“Oh! I hate that jackass!” I yelled as I walked into the living room. I tossed my briefcase a little harder than normal onto the leather couch, sat down, crossed my arms, and let out a huff.
Jensen, my darling husband, looked up from his laptop from the opposite side of the room as he sat in the leather recliner. “What did he do now?”
Seeing as I had frequently complained about Alan Smith, a.k.a ‘The Jackass’, Jensen knew exactly who I was talking about. Smith was one of my co-workers and he had a tendency of butting his nose in my business and then finding a way to give himself all the credit for my hard work. I had tried to stop him before, but the little sneak always found a way to take responsibility for my projects. I didn’t want to complain to the partners of the company because then I would look like a tattle-tale and what boss wanted one of those on their staff?
“He took another one of my big clients and told me that I worked with the smaller clients better and should leave the big ones for him. That is total crap! He just wants a big client—a big client that I got to come to our company, yet Smith is getting the credit for bringing him there. I don’t get why the partners don’t realize that he does this shit. Ahh! I just want to shove a book up his ass!” I ended with a shout and a kick against the coffee table. “Ouch!” I yelped, as I grabbed my right foot and rubbed it to try and ease the pain.
Note to self: don’t kick wooden coffee table without a shoe on, I thought as the pain started to dissipate.
Once I stopped moaning about my foot, I looked up at my husband, who had been surprisingly quiet during my rant and my moaning about my injury. Normally he would have been by my side, kissing my boo-boo to make it all better. Well, if it had been the weekend, that’s what he would have been doing. Still, I was surprised that he hadn’t even offered to get me some ice.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” I asked, when he continued to remain silent.
“You should make the book a paperback. Hmmm… probably a cookbook, or a yellow pages book,” he said with a straight face.
“What are you talking about?” I asked as I began to get irritated that he wasn’t listening to me when I needed to vent about my stupid co-worker.
“I’m talking about the book that you’re going to shove up Smith’s ass. I’d make it a paperback, but make sure it’s thick—like a yellow pages book.”
I stared at my husband’s straight face and then all of a sudden, I burst out laughing. I laughed deep belly-aching laughs and then noticed that my husband had joined in.
After several minutes, I calmed down to a constant giggle as I imagined actually shoving a yellow pages book up Smith’s ass. Oh, that would feel good. He’d finally get what was coming to him.
“Feel better, honey?”
I nodded. I felt great. That was what I loved about my husband. I could be ready to murder someone and he could pull me back from the edge and make me laugh until I completely forgot what had made me upset in the first place.
“Come here. Why don’t we have some cuddles?” he asked, putting his laptop on the small end table next to the recliner and opening his arms for me to come and sit in his lap.
“Cuddles? Honey, it’s Tuesday. We don’t do cuddles, except on the weekend,” I said, wondering what had gotten into my husband.
Jensen and I had a semi-traditional marriage. During the week, we lived like any other regular couple. We both had our own jobs, we hung out with friends, and did normal things.
But on the weekends, things deviated from what most people would probably consider a traditional marriage. I would regress to a five-year-old little girl, and my husband would take on the role of daddy. We started doing this right after we said our marriage vows. It was a great way for me to relax and not have to worry about work, and my husband enjoyed getting to take care of me. He said that he liked the control and he liked knowing that I had so much trust in him that he could take care of basically every decision for me.
Jensen and I took our age play relationship so seriously that we had moved to a special community called Little Haven, which was a private community where couples who engaged in age play relationships could live together without any judgement. It was actually a really neat place. We had a daycare for the residents who wanted to be little twenty-four seven, and we had a pool, a park, a doctor’s office, and a library. It was our own little town, where everyone could act how they wanted without worrying about what others’ thought. It was perfect.
We had always agreed that we would only play on the weekends because I didn’t like the idea of having a twenty-four seven relationship. I felt like if I did, I would lose the adult side of me and Jensen would end up taking over my life. For some girls, that might sound glamorous and like a dream come true, but I liked my adult side just as much as I liked my little side. Jensen knew this, so I didn’t understand why he was offering to do something that we only did on the weekends, as it was only a week night.
“I know, sweetie,” he said, getting up and walking over to me. He moved my briefcase, set it on the coffee table, and sat down next to me. “I’ve been watching you for the past couple of weeks. You constantly come home stressed from work, and because of that you’ve been eating less and you haven’t been sleeping as well. I want to help you, and I know that acting little helps you.”
“No!” I shouted, standing up a little too quickly. The room spun for a moment and I had to put my hand on the couch to balance. Thankfully, Jensen didn’t notice.
