Disciplinary Measures (6 page)

She glanced at a favorite clothing store as she drove past but ignored the tug and headed for the supermarket. She’d pick up a couple of steaks and a bottle of wine, treat Linc to a meat-and-potatoes meal.

On Eleventh Avenue, she performed a double take at the sight of a tall, dark-haired man, a helmet clutched under his arm, bent over a motorcycle at a dealership. She swiveled her head to get a better glimpse, but she’d gone too far to see.
That’s not Linc. What are you thinking?

She stopped at a red light, drummed her acrylic nails on the steering wheel.
Not Linc
. That man looked like he was prepared to hop aboard the bike and take it for a spin. The light changed to green, she pulled into the intersection, executed a U-turn, and went back to put her mind at rest.

She inched close enough to get a good look but not so near that she would attract attention, and watched as the salesman dropped a key into the man’s outstretched palm. He was the same build and size as Linc, but he’d donned the helmet, and she couldn’t see his face. The man who
couldn’t be
Linc straddled the motorcycle, revved it up, and roared out of the lot.

She performed an illegal U-turn and followed him.
You’re gonna feel like an idiot
, she chided herself.
Linc wouldn’t buy a motorcycle after putting you on shopping restriction, after spanking you
. But with every turn that led closer to her house, hope dwindled.

Her heart hammered when he motored down a quiet residential street.
Her street
. Tears flooded her eyes when he steered into a driveway.
Her driveway
. She slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road. He cut the motor, leaned the bike on its kickstand, and swung off. The world shattered at her feet when he removed his helmet.

She floored the accelerator and sped away, betrayal opening a hole in her chest.

A CAR PULLED up to the curb. Webster leaped out of the passenger side, slammed the door, waved the driver off, and bounded up the driveway. “Well?” Excitement lit the young man’s face.

“It’s a good motorcycle. Rides smooth. It’s been well maintained,” Linc answered.

“Thank you for checking it out. I should have had you do it before I bought it, but it seemed like such a great bike I worried somebody would snatch it up.”

Linc clapped him on the shoulder. “I was happy to do it. It gave me a chance to ride a Harley again, if only for a few minutes. You picked a good one.” He handed over the keys.

Webster grinned from ear to ear as he donned his helmet and fastened the chin strap. He hopped on his motorcycle and zoomed down the street. Linc entered the house smiling. Had he ever been that enthusiastic about anything?

Until recently, no.

But his marriage to Gina had awakened an exhilaration. Coloring her sweet ass had turned his life rosy as well. They’d achieved a level of closeness and excitement that pervaded his being even when he wasn’t with her.

He looked forward to the upcoming Rod and Cane retreat, to finding out if other couples in domestic discipline relationships experienced similar levels of intimacy. The seminars on trust and domestic discipline and enhancing sexual pleasure through DD intrigued him. He twisted his mouth with wry humor. Hell, he and Gina could probably lead the latter discussion!

Ever since they’d initiated domestic discipline, they’d made love more times in more ways. In baring her bottom to his hand, Gina had entrusted him with her body and her heart. Intimacy had fostered experimentation and adventure, revealing, then heightening, her submission needs and his dominant nature. They fulfilled each other. Together they were growing. And they weren’t done yet.

His cock twitched, and he adjusted himself.

He’d settled into his chair with a book when his smartphone signaled a text. He checked the message and frowned when he spied a usage alert from his bank. The credit card assigned to Gina had been used. He thumbed over to his banking site to view the activity.

What the hell?
He blinked. Five hundred twenty-six dollars. Three hundred fourteen dollars. Seven hundred ninety-two dollars? He averaged the totals in his head—more than fifteen hundred dollars in charges had been racked up on their credit card.

For the briefest moment, he assumed Gina was up to her old tricks. Then he felt ashamed for suspecting her. She’d more than proven her trustworthiness.

Their card had been stolen. Thieves didn’t need the actual plastic to use it, only the number. But when he called security, the bank would ask if their cards were still in their possession. He checked his wallet and found his in the slot. He called Gina and got her voice mail.

