Stormy Night Publications Publishers of BDSM and Kink Erotica
Sophie lit the candles on the dining room table. At precisely six PM, she heard the key in the front door just as the timer went off. She heard Michael’s step in the hallway, but instead of going to him, she ran to take the salmon out of the oven. She set the pan down on the counter and slipped off her apron, intending to meet him in the living room, but instead collided with him when she turned to walk out of the kitchen.
“Hey!” she said, bouncing off his chest.
His hands closed over her arms to catch her. The pressure was just a little harder than she expected.
“Right on time.” She looked up at him. He looked different, disheveled. Her stomach was in knots and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat a bite of the meal she’d prepared. She was going to tell him tonight. She’d been practicing how she’d say it ever since she’d gotten home this afternoon. But now that he was here, well, it was different.
“Smells good,” Michael said, still holding onto her, his eyes searching her face as if they were looking for something. She had the impression he couldn’t have cared less about the food as his hands kneaded the flesh of her upper arms.
“I just took the salmon out; we should probably eat before it gets cold,” she said. Something was off.
“M-hmm.”
He was acting strange. He released her arms and she went back into the kitchen. He followed her in.
“You’ve already had a glass?” he asked, taking a wineglass out of the cupboard and pouring from the bottle that stood open on the counter.
“Not much, I just poured it.” She’d needed something to help her relax.
He took a bigger sip than she would have expected; he was usually so controlled. When she turned to plate the salmon, she could feel his eyes on her back the entire time.
“Is this the new bottle you bought?” he asked, picking up the bottle and looking at the label.
She nodded without looking at him as a chill ran up her spine. “It’s the Chablis. Everything okay, Michael?” She tried to sound casual, keeping her hands busy as she spoke.
“Everything’s perfect,” he answered. But his tone said everything was anything but perfect. “We ready to eat?”
She looked at him, then nodded. “If you’ll bring the bottle.” She dropped her gaze first and walked into the dining room. When she got to the table, what she saw lying in the center made everything stop. Everything except for the plate of fish, which slipped from her hands and shattered on the hardwood floor.
“Sit down, Sophie,” Michael said, coming up behind her.
She shuddered and turned to look at him over her shoulder. Her face, she was certain, was as white as the wall.
His ice-blue gaze held hers.
“Sit down. Now.”
Crushing shards of her favorite serving dish beneath her shoes, she walked to take her seat. Her eyes turned once again to the black leather paddle that took up the center of the dining room table.
He knew.
Michael put her glass in front of her and topped it off. He then took his seat, his body relaxed, casual even, although it certainly wasn’t how he was feeling. He was still processing his conversation with Kyan.
Kyan had told him everything. He’d been, from what Michael could make out, honest. Sophie hadn’t done anything that would have broken a marriage vow. In fact, she’d told Kyan she was married and wasn’t interested in anything sexual. He looked at her, his young wife, sitting across from him. She was trembling, sweat glistening on her forehead. She was a lovely thing, pretty, just so pretty in a naïve, young, almost childlike way. He imagined what would have happened to her if she’d walked into any other club. If she hadn’t met Kyan, who sounded more like the voice of logic and reason than his wife. The fact that she hadn’t come to him, her husband, hadn’t trusted him enough to tell her what she wanted, what she really wanted—that part made him feel both angry and hurt.
But now it was time to get some answers.
“Take a sip of your drink,” he said.
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Take a sip of your drink,” he repeated.
“Michael…” Her face crumpled; she was unable to keep the façade of happy homemaker.
Her obvious pain tugged at his heart and wrenched his stomach. How long had she been struggling with this? Alone? He made sure his voice was softer when he spoke next. “We’re talking, Sophie. Just talking. Take a sip of your wine. Relax.”
She reached a trembling hand and took the glass. She had to hold it with both hands once it was at her mouth so it wouldn’t splash as she sipped. Michael waited, watching her as she slowly set the glass back on the table and turned her gaze to her lap.
“I came home early to surprise you today. You know how worried I’ve been about you the last few months. Hell, the last year.”
She glanced at him from beneath thick lashes, but quickly dropped her gaze again.
He sipped from his glass, taking a moment. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he was going to get the truth, all of it. And he was going to get it tonight.
“So I came home early to find you gone. Groceries were still on the counter in their bags, which was strange, and when I called your cell phone, there was no answer.”
She looked at him. “I’m sorry, I…”
He put up a hand to stop her from continuing. “No excuses and no more damn lies, Sophie. I’ve had it. I’m finished. You’ll sit and you’ll listen to what I have to say and when I ask you to answer a question, you’ll answer the question. Period. Am I clear?”
