The Obedient Wife Page 3

  Oh yes. He’d had her leaning her still-clothed top half over the hood of his big Jeep while he methodically tugged her skirt or pants and panties down around her ankles to nestle atop her sensible work pumps. She knew he was careful not to pick too public a place, but this was the town in which she worked, and although they lived several towns away, she never stopped worrying about someone coming by who knew just a bit too much about her . . .

  And now, every loud, purging connection of the solid wooden, oval-shaped back of her hairbrush to her already trying-to-dance backside echoed not only in points a bit further south, as always, but all over her body, tightening her nipples and making her hair stand just a bit on end, all over.

  The hick arm held her in place for her chastisement with little effort. The cracking sound of wood to flesh resounded within her - each deliberate, searing swat branding her even more firmly as his woman.

  But damn, it hurt, too! She never knew exactly how he managed to set her skin afire so quickly and expertly - except for raw enthusiasm, for which he never seemed to be lacking. Her entire bottom was evenly ablaze - a tribute to his expertise - leaving none of it neglected and none more well-roasted than the rest.

  She had to admit that scenario had never happened to her. Sean was much too attentive to her to allow that. He had told her, often, how much he enjoyed seeing the flesh of her distinctly untanned rear end turning what he described as “a lovely shade of pink, and then successively deeper shades of angry red.” One thing was certain - none of her bottom felt neglected tonight!

  She, of course, hit him whenever he decided to wax eloquent about the horrible states in which he left her bottom.

  The hairbrush was a particularly hard implement for her to come to grips with, since she didn’t own any other brushes and she used it every day to tame her hair into submission; he used it to enforce her own submission. Somehow it felt as if her hairbrush was getting the best of her, and it was.

  Unfortunately, this was just the first spanking. It was supposed to be a smaller one, just for having forgotten herself in the heat of the moment enough to have apologized.

  But Sean took unusual things to heart, and he really hated it when she said anything denigrating to herself. She knew him well enough that she should have expected that this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. None of her spankings were.

  By the time he finally let go of her - to reach for something even worse, she was quite sure - she was quite certain that she could have fried an egg on her backside,. Ginger felt as if her milky white skin had been boiled or burned somehow, because his gift - such as it was - kept on giving. The initial horribly painful swats had a lingering effect that left her with rhythmic waves of pain that came and went in time with her pulse.

  Just when she was trying - only somewhat successfully - to distract herself from the condition of her roasted flesh, she heard the words she least wanted to hear - whether she’d been spanked or not.

  “I want you to bring me the cane.”

  He said it calmly, not nastily or angrily or even loudly - not in a manner that would inspire tears in the least.

  Of course, that was exactly what it did, though. Ginger didn’t just cry, she wailed. To hell with worrying about what the neighbors thought - especially since they didn’t really have any.

  Regardless of her angst she knew he expected her to obey him, so she climbed down from the bed as slowly as she dared, sneaking only occasional looks at him. He was standing there like the unyielding mountain she often thought him, arms crossed over his chest, unabashedly naked.

  And quite fully aroused, if she was any judge. As was she.

  He didn’t appear the least inclined to be lenient with her, unfortunately. Despite that fact, she could tell by the way the corners of his mouth were twitching that he was having a hard time not smiling at her comical slowness in heeding his command.

  Ginger figured she had the timing about right by now; she knew just about how far she could push him.

  She thought.

  And then, as she turned to reach into his closet, to the umbrella stand that had never contained an umbrella in its life, she realized just how wrong she was when he delivered five hard clandestine smacks, saying, “Honey, I would think that when you’ve been sent to fetch your cane you’d be much quicker about it, considering that - one way or the other - that rod is going to end up in my hands and the longer you delay, the more strokes can be added . . .”

  She shrieked at that horrid pronouncement and whirled to give him the hated implement.

  There was no “thank you” or praise for having been brave enough to do so. Instead he just said, “You know what position you should be in, don’t you?”

  She did, but dreaded it fiercely.

  In one corner of their bedroom was a vanity that he had surprised her with for their fifth anniversary. It was antique mahogany, an absolutely gorgeous piece with a marble top - which he knew she loved - a trifold mirror and volumes of deep drawer space on either side. As generous as the gift was, though, she knew that he was just eager to get her to organize her huge collection of perfumes, makeup, hair sprays, mousses and gels that daily threatened to take over their shared sinks area in the bathroom. His poor one bottle of Polo, toothbrush, toothpaste and floss hadn’t a prayer against the sheer volume of her notions and potions, as he called them.

  It was a thing of beauty, and the only part of it she came not to love was the chair he’d bought to go with it, which had a generously padded seat. It was a straight-backed affair, and he put it to too many nefarious uses for her comfort.

  She’d tried once to replace it with a very pretty low stool with a gorgeous tapestried cushion that could never be employed for any other purpose, but that had mysteriously disappeared during the day, somehow, and when she got home from work, the same chair was back in its usual spot . . . resurrected, somehow, from where she’d hidden it at the very back of her dressing closet. Sean had held her chin in his hand as he told her - in no uncertain terms - that the chair stayed exactly where it was.

