He’d been locked in the workshop for days. Well, nights. She admired his hobby, loved how talented he was with his hands. He’d made all the frames for her artwork, renovated the house, and so many other things over the years. She’d not had to buy a wooden spoon in all their time together, and if some never made it to the kitchen, she enjoyed them all the same!!
She was frustrated. They’d not had sex in days. He was so preoccupied with work, and stress from it. She’d feed him supper, then he’d be off to unwind in the workshop.
Here it was, Valentines Day. Sunday. He should have been here, eating breakfast at the table. Instead, he and the coffee pot, not just a mug, were locked in the shop.
Her cell rang.
“Get undressed.” he said.
“Wait…you’re calling me from the workshop???” she could feel anger bubbling up. The workshop was behind the garage for crissakes, a mere 25 feet away from the backdoor!
“Get. Undressed.” The order was clearly stated, in his “don’t fuck with me” voice.
“Are you arguing with me? That’s a punishable offense, remember that, little girl.”
She felt anger drain away. His control over her, his commanding presence came through the phone whether he was 25 feet away, or 25 states.
“yessir” she all but whispered.
“That’s better. Be naked. Lay across the table, ass exposed. I want to be looking at that ass smile when I come through the door.”
“yessir,” she replied. He cut the connection and her fingers flew down the row of buttons on her cotton blouse. She slipped the blouse onto the chair back, then unbuttoned her jeans, and stepped free of them. She didn’t know when he would come across the yard, but it could be any second. She slipped off her bra and panties, dropping them on the chair seat, and bent across the table.
The vulnerable position made her feel even more submissive. She knew she’d missed the sex this last week, but didn’t realize just how much she needed him to put her into her place. This humiliating scene was just what she needed, and she felt her pussy wake up after its week of rest.
Was today the day the boy came to collect for the newspaper delivery? She started to raise up from the table, but stopped herself. She frowned. Oh. My. Gawd. She heard voices just outside the kitchen door.
Jimmy, the paper boy…she dropped her head onto her folded arms, moaned silently.
Then, His voice. Sir. Husband. Master. They were discussing the Sox and Yankee’s training camps. Phew!
She heard Jimmy hollering goodbye to him, then the squeak of the screen door, and the opening of the inner door.
It shut with a solid sound, a whoosh of cold air against her exposed ass, which raised goosebumps. And nipples.
He came up behind her.
“Good, obedient slut.” He ran his hand from her lower back, down and over the curving mound of her rump. A fast swat had her jolting a bit. Even softened, he packed a sting.
“That’s for arguing with me on the phone.” he said.
“I’m sorry Sir,” she offered, her voice muffled by her arms.
“And so you should be…” his voice trailed off, she heard him sip at his coffee mug. He moved away, and she heard the mug placed carefully in the sink. He was meticulous like that.
“I have your Valentines Gift. You can look at it carefully later, but just now I want you to experience it.”
What the hell did that mean? she wondered.
She found out.
Later, looking at the wooden paddle, she marveled at the thick heart mounted securely at the end of a long springy dowel. She turned it over and over in her hands, enjoying the smooth feel of the wood in her hands. He was meticulous in this, too, his woodcraft.
She turned and looked in the mirror. A swath of heart-shaped bruises danced across her asscheeks.
A Valentines Day to remember.