Read Online Covert Cravings by Maggie Carpenter - Free Book Online
Authors: Maggie Carpenter
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scolding her for being immature, for wearing his T-shirts indiscriminately, for not washing her dishes. Suddenly she was over his lap, the hairbrush spanking her bottom. She was rubbing her clit furiously, the wave about to wash over her, she was gasping, then her back lifted and she held her breath – and it broke.
She squirmed under her hand, milking the convulsions, riding the sweet ecstasy of release until the spasms subsided and her hand dropped away.
Her body was tingling and she felt herself doze, lost in an easy sleep. All the tension – all the stress she had been feeling – like ether it had floated away.
* * *
In his office Scott’s computer pinged. He had just received an email. Bunny’s Blog Alert. Bunny has just posted a new blog. He looked at his watch and frowned. Opening it up he began to read.
Chapter Ten
Driving home before closing time was another first for Scott. One he didn’t care for. He couldn’t understand why Emily was at home. She had to be. He certainly couldn’t imagine her writing such a thing from the store.
She hadn’t called to say she was sick, and there would be no reason for her to have left the boutique unless there was some kind of emergency, which clearly there wasn’t. He was still pondering her words.
In their house Emily was happily propped up on the bed having a cup of tea, completely engrossed in a show she had recorded and had been dying to watch. She couldn’t remember when she’d had an afternoon completely by herself to just laze. It was heaven. It was only 4:30 and Scott wouldn’t be home for a full ninety minutes. She thought she’d have a bubble bath when she finished her tea and watched her show.
But she hadn’t counted on the guilt.
Suzanne was covering for her and it was naughty of her to have taken off as she did. Even though she fully intended to make amends, it still didn’t feel right.
Emily didn’t hear Scott’s truck pull into the driveway, or the door open and close, or his footsteps as he climbed the stairs. Not even when he stood in the bedroom doorway watching her in disbelief did she turn her head.
“What are you ––?” he started, but was unable to finish.
Jumping in shocked surprise, Emily’s cup of tea went flying. The brown liquid hit the front of Scott’s T-shirt and spilled over on to their bedspread.
“Oh my God! Damn that’s hot,” she yelled, leaping up from the bed, spilling even more.
“Scott! Oh, I’m sorry about the shirt. Why are you home?” she asked, frantically, putting the cup on their nightstand and holding the shirt away from her body.
The television was blaring and Scott marched across to the bed and grabbed the remote, switching it off. He was seething. The $75 shirt was brand new.
“I think it’s you who should be answering that question, and that shirt – why do you insist on wearing my shirts? You’ve stained three of them already. That one is brand new!”
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, crunching her face.
“Why are you home? Did something happen at the store,” he pressed. “Never mind, tell me later – take that shirt off and put it in the sink in cold water.”
She was standing, staring at him, a deer in headlights.
“Now!” he barked. “Then come back and tell me what’s going on.” If there was ever a time he wanted to throw her over his knee and spank her silly it was now. But he held back. He had read never to spank in anger. But there was more to it than that. The manner in which he planned to introduce discipline into their lives had formulated in his mind and he was sticking to it.
Emily felt 12 years old again. She was mortified. Running into the bathroom she filled the sink with cold water and dropped in the shirt, pushing it under, making sure it was completely soaked, then wrapped a robed around her naked body and walked back to face him. He was staring
She squirmed under her hand, milking the convulsions, riding the sweet ecstasy of release until the spasms subsided and her hand dropped away.
Her body was tingling and she felt herself doze, lost in an easy sleep. All the tension – all the stress she had been feeling – like ether it had floated away.
* * *
In his office Scott’s computer pinged. He had just received an email. Bunny’s Blog Alert. Bunny has just posted a new blog. He looked at his watch and frowned. Opening it up he began to read.
Chapter Ten
Driving home before closing time was another first for Scott. One he didn’t care for. He couldn’t understand why Emily was at home. She had to be. He certainly couldn’t imagine her writing such a thing from the store.
She hadn’t called to say she was sick, and there would be no reason for her to have left the boutique unless there was some kind of emergency, which clearly there wasn’t. He was still pondering her words.
In their house Emily was happily propped up on the bed having a cup of tea, completely engrossed in a show she had recorded and had been dying to watch. She couldn’t remember when she’d had an afternoon completely by herself to just laze. It was heaven. It was only 4:30 and Scott wouldn’t be home for a full ninety minutes. She thought she’d have a bubble bath when she finished her tea and watched her show.
But she hadn’t counted on the guilt.
Suzanne was covering for her and it was naughty of her to have taken off as she did. Even though she fully intended to make amends, it still didn’t feel right.
Emily didn’t hear Scott’s truck pull into the driveway, or the door open and close, or his footsteps as he climbed the stairs. Not even when he stood in the bedroom doorway watching her in disbelief did she turn her head.
“What are you ––?” he started, but was unable to finish.
Jumping in shocked surprise, Emily’s cup of tea went flying. The brown liquid hit the front of Scott’s T-shirt and spilled over on to their bedspread.
“Oh my God! Damn that’s hot,” she yelled, leaping up from the bed, spilling even more.
“Scott! Oh, I’m sorry about the shirt. Why are you home?” she asked, frantically, putting the cup on their nightstand and holding the shirt away from her body.
The television was blaring and Scott marched across to the bed and grabbed the remote, switching it off. He was seething. The $75 shirt was brand new.
“I think it’s you who should be answering that question, and that shirt – why do you insist on wearing my shirts? You’ve stained three of them already. That one is brand new!”
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, crunching her face.
“Why are you home? Did something happen at the store,” he pressed. “Never mind, tell me later – take that shirt off and put it in the sink in cold water.”
She was standing, staring at him, a deer in headlights.
“Now!” he barked. “Then come back and tell me what’s going on.” If there was ever a time he wanted to throw her over his knee and spank her silly it was now. But he held back. He had read never to spank in anger. But there was more to it than that. The manner in which he planned to introduce discipline into their lives had formulated in his mind and he was sticking to it.
Emily felt 12 years old again. She was mortified. Running into the bathroom she filled the sink with cold water and dropped in the shirt, pushing it under, making sure it was completely soaked, then wrapped a robed around her naked body and walked back to face him. He was staring
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