“Hi, babe,” he said. “We have a problem with the credit card. Someone might have stolen our number. Would you please check if you still have your card and call me right away so I can notify the bank?”

Moments later a text buzzed through.

Not stolen. I’ve been using it.

He stared at the two truncated sentences in disbelief until reason assumed control over emotion.

In the old days not so long ago, he would have exploded with anger. But as domestic discipline had opened up communication, he’d learned a lot about his wife, and even more about himself. If she was spending money, something had upset her, and she needed his support. He would insist she face the consequences of her behavior, but they would address the source of it together. Domestic discipline gave them a process for doing that.

Come home. Let’s talk
, he texted back.

* * * *

Gina read Linc’s text. What was the point of talking? While she had gone on a shopping starvation diet and purchased
nothing
for six weeks, he had indulged himself with a motorcycle. How dare he? She’d trusted him, believed he wanted what was best for both of them and their future children. Misery squeezed her heart in an iron grip. She was too hurt to cry.

She’d shopped out of rage and revenge, finding no pleasure in the activity, not even bothering to try stuff on. She hadn’t cared what she bought, had only intended to show Linc what betrayal felt like.

Let’s talk
meant discussion, followed by a spanking. She couldn’t imagine how he would justify his actions, but she was curious about his spin. Then she would tell him a few things, beginning with there would be no spanking. They couldn’t go back after what he’d done.

She left the mall and headed for home.

Funny how one incident could color one’s memories with a darker hue. What she’d treasured as an incredible period of emotional bonding and sexual ecstasy had been a sham, a pretense. She’d been committed to their experiment, and he’d been…full of crap.

He’d appeared so sincere about leading their home with integrity. She would not have guessed in a million years he’d do something like this. It was so out of character for the man she’d married, and even more so for the new one with whom she’d fallen deeper in love—the dominant but doting husband who showered her with affection, guided her with discipline, bombarded her with incredible pleasures. It was unfathomable that that man would betray her.

* * * *

Could she have been mistaken? She pinched the bridge of her nose and swallowed. She’d seen the salesman at Motorcycle World hand Linc the keys, followed him as he rode to their house.

So where was it? She’d parked in their garage and noted Linc’s pickup, the lawn mower, his tool chest. But no motorcycle. A crease furrowed her brow. She recalled the times she had waited until Linc left to bring new articles into the house and shipped online purchases to a friend. She knew every sneaky trick in the book. Had he hidden the motorcycle?

But what if he hadn’t bought one? Her stomach knotted with anxiety. Oh God, if she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion… Regina swallowed hard. She almost hoped Linc had bought a bike. If not,
she
had violated their trust.

She grabbed her packages from the backseat and entered the house. Linc waited for her in the living room. She flung the bags onto the sofa as if throwing down a gauntlet.
Don’t let the mistake be mine
. She would rather he disappoint her than she be the one to let him down.

“Where’s the motorcycle?” she demanded with more bravado than certainty.

He rose from the chair. “Webster’s? How did you know about that?” He frowned before comprehension dawned, and he widened his eyes.

Horrified dismay had her clapping her hand over her mouth. Heartsick, she collapsed onto the sofa. “I was running errands. I saw you at the motorcycle dealer. I followed you home. I assumed—”

“You assumed I’d bought a motorcycle after insisting you curtail spending.” He finished her sentence. He flicked his gaze to the mountain of parcels.

Caustic shame seeped through her, and she stared at the floor.

He dropped to his haunches in front of her. “Tell me why what you did was wrong.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks. Shopping was the symptom, not the problem. Her hurt feelings had led her to act out of revenge and spite. “I broke our agreements. I didn’t obey you or tell you what was bothering me.”

“Because?”

“Because…” the truth choked her, “…I didn’t trust you,” she whispered. “I ruined everything.”

A smile touched his lips, and he shook his head. “You didn’t ruin everything.” He pulled her into his arms. She rested her head against his shoulder and clung to his strength. “It would be unrealistic to assume there wouldn’t be setbacks.”