  Now here she was, draped over the back of it - yet again - a kinky sacrifice, and there he was, standing to one side of her with that horrible thing in his hand.

  Not the fun thing, the awful thing.

  Her fingers were wrapped around the edges of the seat cushion, her nails biting into the soft wood as she felt him put the length of that thing across her bottom- not as a stroke, but just to remind her of what was coming.

  “Now. You closed your legs to me night before last, didn’t you?”

  She desperately wanted to just nod, but he would not consider that an acceptable response. “Yes, Sir.”

  “It wasn’t because you were sick or hurting or any reason other than you got a wild hair up your ass and decided to see if I was paying attention, right?”

  Well, she wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but in essence, she supposed, he was right. She didn’t have a very good reason for why she’d misbehaved like that. She’d just . . . wanted to. Sometimes when they made love, it was more than a bit overwhelming for her, and she had just wanted to stop the feelings that were flooding her body for a moment in order to gather together the scattered pieces of herself that tended to fly apart the moment he touched her intimately.

  But now she most definitely wished she’d just allowed the moment to pass, especially since he began laying tracks across her throbbing bottom the instant she agreed with him, each stroke leaving behind a scarlet ridge that she’d feel for quite some time - that would haunt her and make her consider her behavior a lot more carefully . . . for a while, anyway.

  Her yips and yelps at the swats he’d delivered with his hands and even the brush paled in comparison to the full on groans, moans and outright screams when that thin but sturdy rod snapped across both of her upturned hillocks. Worse, she knew he that wasn’t even putting a quarter of his real strength behind them, thank God. Somehow he always managed to walk that delicate line perfectly, so that she
felt most thoroughly chastised but never crossing into any area that might have smacked of abuse.

  He was much too careful of her - much too attuned to her - for that.

  Yet he did challenge her limits, and had proven many times in the past that she could take much more from him than she thought she could. It seemed as if this was going to be one of those times.

  Of course, he lectured her throughout it all. They’d been together for so long that - if she’d been able to be the least coherent while over his lap or bent over this chair - she could probably have mouthed the words to most of them along with him, but of course that wouldn’t have been the brightest thing to do, either.

  “Didn’t I tell you from the first time we were together - practically from the moment we met - that you were never to close your legs to me?” he asked rhetorically. “Ever?”

  He had and she had looked quite apoplectic at the idea. He had stepped up and taken control of her from the first, even when he probably wasn’t absolutely sure that that was what she wanted.

  But he’d known, somehow, it was exactly what she needed.

  Chapter III

  They had met when Ginger had agreed to spend some time that summer - too many years ago to want to recall - at her girlfriend Charlene’s family’s camp on Tunk Lake. It was one of the few family camps that had been allowed to remain in existence when the state came in and turned it into a park. The lake was one of the coldest, cleanest and deepest in the state, and was never going to be any more developed than it already was, with the small state park beach and about five family camps well hidden along the vast shoreline, so much so that it looked completely undeveloped. Each camp had acres and acres of dense, primeval forest between it and the next camp, so all were essentially completely isolated from each other.

  It was a tradition among the families to name their camps, so Charlene’s family had named theirs Upta, as in “I’m going upta camp this weekend. Wanna come?”

  That exactly what Charlene had said to her when inviting her up. Explicitly detailed directions were given, coordinates laid down, and search and rescue teams were alerted as Ginger had a notoriously bad sense of direction. Just a few days later she found herself and her ancient Toyota chugging up Tunk Mountain, peering around anxiously at the gorgeous scenery and trying not to miss any of the multiple turns her friend had mentioned.

  When she finally arrived, she found she was not alone, and it wasn’t her friend that greeted her but rather her brother’s friend - Sean Aloysius Montgomery.

  “Are you Ginger?” he asked, already taking the small bag she had packed out of the trunk of her car before she could make a grab for it.

  Surprised - and not at all unpleasantly so - by the appearance of this gorgeous hunk of man, Ginger nodded. “Guilty as charged.” He was already headed into the huge log cabin, so if she wanted to see where her clothes ended up, she had no choice but to follow him.

  “I’m Sean Montgomery, Charlene’s brother Scott’s friend. Charlene is late, as per the usual Montgomery habit, but she - and the rest of the family - should be here before long.”

  She should have realized her friend would be late and planned not to arrive when there was just one other person there - however sexy.

  Charlie hadn’t said anything about her camp being quite this big, but Ginger would have bet it slept ten or twelve or more, and it was as gorgeous inside as it was out - homey but beautifully decorated in the brighter earth tones of deep turned-leaf red, soft oranges and varying shades of brown.

  It was a picture perfect representation of how a camp should look.

  He was already well ahead of her as she lagged behind admiring the house, but she caught up to him on the stairs and enjoyed the view from behind as he sauntered up them. “I’m going to put you in this room, where at night you can sometimes hear the loons calling to each other, and the sun will wake you up naturally every morning.”

  “At dawn?” she asked, unable to keep the alarm from her voice. Loons at night were one thing, but dawn was an entirely different prospect.

