The Last Spanking

I expect this story to disappoint you. It features a male spanking a female submissive who isn't all that submissive after all. There is no sex.

*

Mitch heard her footsteps, shoes on the wood floor of the bedroom hallway. He'd left her barefoot, skirt of her thin, cotton sundress tucked up into the neck in back to leave on display her pink butt, with clear orders to stand in the corner until he came back for the follow-up discussion they always had with her spankings.

Well, he thought, let's just wait and see how much more trouble she gets herself into. He felt in control of the situation. He thought he might be generous, not spank her more over this additional infraction.

The footsteps came into the entry hall as she appeared across from where he sat in the living room, watching a baseball game on television. But the woman who appeared wasn't Chelsea, the submissive little mouse of a wife wearing the dress he'd picked for her, one so skimpy she was unwilling to wear it in public. Instead he saw Chelsea, experienced and capable attorney. In tailored slacks, a perfectly pressed cotton blouse, comfortable shoes with only enough heel, and a blazer over her arm she looked just as she did when she left on a business trip, including the suitcase she was wheeling behind her.

Apparently she'd packed while he thought she was standing in the corner. He got up, planning on putting her in her place. Her cold look stopped him before he'd taken two steps toward her. She took one step away from her suitcase, toward him. One foot moved, just a subtle rotation outward. Her stance was enough of a hint for him.

"I am leaving this house, right now. Whether I return, and when, in the event I decide to, depends on how you handle this." He recognized the voice, calm but forceful, the diction precise and the words carefully chosen. She was laying down the law.

"Mitch, this afternoon you crossed a line. When I told you that you'd crossed a line, you doubled down and crossed another line. The onus is on you to figure out what you did and make it right. I will not give you any help. Only after you know how to make it right will you find me willing to hear from you."

Just before closing the door to the garage, she added, "you may not contact me, by any means, for at least eight days."

They'd entertained Brett and Andrea with a Sunday afternoon meal of chicken and vegetables grilled out on their patio. Brett was one of Mitch's oldest friends, they'd known each other since their second year as undergraduates at Tech, then shared an apartment while attending the same MBA program at Emory. As Mitch described their relationship to Chelsea when the two couples began spending time together on a regular basis, "we've been drunk together more than with anyone else, chased more women together, played more poker together."

In three years, Andrea had become Chelsea's closest friend. A northern girl from Pennsylvania, Andrea was grateful for Chelsea's help navigating life in the South.

Mitch and Brett tended to compete with each other. The competition extended to their respective wives, who was prettier, who could more flag down a cab more quickly, who had the better job. Better job? How do you compare a corporate attorney to a Professor of Pharmacy? When the two boys got going, Chelsea and Andrea would exchange a glance and quietly get out of the picture until they were done thumping their chests.

This time it was different, so different it was weird. They'd jumped directly into chugging their first two beers, bickering about who'd fully finished their glass. A belching contest followed. "Welcome to the frat house," Andrea murmured to Chelsea with a wry smile. Chelsea took over tending the chicken and grilling the vegetables instead of reminding Mitch to do it, better to be a good hostess with guests present. The scolding wife could speak to him when they were alone - and when he was sober again.

The two men fell into a pattern of asking their wives for things, apparently an unspoken agreement to determine whose wife was more responsive. Chelsea made a point of taking her time to respond, she was busy enough with the grilling Mitch said he would do.

Andrea had, at first, taken care of her husband's requests reasonably quickly. Then she noticed how Chelsea handled Mitch's behavior and took a page from her book. After the third or fourth episode of Andrea moving more slowly, she was rewarded with a hard smack on her bottom from Brett as she walked away. She'd whirled to face him, her surprise quickly turning to anger. Brett tried to hold her gaze, but soon enough he looked down. Andrea took his beer glass and went inside. She returned a minute later to firmly set a glass of iced tea in its place.

When Chelsea took Andrea into the kitchen to pull out the cold dishes, she noticed Mitch and Brett leaning in to each other, talking. Mitch stole occasional furtive glances toward the kitchen window as he spoke.

They served the meal. Soon enough, Mitch said, "I could use another cold one." She nodded and passed the cole slaw Andrea had just asked for, then wiped her lips with her napkin before rising. She reappeared with a glass of iced tea.