She studied him as if trying to make sense of what he had said. He’d never been anything with her but gentle to an extreme. To a fault.
She nodded and he couldn’t help but notice the hardening of her nipples beneath her white blouse. This was new. To him at least. But were the signs there all along?
“I went upstairs thinking maybe you were there, but you weren’t. Figured I’d read through the mail while waiting for you and when I went to pick it up off the desk, found this sitting next to your laptop.”
Michael held up Kyan’s business card.
There was a physical change in her in that moment. She shifted in her seat, her guilt no longer allowing her to meet his eyes.
“So I thought I’d look up the place, see what exactly it was. I’d never heard of it, you see.” He turned the card over to look at the private number Kyan had handwritten on the back. “Strange to find another man’s business card on your desk with a cell phone number scribbled on the back. Not really what any husband hopes to find among his wife’s things.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he put his hand up.
“It’s still my turn,” he said.
She dropped her gaze to her lap once again.
“So I boot up the computer and type in the web address, only to find it’s stored on memory. After figuring out what this place was, I thought I’d go have a look for myself. You can imagine my surprise when I got there only to find my wife wrapped in another man’s arms—”
“It wasn’t like that. It was never like that. I swear, Michael, I never cheated, I wouldn’t.”
He ignored her frantic outburst and continued. “Once you were gone, I went inside to beat the son of a bitch up.”
“You didn’t—”
“No. I didn’t. Only got one hit in before the bouncer got there.”
“Oh my God!”
“Kyan’s fine, Sophie.”
“Michael…”
“I want to know why you haven’t told me this. Why you had to go behind my back looking for something like this.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, tears sliding down her face.
“Explain to me why. Help me understand what I’ve done wrong that you couldn’t trust me with something as important as this obviously is to you.” His voice cracked on that and he was the one to break eye contact this time. He picked up his glass and downed the contents.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “It was me, it’s my fault. I was just… scared.”
“Of me? Of my reaction? Of what? All I’ve ever done is love you!” he said.
Sophie covered her mouth with her hands as she wept.
“Shit,” he said, standing and walking away. He ran his hands through his hair. When she started to speak again, he turned back to her but didn’t resume his seat.
“I didn’t want you to look at me like I was some freak. Some perverted, disgusting…” She broke down now, fully sobbing into her hands.
Michael’s own eyes watered as he went to her, lifting her from her seat and taking her into his arms. He held her while she wept, muffling the sound of her agony in his chest.
“I would never, could never…” He kissed the top of her head, holding her tight to him. Once her sobs died down and her body stopped shaking with the after-effects, he pulled her back, forcing her to look up at him. Mascara smeared her face black, her lips were pale, her skin blotchy from crying, and Michael was sure he’d never loved her more. “I love you, Sophie. You’re my wife and I plan to be a better husband to you, but for me to do that, you’re going to need to communicate. With me.”
She nodded, sucking in a breath.
“I’m going to clean this mess up. While I do that, I want you to go upstairs and have a shower. When you’re finished, I want you to braid your hair so it’s off your back, just one long braid. I then want you to wait for me in the bedroom. You’re not to come out until I come upstairs. Is that clear?”
She searched his face and after a moment, reached up to kiss him, obviously not understanding his intent.
He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her, but she pushed and when her lips met his, he kissed her back.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Did you understand my instructions?” he asked, holding her inches away. She needed what he had planned for tonight. And so did he. If he’d doubted it for a moment, it was crystal clear now.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. Go get ready for me.”
He let her go and after a long moment, she took a step.
“One more thing,” he said.
She turned back.
He held out the paddle for her.
“Set this on the bed.”
Her eyes remained on the thing for a while before she extended her hand to take it, and she met his gaze. Michael’s cock stirred at the look on her face, at the flush on her cheeks, at the trembling of her hand as she took the paddle from him and walked quietly to the stairs.
He went into the hallway closet to retrieve the vacuum. He exhaled as he worked, knowing this could have gone so badly. Much more would be expected of him in the coming hours. He’d never done anything like this before. The thought of hurting her was so foreign, but what was more so was his arousal at what was to come. It was at odds with how he thought he should feel.
Sophie sat at her vanity wearing a white cotton nightie, twisting her dark hair into a long braid.
