She sat on the bed. Remorse consumed her. Why had she spoken to him that way? She really had no idea what had come over her. She knew he expected her to speak to him respectfully. She knew he didn't deserve her fury. She knew he hated when she contradicted him in front of their family, or friends.
And she knew they'd agreed he could punish her for disobeying him if he deemed it necessary.
Before, things would've been different. They'd have gotten into an argument. She'd have lost her temper and he'd have lost his temper, and things likely would've spiraled out of control. In the past, she'd feel remorse for what she'd said or done long before he was ready to forgive her. He'd be resentful and angry, and she'd want him to get over it already and forgive her. They'd be driven apart until finally, the two of them would make amends. It could take days. Days of regret, hurt, and tension.
Not anymore. Not since they'd make the mammoth leap in trust and dynamics they'd taken four months earlier. Not since she'd said, “Yes, I want you in charge. I trust you,” and given it all over to him.
The first time he'd spanked her, it had been awful. It hadn't been the actual pain itself, though that was no walk in the park. She'd been afraid, and it had hurt far more than she'd anticipated. But her feelings of sorrow and guilt, combined with the knowledge that she'd let him down, were hard to bear.
Then something strange happened. She'd felt forgiven. There'd been no more of that awful regret and guilt consuming her. He held her in his arms and told her she was forgiven. Relief washed over her, and she felt a new sense of respect for her man. For her man, who was strong enough and manly enough to put her over his knee if he deemed it necessary.
She heard him coming up the stairs and her heart pounded. A healthy fear for her husband was a new experience. Would he be angry? Would the spanking be worse than it had been before? Would it be bearable?
He loves you, she told herself. You know you deserve this. Trust him. It will be over soon.
Her self talk helped her as he mounted the stairs, but then all her courage fled when he pushed the door open to her bedroom. He seemed so stern. So strong.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered, not because she was hoping to avoid punishment. She knew in her heart that it was inevitable. She apologized because she truly meant it.
“I'm glad to hear it,” he said, as he went to the dresser where he kept her wooden hairbrush. “You should be.” His voice was calm and steady, no trace of anger. Nothing but firm resolve. Her heart pounded steadily. She heard the clink of the drawer as he pulled it open.
He stood at the foot of the bed, the dreaded hairbrush in hand.
“Come here,” he commanded quietly. Trembling, she obeyed. She stood in front of him with her head hung in shame. He sat on the edge of the bed, then pulled her over to him. She stood between his knees, feeling a lump rise in her throat. At times like these, she felt repentant already. She hated disappointing him. Placing the brush next to him, both of his hands reached for hers.
“You know I love you,” he began in a low murmur, and she nodded, gulping, her eyes on their hands.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And you know this has to stop.”
“Yes,” she whispered again, as a tear rolled down her cheek.
“Look in my eyes,” he instructed. Reluctantly, she obeyed. Her heart quaked at the look in his eyes, both tender and stern at the same time.
“You know you deserve a spanking,” he began. She nodded mutely. “And I'm committed to doing what needs to be done,” he said firmly.
Her heart pounded, and she nodded. Then his hands reached for the buttons on her jeans, and he undid them. He pushed them down and held her hand as she stepped out.
“Now lay over my lap,” he said.
She turned, shaking, and lay so that her belly was over his knees. He positioned her, and she held her breath as she felt him pull her panties down. She felt the hard wooden brush on her bare backside.
“Why am I spanking you?” he asked sternly. She gulped, her fingers anchored on the hard wood floor in front of her.
“For talking back to you,” she whispered, as another tear escaped.
“Did you stop when I asked you to?”
“No,” she whispered. Please, please just get this over.
“Did I warn you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I'm going to spank you, and I'm going to spank you hard. I don't want to have to do this again anytime soon. Lay as still as you can.” She tensed in anticipation.
“Okay,” she whispered, just wanting it all over already. And then he began.
She gasped at the sting of the brush on her bare skin. He lifted it, and brought it down again, and again. She squirmed under the pain, involuntarily trying to escape. She felt beads of sweat on her face, and grasped his pants in her hands as he spanked her thoroughly.
“You will not contradict me,” he scolded. “I will not have you treating me this way.”
“Yes,” she gasped, as he continued to spank her, slowly but firmly, sharp, radiating pain consuming her. Why had she agreed to this? When would he stop? Hadn't she learned her lesson?
“I have had enough of the rude talk and lack of respect. Things are going to change, and they're going to change now.”
Swat. Swat. Swat.
He never brought the brush down in the same place twice, but steadily and firmly applied it to her backside. She tried to pull away as a particularly sharp swat landed on the top of her thigh, but he held her firmly. She had no choice but to submit. To relinquish control. She thought she couldn't take anymore. Then she felt herself go within, that place of introspection and submission she reached when he spanked her. She felt relief flood over her as he placed the brush on the bed and began massaging her.
“It's over now,” he murmured. She felt tears wash over her, tears of remorse, guilt, and shame. They coursed down her cheeks as he held her. And then he was lifting her up as she wept, and he was holding her in his arms.
“Shhhh,” he said, “We're done now. Now we'll put this behind us.” He rocked her until her weeping quieted.
As he helped her into bed, his touch was unmistakably tender. He kissed her forehead as he pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and tucked her in.
“I love you,” he whispered. She rested her head on his chest, his arm tucked around her.
How could anyone say this was wrong? She'd take a firm punishment at his hands and the relief and forgiveness it brought over the guilt and fighting any day.
“I love you, too. Please forgive me.”
“Already done, honey,” he said tenderly.
She felt protected. She felt forgiven.
She felt loved.