Euan
I’m watching my wife pull up onto our drive from a window in our kitchen diner. As soon as I heard the wheels of her car crunching over the gravel in the quiet cul-de-sac we live in I got up to take off my belt. She knows what the rules are. I expect her to be home by six and if she isn’t going to be, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. All she has to do is send me a message to let me know, however, on this occasion, she has failed to do that. She knows what the consequences will be so I suspect she has done this on purpose, to earn a punishment. I will give her exactly what she wants tonight but that does not mean she has won or that the punishment is over, I will think of something creative to give her tomorrow. Thankfully, tomorrow will be a Saturday and we do not have any plans, so far as I am aware, so I will have all day to punish her, if I choose.
I stroke my well worn tan leather belt through my hands but I am careful to keep it out of sight of any potential nosy neighbours. I enjoy humiliating her but there is no need to alert our neighbours to the fact that I beat her. What I want is for her to notice me standing at the window and to see the look on my face, for her to realise that she has got my attention. She will get exactly what she wants and more. I don’t have to wait long for my wife to notice me. As always she does things in a slap dash way, always in a hurry. I am not a patient man but even by my standards Kate rushes around too much and it causes her to sometimes make mistakes which I must correct, of course. Kate has slung her satchel over her shoulder and right now she is trying to empty her car as quickly as possible, which has caused her to drop some papers back into the boot of her car. I can’t hear the words she is saying but I can tell she is swearing. It’s when she manages to finely balance everything and closes the boot of her car that she makes eye contact with me. Her immediate reaction is to smile, then she sucks in her lips and her eyes widen. I love that look on her face; the elation at seeing me almost immediately replaced by dread. I have to school my face not to return her initial smile because to tell the truth, I feel exactly the same way she does when she first sees me. I feel love. I love my wife more than anybody in the world, which is exactly why I punish her; to remind her what the rules are which she agreed to and who is in charge. Me. I move away from the window after fixing my stare on her for a few seconds, then make sure all the shutters are closed before I sit down on the sofa we have in our kitchen diner. This is designed to be a family room of sorts, for when we have children. I’ll have to find a different way to do things when that time comes, but for now I will enjoy every moment. She comes through the front door noisily, slamming it behind her and running up the stairs. She is dropping off her work in our shared study before she comes to see me and that’s okay, I allow that.
“Hey,” she says, opening the door to the kitchen diner much more gently than she has handled the other doors in our house so far this evening.
She glances at me shyly through the silky brown tresses that frame her pretty face and comes to stand in front of me. She wrings her hands together awkwardly and dances about on the spot. I reach up to slap her face, I don’t have to stretch very far. I’m tall and she is of middling height. She takes the slap stoically but gasps when I get up to grab her hair and arch her neck backwards with a sharp yank. I do all this still with the belt in my left hand.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I ask.
“I had a coffee with Julie Sir. It was spur of the moment and I didn’t have time to ask you!”
Julie is a colleague. I know that her reasons are poor excuses for failing to text me but we have to go through this ritual.
“Lying cunt,” I grunt and drag her around to the side of the sofa so I can push her over the arm of it.
She trembles as I hold her down with my left hand pressing into her back, roughly flip up the skirt of her dress and pull down her tights and knickers in one motion. I transfer the belt to my right hand and keeping my left hand in place I start to whip her. By this point I’ve become a pro at all kinds of spanking. I know exactly how hard to hit and where, I know how to strap her thighs and let her cunt feel just a little of the belt without causing any serious harm. I don’t stop until Kate is crying in earnest and both her arse and thighs are red. Two things I love about Kate are her willingness to let me see her emotions and how red her beautifully pale skin gets. I abruptly stop and put the belt on the coffee table. Dragging the footrest with me I then land on the sofa with a thump, put my feet up and grab the TV remote.
“Put the belt away, then start dinner,” I instruct.
“Yes Sir,” she sniffles, winding a hand behind her to rub her smarting flesh.
I know how callous this looks but I’m watching her closely. I’m alert to any signs that she isn’t enjoying this and that she needs more from me. I find reruns on an old sitcom on TV that I can watch without paying too much attention to it and retrieve my phone from the pocket of my jogging bottoms. I scroll through the newsfeed, all the while I am listening out to the sounds of her coming back downstairs. She soon returns, with her make-up and hair straightened up and wearing a pair of comfortable jeans and a t-shirt. I have left a prepared lasagne in the fridge for her, after all, it is my turn to cook tonight. All she needs to do is put it in the oven which I have already heated.
“Thank you Sir,” she mumbles on seeing it, I barely glimpse at her in recognition, but she knows I heard her.
She sits beside me on the couch once she’s put the lasagne in the oven and after a few moments in which I ignore her she sidles up beside me and snuggles against me. I accept her embrace, wrapping my arm around her and kissing the top of her head.
“Good girl,” I say, breathing in her scent.