Confessions of a Kinky Wife (14 page)

Even then, it seemed like a storm in a teacup, but I texted Dan a smoochy little love note all the same, in case he was still het up about it.

He texted back, ‘Just you wait till I get home,’ which made me smile and think that perhaps he was over his mini-crisis.

Of course, he didn’t get home until I was grabbing my handbag and swallowing down the last of my toast, on the way out, so I was glad I hadn’t waited but had simply gone to bed at the usual time and got a good night’s sleep.

Tonight might be interesting though, I thought …

And it was.

I got home at seven after an exhausting day and a trip to the clinic to get a morning-after pill for one of the girls who regularly attended the centre.

I knew Dan would be home, but there was no TV or radio noise, no clatter of pans in the kitchen. In fact, the flat was silent. Perhaps he was asleep?

I stuck my head around the living-room door – no sign, nor further in behind the kitchen partition.

The bathroom door was open, so he couldn’t be in there. There only remained one place to look.

I opened the bedroom door slowly.

‘Dan?’ I whispered, in case he was asleep.

There was nobody in there. I walked further in, then screamed as he leapt out from behind the door and grabbed hold of me.

‘What the fuck?’ I shouted, adrenalin capering around my body like an acrobat.

He laughed and laughed.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist it, oh, God, your face. Oh, come on. I’m sorry.’ He pulled my resisting form into his arms and held me until I was still.

I noticed that he was wearing his uniform.

‘What’s with the new look? Are you moonlighting as a kissogram?’

He sat me down on the edge of the bed.

‘No. Just thought it might add to the sense of occasion.’

‘Have you got handcuffs?’

He patted his utility belt. It clinked.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘When you say “sense of occasion”, you mean …?’

‘I mean you can strip down to your underwear and put yourself in that corner over there until I’m ready for you.’

What was this? He’d gone from funny and flirty to Sergeant Authority in the blink of an eye. I felt like one of his suspects, collared for flicking him the Vs in the shopping centre – a silly kid who needed to be taught a lesson.

And because I was being spoken to like a rebellious fourteen-year-old, I found myself behaving like one.

‘What for? I don’t wanna.’

‘Philippa, you can strip yourself or I can do it for you. Either way, you’ll do as you’re told.’

The words went straight between my thighs, making me squirm and idly contemplate getting arrested by him some day. I wondered if his suspects ever felt turned on by his air of quiet assertiveness. Perhaps there were women who deliberately committed crimes, just to get cuffed by him. Mmm.

All the same, I felt like shouting that I knew my rights and I wanted my lawyer.

I was pouting as I took off my work clothes, and I flung them gracelessly to the floor, refusing to look at him.

‘Laundry basket,’ he said with a sigh.

Standing there with his arms folded and his shirt so white and his trousers so black, he seemed to tower over me, a presence to inspire fear and awe.

I dumped the clothes in the basket and stood there for longer than necessary, staring into the crumpled swirls of fabric, unwilling or unable to make my own way to the corner.

‘That’s the first half of the order,’ said Dan. ‘Can you remember the second?’

I humphed and did a hostile little shrug.

‘I think you can. Go on.’

‘I don’t want to stand in the corner. I’d rather just get it over with.’

‘I’d rather not have to deal with insubordination during discipline, Philippa. If you want extra punishment, you’re going about it very well.’

I stamped my foot and dawdled over to the corner. Damn, he was so uncompromising when he was in this mood. And so sexy, I thought, stealing a furtive glance from the corner of my eye.

I wanted to smile, then. After all, this was what I wanted. And yet I still felt I ought to resist, I ought to protest. I ought to fight for the dignity I had willingly relinquished. It was stupid, but I’m human, and humans are stupid.

I stood in the corner in my knickers and bra and folded my arms mutinously.

He came up to my shoulder and I heard the rattle of the cuffs before I felt his hand close over my upper arms and wrench them apart. He put my hands behind my back and cuffed them. Proper cuffs, these, not the type you get from the Ann Summers catalogue. Heavy, cold metal, weighing on your wrists until they ache. He locked them shut then patted my hip before withdrawing.

