you deserve it?’ he said.
‘I deserve it. I’m a bad girl.’
‘Then that means you need more of my belt, doesn’t it?’
‘Ohhh.’ I was delighted, loving every thrust, every stern word that went with it, even though it was more of his cock I really craved.
Obligingly, he pushed further in, but still with a maddening slowness that made me jolt my hips backwards, trying to catch his full length.
Once he was all the way in, I sighed deeply, ready for pleasure. But he thrust three times, then withdrew, and I was still vocalising my outrage when the belt lashed down again.
‘Just to make sure the message is getting through,’ he said, putting his shoulder into six more strokes.
I was struggling now, and he seemed to know it. When he put the belt down, I was right on the verge of tears and pleas. I drew a huge breath of relief and spread my thighs in invitation.
But, once he was inside me, giving me the hard fucking I’d wanted all along, part of me wished he hadn’t stopped. Part of me wished he’d carried on whipping my bum until the tears came and the pleas rained down, and then he’d whipped right through them. Did that make me wrong in the head?
I imagined him doing this while he powered into me from behind, imagined my bottom even sorer, my submission absolute. In the end it was those thoughts, rather than his stout attentions to my pussy, that made me come.
‘I need this,’ I sighed, while he speeded up and got ready to fill me with his spunk. ‘I need it.’
He grabbed my shoulder so hard it nearly dislocated, his orgasm mightier than usual, then lay down beside me, beaded with sweat, his eyes wide with astonishment at what had just overtaken him.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I see. I know.’
It was a lovely afterglow and he seemed so happy to have found his kinky side and had some fun with it.
But I don’t think his reaction to the book will be good. I think that will change the game completely.
21 July (#ulink_249891c3-8a8e-577b-8195-2979e6dd35a8)
He waited until after dinner to bring the subject up. Of course, I couldn’t eat. I was too busy trying to second-guess his reaction, but he was playing things totally straight, being normal Dan, full of stories about his colleagues and complaints about form-filling.
I was washing up in the kitchen when he wandered in, picked up a tea towel as if preparing to dry, and flicked it at my bottom, making me jump and rub at it.
‘Oi!’ I said.
‘What? You like that, don’t you?’
‘Not always. Not when I’m not expecting it.’
‘Oh, so it’s you calling the shots, is it?’ He stood behind me and clasped his arms around me, holding me there with his chin on top of my head. ‘Funny, that.’
‘Why funny?’ I asked guardedly.
‘I thought you were into that whole submissive thing these days.’
I twisted my neck round to look at his eyes. His face was quite grave.
‘You saw that book,’ I said.
‘Yeah, I did. You can’t seriously tell me that, after everything you say and do at work, day after day, you believe all that guff about fixed gender roles and male and female energies?’
‘No, Jesus, no, I don’t!’
‘Well, thank fuck for that. I thought a tornado had taken our flat and transplanted it in Stepford.’
I shook my head. ‘I believe the same things I’ve always believed.’
‘That’s what I thought. You like a bit of kink in the bedroom but you’re still the same person … this book is a bit weird, though. I can’t figure it out.’
I took a deep breath.
‘Look, Dan. The thing is, I like kink. I like to be spanked for fun. But … I think I want something a bit more than that too.’ I put my hand in the washing-up water, which was far too hot, and withdrew it rapidly.
‘Put the Marigolds on,’ he said.
I made a face. I hated putting the Marigolds on. They made my hands smell fusty for hours afterwards.
‘I’ll be all right,’ I said, tipping a handful of cutlery into the bubbles.
‘You’ll scald yourself. Put them on.’
I ignored him, picked up the cloth, plunged my hands quickly into the water and gasped as I withdrew a fork.
‘Jesus, Pip, why? Your hand looks like it’s been skinned. I can’t watch.’
He let go of me and took a step back.
He was right. That water was boiling and my hand throbbed so much I could barely hold the fork. I put it under a stream of cold water, exhaling with sweet relief.
When the burning was soothed, I turned around and leant against the sink, facing him.
‘That sums it up,’ I said. ‘That’s what I mean.’
‘What?’
‘You’re so sensible, Dan, and so capable, and I’m not. I do things like that all the time, and I get frustrated with myself and then I get angry with myself and then … I don’t know. It just boils away in my brain, a great big swamp of self-loathing that keeps getting added to and added to. It’s not good for me.’
‘It’s no big deal, love. Just a silly mistake. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘Exactly. I don’t want to be hard on myself. I want you to be hard on me.’
My heart pounded, and the palm that had been hot and itchy from the scalding water was now sweating.
‘Like the guys in your book, you mean? You want me to actually … discipline you?’
I nodded vigorously.
‘I want to be held to account. I want to be corrected.’
He laughed, a tad nervously, and looked up at the ceiling.
‘I’m sorry, Pip, I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just … uh … unusual. Isn’t it? I’ve spent my whole life trying to be respectful of women, you know …’
‘It’s not about you being a man and me being a woman. It’s nothing to do with that at all. It’s to do with me wanting to submit and having this need. Oh, I don’t know if I’m putting it very well.’
‘So if I wanted you to spank me, that would be fine?’
‘Well, I’d find it hard, because I don’t like dominating, but in principle, yes.’
‘Right. I don’t, by the way. Want you spank me, I mean. I’m not that way inclined.’
He tried a smile. I tried one back. It was encouraging, at least, that he hadn’t walked out of the door with words of a ‘no dice’ variety.
‘I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to,’ I said. ‘It’s just a thought. Just a thing I’ve been pondering. I wanted to find out a bit more about it so I got a book. I’m not demanding anything of you.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No. God, Dan, I’m happy with you. I love you. I don’t want you to change and I’m not some unsatisfied wife eaten up by sexual frustration. Far from it. But I think, for me, this discipline thing would work so well … it’s just a thought. That’s all.’
‘You have some interesting thoughts, don’t you, Twink?’ he said. ‘Now put those flaming Marigolds on, for Christ’s sake.’
And there the matter ended. (I did put the gloves on.)
25 July (#ulink_f677b581-8916-5858-8335-5c11deab17d5)
This has been the hardest working week in recent memory. Two of my kids have been in trouble with the law while another took an overdose. I spent all of last night in A&E with her, lobbying furiously to get her a place in an adolescent mental health unit. We got a bed in the end, but I feel like I’ve fought through every one of the seven labours of Hercules.
Then I’ve been at work all day, having to write reports. School holidays have started so the kids are kicking their heels, hanging around the centre demanding to be stimulated and fed and all the rest. I felt guilty about neglecting them to get the reports done, but I have a looming deadline and just had to leave them to play table-tennis and mess around on the DJ decks while I sat in the office with the door wedged open. Luckily Grant, my student assistant, turned up mid-afternoon and was able to keep more of an eye on them.
He offered to run the evening session to give me a break, but I feel like I should be there. There are some volatile relationships, especially among the older boys, and I worry that something will kick off in my absence.
So I nipped off at five, visited Jessie in the mental health unit (she seemed quite calm) and went home to grab a quick bite to eat before going back for the evening session.
‘You’re going back?’ Dan wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear it. ‘You look dead on your feet, love. Can’t someone else do it? Reva?’
‘She’s on holiday.’
I was too tired to even think about what I wanted to eat and just sank down on a dining chair, my head spinning.
‘What about that student bloke? Student Grant?’
‘Oh, he’s not experienced enough.’
‘I thought you said he used to be in the army and he’s thirty-eight years old.’
‘Yeah, but square-bashing and teen wrangling aren’t exactly the same thing …’
‘Whatever. He’s more than capable of overseeing a bit of disco dancing. Go on, call him and see if he’s free.’
‘He is. He offered to do it but …’
‘Well, there you are then. Problem solved. Call him.’
‘I’ll just worry …’
Dan snatched the phone from its cradle and thrust it at me.
‘Do it,’ he said. ‘And then you’re going to bed.’