"No." Mitch's belligerence was a sudden change in tone. "I asked for beer."

Mitch, only Mitch, could see her eyes were hard, but her face was bland and her voice soft, sweet as ever. "Dear, I think you've had enough."

Dinner proceeded with both men less talkative. Mitch was sullen, Brett seemed to follow his lead. Andrea and Chelsea were happy to discuss upcoming concerts they might attend. With summer approaching an end, the part of the outdoor concert season they preferred was near. With the heat easing, the final concerts of the year, in September and October, were more enjoyable. At least their husbands heard the discussion, even if they didn't express any preferences.

Andrea helped Chelsea clear away the dishes. In the kitchen, they plated dessert. Chelsea had planned on serving Irish coffee. It didn't take much discussion for them to decide against that. They served cups of ordinary coffee; Mitch immediately signaled with his eyes and an inclined head that he wanted his spiked.

"No, Mitch, just coffee," Chelsea said calmly.

Mitch stood, quickly taking her wrist. He pulled her to her feet, took a few steps to the lawn chairs. In a motion he sat on the footstool and spun Chelsea to fall across across his lap.

That was the end of things going the way he intended.

As he was pulling Chelsea's skirt up, planning on pulling her panties down to spank on her bare bottom as he usually did, she made a quick spin from his lap, landing on her feet before him. She took a stance, then Mitch found her fist coming to a stop very close to his eyes as she gave a short, sharp cry.

"You try that again, you're a dead man." The way she said it, quiet and controlled, the look in her eyes, but mainly the fist still most of what he could see, made her words quite convincing.

Chelsea went to Brett. Standing close to him, looming over him, she looked quite intimidating. "Do not get any ideas. You lift a hand to Andrea, I'll kick your ass. I'll come to your office and wipe your face on the floor in front of your co-workers. I'll bet they'll pull out their phones, you'll be able to watch replays of your humiliation." Nothing about her looked like she was kidding. What Brett had just seen suggested she could do just what she'd threatened.

She turned back to Mitch, still sitting on the lawn chair footstool. "You crossed a line, Albertson. Fucking stupid, clueless, Southern boys."

She began clearing away the coffee and the remaining things on the table. Andrea stood and began to help.

In the kitchen, Chelsea spoke to Andrea in a quiet voice. "Does Brett spank you?"

"No, what he did on the patio was really out of character."

"Mitch spanks me, once in a while. It's been consensual, I can tell when letting him do it will help him get fired up for sex. This, though .... I'm sorry you had to see that. I'm angry that Brett saw it."

Andrea put her hand on Chelsea's shoulder. "I'm not sorry I saw how you responded. I'm proud of you. You showed a lot of strength, but you also showed a lot of restraint."

"I saw Mitch talking to Brett while we were getting ready to serve. I have the impression he was going to show Brett how he spanks me. If Brett tries something like this, you tell me; Mitch and Brett will both answer to me for it."

"Chels, are you guys going to be ... okay?"

Chelsea gave her a tight smile. "I expect we'll work it out."

Brett didn't understand why Andrea was in a hurry to leave, but she dragged him away soon after.

Mitch turned angrily to Chelsea. "What the hell was that about?"

She gave him a cool look. "I was going to ask the same question."

"You embarrassed me in front of friends!"

She let that statement hang in silence for quite a long time before responding. "You." She paused. "Were embarrassed." Another pause. "Nothing you did contributed to the embarrassing situation?"

He answered as only a man still a little drunk could. "Hell, no."

"Uh-huh."

He knew that sound, it was Chelsea telling him he was wrong, really wrong.

"Nothing embarrassing happened to your wife, then? Or should I say em-bare-assed? Which of us would you say suffered more embarrassment?"

He'd grabbed her by the hand and led her into the bedroom, taking her straight to the corner. "You will wait here until I am ready for your punishment, " he said sternly as he dragged the hem of her dress up to tuck into the neckline. He'd skinned her panties down to her knees and gave her butt six hard, fast swats with his hand. "You have the spanking from dinner coming to you, your punishment for resisting that spanking, and then your punishment for embarrassing me. You wait here until I am ready for them. Give some thought to how you will apologize."