‘I’ll call you when I’m ready,’ he said. ‘If you move out of that corner, I’ll put you straight back, with a plug inside you. Understood?’

I shivered, exquisitely captive. ‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Good. While you’re there, I want you to think about the perils of drinking and driving.’

‘I didn’t drink and drive, Sir.’

‘No, I know, but I still want you to think about it.’

He left the room.

I have to confess, I didn’t think about drink driving for one minute. I thought about my poor bottom and what might be about to happen to it. I clenched my cheeks and imagined the sound of the cane swishing through the air towards me. I didn’t think I could take it.

I also thought about the feel of the cuffs on my wrists, how they contained and constrained me and restricted what I could do. I liked the feeling, despite the discomfort. I liked the idea that Dan could modify my behaviour, just as these cuffs modified my potential for physical movement. I liked the feeling of benign imprisonment, of it all being for my own good, because he cared about me.

I thought about the butt plug and how it had felt, and how it might feel if he put it in me now. He’d said he was going to keep them for after spankings. Would he do that tonight? Something about the plug reminded me at the deepest, basest level that I had submitted myself to him. I could carry on fooling myself through anything else, but the plug left no room for self-delusion. The plug told the truth of the matter.

Again, I clenched my buttocks. My legs were feeling a little trembly now. I pushed my nose right into the corner and made condensation on the paintwork with my breath until he opened the door again.

‘Have you had time to think about why you’re being punished tonight?’ he asked.

‘I don’t need time to think about that. I already know.’

My adolescent-style whining was really coming to the fore tonight.

‘You do? So, are you going to tell me?’

‘Because I had too much to drink and couldn’t drive home. And because …’ I stopped. I really wanted to say, ‘because you want to’, but at the last minute my bravado failed me.

‘Because?’

‘No other reason. Just that.’

‘I see. And have you considered the reason you drank too much? Was it simply forgetfulness or a moment of madness?’

Ah. OK. Now he was asking. Because of course it wasn’t either of those.

‘No,’ I said quietly.

‘So what was it?’

‘I was annoyed.’

‘Annoyed why?’

‘With you. Because I wanted to leave and you wanted to stay.’

‘Right. So you drank too much to drive home as a way of getting your own back on me.’

‘I was bored.’

‘So, boredom and passive aggression?’

I sighed heavily.

‘You see, it’s fine for me to take you to your friends’ parties and sit there drinking lemonade and being looked daggers at and whispered about. But it’s not fine for you to be bored for an hour while my friends do their best to entertain you.’

Gah. When he put it that way, it did make me sound like a bit of a brat. I couldn’t stand that he had a point. I didn’t want to acknowledge it. But I had to.

‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered.

‘I didn’t catch that.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, not in a particularly apologetic manner.

‘Are you really? That sounded like it came from a very grudging place. Let’s see how grudging you are with your apologies when we’re done here, shall we?’

‘No, I really am,’ I said, twisting around from my corner position and turning on the beseeching eyes.

‘Here,’ he said, and he picked up two pillows and put them into the middle of the bed. ‘Come and put yourself over these.’

‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, approaching dubiously.

‘I’m going to do what you want me to do,’ he said.

How could such words be so ominous?

I swallowed and shuffled forwards. It was surprisingly difficult to maintain balance with heavy metal cuffs on my wrists. I knelt on the bed and wriggled myself into position. The time for argument was past. I just had to take my medicine and hope it wasn’t too foul.

‘You aren’t going to use the cane, are you?’ I blurted. ‘Please.’

I heard his heavy police-issue boots on the wooden floor, moving from one side of me to the other. He sat and put his hand on my cotton-clad bottom.

‘I don’t think you deserve the cane for this,’ he said, more kindly than before. ‘If you’d tried to drive the car without telling me you’d had too much wine, then yes, most definitely, I’d have called that a caning offence. But you were honest when it counted, so I’ll leave it in the cupboard for tonight.’

I exhaled hugely.

Now that was out of the way, I thought I might even be looking forward to my punishment.

‘Thanks,’ I said meekly.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said, with two heavy pats on my bum, not exactly spanks but not far off.