In the reflection of the mirror, she glimpsed the black paddle she’d laid on the bed. What was going to happen tonight? Was he going to do it? Was he going to paddle her? Punish her? The Michael she knew, the husband she knew, he was not this. He was gentle, he had never raised a hand to her, never to anyone as far as she knew. Except Kyan, apparently. He barely got angry and neither of them ever raised their voices at one another.
She heard his footfalls on the stairs and her heart began to race. She kept her eyes on her own face in the mirror, her skin looking a little paler, her eyes still red from crying.
Michael opened the door and walked inside. He had removed his suit jacket and tie so he stood in dress pants and a white button-down shirt. He didn’t look nervous or anxious as she expected him to be. Instead, he looked truly like the man in control.
He eyed the paddle, then turned to her.
“Stand up, Sophie.”
She rose slowly to her feet and turned to him.
“Did I tell you to put anything on?”
She looked at him, confused for a moment, then glanced at her nightie.
“No,” she said.
“Then take it off.”
It took her a moment; was he really doing this?
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Words, please. And I believe you’ve been taught about proper address.”
“Michael…” she began, needing to clear her throat. This was strange. They’d been together for four years. He couldn’t really expect her to start calling him Sir, could he? As much as a part of her felt embarrassed and battled the thought of doing just that, another part of her wanted him to make her do it. To make her submit fully.
“I mean it, Soph. This is what you want—we’re not doing it half-assed. We’re doing it all the way.”
She looked at him, gauging his words, wondering how far he’d go, before she nodded and quickly pulled her nightie over her head. His glance swept her body and stopped at her white lace panties. He only had to nod once before she reached to slide them off and placed them on top of her nightie on the chair of her vanity.
He looked her over for what seemed like forever. He’d seen her naked before, of course, but him looking at her tonight, like this, felt different. Her nipples hardened beneath his gaze and heat collected between her legs.
“I’m going to punish you for lying to me and for visiting the club alone, Sophie, but I want your consent to do it. I’m going to paddle you hard enough that you’re going to remember it and hopefully think twice the next time. We’re in this together; we can’t keep secrets from each other—especially these sort of secrets. Do you understand?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes, what?” he pushed.
She looked at his face, searching his eyes, embarrassment making her heartbeat pick up. “Sir,” she managed. It should have sounded strange, but didn’t.
“Do you consent to your punishment?” he asked.
“You’re my husband,” she mumbled.
“Exactly.”
She looked at the paddle on the bed, at his big hands, at the muscle beneath his shirt. She nodded.
“Words,” he said. “I need you to vocalize.”
Her belly quivered and her pussy throbbed. “Yes, I consent to being punished.”
“Sir,” he reminded.
She licked her lips. “Sir.”
“Pick up the pillows and stack them at the foot of the bed.”
She moved slowly, her heart pounding, nervous, anxious, not knowing what she wanted, not wanting this to fail, afraid of the pain to come. Her emotions were a jumbled mess inside her. She picked up her pillow first and set it where he’d said, then went over to his side and did the same, all the while very aware of her naked body as he stood fully dressed watching her while he rolled up his shirtsleeves.
Once she was finished she turned to him, eyeing his powerful forearms, the dusting of blond hair there.
Michael picked up the paddle and she couldn’t help but stare at it.
“Should we talk about a safeword?” she asked. It was strange—as much as she wanted this, wanted him to dominate her, wanted to submit to him, she couldn’t help asking, even knowing she was, in some way, testing him.
“Five extra strokes for speaking when you weren’t asked a question,” he said. “And every time you forget the ‘Sir,’ you get five more. This is a punishment. You don’t get a safeword for this.”
He paused while she absorbed his words. She felt frightened, but also aroused even as she understood she was to be punished. Maybe because of it.
“I have another question for you,” he began.
She waited, shifting on her feet.
“That night you said you were out getting drinks with Lucille. You were at the club?”
She felt the heat of embarrassment on her face. “I walked by, I didn’t dare go inside, but yes, it was a lie. I wasn’t with Lucille.”
He nodded. “Tell me why you’re being punished,” he said, rubbing the flat of the paddle against his thigh.
She couldn’t help looking at it, wondering how it was going to feel, how much it was going to hurt.
Wondering if he was really going to go through with it.
If he could go through with it.
“Because I lied, I’ve been lying to you. And I went to the club without you, without you even knowing. I… are you punishing me for Kyan? Nothing happened,” she said.
He shook his head. “You’re lucky he was the guy who picked you up at the door. But the rest of it is right. Anything else you’d like to add?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Sir.” It felt so strange to refer to him as Sir.