Oh, God. I suddenly realised. He was doing what I’d hinted I wanted him to do. He was taking control when I wasn’t able to do it for myself. But now he was doing it, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to! I just wanted to whine and make excuses and argue him into giving in. But then I would get a horrible evening trying to run a teen disco on no hours’ sleep while he stewed here, feeling pissed off and unlistened to.
When it came down to it, he was right.
‘OK,’ I said, and with that I was liberated. Everything was taken off my shoulders and I could float into deep peace and relaxation.
I called Grant, who readily agreed to run the disco. He would have helped out anyway, having seen how pale and lacklustre I’d been earlier. He thought I needed a night off.
‘Have you been talking to my husband?’ I asked, suspicious, but he just laughed and said he’d see me tomorrow.
Dan smiled encouragingly at me as I hit the ‘end call’ button.
‘See. Not that hard, was it? What do you want to eat? What did you have for lunch?’
‘Oh.’ I thought vaguely about the lunch hour, then remembered that I’d worked right through it, with some half-formed intention of popping across to the little newsagent over the road later and getting a plastic-wrapped sandwich. Later had never come around. ‘I forgot.’
The look he gave me made me bite my lip. It would have turned me on if I hadn’t been too tired to even remember what sex was. As it went, I just hung my head and said, ‘I meant to, but I had reports …’
‘We talked about this before, didn’t we?’ he said. ‘After you fainted that time. I seem to remember you promising me you’d take better care of yourself.’
‘It was just this once,’ I said, but then I remembered that that was a lie. ‘A few times,’ I amended. ‘Not often. Look, I get busy, you know I do.’ My tone had switched from sheepish to querulous. It wasn’t fair that I should be in trouble for working too hard.
Despite the fact that I fantasised about Dan taking control in this way, now he was doing it, I felt my long-buried rebellious schoolgirl making her presence known. It seemed like the default response – sniping and arguing.
I wanted him to stand firm, and yet I also wanted to win.
It was all too confusing and, in the end, my tiredness made the decision for me.
‘We’re going to discuss that in the morning,’ he said. ‘But for now – bed. Go on. No arguments. I’ll bring you some supper on a tray.’
I nodded, my eyes half-shut already, and drifted across the kitchen. He caught me halfway and held me close, kissing me goodnight. I wanted to sleep there, in his arms, but he sent me on my way with a pat on my bottom.
I think it could be a taste of things to come.
26 July (#ulink_3b215a4d-b866-54fe-9b0f-27eefdce4540)
Be careful what you wish for.
Great advice, but impossible to follow. Wishes come unbidden and desires can’t be quelled. I wished for it, I got it. I really, really got it.
I was woken with a kiss.
‘Sleeping beauty,’ he said.
The room was still dark and my alarm hadn’t gone off.
‘Wass time?’ I tried to come to, but everything was blurred and the bed felt like a place I wanted to stay in for a lot longer.
‘Early,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d get up an hour earlier. We’ve both got work today, and I want to sort a few things out while they’re still fresh in our minds.’
Something about the way he said the words sent a warning pang right down to my solar plexus. Actually, it went a bit lower than that. I squinted at him through one eye.
He was sitting up in bed, looking ahead, his face perfectly grave. When he caught my glance, he raised an eyebrow, unsmiling.
If he was playing a role, he was doing it very convincingly.
I was scared of him. Actually scared.
But it was exhilarating at the same time.
‘You mean … about last night?’ I said.
‘Yes, I do. We have issues to address, Pip. Go and shower and brush your teeth and whatnot and then I want you straight back in here in your pyjamas. Understood?’
I think he wanted me to say, ‘Yes, Sir’ but I didn’t give him that satisfaction. Instead, I said, ‘Are you serious?’
‘Do I look like I’m joking, Philippa?’
Oh, bloody hell, Philippa.
It was enough to send me out of bed and into the bathroom without another word.
Under the hot shower jets I woke up properly, the citrusy scent of my shampoo acting like a stimulant to my senses. I put my hand on my bottom and felt the water stream over it. What sort of state might that be in by the time he was finished with me?
I pressed my thighs together and squirmed, feeling hot and breathless at the thought. I was going to be punished. Actually punished for my bad behaviour, and I had never looked forward to anything more. I didn’t care how much it was going to hurt – I hoped it would hurt a lot and I’d have to beg him to stop.
I washed myself carefully, getting every inch of myself as fresh and soft as I could, paying special attention to my bum. I wanted it to look good over his lap, or wherever he was going to put me. If the poor man had to do this terrible thing to me, the least he deserved was a nice view.
I towelled myself dry, scrubbed my teeth and put my pyjamas back on. They were thin cotton summer pyjamas – just plain white shorts and a vest. The material wouldn’t offer much protection, even if I was allowed to keep them on.
Allowed. The word made me cross my arms over my chest and shiver. I was going to be subject to Dan’s authority. Whatever he said in the next hour went. I wondered how naturally obedience would come to me.
Only one way to find out.
I stood dithering by the door handle for so long that he called out to ask if everything was all right in there.
His voice galvanised me and I walked into the bedroom, in pyjamas and hair wrapped in a towel turban.
‘You’ll have to dry your hair,’ he said. ‘I’ll get a shower while you’re sorting yourself out.’
While I sat at the dressing table, drying and straightening my hair, I looked into the mirror and noticed a few things. He had made the bed, but he’d put my pillows out in the centre of the duvet, one on top of the other.
Next to them, laid out neatly, were The Belt and my wooden-backed hairbrush.
‘Oh.’ I moaned out loud.
This was actually happening. I didn’t know whether to squeal or swear.
My hair was dry before Dan came out of the shower. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I didn’t dare approach the bed with its frightful accessories, so I simply sat quietly at the dressing table, rather compulsively arranging my nail polishes into colour groups.
When he came out, I couldn’t look at him, but I caught sight in the mirror of his smart dark trousers and white shirt. A wave of synthetic ocean freshness blasted my nostrils when he came closer and crouched down behind me, looking at my face in the mirror over my shoulder.
‘All ready?’ he whispered, putting his hands over my bare upper arms.
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back. ‘Depends what I have to be ready for.’
‘Go and sit down on the edge of the bed,’ he said.
I obeyed without thinking, sinking my bottom down into the comfort of the duvet. He took a seat opposite on the swivel chair, which placed him quite a lot higher than me. Instantly he was in the superior position, leaning forward, hands on his knees, demanding my full attention.
‘Now then, Philippa,’ he said.
I could barely breathe. He had exactly that calm, authoritative manner he used with his suspects in the interview room – firm but fair, always likeable but never to be crossed.
I thought I might fall in love with him all over again, even though I was fidgeting at the end of the bed, horribly aware of the objects behind me. Objects that might very soon be making harsh contact with my bottom.
‘Can you tell me what you think I want to discuss with you this morning?’
I chewed on the inside of my cheek.
‘I skipped lunch,’ I muttered, fighting an absurd urge to smile. Now I understood why naughty kids caught in their mischief tended to smirk and fidget while they were being reproved. I was doing exactly the same things, and I just couldn’t stop myself.
‘Is something funny?’
The smile died and I shook my head.
‘No, Philippa, you’re right. It isn’t funny at all. Your health and your well-being are serious matters. Aren’t they?’
‘I s’pose.’
‘Look up and speak up.’
Christ, he sounded quite fierce. I swallowed and met his eye, very unwillingly.
‘Yes,’ I admitted.
‘So why did you neglect them yesterday?’
‘I told you why. I forgot. I was busy.’
‘Sweetheart, we all have busy lives. You aren’t unique in that. You need to organise yourself better, don’t you?’