He stood up again and went to get something from another room.

Lying on my front over the pillows, handcuffed, with my face in the duvet, it wasn’t easy to look around and see what was going on. I had to twist my neck into uncomfortable contortions to see the door. I decided to keep my head down and try to be zen about the whole thing. What would be would be; there was no point anticipating or fighting it.

When he came back again, he put what felt like an armful of things down on the bed by my feet. He knelt behind me, lifted my hips and reached underneath to add another pillow, obviously thinking my bum wasn’t sticking out enough. Now it was pushed up high, my cotton knickers straining over my cheeks. The spanking was going to hurt.

But I was at least allowed to keep my knickers on, which was a good sign. At least, I thought so.

He picked something up and I wondered if it was a paddle or a strap or something completely different.

It was something completely different.

It was a bath sponge.

I squealed and then giggled as drops of cold water fell like heavy rain on to my bum and soaked into my knickers.

‘Oh, my God, what?’ I exclaimed.

‘Keep still.’ He pushed my cuffed hands into the small of my back, away from the waterfall. The trickle continued to drip all over my cheeks, sinking in, slowly but surely, until I was wearing a pair of thoroughly wet panties, right down to the crotch. The coldness made me shiver.

‘It’s freezing,’ I complained.

‘Not for long,’ he said.

One loud, wet smack fell hard on my bottom.

‘Christ!’

It hurt. It hurt more than it did on dry bare flesh. Something about the water added an element of fierce sting to proceedings.

‘Painful?’ asked Dan sternly.

‘Very.’

‘So it should be.’

He added another dozen smacks, hard and fast, while I gritted my teeth and tried hard to be brave. Once he had delivered twenty or so, he stopped and warned me that he was going to move on to the strap.

‘It hurts,’ I wailed.

‘I know. Twenty strokes.’

The feeling of that leather falling like vengeance on my poor wet bum was something I couldn’t have imagined. It stung like a swarm of bees, the smart spreading outwards and chasing away the cold. My knickers clung to my bottom as if glued, the strokes making loud slappy sounds each time the strap fell.

‘It really hurts,’ I shouted. ‘More than anything.’

I tried to reach down with my cuffed hands, to protect my bottom from the onslaught, but I knew it would make no difference, so I had to content myself with trying to twist away from the strap. He put his hand on my back and held me in position and carried on regardless.

I lost count early on, too busy kicking and gasping to try anything more mentally challenging.

‘My goodness, this is certainly very effective,’ he said, laying them on with inexorable force. ‘I’ll remember this.’

I tried a sobbing noise, to see if it would stop him.

It didn’t.

I suppose he must have gone past the dozen mark by the time I decided I’d do anything to end this.

‘Dan, I can’t!’ I shouted. ‘It’s too much.’

He stopped straight away and crouched over me, his hand rubbing my spine.

‘OK, OK, love,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to stop completely or do you just need a break?’

I thought about this. If I wanted to, I could wriggle out of the rest of the punishment. It was a tempting prospect, but I knew that, if I succumbed to the temptation, I’d feel weirdly disappointed. I didn’t want Dan to let me off, just as I got indignant on his behalf when crooks he’d arrested got away scot-free or with a light sentence. Having been fairly tried and convicted, I didn’t want to dodge any of my punishment. And I didn’t want to feel that I could manipulate Dan any time I wanted either. I wanted to know that I was going to get what he thought I deserved. I needed him to have that strength and focus. He thought I should get twenty with the strap, so I wanted twenty with the strap. The wet-bottom thing was a bit much, though, all the same.

But I needed to show him that I had faith in him.

So I lifted my head, stuck my bum back out and said, ‘No, I’m OK. Just needed to catch my breath.’

‘You’re quite something, you know?’ he said softly, then he picked the strap back up. ‘Sure?’

I nodded.

‘Right. Seven more, and they’re going to be hard.’

Fine. As long as you don’t put any more of that water on me.

The first stroke was a blast of shocking pain and I cursed myself for not getting out when I had the chance. Jeez, what an idiot. But I was determined to be strong and, although I yelled out, I kept myself in position.