“I’ll return all the stuff I bought,” she said. She inhaled his smell, the scent of strength and security. “You’re going to spank me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad,” she said. She needed the humiliation of punishment to erase her guilt, wipe her slate clean. But her knees shook with a frisson of fear. Would she ever get over the nervousness? Maybe she wasn’t supposed to. Maybe that was why discipline worked. What good would it be if she looked forward to being punished? And a sixth sense signaled this spanking would be more severe than the other one.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.” He kissed her hair and released her. He sought her gaze. “And I’m pleased you understand why you made the mistake, and owned up to it.”

Chapter Seven

After Linc had her strip naked and bend over the bed, she expected the spanking to begin, but he surprised her by bringing out the toy box. She widened her eyes in alarm when he extracted a large metal anal plug. All the others had been smaller and made of flexible silicone, although they hadn’t seemed at all pliable when inserted. Every muscle tensed at the sight of the stainless monster.

God, he was going to stuff
that
inside her?

Linc lubed the plug and set it to rest on its flange, the part that kept it from getting lost inside her passage, and slid his slick finger between her cheeks to her back hole. He worked it inside.

The sheet felt cool against her heated face. They’d engaged in anal play on many occasions. She found it humiliating and arousing. But never had the indignity or the excitement seemed as great as now.

She gripped the covers as he prepped her asshole, working additional lube inside her, adding a second finger and opening her passage more. She bit back a whimper. He wasn’t rough, but he meant business.

“You’re ready now.” He pumped two fingers inside her ass. “You know it goes in easier if you can force yourself to relax.”

“Force myself to relax?” Perhaps later she’d be able to chuckle at the oxymoron.

He reached for the plug, and she averted her face. The cold, wet, hard object touched her portal. Gentle but insistent force. The tip entered. Stretched. Internal pressure. She tensed at the slight burning. He went deeper, and she moaned, twisting the sheet in her fist. He inserted it the rest of the way, and her sphincter closed around the neck. Stuffed. No longer painful, but she wanted to weep in an inexplicable way.

He lifted her from the bed, and she risked a glance at his face. Serious, intense. No indulgence there. She shivered.

“Stand in the corner and wait for me.”

“Yes, Linc.” She trod across the room like a robot, the plug’s rigidity and size signaling its presence with every step, a hard reminder of her circumstances. She assumed the position and heard the bedroom door click shut. Her lower lip wobbled, and she bit into it. Stared up at the ceiling.

When the bedroom door opened interminable minutes later, her knees shook in earnest. She had agreed to a spanking, wanted it, needed it in some dark way, but that didn’t make it less nerve-racking.

He had her lie over the bed, several pillows tucked under her hips, her legs spread wide to expose everything. Perhaps he sensed her fear, but he stroked her first, smoothing his hands from shoulder to thigh, paying particular attention to her ass. His touch did soothe until he turned rougher. He slipped his fingers along her cleft and into her cunt, and she wondered if he was as surprised as she to find her pussy soaking wet.

Then his fingers were gone. Pain sizzled across her ass. Stung the other cheek. The spanking was almost a relief.
Thwack!
Again. And again. He didn’t allow her time to catch her breath, for sharpness to mute to a burn. Her muscles ached with the force with which she gripped the plug.

He stopped spanking. Her bottom burned with radiant heat. The metal buckle rattled as he stripped his leather belt from the loops.

“I consider what you did this time more serious because you did it with full awareness of our agreement, so the punishment will reflect that. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Her heart in her throat, she added, “I want that too.” His loving was fierce; his punishment would be equally so. Pain brought renewal.

She heard the belt displace the air.

Breath left her lungs in a
whoosh
as pain splintered across her ass. Only seconds later did her cry escape her throat to echo through the room. Another streak of fire. Then a lash that seemed to tear a strip off her ass, though she knew it wasn’t so. A blaze of pain that propelled her to her tiptoes. She cried. She begged. She screamed, but the lashes continued.