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Justine Elyot
Is it possible to be a confident twenty-first century woman and submit to your lover?From Justine Elyot, the bestselling author of ‘On Demand’ and ‘Kinky’, ‘Confessions of a Kinky Wife’ is the perfect read for anyone who loves Sylvia Day’s Crossfire trilogy or ‘The Secret Diary of a Submissive’.It's difficult, as a modern woman, to admit that you want your lover to punish you. Not just a fun spanking in the bedroom – real punishment.Philippa knows what she wants. She wants her police officer husband to take her in hand.But how do you ask your lover to hurt you? And, if they're willing, how do you make sure that being taken in hand doesn't get out of hand?Philippa and Dan explore the secret world of Domestic Discipline. Perhaps it will suit them, perhaps it won't. But they mean to find out, one way or the other.Other titles in the Secret Diary series are:Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse by Lily HarlemConfessions of a Kinky Divorcee by Lana FoxConfessions of a Greedy Girl by Madelynne Ellis
Confessions of a Kinky Wife
Justine Elyot
(http://www.mischiefbooks.com)
Table of Contents
Title Page (#u9b77001f-5067-56e6-853c-e56ef4028d46)
23 June (#ua79b5d46-4566-5a7a-9698-382b7bae23fd)
24 June (#u80337070-a9c4-50c8-bef8-cc0b066f13aa)
15 July (#u8a5ebb22-a3ea-5d68-acfd-62080449fc2f)
17 July (#uc00b7295-e793-57bf-bb53-050245591ab7)
20 July (#u79dda10f-5757-5050-8bce-5f56b327fe0b)
21 July (#u9d7e6cb0-409d-59ee-8e3b-d365651f013d)
25 July (#u64f90a9a-2694-5005-8f5f-b715c14794e3)
26 July (#u6e3a5f45-6062-592c-a9d3-0678bdf41237)
27 July (#litres_trial_promo)
1 August (#litres_trial_promo)
3 August (#litres_trial_promo)
5 August (#litres_trial_promo)
7 August (#litres_trial_promo)
28 August (#litres_trial_promo)
30 August (#litres_trial_promo)
25 December (#litres_trial_promo)
More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)
About Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
23 June (#ulink_e07f3724-4ef5-58e7-9586-e0930e3f73e0)
OK, tonight’s the night. It really is. It has to be.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve almost brought the subject up.
I’ve rehearsed the words seventy-three times while I’ve cooked ‘special’ meals or clipped my stockings on to my suspenders or even just lain sprawled with his head in my lap watching something vaguely sexy on TV.
I always start with some kind of mention of how I’m a ‘bad girl’, just to see what he might say to that. But he always says, ‘Just the way I like you, love,’ and there we are, taking the vanilla fork in the road again, while he reaches for another handful of popcorn and pats my thigh absent-mindedly.
This makes me sound like some kind of unsatisfied horn dog but I should stress that I’m not unhappy with our sex life, and he can be prevailed upon for some slap and tickle when the mood’s right and we’re in the thick of things. It’s always jokey and short-lived and self-conscious, though. A couple of quick swats on the bum when I bend over for rear entry, for instance, because he likes the way my cheeks jiggle. I always moan over-dramatically, encouraging more, but he must think I’m just desperate for him, because he never repeats the move.
Yeah, I know it’s ironic. Communication. Exactly what I spend all day teaching troubled teenagers about. Yet, when it comes to translating my fantasies into words for my lovely husband, I’m useless.
But tonight I’m taking the bull by the horns. (Please provide your own rude joke.) Could any night be more perfect? Our third wedding anniversary. And what’s your third wedding anniversary? Oh, yes – leather!
I’ve heard all the bawdy suggestions, thanks. Catwoman outfit, check. Strap-on, check. Gimp mask, check. None of these are what I had in mind for him, though.
I went to a little shop in town that specialised in leather goods. It was surprisingly hard to find exactly what I wanted. Everything was the wrong colour or gimmicky, over-designed with stupid monogram buckles.
What I wanted was a plain, old-fashioned man’s belt, tan leather with that authentic cowhide kind of look and feel. Smooth on one side, suedey on the other, and with a big brass buckle. And the weight had to be right. I don’t mean right for sitting around his hips and keeping his trousers up either. I mean right for wrapping around his fist and giving me a good thrashing with.
I browsed dozens of the wrong kind, wrinkling my nose at their unsatisfactory smell. They were too light, borderline plasticky. I needed that good, deep leather aroma that travelled like lightning from my nostrils to my clit.
When I found it, I had to take a moment, look over my shoulder to make sure nobody saw me, and breathe deep and long.
Oh, yes. That was the one. Right colour, right weight, right buckle, right feel, right smell. This was the belt my husband could whip me with.
I felt ridiculously coy taking it to the counter. I had to keep telling myself that it’s perfectly usual for a man to receive a belt as a present and nobody’s going to assume I’m a pervert. But I just felt that the man who untagged it and wrapped it and took my money knew perfectly well what I wanted it for. And he thought I deserved it too.
By the time I left the shop, I was in a stew of arousal. I walked to the car with wet knickers and nipples punching their way out of my bra cups. When I got home, I took the belt out of its bag and lay on the sofa, sniffing it, while I slipped my hands inside my knickers.
I fantasised about Dan coming home early and catching me at it. In my fantasy he was still wearing his uniform, even though he has to change at the end of each shift in real life, and he strode over, snatched the belt off me and ordered me over the back of the sofa.
‘What have I told you about that?’ he said sternly, pulling my knickers down to my knees. ‘You don’t do it without me. You don’t come when I’m not around. Is that so hard to understand?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘So why can’t you behave yourself?’
‘I guess I’m a bad girl, Sir.’
‘Yes. And you know what happens to bad girls.’
He was wrapping the buckle end around his fist.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘What?’
He trailed the V-shaped end over my bare bum cheeks, cold and ticklish.
‘They get punished, Sir.’
‘That’s right. You’re going to learn your lesson, Pip. It’s going to be a hard one, but that’s what you need.’
That’s what I need. Oh, yes.
He was only halfway through the spanking, the leather falling full-strength, heating my arse like fire, before I came, really hard. I jerked around so much that the belt slid off my face and on to the carpet.
No sign of Dan, though. Hardly surprising because his shift didn’t finish till nine.
My orgasm had ironed out the knots a tough day’s work had added to my spine, though, so it was all good. I headed for the shower and thought, yet again, about how I was going to talk him into what I had in mind.
So, anyway, wedding anniversary. Tonight’s the night and I’ve got champagne on ice for when we get home from the restaurant. I’ve also got the dark red silk underwear on underneath this dress. I’m waiting for him to change into his best suit and then we’re off out. The Talk will happen. Wish me luck.
24 June (#ulink_da4c887d-ec44-5198-882a-3de2ab117619)
It was a lovely night, amazing food and the most romantic setting, overlooking the river, but the restaurant was a little … intimate. By which I mean that it was very difficult not to overhear the conversations taking place at other tables.
This made me nervous, and so did Dan, because he looked so bloody gorgeous. He had on the dark suit he wore to my sister’s wedding and he knows I can’t resist him in that. He knows because he got to shag me up against the register office back wall while the groom’s family photographs were being taken on the front steps. He looked utterly, unbelievably, mouth-wateringly sexy, with his two top shirt buttons undone, so a little chest hair tantalised the eye.
Dan looks good in everything, mind you, whether he’s patrolling the streets in his uniform or mowing the lawn in ripped jeans and a tight T-shirt. He makes my tongue hang out. I have to keep remembering to put it away. He’s tall and dark and all the running after criminals keeps him fit. He has a face that can do anything, as well. I’ve seen him go from boyish twinkle to roguish glint to 100 per cent wicked in the time it takes to raise an eyebrow.
I remember how he bowled me over the first time we met. I sat there on that orange moulded plastic chair, watching him in a trance. I’m not sure I breathed once in the twenty minutes it took for him to question and charge the kid I was acting as Appropriate Adult for. The only thought in my mind was Who? Is? That?
Obviously I stayed professional, much as I was dying to play footsie under the battered, cigarette-burnt old desk. The way he flicked his eyes over me from time to time made me think there might be a little bit of something similar going on with him too.