Listening to the fading sound of her car driving away, he furrowed his brow. He was not at all clear what line he'd crossed, what to do to make right. He'd thought that spanking her in front of friends would take their little game to a new level.

He spanked her once in a while, when he could tell that she was going to want the sex as little rougher than usual. He dimly recalled that the first spanking had been his idea, he asked if she wanted to try it. The sex after he gave her a few swats with his hand had been great that first time, she'd seemed to like it, so every once in a while they did it again. He thought he could recall at least one instance of her asking if he wanted to spank her.

***

Chelsea's mobile phone rang, the caller ID told her it was Brett. "It hasn't been eight days" she said as soon as she had the phone to her ear. It had been three days, Chelsea was staying in the apartment the company owned but rarely used.

"Aw, now Chels, listen, this is messed up. You've got to cut Mitch a little slack."

"Did he ask you to call?"

"No, darling, I called because I care about you two."

"Okay, you call Mitch and tell him you just turned the eight days into ten days."

"Now, Chels, just be reasonable."

"Twelve days."

"Darling - "

"Fourteen days."

"Okay, I get it. Bye, and I do wish you well."

Chelsea and Andrea didn't get together for their usual lunch on Monday, eight days into Mitch's probation. A work issue prevented Andrea from getting out during the day. They met for a coffee at the end of the day instead. Andrea was more demonstrative than usual, giving Chelsea a tight hug, and holding her for a long time. "I've been worried about you. How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. I'm in an urgent project at work that's taking longer days. After this I'm going to blow off some steam at the gym."

"What gym do you go to?"

Chelsea lifted her gym bag to her lap and peeled back the zip a short distance, pulling out the end of a thick, black cotton belt with three red stripes across the end. "A Karate dojo. Sparring is especially therapeutic these days."

"Oh, God, Chels, don't hurt somebody just because he looks like Mitch."

"I don't blame Mitch. Sure, he did something stupid but I own some of this too. I let it get started, not appreciating I'd need to define boundaries. I had just begun working on fortitude about two years ago at the dojo, that means taking a hit and not letting it stop me from what I'm doing. Mitch raised the idea of spanking me about that time. I made the mistake of letting Mitch spank me without telling him I was agreeing mainly for for my Karate. So, like any self-absorbed, Southern boy, he thought it was all about him and thought he'd finally found a way to get me under control."

Andrea sighed. "Jesus, Chels, did you have to let it get so complicated?"

"I didn't think ahead to the complications. Lesson learned. So, when Mitch comes to me with a half-assed explanation, I expect to let him off no matter how badly he apologizes. But the spanking is over, he's going to have to find a new way to get turned on enough to have fun with me." She chuckled. "Poor Mitch doesn't even know I have a black belt in Karate. He just knows I go to a gym and stay trim, he's satisfied."

Andrea grinned. "Don't volunteer the information until he asks about that fist in his face."

"Maybe I should just leave the black belt sitting out for him to notice."

The conversation went on to more mundane things and they spent some time deciding on whether they'd go to the Buckhead or Ponce street festival and discussing dates for a jazz concert at Chastain.

As they walked to the door of the coffee shop, Andrea put her arm on Chelsea's elbow. "Chels, I want you two back together."

"I have every reason to think we'll be together. Before that, Mitch has the rest of his fourteen days of purgatory."

"I heard Brett made it worse."

"That was convenient. I was hoping for a way Brett to own a piece of Mitch's misery."

"Oh, he owns a piece. They're pretty gruff with each other right now."

They said their goodbyes and each went their way. Andrea was worried about Chelsea. She seemed too comfortable living alone, she didn't seem to miss Mitch at all.

Chelsea went to the dojo and let children, wearing yellow and gold belts, smack her on the arms and shoulders as she knelt on the mat, thinking about fortitude and missing Mitch. It was a shame she had to be strong and hold out to make this work, but at the moment her marriage was calling on her fortitude even more than these kids did.

Chelsea really did have a work project with a challenging deadline, so she filled each day with long hours in the office, working out and sleep. Work helped the time go fast, she didn't have time to let her mind wander. Karate called for focus. Trying to go to sleep but still awake after midnight was the time she couldn't get Mitch out of her mind.