  That tickled him, apparently, because he almost giggled at her abject shock and horror. She loved the sound of a big man giggling. “That’s generally when the sun rises, yes, Ma’am -”

  Ginger’s eyes popped out even more than they had when she’d seen him. “Oh my God, you did not just ‘Ma’am’ me!”

  A bright blush spread over that beautiful face of his - which surprised her somehow. He didn’t seem the type to blush. The rest of him, though, didn’t seem in the least concerned about her comment. In fact, he took a step closer to her, not in a threatening way, really, just a calm, assertive one.

  “I meant it as a term of respect, not a comment on your age.”

  His explanation wasn’t much better than the original insult, but she let it go lest he continue to dig himself even deeper. Besides that, there was something about the look in his eyes made her not want to push him too much.

  It made her want to jump him and pin him to the bed, but not push him.

  He looked like the kind of man who’d be somewhat dangerous when cornered - or even challenged much, for that matter. He positively reeked of dominance, and she had a distinct weakness for that type of man.

  A distinct weakness. She could feel the evidence of that fatal flaw dampening her panties as she watched him put her small suitcase on the bed.

  “You’ll also have a lovely view of the lake and the dock since you’re on the front of the house. You’re about as far away from the family room as I could get you, so the inevitable all night commotion shouldn’t keep you from sleeping.”

  Her friend’s family was big and notoriously loud and boisterous. Overwhelmingly so, sometimes.

  Her personal concierge then disappeared, leaving her on her own to get settled. When she appeared downstairs, he was nowhere to be seen, until she wandered into the cavernous family room and found him surrounded by books.

  Who came to camp to work or study? She wondered to herself, but the question must’ve been in her face, because he answered it immediately.

  “I’m taking the sergeant’s test - I’m a cop - and I need to study, although Scott thought I needed some time off, so I’m here.”

  “Oh dear. A cop, huh? Is this the part where I need to confess to all my unpaid tickets?”

  Sean, for his part, was thinking she was a brat who was much too big for her britches, and he’d never backed down from a challenge, especially one that involved a taming - and his impression of her, even after such a short time, was that this young woman could definitely use one. His palms fairly itched to deliver it, but he didn’t want to frighten her away by introducing the idea any too soon . . .

  But then, what the hell.

  “If you feel the urge, I’m here. But - a friendly warning - you wouldn’t have to worry much about the judicial consequences of not having paid them because the consequences I would deal out would be much worse.”

  The excitement in the air around them crackled as Ginger stopped dead in the act of walking towards the sliding glass doors that led out onto a large deck and turned to look back at him.

  Big mistake.

  He’d quietly put away the books that had surrounded him, and he was now staring directly at her, with every bit of concentration in his body focused on nothing but her.

  Dear God, he meant that he would spank her! She knew it as surely as she knew that parts of her clenched as she made that discovery, parts that were making themselves as known as they could - drying her throat, quickening her breathing and making her desperately wish she could squeeze her legs together, but she was not about to do that in front of him.

  Trying to lighten the mood, she laughed softly. “Did I say traffic tickets? I meant . . . uh . . . laundry tickets. That’s it.” She chuckled uneasily when he tucked his chin to his chest and looked at her from under hooded brows.

  “Really?” he asked softly. “Because lying to me would get you into even worse trouble.”
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  “Because you’re a cop?” she asked, looking deliberately away from him before she drowned in those dark black pools of his.

  “No, because I won’t stand for being lied to, Miss Ginger.”

  That tone. It went directly to her clit and smothered it in innuendo and sexual energy until it practically burst forth on its own, without ever being touched.

  Ginger tossed her hair in a nervous habit that was left over from when she had hair down to her mid back. Now her glorious golden locks were cut in the same short pixie style she’d had as a kid, with a bit more attitude, and the move was definitely lost in translation.

  “What do you do for a living, Ginger?” he asked, and she had the thought that he wouldn’t be happy, somehow, if she decided not to answer him, but that was fanciful and frivolous. She didn’t know this man well enough after only fifteen minutes or so to think that.

  Or did she?

  His change of subject only diffused her nervousness to the slightest degree. “I work for the same bank that Charlie does, only not in the same area.”

  “Charlene works with electronic transfers, right? What do you do?”

  It was interesting to know that you were the object of someone’s attention, especially when that person looked - and acted - like he did. She was on high alert, despite his mundane questions.

  “I process Visa debit card disputes.”

  “And do you like your job?”

  She was staring out the window, trying to get her scattered, almost frightening reactions to him under control or she would have noticed that he had gotten up and was crossing the room towards her.

  “I do. It’s a dead end because my manager isn’t going anywhere fast, but I like the . . . well, the rhythm of it, I guess. I do it well enough that I get a raise every year, and I’m pretty much left to my own devices to get my work done.”

  “I’m glad. It helps to like what you do.”

  How had he snuck up on her like that - so silently? He moved like a cat! Still, when she turned to find him standing behind her, it was at a more respectful distance than she would have guessed by her rioting nerves.