When I left the station, he caught me on the steps, all breathless and tousled. God, I wanted to wrestle him to the floor then and there. I restrained myself, what with being in the company of a furious fifteen-year-old, and simply nodded and smiled while he volunteered to give a talk on police/community relations at my Vulnerable Young People’s group.
I think I actually said, ‘Awesome!’
The fifteen-year-old teased me about it all the way back to the children’s home.
‘He wants you, Pip. Better watch out if you don’t want Plod in yer knickers.’
I blanked this line of conversation, but inside I wanted to hear more.
He came and did the talk to a group who started out hostile and ended up charmed and positive. He has the knack of making people want him to like them, so that they strive to please him. It’s a neat trick – I wish I had it.
Anyway, he’d won them over, so just imagine how I felt. He’d seduced me already – the physical side of it was a mere formality. We sat in my office after locking up the building and shared a bottle of wine and talked very earnestly about the social issues affecting my Vulnerable Young People until the switch flipped and every single thing we said seemed to be a form of verbal foreplay.
We kissed against my filing cabinet and ended up at my flat. I don’t think we’ve spent a night apart since, shift patterns permitting.
And now here we are, three years married, and he’s still the funniest, sweetest, kindest, most capable and sexy and sometimes slightly annoying but not that much man in the world.
So why the hell was I contemplating asking him for more?
In the low-voiced, elegant atmosphere of the restaurant, I panicked. I couldn’t go through with it. What if I scared him? Why would I risk my marriage to this man?
The first thing he said on sitting down was ‘I’ve got a little something for you.’ And he rustled a package inside a shopping bag.
‘Can’t we … do the presents at home?’
‘But you’ve brought mine.’ He looked puzzled. I love his puzzled face. Just adorable.
‘I know, I just … it’s a bit … it’s not very private here, is it?’
‘Oh.’ His eyes lit up. ‘That kind of present, eh?’
Fuck. Now he was expecting something from a sex shop. Oh, God. I wanted to bolt from the restaurant, take the belt back to the shop and exchange it, quickety-quick, for a lacy basque and a set of nipple tassels.
‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ I said.
‘It’s my wedding anniversary,’ he said. ‘If I can’t get my hopes up on my wedding anniversary, when can I get them up?’
‘Good point,’ I said, then, suddenly inspired, ‘So, what are your hopes?’
What if I could bring him to confess his own hidden desire for kink? What if he longed to redden my bottom but was just too worried it would appal me?
‘For tonight?’
He was about to lean over the table and murmur into my ear, but the waiter appeared with our champagne cocktails and menus, so the moment was lost.
‘I really want to give you your present,’ he said, sipping and watching me.
‘I don’t mind waiting.’
‘I know you don’t. But I want to give you it now. I’ve been looking forward to it.’
‘Oh …’ I looked around. Everybody seemed pretty involved with their own conversations. ‘Go on, then.’
He beamed and handed over his bag, then retreated into his champagne glass, sipping with measured calm.
I opened the delicate tissue wrapping and had to clap a hand over my mouth to stop myself screaming.
‘Happy anniversary, my darling little Twinkletoes,’ he said, flushing with pleasure at my reaction.
‘Is this genuine?’
‘It’s not a bloody knock-off. What do you take me for?’
‘A genuine Mulberry Alexa? Christ, Dan, these cost a fortune.’
‘Well, I got it from an outlet store,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ I turned the deliciously soft tan leather every which way, putting it up to my face and sniffing, just the way I did with the belt. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever been given.
He was perfect. Why would I want to change him? I felt guilty and cheap for even considering it.
‘You don’t have to say anything. It’s written all over your face.’
He sat back and basked, while I became conscious of the indulgent good wishes of the other diners. Suddenly the parcel at my feet became my nemesis, a terrible mistake. I should have got him something else.
Too late.
‘So, come on then. Hand it over.’
He held out a palm. Lately, he couldn’t do that without me imagining how it would feel cracking down on my bum. Tonight was no different.
I shut my eyes for a second of unspoken prayer, then reached down for the gift.
The shop had been a high-end establishment and they had put the belt in a smart silk-lined box with a gold monogram. When Dan unwrapped it, I think he was expecting something you’d find in a jeweller’s, like cufflinks or a watch.
He looked surprised when he opened the box.
‘Oh,’ he said, pulling it out. It was rolled up like a coiled snake, a deadly spiral in his hand. ‘This is a very de luxe number, isn’t it?’
‘Do you like it? I just thought it would look really good on you.’
Suddenly I was desperate that he didn’t guess my true intention. I wanted to turn back that tide, ignore my stupid repressed fantasies and live with what I had.
‘It looks vintage,’ he said.
God, he had uncoiled it and was letting it slide around his palm, then he pulled it taut between his hands and I nearly doubled over with arousal.
Surely he must see the effect this had on me? Instant wetness, so much so that I worried about leaving a damp patch on the chair.
‘It’s pretty sexy,’ I said.
He gave me a crooked smile. ‘You think?’
Waiter-with-chronic-bad-timing appeared to take our order and the sexual vibe lowered to a simmer, but it was nonetheless there all the way through the three courses, especially since the belt lay on the white tablecloth for all to see.
I imagined that everyone knew what it was really for.
Everyone knew that it had been left there, in my line of sight, to remind me what awaited me after the meal. They were all aware that, once the last mouthful of dessert had been swallowed, I was going to be escorted out through the kitchen to the back yard, bent over a barrel with my dress up and knickers down and strapped long and hard by my elegantly besuited husband.
What for? I tried to make up a reason, but I was fatally distracted by my own lust and the growing excitement in the pit of my stomach. It made for an uncomfortable eating experience, but three courses were a challenge for me anyway, so I picked and pecked at my food.
‘Aren’t you going to eat that?’
Dan, his appetite as reliably healthy as always, plucked a tuile biscuit from my plate and bit into it.
Some of the other diners had left the restaurant now, and we had a little more latitude for un-eavesdropped conversation.
I stroked the edge of the belt with one finger and said, ‘Do you really like it?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve wanted to get you one just like it for ages.’
He just held his smile, expectant, waiting for me to elaborate.
‘I think it would feel nice,’ I said hesitantly. Oh shit, now it was coming out. Could I take that back?
‘Feel nice?’ he said.
I stared down at the melted ice cream on my plate, too mortified to continue.
‘You’ve gone bright red,’ he said, but his smile slowly widened. ‘OK, I think it’s time to get the bill and get the hell out of here. Things just got interesting.’
The restaurant was a short distance from our flat by the harbour. Dan walked me back with one hand around my elbow, the new belt wrapped around his other set of knuckles. Damn, it looked good there. Man and belt in living harmony. I was wildly optimistic as we headed into the lift and, as was our tradition, snogged all the way up to the third floor.
We tipped ourselves out and fumbled the key in the lock and somehow didn’t collapse on the hall floor. Instead we made a kissing, grabbing, lunging progress into the living room and managed to stay upright all the way over to the sofa.
He pinned me to it and I felt that soft leather brush my wrist.
‘So, then, Pip,’ he said, his wide white grin inches from mine. ‘Tell me what you meant when you said my belt would feel nice. Because, as far as I’m aware, belts are meant to keep trousers up. How could that make you feel nice? Hmm?’
‘I just thought … you know … it’s so soft and it smells so good …’
‘Don’t. I know what you thought.’
‘Do you?’
My heart jumped high, sealing up my throat so I could barely breathe.
‘Fancy a bit of slap and tickle, do we?’
I giggled, writhing happily underneath him. Yes! This could happen. This was starting to happen.
‘Maybe more slap than tickle,’ I whispered.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Do I have to sign a consent form?’
‘Story of my life. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. But no. I think in this case a verbal agreement holds good. Go on then. Turn over.’
He let go of my wrists and knelt up, watching me flip myself on to my stomach. My face rested against a velvet cushion, handy if I needed anything to yell into. We didn’t want to disturb the neighbours, after all.