“Honey, hear me out—”
“No! I… thank you, sweetie, for thinking of me and hoping this would help, but I’ll be okay.”
“Claire,” he said, standing up.
“Enough, Jensen!” I screamed, but once the words were out of my mouth, I knew had made a big mistake. It didn’t matter if it was a weekday or if it was during the weekend, Jensen had a firm rule about treating each other with respect, and I had just broken that rule by cutting him off.
His face visibly darkened as it always did when I had crossed a line with something I had said or done.
“Jensen… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,” I said, taking a few steps back, hoping that my apology would get me out of the spanking I had just earned.
“Claire, I know that you know better than to speak to me or anyone else like that. You should always treat other people with respect and not cut them off just because you disagree with them. Now come here.”
“But—” I said, stopping in my tracks as he continued.
“The only butt I want to hear of is yours coming over here—right now—and lying across my lap,” Jensen said as he walked into the kitchen, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
I sighed, knowing that no matter what I did now, I wasn’t going to be getting out of this spanking.
I walked over to him. He gestured for me to lie over his lap, so I did. Thankfully, he didn’t prolong anything and began rapidly smacking my clothed bottom. The smacks didn’t really hurt, but I knew that wouldn’t last long.
He continued to spank my clothed bottom for a minute more and then he said, “I think this has to come off.” He tugged at my skirt and panties, pulling them off of me, exposing my creamy rounded bottom to his gaze.
“Tell me why you’re getting spanked, Claire,” he said, rubbing his hands over my cool skin.
“Because I was rude to you…”
“You were, and I will not tolerate rudeness,” he said, and just like that, the spanking began again.
He spanked every inch of my bottom, spreading the heat and pain. I squirmed against his thighs, trying to get away from his hand, but within seconds, he had a firm hand on my lower back, keeping me still.
“Ouch! Jensen! I’m sorry…” I cried out, hoping that my apology would make him end the spanking. But it continued anyway.
He started spanking me harder, and each slap sent a fiery pain through my cheeks. I imagined the skin on my bottom turning as red as a stop sign and I started to sob. I tried to keep still as I knew I’d have to wait until he decided that I had been properly punished.
Finally, he stopped and repositioned me so I was sitting on his lap.
“I’m really sorry…” I cried as he rocked me in his arms.
“It’s okay, sweetie. You’re forgiven,” he said, kissing my forehead.
My bottom felt very sore, and I cried for a little while longer. I hated punishment spankings. I always avoided them, but lately, it seemed like I was getting them at least three times a week. I knew that wasn’t going to help my case about how I shouldn’t act little more often, and I remembered my mother always saying that children who acted out were the ones who needed attention. I hoped that Jensen didn’t think that way too.
“Claire, I know that you don’t like the idea of being little more often, but I think that you should try it. I hate seeing you so stressed, especially when I know that I can help you release some of that stress. Please, just try this. Let daddy help you,” he said, giving me a kiss on my cheek.
I snuggled into his chest. I knew that no matter what I decided, he would respect my decision. And in a way, I wanted to act little more often, at least for a while. I knew that he was right. It would help me relax, and lately, I really had been stressed.
But I also remembered reading some age play books where the little girls were forced to be little and they soon lost all their adult freedoms. I couldn’t let that happen to me. I knew that it sounded paranoid, but I was better safe than sorry.
Reaching my decision, I pulled my head back so I could look at Jensen. “No, Jensen. I’m sorry, I just… I don’t want to act little more than I already do. I’m really fine. I just need to be more assertive at work.”
His smiling lips fell and became a grim line. I knew that meant that he disagreed with my decision, but instead he said, “No, you aren’t fine. But for now, I’ll respect your decision. However, if you continue to be this stressed or get worse, I won’t care what you say, you’ll be acting like my little girl every night.”
“But—” I tried to protest. That went against what we had agreed on when we got married. He was the one that had stressed that I was the one who would decide when I got to be little or not.
He held a finger to my lips to stop me. “It’s my responsibility to take care of you, Claire. I won’t let anyone—not even you—get in the way of doing that.”
“But—” I tried to say my piece, but he continued.
“No buts. Unless you wish for me to spank yours again.”
“No, thank you,” I said, shaking my head as he pulled his finger away from my lips.
“Good girl. Now, I think it’s time for someone to take a shower, and after that, we’ll eat dinner,” he said, then stood up and carried me bridal style upstairs.
“Jensen! You don’t have to carry me! I can walk.”
“I know you can, but I like taking care of you,” he said as he finished climbing the stairs and headed into our bathroom.
I sighed, then placed my head on his shoulder. I guess there are worse things a husband could like.