He nodded. “Bend over the bed. You can keep your hands underneath your chest but you’re not reach back to cover yourself. Clear?”
She nodded, a sudden rush of pure panic flushing adrenaline through her. She glanced at the door just beyond him.
“Problem, Sophie?” he asked for the second time that night.
“I’m scared,” she said outright, shifting on her feet, folding her arms across her chest, then unfolding them, unsure what to do.
“I’m going to punish you hard, but I won’t give you more than you can take,” he said. “Now let’s not drag this out. Bend over the bed. This is happening, Soph.”
She swallowed, dared one last glance at the paddle, and turned. It took her a moment as she bent slowly forward over the dense pillows until her chest was on the bed. She tucked her arms beneath her breasts and looked ahead, her body already tightening in anticipation of what was to come.
The toe of his shoe tapped at her ankle and she spread her legs wider. Michael set the paddle down on the bed and she felt his hands on her ass just touching her, his caress soft.
“I’m scared,” she said again. “Sir,” she added, suddenly very aware of not wanting to add on a single additional stroke.
“I love you, Sophie,” he said. “I would never do anything that would really harm you. You need this punishment and our marriage needs it maybe more than either of us realize. I want you to trust me to do this. Do you trust me?” he asked.
She looked over her shoulders, meeting his eyes. She nodded. “Yes, Sir. I trust you.”
He smiled a kind, gentle smile. “Good girl,” he said. “Face forward now until I tell you you’re allowed to turn around.”
She obeyed, anticipation tightening her belly while arousal warmed her sex.
His hand came down hard on her right cheek and she jumped up, reaching back immediately to cover it. “Ow!” she exclaimed.
He pressed between her shoulder blades, pushing her back down. “Stay down,” he said. “And get your hand off your ass. It’s mine now. Do it, Sophie.”
“It hurt.”
“I meant it to hurt, understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” She lay back down and tucked her arms back beneath her chest.
“Good girl,” he said. With that, he began. He used his hand first, the contact of it on her bare flesh strange, almost foreign used this way. The sound was loud, more overwhelming than the pain, but as he continued, it turned into a constant but manageable sting.
He spanked quickly, striking each buttock in turn, sometimes twice on one side before moving over to the other side. But the pain was something else entirely when he first struck with the paddle.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, trying to rise, but unable to as he still held her down. She pressed her thighs together and reached back to cover her now stinging ass.
“What did I tell you about your hands?” Michael asked, gripping both of them in one of his and holding them at her low back. He struck again, harder this time, pushing her down onto the bed so her torso pressed against it, forcing her hips higher as she took the next blow.
“Ow, ow, ow!” she cried, struggling against his hold. “Wait, please. Please just a minute.” She was struggling to get free now, shifting her hips from side to side to avoid the blows, fighting him.
He struck twice more, then stopped. “All right,” he said, lifting her by one arm. He pushed the pillows off the bed and pulled her across his lap, trapping her legs beneath one of his and her hands at her low back. Her torso rested partially on the bed, but he shifted the position a little so she hung off his thighs.
She groaned with the next strike of the paddle, this change in position, her being bent over his knee, almost giving him better access. Maybe it was that she couldn’t struggle as much or that her struggling had less impact on what was happening. She lost track of the count she’d been keeping without ever being aware she’d been counting and just concentrated on the pain, the burn of the paddle, and the heat that spread throughout her body, causing her to break out in a sweat.
“When I first saw you there at the club,” he said while continuing to spank her hard, “I could have killed that man. I could have killed him for touching you.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cried out. “It hurts, please stop, Michael. I’m sorry.”
“Then when I found out what it was all about,” he continued, striking the crease between thigh and buttock, then the outer curve of her right hip.
She moaned in pain, her fantasies of spanking very different from this painful reality.
She turned to look over her shoulder, her face contorted, her vision blurry with tears.
“Michael,” she said.
He met her gaze and stopped for a moment.
“Sir, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
His eyes were moist even as she felt the thick shaft of his cock at her belly. She heard the paddle drop to the floor and his hand was on her ass caressing her sore, swollen flesh. He released her hands and she reached to the floor to support herself with one while wiping at her eyes with the other.
“Breathe,” he said, his voice calm, even.
She nodded and tried to take a deep breath, but it came in in shudders.
“Shh, it’s okay, it’s over,” he said, lifting her onto his lap, spreading his thighs so she sat between his legs. He held her to him, rubbing her back, her head until she found she had no more tears to cry.
She looked up at him, bringing tear-stained lips to his. He kissed her and it was perhaps the most intimate kiss they’d ever shared.