I felt the tickly swish of my skirt being raised. It was a shame I had to imagine the look on his face as he uncovered lacy briefs and matching suspenders and stockings, but I’d seen it often enough before and at least I got to hear his low sigh of pleasure.
Rather than any sharp and sudden smack, the next physical contact was his lips on the low curve of my bottom, kissing their way over every inch of the flesh my knickers weren’t protecting. This kindled an amazing tingle, flooding my pussy and making my skin super-sensitive until I began to rather dread what I’d asked for.
Could I take it back and just carry on with this instead?
His fingers slipped inside the lacy elastic of my knickers, then down the suspender straps, pulling them out and letting them snap back so that I squealed.
‘Thought you’d like that,’ he said, his hands between my thighs now, pulling them apart. ‘Since you’re into pain these days.’
‘It’s not that I’m into pain,’ I said, my voice muffled by the cushion.
‘No? What then?’
‘Just … the whole idea turns me on, that’s all.’
‘The whole idea?’
‘Yeah. Being, I dunno, taken in hand. Dominated.’
‘Oh, so it’s a headspace thing.’
‘Totally.’
‘And I’m in charge, am I?’
‘If you want to be.’
‘So what if I just want to order you to get on your knees and suck me off?’
I huffed. I hoped he wasn’t going to miss the point now.
‘If you want to do that, do it. But it’s about both of us getting what we want, not just one of us.’
‘Right. And what you want is a good, sound spanking, is it?’
Oh, just hearing the words, spoken by him in his ‘arresting officer’ voice, could have got me off then and there.
‘Mmm, oh, God, yeah.’
‘Well,’ he said, his fingertips grazing the crotch of my knickers, stroking it up and down, up and down until my hips were undulating in sympathetic rhythm. ‘I’m not sure what you’ve done to deserve it. Apart from buy me a lovely anniversary present and give me three terrific years of marriage but … let’s say that you’re in trouble for having a bum that stops traffic.’
I snorted and tried to kick my legs but, as he was kneeling on them, that didn’t make much difference.
‘Oh, yes, you stand accused of conducting your arse without due care and attention, so that everyone on the public highway was distracted by it. How do you plead?’
‘Guilty,’ I proclaimed, steeling myself for the first blow.
It was much lighter than I anticipated, a little exploratory slap, so flimsy and weak-wristed I twisted my neck and frowned at him.
‘That’s it?’
‘Thing is, love,’ he said, his face crumpled in apology. ‘I’m not sure I can hurt you. Do you really want me to make it sting?’
‘Don’t hold back,’ I urged him. ‘I’ll tell you if it’s too much, I promise.’
‘Well, OK.’ He tried again, and this one made a most satisfying echo, his hand falling quite heavily across the meat of my right cheek. Oh, it hurt, but not too much. Really, just enough. I wondered how much it would take to get my arse really bright red, because that was what I wanted. No half-hearted blush pink, or rapidly fading warmth. I needed the full effect.
‘Harder,’ I said. ‘I’ve been bad.’
‘Have you now?’ More deliberate, forceful smacks landed on my rear. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about that. What have you done?’
‘I had bad thoughts,’ I gasped, starting to feel the burn spread through my lower body. ‘When you were on night shift, I thought about things you could do to me. All the time. And it made me touch myself.’
‘Oh, you naughty thing,’ he tutted, spanking steadily. ‘Perhaps we should have a rule. No touching, except by me. What do you think?’
‘Yes, yes.’ I grasped on to this eagerly. I had often fantasised about being punished for masturbating.
‘So we have a genuine rule break to address,’ he said. ‘I think that calls for no knickers, don’t you?’
He paused and pulled the stretchy lace down to my stocking tops, baring my now rather warm bottom.
‘You’re wet,’ he said, crouching to inspect my exposed pussy. He prodded at the lips, holding them aside for a better view of the hidden guilty secrets. One long finger glided easily up inside me. ‘Very wet,’ he amended. ‘Not much of a punishment, is it, if it’s turning you on?’
‘I can’t help it,’ I protested. ‘My body does it for me.’
‘Perhaps we’ll have to think of something else. Something you really won’t enjoy. A nice big pile of washing up, maybe.’
‘Perhaps you’ll just have to spank harder,’ I prompted. This wasn’t funny, no matter what he thought, chuckling away up there with his finger shoved inside me.
‘Well, it’s worth a try, I suppose.’
He emptied my pussy and reverted to heating up my arse, but this time his technique was different, much faster and less predictable. It was infinitely more difficult to take and I was quick to squirm and yelp and try to pull my legs out from under him. He was having none of it, though, and he held me down, his fist in the small of my back like a human paperweight.
‘Feeling it now, are you?’
‘That. Really. Hurts,’ I complained, jerking my hips as best I could.
‘Do you want me to stop?’
I shook my head. The heat was building beautifully and I didn’t want to call time until my skin was tight with it.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure about this to begin with, but I think I like it now. I think I could take to this.’
I stuffed the cushion into my mouth, suppressing a howl as he laid a particularly wicked volley on both cheeks.
Be careful what you wish for.
‘Your arse looks gorgeous, all lit up and glowing,’ he gloated. ‘I think you might have created a monster, love. And we haven’t even got to the belt yet.’
‘Ow,’ I said. It seemed to encapsulate my emotions.
‘OK, let’s temper justice with mercy, shall we? I think that’ll do for your first time. Now.’ He put his forearm under my stomach and encouraged me gently on to my knees, with my face still buried in the cushion.
I heard the business of trousers being unzipped, fabric falling behind me.
‘Poor little pickle,’ he crooned.
I felt the tip of his cock butting into my juices.
‘God, you are so wet!’ he exclaimed, obviously impressed. ‘This’ll be like a knife going into butter.’
And it was. An exceptionally blunt, thick knife, right into my slippery slick butter dish, so to speak. I couldn’t get enough of him, pushing myself back on to him, especially when he rammed himself right up against my hot cheeks. He held my hips tight and I felt taken, owned, mastered. God, it was the hottest thing ever. When I came I bit into the cushion to stop myself screaming.
Afterwards, lying on the sofa all rumpled and hot and tired, he picked the belt up off the floor.
‘Didn’t even get to use this,’ he said, yawning. ‘But it’s coming to you. Happy Anniversary, love.’
I can’t wait.
15 July (#ulink_338fcd5b-db79-59fd-95c1-2bf6b45128fc)
We’ve had a busy few weeks, lots of overtime for Dan, and I’ve been trying to put together some summer-holiday workshops for my adolescents. Some additional family stress surrounding my mother-in-law (who else?) has also been ongoing, taking our attention away from our marriage and sex life to an extent.
We’ve fooled about a bit, but any kinky stuff has been spur-of-the-moment and limited to a few smacks with the wooden spoon while I’m making dinner or whatever.
And, while I like the fun aspect of it, and can’t complain at how it seems to have pepped up our bedroom activities, I can’t help craving something a little more. Do I mean more? Or do I mean different? I don’t know.
The thing is, I’m not good with stress. In my day job, I have to model absolute patience and absolute tolerance, but this has always made Dan laugh because he knows that I’m actually extremely impatient and intolerant a lot of the time. I nearly ruined our relationship in the first year of marriage by constantly blowing my stack over the slightest little thing. I kept blaming him for everything – if I couldn’t find the scissors, he must have put them in the wrong place, though half the time it was me who’d done it.
I did this so often that we ended up having a blazing row that must have kept the neighbours awake, with him threatening to move into the section house. Since then, I’ve tried to work on my temper, but I’m not sure my strategy of passive-aggressive stomping around and silent moodiness is really the best one.
Ever since he spanked me on our wedding anniversary, I’ve had this mad fantasy about him doing it as a genuine punishment. Not in an overbearing, patriarchal sort of way, but from a desire to help me overcome my faults and be a better person. Loving discipline, if that makes any sense at all. I’m tired of feeling guilty about my outbursts, or simmering and keeping all the resentment and irritation inside me. Perhaps, if he spanked it out of me, I’d be able to address my petty annoyances with openness and honesty, like a proper adult. Not that I’ve ever felt like a proper adult. Does anyone, ever? I constantly feel that events are spiralling out of my control and I want someone to take that control for me. I want it to be him.