She waited until early afternoon on the Monday two weeks after the last time they'd seen each other. Technically that was fifteen days, but it suited her to resume contact on a work day. She texted him, "Is there anything you have to say?"

She had expected him to be too busy to call right away. Her phone rang two minutes later. "Aw, Honey, I'm so sorry, let me make it up to you." He was opening with his standard, generic apology?

"Mitch, if you want your apology to be believable, you have to be specific. You have to tell me what isn't going to happen again."

There was a long pause, but he didn't sigh like she expected. "Andi, I'm sorry, what I do with your backside should have stayed private. I just had this idea that you weren't taking much interest in the spanking any more, so I thought I'd take it up a notch." He sighed. "I'll never make that mistake again, our private life should be our private life."

"For your sake, you'd better be in a private place to be saying that in your office."

"For my sake, Sweetheart, I'm alone in a conference room with the door closed."

"There's more that's never going to happen again."

"Anything you say, baby."

"Meet me at The Federal tomorrow for dinner, we have more to discuss."

"Aw, baby, just come home tonight."

"Tomorrow, at 6:45." She hung up.

She didn't run late on purpose. The project which had been so therapeutic suddenly needed her to join a late afternoon conference call with Denver. She got in the restaurant at 7:10. The hostess immediately greeted her with a big smile. "Oh, yes, ma'am, I'll take you to your table."

"How did you recognize me? I haven't been here in, like, six months."

The hostess winked. "Your guy showed me pictures on his phone. Twice. I think he's anxious to see you tonight."

Chelsea greeted Mitch with a kiss on the lips, but deftly fended off his arms as he attempted to draw her in for a more demonstrative greeting. They sat, ordered wine, spent a few minutes looking over the menu. Then, at the same time, they each said the other's names.

Chelsea gestured to Mitch. "You first."

His voice was calm, businesslike. He looked her in the eye. It seemed he had gotten over some of the emotion she heard in the phone call. "Chels, I messed up, big-time. I crossed a couple of lines there, and the problem is some of those lines can't be un-crossed. I've let something out to our friends -- people whose respect we both want -- something that should have stayed between us, in our bedroom. And, in my crappy, beer-influenced logic that afternoon, in that moment I was thinking I would show Brett how to treat his own wife. I've been wracking my brain, I've been up late nights, and I have to admit I can't think of a way to make it up to you. I think I have something to make up to Andrea, too."

He leaned forward, put his hand down on the table, subtly reaching for her. "So, it comes down to this, then: it's entirely up to you. Do what you will. Punish me as you see fit. I messed up, bad, and I own it."

Slowly her hand came out of her lap, reaching across the table until she placed just her fingertips over his. "Mitch, I had some pretty strong words prepared for you, but you've made them unnecessary. You've admitted the error. I should have expected such a direct response from a gentleman like you."

Just then their dinners were served, they spent those few seconds in silence, eyes on each other except for a polite word or two to the server. Chelsea resumed as soon as the server left the table. "Darling, there is no punishment for you. The past two weeks have been enough punishment for both of us. I think punishing you for this mistake would be a lot like you spanking me for a mistake. But, there will never again be any spanking."

Chelsea had chosen The Federal because it was quiet enough that they could have a conversation. At the same time, it was a public place, neither of them could raise their voice. It turned out she didn't need to worry about raised voices.

"You're also done picking my clothes for me. I know you think I look good, but I'm tired of dressing like teenager. I choose my clothes." She winked. "When it's just the two of us at home, I might listen to requests."

"Andrea says I should ask about the gym where you work out."

"I work out at a Karate dojo. I have a black belt."

"Yeah, I figured something like that. I can't believe we've been married seven years and I didn't find that out before this. You have Brett terrified, by the way. He's walking on glass right now."

"You know he called me and made the time longer?"

"Yeah, I could have killed him. He called me as soon as he was off the phone with you, apologizing."

"So you didn't ask him to call?"

"Jesus, no. You said eight days, I could have predicted consequences."

Her fingers tapped his. "But Brett slapping her butt, that was your suggestion."

He nodded.

"Have you apologized to?"