Slowly, he rose to stand and deposited her on her feet.
He looked down at her.
“How do you feel?” he asked, pushing away the wisps of hair that had slipped from her braid and now stuck to her wet face.
“It hurts,” she began, “but I feel better,” she finished. Strangely, she understood the emotion. The physical punishment had somehow worked to alleviate her of the guilt of her lies, her deceit. She hadn’t imagined it worked like this. This was, in fact, very different from what she’d envisioned at all.
He took her face in his hands as if he were touching her for the first time. She put her hands on his chest, then slid them down to grasp his cock, thick and hard and ready for her. But when she began to unbuckle his belt, he covered her hand with his and shook his head.
“Paddling is over but your punishment is not. Not yet,” he said, his voice controlled.
She looked at him, confused, but followed when he walked her over to the wall.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said, turning her so her nose was in the corner. “Put your hands up. Here, on the wall,” he said. “Don’t try to rub out the pain. I want to watch you like this.”
She followed him with her worried gaze as he walked away, unbuttoning his shirt as he did. She heard the zipper of his pants as he continued to strip and she wanted nothing more than to mount him, climb on top of him, and take his cock deep inside her. She wanted him to fuck her, to make her come. Her pussy was dripping, smearing juice on her thigh even as her ass burned with the heat of her punishment.
“You’re beautiful, you know?” he said.
She met his tender gaze.
“No, nose to the wall. I still owe you a few strokes for not using the proper address earlier, but we’ll do those tomorrow morning. Now, I’m just going to watch you.”
He was quiet after that and fifteen minutes felt like an hour as she stood staring at the white wall, her nose touching it, feeling thoroughly punished, thoroughly aroused. She needed to come, her pussy was swollen, her clit throbbed, wanting, wanting, wanting.
“Come here,” he called finally.
She turned to find him naked on the bed, his thick cock in his hand, the head of it glistening.
“On your hands and knees on the bed and suck my cock,” he said.
She climbed up eagerly and when he fisted a handful of her hair to guide her roughly, she moaned, a fresh trail of her arousal slick on her thighs. She lifted her ass higher as she brought her face to his lap, his hand managing the fucking of her mouth. She tasted him, the slick, salty dew, and wanted him to come in her mouth, to make her swallow, to punish her again if she spilled even a single drop.
But he stopped and pulled her off with a groan.
“I need to be inside you tonight,” he said. “Show me your pussy. Turn around, get your ass in the air and your face on the bed, and show me your pussy.”
He’d never talked to her like this. No, that wasn’t true, he had. She’d just always been too embarrassed to encourage it.
She turned to offer herself to him, just as he’d ordered. She spread her legs wide and buried her face in the bed, squealing when he slapped her beaten, tender flesh, but only lifted higher when his cock penetrated her drenched pussy in one hard thrust. He fucked her hard, his hands on her still burning cheeks, spreading her open. When his thumb closed over her anus, she moaned into the bed, her orgasm so violent, so severe, that the pleasure matched the pain of the punishment she’d just taken. Her pussy clenched around his cock as his thumb pressed into her back hole and she could only gasp for breath as he stilled, filling her as he climaxed.
She heard only his ragged breath once he began to slowly pull out of her.
“Christ,” he said. “No, stay. I want to watch you a little longer.”
Sophie remained as she was, her face reddening as she heard him settle back, unwilling to meet his gaze. She felt embarrassed, but at the same time, reveled in her exposure, her vulnerability. Every emotion and thought warred with every other emotion and thought—even confusion with complete and utter understanding.
When she felt the leaking of his semen as it spilled out of her and slowly trailed down her thigh, she made a small sound, ashamed but also wanting exactly this. Needing this humiliation, this shame.
“Look at me,” he said. She turned her face slightly so she could see him out of one eye. He was leaning against the headboard, one arm overhead, completely relaxed. “You liked when I pushed my finger inside your ass, didn’t you?” he asked.
She could only stare for a moment as heat flushed her face red.
“The five tomorrow morning are going to be hard enough, I imagine. You don’t want to make it six, Soph,” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” she quickly supplied.
“Yes, Sir, what? Say it. Tell me what you liked, what you want. Trust me.”
She lifted her head up and kept her eyes at a point just beyond his shoulder. “I liked when you… pushed your finger inside me. Inside… my ass.”
He smiled a satisfied smile and climbed off the bed, slapping her hip once.
She flinched and he grinned.
“Let’s have a shower, get you cleaned up,” he said.
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