But I’m afraid to broach the subject with him. I think he’ll feel weird about it. So I’ve kept it to myself so far.
I’ve ordered a book, though. The Guiding Hand – A Disciplinary Manual for Loving Husbands. Sounds like some kind of crackpot 50s-throwback thing, doesn’t it? But the blurb alone turned me on so much I had to order it.
17 July (#ulink_5a8ff055-421f-5988-8ebe-2a39164df8a6)
So my new book arrived and it’s fascinating. I can’t stop reading it.
I mean, I fundamentally disagree with nearly all of what the author thinks about male and female roles; a lot of it’s horrifically sexist, not to mention homophobic, but if you pretend it’s a manual for any dominant person and their lover – instead of traditional heterosexual married couples – it starts to make a bit of sense.
I would die if anyone caught me with it but I just can’t put it down. I’m so conflicted, it’s as if I have an even split down the middle of me. There’s Pip the right-on youth worker and Pip the submissive wifey. Oh, God, I really can’t do this.
I’m going to have to put the book away and forget about it.
It’s just a fantasy.
That’s all.
20 July (#ulink_521f581a-0b8b-5103-800b-41cf3cb2db3b)
Oh, bugger.
Dan has found the book.
Everything had been going so well, too. We had the best night last night, and he actually used his new belt on me.
We went out for drinks with friends and were both in a very happy, high, flirty mood all evening. I couldn’t help teasing him and making cheeky little remarks and there came a moment, halfway through the final drink, when he leaned into me and said, right into my ear, ‘My belt’s coming out when I get you home, missy.’
It was ridiculously exciting. I bit my lip and clenched everything in my effort not to squeal. I made puppy-dog eyes at him, as if begging him to reconsider, but I had to tone it down a bit in case people cottoned on.
He laughed and squeezed my knee and said no more about it, but the promise was so heavy in the air that I could barely swallow the last inch of my wine and longed for all the goodbyes to be over with, quickly, so we could get home.
As soon as we were through the door, he had me up against the hall wall, his hand braced above my head, his forehead almost touching mine.
‘Someone’s been begging for a belting,’ he said softly. ‘Haven’t they?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, coyly over-dramatic, the situation making my face burn.
‘Yes, you do, you minx.’
He held me by my chin and took a fierce kiss from me until I nearly lost the use of my legs and slid down the wall like a person in a cartoon.
‘Go on,’ he said, releasing me. ‘Get those jeans down and bend over the arm of the sofa.’
I stared at him, joyously open-mouthed.
‘Now!’ he ordered.
I scampered off at the double, and, shivering inside, unbuttoned and lowered the jeans. Once they were mussed around my ankles, I bent over the arm of the chair, presenting my bottom in its sensible M&S cotton knickers.
‘That’s it,’ he said approvingly, once he had come out of the bedroom with the belt. ‘You know you need it, don’t you?’
‘Oh,’ I lamented, not quite able to talk the submissive talk, good as I was at bending over.
‘No, come on, I asked you a question, love. Now, what’s the answer? Do you need it, or do you need it?’
I snorted. ‘Both.’
‘Good. Right, I think these might be surplus to requirements.’
He pulled the knickers down.
‘You should have told me to take them off,’ I said, mildly surprised.
‘Are you telling me what to do? As it happens, I like pulling them down. It gives me a nice feeling. Right here.’
He nudged his jean-clad crotch into the lower curve of my bottom. It was hard already. When he pressed it into my pussy, he soaked it in my flowing juices.
‘Point taken,’ I said.
‘Now get that arse nice and high, ready to be kissed by the leather. More than kissed, I’d say. A good, long, full-on snog with tongues.’
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ I said, nervous now. What if it was unbearably painful?
He paused and put a hand on my bottom.
‘You OK?’
I nodded vigorously.
‘Fine, honestly. Just a little … apprehensive.’
‘Yeah, well, you’ll tell me to stop if it gets too much, right?’
‘Go back to being all mean and dominant, Dan. I’ll tell you, I promise.’
‘Right you are. Mean and dominant.’
He put his fist underneath my nose. It had the belt partly wrapped around it, about half of its length trailing away over the side of the sofa.
I took a good deep sniff and my eyes crossed with heavenly lust.
‘You’re getting that,’ he told me. ‘Kiss it. Go on.’
I laid my lips reverently on the supple hide, then watched it disappear from view.
I tensed my buttocks, but all that happened was a light, ticklish sensation as the V-shaped end of the belt dangled between my cheeks.
I twitched.
‘That tickles.’
‘It’ll tickle you some more. Stop tensing up.’
He patted my rump until I unknotted the muscles, cursing him under my breath.
I didn’t hear the belt fly through the air – I’d been hoping for that sexy whipping sound – so when it landed on my bum I was a bit shocked and my hand flew behind me to cover the little patch of sting it had left there.
‘Move your hand,’ commanded Dan, then, when I didn’t, he grabbed my wrist and tucked it under my stomach where it rested on the sofa arm. ‘No more of that or I’ll give you double strokes.’
I waited for the second, and then tried to work out if it was more or less painful than his hand. His hand was heavier and covered more area, but this had a unique viperish quality to it that promised torments to come.
It was deceptive in its lightness, little whispers of pain flicking over my bottom until he started to lay it on more heavily and then I began to rock and gasp. Solid bars of heat fell, one, two, three, then stopped.
I looked over my shoulder. He had put the belt down. Was that it?
‘No,’ he said, in answer to the unspoken question. ‘Just an interlude.’
He spread my thighs and began to rub my clit, gently, not enough to bring me off, but little teasing touches that had me pushing myself on his fingers and moaning for more.
‘Just as wet as ever,’ he said. ‘You want it, don’t you? God, you’re horny as fuck. Sorry, Twink.’
He took his fingers away and I pouted.
‘I’m not finished yet.’
The belt lashed down again and now it made a loud crack every time. I hoped our thin walls were enough to keep the noise from disturbing the neighbours. What on earth would they think we were doing? Would it be obvious? The thought that they knew Dan was giving my arse a good thrashing with his belt got me through six more hard strokes, keeping me soaking wet and ready.
He put the belt down again, just as I was starting to struggle. My breath staggered out in uneven pants and I prepared for more fingering, hoping he would press a bit harder this time.
But no.
It was his tongue, warm and wet, that pushed at my pussy next. He made a seal with his lips around my clit and breathed on it until it felt so hot and swollen I had to wriggle my hips furiously. Then the very tip of his tongue flicked at it, so tantalisingly I wanted to sob.
‘Oh, fuck, please,’ I wheedled. ‘Oh, yes.’
But he wouldn’t give me the pressure I craved. It was like having a feather lightly brushed over my clit, his devilishly unsatisfying combination of breaths and little tongue-tickles. I began to wish he’d get back to strapping me instead.
And so he did, six more firm strokes, and the harder he did it, the more I seemed able to take.
When he dropped the belt again, I was straining and beginning to sweat, but a strange kind of exhilaration made me want more.
Instead, Dan pushed the first couple of inches inside me and held it there until I begged him to fuck me.
‘Do you think you deserve it?’ he said.
‘I deserve it. I’m a bad girl.’
‘Then that means you need more of my belt, doesn’t it?’
‘Ohhh.’ I was delighted, loving every thrust, every stern word that went with it, even though it was more of his cock I really craved.
Obligingly, he pushed further in, but still with a maddening slowness that made me jolt my hips backwards, trying to catch his full length.
Once he was all the way in, I sighed deeply, ready for pleasure. But he thrust three times, then withdrew, and I was still vocalising my outrage when the belt lashed down again.
‘Just to make sure the message is getting through,’ he said, putting his shoulder into six more strokes.
