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Authors: Cara Bristol
Tags: BDSM
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hands with faith and acceptance, it is so intimate, it can’t help but be erotic. Even if it isn’t arousing at the time, it enhances the overall eroticism of the marriage.”
“You both make it sound so positive.” Melania clasped her hands tightly. Liz and Candi were accomplished, professional women. Normal. And they liked being spanked. She didn’t get it. Even if she could come to tolerate it, she would never want it, never like it.
“It is positive.” Candi said. “It’s positive for me. But it’s not for everyone. Some women can’t accept it, can’t surrender control to that degree. But I think if more people practiced it, they’d be happier—women and men both.”
Melania took another sip of wine. She thought she might be one of those women who couldn’t accept domestic discipline, but didn’t want to say so in light of Liz and Candi’s enthusiastic support. They had a right to pursue whatever made them happy. She just couldn’t conceive it would make her happy.
The only thing spanking had done that could remotely be construed as positive was to force her to confront her expectations about her marriage and view it through the lens of a mature woman instead of a starstruck bride. However, Melania wasn’t convinced that was positive. Ignorance had been bliss. She wanted her fairy tale. She wanted her rose-tinted glasses back!
Liz touched Melania’s arm. “It’s a lot to process. What happened today was momentous, and your emotions haven’t had time to catch up. It’s okay to feel out of sorts. One thing spanking has taught me is to move with my emotions rather than fight against them or keep them bottled up.
“Spanking has brought Otis and me so much closer together. We have an intimacy I can’t imagine having without it. And when my life gets hectic and turns me into a jitterbug, it settles my nerves and clears my head.” Liz curved her mouth into a wry smile. “On a few occasions, when I’ve felt especially stressed or short-tempered, I’ve asked Otis to spank me.”
Melania gulped the last of her wine. Even if she could put up with Jared’s discipline, she would never in a million years ask for a spanking.
Chapter Five
After pouring snifters of cognac, Jared passed around his humidor. When the two other men completed the ritual of cutting and lighting cigars, they settled into comfortable, companionable silence in Jared’s leather chairs.
At least Otis and Tucker were comfortable. Jared was too keyed up to relax. Unexpected emotions knotted inside like tangled fishing ties. Regret pricked at him. He prided himself on his ability to focus, to set a course of action and follow it. He made a decision. He executed it. He rarely looked back. So he shouldn’t question his actions now. But the more he thought about his wife, the more troubled he became. Self-doubt settled heavily on his chest. He had wanted to talk to Melania privately in the kitchen after dinner to ease his mind, but Liz Davenport inadvertently had prevented that.
With a cognac warming in his palm, a Dominican cigar clamped between his teeth, Jared eyed the spanking bench and pictured his wife draped over it, her tender backside vulnerable, her legs spread wide, her luscious pussy exposed. Despite the ache of regret, his cock hardened. Spanking his wife had stirred him in a primitive, carnal way. That her naked body had aroused him was no surprise; the sight of her always did. It was the depth of desire and the aftermath of emotion, tender and turbulent, that left him feeling as if he’d been he’d been paddled and had his attitude readjusted.
Melania’s obedience humbled him. Yet he sensed her submission was a gift given warily, and that troubled him. He had expected tears, but an underlying tenor to her weeping suggested her pain went deeper than physical discomfort. Her pain had become his; he felt her sobs as if she’d raked her fingernails across his skin.
Obedience was not the same as
“You both make it sound so positive.” Melania clasped her hands tightly. Liz and Candi were accomplished, professional women. Normal. And they liked being spanked. She didn’t get it. Even if she could come to tolerate it, she would never want it, never like it.
“It is positive.” Candi said. “It’s positive for me. But it’s not for everyone. Some women can’t accept it, can’t surrender control to that degree. But I think if more people practiced it, they’d be happier—women and men both.”
Melania took another sip of wine. She thought she might be one of those women who couldn’t accept domestic discipline, but didn’t want to say so in light of Liz and Candi’s enthusiastic support. They had a right to pursue whatever made them happy. She just couldn’t conceive it would make her happy.
The only thing spanking had done that could remotely be construed as positive was to force her to confront her expectations about her marriage and view it through the lens of a mature woman instead of a starstruck bride. However, Melania wasn’t convinced that was positive. Ignorance had been bliss. She wanted her fairy tale. She wanted her rose-tinted glasses back!
Liz touched Melania’s arm. “It’s a lot to process. What happened today was momentous, and your emotions haven’t had time to catch up. It’s okay to feel out of sorts. One thing spanking has taught me is to move with my emotions rather than fight against them or keep them bottled up.
“Spanking has brought Otis and me so much closer together. We have an intimacy I can’t imagine having without it. And when my life gets hectic and turns me into a jitterbug, it settles my nerves and clears my head.” Liz curved her mouth into a wry smile. “On a few occasions, when I’ve felt especially stressed or short-tempered, I’ve asked Otis to spank me.”
Melania gulped the last of her wine. Even if she could put up with Jared’s discipline, she would never in a million years ask for a spanking.
Chapter Five
After pouring snifters of cognac, Jared passed around his humidor. When the two other men completed the ritual of cutting and lighting cigars, they settled into comfortable, companionable silence in Jared’s leather chairs.
At least Otis and Tucker were comfortable. Jared was too keyed up to relax. Unexpected emotions knotted inside like tangled fishing ties. Regret pricked at him. He prided himself on his ability to focus, to set a course of action and follow it. He made a decision. He executed it. He rarely looked back. So he shouldn’t question his actions now. But the more he thought about his wife, the more troubled he became. Self-doubt settled heavily on his chest. He had wanted to talk to Melania privately in the kitchen after dinner to ease his mind, but Liz Davenport inadvertently had prevented that.
With a cognac warming in his palm, a Dominican cigar clamped between his teeth, Jared eyed the spanking bench and pictured his wife draped over it, her tender backside vulnerable, her legs spread wide, her luscious pussy exposed. Despite the ache of regret, his cock hardened. Spanking his wife had stirred him in a primitive, carnal way. That her naked body had aroused him was no surprise; the sight of her always did. It was the depth of desire and the aftermath of emotion, tender and turbulent, that left him feeling as if he’d been he’d been paddled and had his attitude readjusted.
Melania’s obedience humbled him. Yet he sensed her submission was a gift given warily, and that troubled him. He had expected tears, but an underlying tenor to her weeping suggested her pain went deeper than physical discomfort. Her pain had become his; he felt her sobs as if she’d raked her fingernails across his skin.
Obedience was not the same as
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