I was struggling now, and he seemed to know it. When he put the belt down, I was right on the verge of tears and pleas. I drew a huge breath of relief and spread my thighs in invitation.
But, once he was inside me, giving me the hard fucking I’d wanted all along, part of me wished he hadn’t stopped. Part of me wished he’d carried on whipping my bum until the tears came and the pleas rained down, and then he’d whipped right through them. Did that make me wrong in the head?
I imagined him doing this while he powered into me from behind, imagined my bottom even sorer, my submission absolute. In the end it was those thoughts, rather than his stout attentions to my pussy, that made me come.
‘I need this,’ I sighed, while he speeded up and got ready to fill me with his spunk. ‘I need it.’
He grabbed my shoulder so hard it nearly dislocated, his orgasm mightier than usual, then lay down beside me, beaded with sweat, his eyes wide with astonishment at what had just overtaken him.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I see. I know.’
It was a lovely afterglow and he seemed so happy to have found his kinky side and had some fun with it.
But I don’t think his reaction to the book will be good. I think that will change the game completely.
21 July (#ulink_249891c3-8a8e-577b-8195-2979e6dd35a8)
He waited until after dinner to bring the subject up. Of course, I couldn’t eat. I was too busy trying to second-guess his reaction, but he was playing things totally straight, being normal Dan, full of stories about his colleagues and complaints about form-filling.
I was washing up in the kitchen when he wandered in, picked up a tea towel as if preparing to dry, and flicked it at my bottom, making me jump and rub at it.
‘Oi!’ I said.
‘What? You like that, don’t you?’
‘Not always. Not when I’m not expecting it.’
‘Oh, so it’s you calling the shots, is it?’ He stood behind me and clasped his arms around me, holding me there with his chin on top of my head. ‘Funny, that.’
‘Why funny?’ I asked guardedly.
‘I thought you were into that whole submissive thing these days.’
I twisted my neck round to look at his eyes. His face was quite grave.
‘You saw that book,’ I said.
‘Yeah, I did. You can’t seriously tell me that, after everything you say and do at work, day after day, you believe all that guff about fixed gender roles and male and female energies?’
‘No, Jesus, no, I don’t!’
‘Well, thank fuck for that. I thought a tornado had taken our flat and transplanted it in Stepford.’
I shook my head. ‘I believe the same things I’ve always believed.’
‘That’s what I thought. You like a bit of kink in the bedroom but you’re still the same person … this book is a bit weird, though. I can’t figure it out.’
I took a deep breath.
‘Look, Dan. The thing is, I like kink. I like to be spanked for fun. But … I think I want something a bit more than that too.’ I put my hand in the washing-up water, which was far too hot, and withdrew it rapidly.
‘Put the Marigolds on,’ he said.
I made a face. I hated putting the Marigolds on. They made my hands smell fusty for hours afterwards.
‘I’ll be all right,’ I said, tipping a handful of cutlery into the bubbles.
‘You’ll scald yourself. Put them on.’
I ignored him, picked up the cloth, plunged my hands quickly into the water and gasped as I withdrew a fork.
‘Jesus, Pip, why? Your hand looks like it’s been skinned. I can’t watch.’
He let go of me and took a step back.
He was right. That water was boiling and my hand throbbed so much I could barely hold the fork. I put it under a stream of cold water, exhaling with sweet relief.
When the burning was soothed, I turned around and leant against the sink, facing him.
‘That sums it up,’ I said. ‘That’s what I mean.’
‘What?’
‘You’re so sensible, Dan, and so capable, and I’m not. I do things like that all the time, and I get frustrated with myself and then I get angry with myself and then … I don’t know. It just boils away in my brain, a great big swamp of self-loathing that keeps getting added to and added to. It’s not good for me.’
‘It’s no big deal, love. Just a silly mistake. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘Exactly. I don’t want to be hard on myself. I want you to be hard on me.’
My heart pounded, and the palm that had been hot and itchy from the scalding water was now sweating.
‘Like the guys in your book, you mean? You want me to actually … discipline you?’
I nodded vigorously.
‘I want to be held to account. I want to be corrected.’
He laughed, a tad nervously, and looked up at the ceiling.
‘I’m sorry, Pip, I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just … uh … unusual. Isn’t it? I’ve spent my whole life trying to be respectful of women, you know …’
‘It’s not about you being a man and me being a woman. It’s nothing to do with that at all. It’s to do with me wanting to submit and having this need. Oh, I don’t know if I’m putting it very well.’
‘So if I wanted you to spank me, that would be fine?’
‘Well, I’d find it hard, because I don’t like dominating, but in principle, yes.’
‘Right. I don’t, by the way. Want you spank me, I mean. I’m not that way inclined.’
He tried a smile. I tried one back. It was encouraging, at least, that he hadn’t walked out of the door with words of a ‘no dice’ variety.
‘I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to,’ I said. ‘It’s just a thought. Just a thing I’ve been pondering. I wanted to find out a bit more about it so I got a book. I’m not demanding anything of you.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No. God, Dan, I’m happy with you. I love you. I don’t want you to change and I’m not some unsatisfied wife eaten up by sexual frustration. Far from it. But I think, for me, this discipline thing would work so well … it’s just a thought. That’s all.’
‘You have some interesting thoughts, don’t you, Twink?’ he said. ‘Now put those flaming Marigolds on, for Christ’s sake.’
And there the matter ended. (I did put the gloves on.)
25 July (#ulink_f677b581-8916-5858-8335-5c11deab17d5)
This has been the hardest working week in recent memory. Two of my kids have been in trouble with the law while another took an overdose. I spent all of last night in A&E with her, lobbying furiously to get her a place in an adolescent mental health unit. We got a bed in the end, but I feel like I’ve fought through every one of the seven labours of Hercules.
Then I’ve been at work all day, having to write reports. School holidays have started so the kids are kicking their heels, hanging around the centre demanding to be stimulated and fed and all the rest. I felt guilty about neglecting them to get the reports done, but I have a looming deadline and just had to leave them to play table-tennis and mess around on the DJ decks while I sat in the office with the door wedged open. Luckily Grant, my student assistant, turned up mid-afternoon and was able to keep more of an eye on them.
He offered to run the evening session to give me a break, but I feel like I should be there. There are some volatile relationships, especially among the older boys, and I worry that something will kick off in my absence.
So I nipped off at five, visited Jessie in the mental health unit (she seemed quite calm) and went home to grab a quick bite to eat before going back for the evening session.
‘You’re going back?’ Dan wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear it. ‘You look dead on your feet, love. Can’t someone else do it? Reva?’
‘She’s on holiday.’
I was too tired to even think about what I wanted to eat and just sank down on a dining chair, my head spinning.
‘What about that student bloke? Student Grant?’
‘Oh, he’s not experienced enough.’
‘I thought you said he used to be in the army and he’s thirty-eight years old.’
‘Yeah, but square-bashing and teen wrangling aren’t exactly the same thing …’
‘Whatever. He’s more than capable of overseeing a bit of disco dancing. Go on, call him and see if he’s free.’
‘He is. He offered to do it but …’
‘Well, there you are then. Problem solved. Call him.’
‘I’ll just worry …’
Dan snatched the phone from its cradle and thrust it at me.
‘Do it,’ he said. ‘And then you’re going to bed.’
Oh, God. I suddenly realised. He was doing what I’d hinted I wanted him to do. He was taking control when I wasn’t able to do it for myself. But now he was doing it, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to! I just wanted to whine and make excuses and argue him into giving in. But then I would get a horrible evening trying to run a teen disco on no hours’ sleep while he stewed here, feeling pissed off and unlistened to.
When it came down to it, he was right.
‘OK,’ I said, and with that I was liberated. Everything was taken off my shoulders and I could float into deep peace and relaxation.
I called Grant, who readily agreed to run the disco. He would have helped out anyway, having seen how pale and lacklustre I’d been earlier. He thought I needed a night off.
‘Have you been talking to my husband?’ I asked, suspicious, but he just laughed and said he’d see me tomorrow.
Dan smiled encouragingly at me as I hit the ‘end call’ button.
‘See. Not that hard, was it? What do you want to eat? What did you have for lunch?’
‘Oh.’ I thought vaguely about the lunch hour, then remembered that I’d worked right through it, with some half-formed intention of popping across to the little newsagent over the road later and getting a plastic-wrapped sandwich. Later had never come around. ‘I forgot.’
The look he gave me made me bite my lip. It would have turned me on if I hadn’t been too tired to even remember what sex was. As it went, I just hung my head and said, ‘I meant to, but I had reports …’
‘We talked about this before, didn’t we?’ he said. ‘After you fainted that time. I seem to remember you promising me you’d take better care of yourself.’
‘It was just this once,’ I said, but then I remembered that that was a lie. ‘A few times,’ I amended. ‘Not often. Look, I get busy, you know I do.’ My tone had switched from sheepish to querulous. It wasn’t fair that I should be in trouble for working too hard.
Despite the fact that I fantasised about Dan taking control in this way, now he was doing it, I felt my long-buried rebellious schoolgirl making her presence known. It seemed like the default response – sniping and arguing.
I wanted him to stand firm, and yet I also wanted to win.
It was all too confusing and, in the end, my tiredness made the decision for me.
‘We’re going to discuss that in the morning,’ he said. ‘But for now – bed. Go on. No arguments. I’ll bring you some supper on a tray.’
I nodded, my eyes half-shut already, and drifted across the kitchen. He caught me halfway and held me close, kissing me goodnight. I wanted to sleep there, in his arms, but he sent me on my way with a pat on my bottom.
I think it could be a taste of things to come.
26 July (#ulink_3b215a4d-b866-54fe-9b0f-27eefdce4540)
Be careful what you wish for.
Great advice, but impossible to follow. Wishes come unbidden and desires can’t be quelled. I wished for it, I got it. I really, really got it.
I was woken with a kiss.
‘Sleeping beauty,’ he said.
The room was still dark and my alarm hadn’t gone off.
‘Wass time?’ I tried to come to, but everything was blurred and the bed felt like a place I wanted to stay in for a lot longer.
‘Early,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d get up an hour earlier. We’ve both got work today, and I want to sort a few things out while they’re still fresh in our minds.’
Something about the way he said the words sent a warning pang right down to my solar plexus. Actually, it went a bit lower than that. I squinted at him through one eye.
He was sitting up in bed, looking ahead, his face perfectly grave. When he caught my glance, he raised an eyebrow, unsmiling.
If he was playing a role, he was doing it very convincingly.
I was scared of him. Actually scared.
But it was exhilarating at the same time.
‘You mean … about last night?’ I said.
‘Yes, I do. We have issues to address, Pip. Go and shower and brush your teeth and whatnot and then I want you straight back in here in your pyjamas. Understood?’
I think he wanted me to say, ‘Yes, Sir’ but I didn’t give him that satisfaction. Instead, I said, ‘Are you serious?’
‘Do I look like I’m joking, Philippa?’
Oh, bloody hell, Philippa.
It was enough to send me out of bed and into the bathroom without another word.
Under the hot shower jets I woke up properly, the citrusy scent of my shampoo acting like a stimulant to my senses. I put my hand on my bottom and felt the water stream over it. What sort of state might that be in by the time he was finished with me?
I pressed my thighs together and squirmed, feeling hot and breathless at the thought. I was going to be punished. Actually punished for my bad behaviour, and I had never looked forward to anything more. I didn’t care how much it was going to hurt – I hoped it would hurt a lot and I’d have to beg him to stop.
I washed myself carefully, getting every inch of myself as fresh and soft as I could, paying special attention to my bum. I wanted it to look good over his lap, or wherever he was going to put me. If the poor man had to do this terrible thing to me, the least he deserved was a nice view.
I towelled myself dry, scrubbed my teeth and put my pyjamas back on. They were thin cotton summer pyjamas – just plain white shorts and a vest. The material wouldn’t offer much protection, even if I was allowed to keep them on.
Allowed. The word made me cross my arms over my chest and shiver. I was going to be subject to Dan’s authority. Whatever he said in the next hour went. I wondered how naturally obedience would come to me.
Only one way to find out.
I stood dithering by the door handle for so long that he called out to ask if everything was all right in there.
His voice galvanised me and I walked into the bedroom, in pyjamas and hair wrapped in a towel turban.
‘You’ll have to dry your hair,’ he said. ‘I’ll get a shower while you’re sorting yourself out.’
While I sat at the dressing table, drying and straightening my hair, I looked into the mirror and noticed a few things. He had made the bed, but he’d put my pillows out in the centre of the duvet, one on top of the other.
Next to them, laid out neatly, were The Belt and my wooden-backed hairbrush.
‘Oh.’ I moaned out loud.
This was actually happening. I didn’t know whether to squeal or swear.
My hair was dry before Dan came out of the shower. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I didn’t dare approach the bed with its frightful accessories, so I simply sat quietly at the dressing table, rather compulsively arranging my nail polishes into colour groups.
When he came out, I couldn’t look at him, but I caught sight in the mirror of his smart dark trousers and white shirt. A wave of synthetic ocean freshness blasted my nostrils when he came closer and crouched down behind me, looking at my face in the mirror over my shoulder.
‘All ready?’ he whispered, putting his hands over my bare upper arms.
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back. ‘Depends what I have to be ready for.’
‘Go and sit down on the edge of the bed,’ he said.
I obeyed without thinking, sinking my bottom down into the comfort of the duvet. He took a seat opposite on the swivel chair, which placed him quite a lot higher than me. Instantly he was in the superior position, leaning forward, hands on his knees, demanding my full attention.
‘Now then, Philippa,’ he said.
I could barely breathe. He had exactly that calm, authoritative manner he used with his suspects in the interview room – firm but fair, always likeable but never to be crossed.
I thought I might fall in love with him all over again, even though I was fidgeting at the end of the bed, horribly aware of the objects behind me. Objects that might very soon be making harsh contact with my bottom.
‘Can you tell me what you think I want to discuss with you this morning?’
I chewed on the inside of my cheek.
‘I skipped lunch,’ I muttered, fighting an absurd urge to smile. Now I understood why naughty kids caught in their mischief tended to smirk and fidget while they were being reproved. I was doing exactly the same things, and I just couldn’t stop myself.
‘Is something funny?’
The smile died and I shook my head.
‘No, Philippa, you’re right. It isn’t funny at all. Your health and your well-being are serious matters. Aren’t they?’
‘I s’pose.’
‘Look up and speak up.’
Christ, he sounded quite fierce. I swallowed and met his eye, very unwillingly.
‘Yes,’ I admitted.
‘So why did you neglect them yesterday?’
‘I told you why. I forgot. I was busy.’
‘Sweetheart, we all have busy lives. You aren’t unique in that. You need to organise yourself better, don’t you?’
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Justine Elyot
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Эротические романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 19.09.2024
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О книге: Is it possible to be a confident twenty-first century woman and submit to your lover?From Justine Elyot, the bestselling author of ‘On Demand’ and ‘Kinky’, ‘Confessions of a Kinky Wife’ is the perfect read for anyone who loves Sylvia Day’s Crossfire trilogy or ‘The Secret Diary of a Submissive’.It′s difficult, as a modern woman, to admit that you want your lover to punish you. Not just a fun spanking in the bedroom – real punishment.Philippa knows what she wants. She wants her police officer husband to take her in hand.But how do you ask your lover to hurt you? And, if they′re willing, how do you make sure that being taken in hand doesn′t get out of hand?Philippa and Dan explore the secret world of Domestic Discipline. Perhaps it will suit them, perhaps it won′t. But they mean to find out, one way or the other.Other titles in the Secret Diary series are:Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse by Lily HarlemConfessions of a Kinky Divorcee by Lana FoxConfessions of a Greedy Girl by Madelynne Ellis