June and the Washing Machine

June wiped a tear from her eye as she felt the arms of her husband wrap around her. Her arms, pressed between their two bodies were trapped up near her face, her hands clasped as though in prayer.

She wasn't thinking about the pressure this put on her breasts, rather she was thinking about the pain in her bottom. The pain, soothed somewhat by the comfort and love she felt towards the man who had finally placed the thick, black leather belt back onto the bedside table next to his bed and was now holding her.

He reached down and caressed her angry welted bottom and thighs. She started crying again.

"Shhhh....little one." He comforted.

June sniffled.

"Does that hurt?" He asked.

"No. It feels good. It...it takes some of the sting away." She looked up into his eyes and continued, "I....I...just..." Another tear rolled down her warm cheek, her composure melting away once again.

"You know, I worked awfully hard at putting that sting there. I don't know if I should take it away."

A tiny laugh, something just past a giggle, escaped June.

The man stepped back and looked down at his bride. "Now you're a rainbow -- tears and a smile."

June laughed a little more. As he freed her from his embrace, she wiped away the tears and sat down on her bed.

"I'm crying not just because it hurts. Not now anyway. It's just that I feel so safe. So safe and cared for."

Her husband adjusted his tie and looked at her in the bedroom vanity's mirror. "Well, that's good. But just don't forget the laundry again today. I wouldn't want you to have to go through this again tomorrow morning. Besides -- I don't want to be late for work two days in a row."

Finished with his tie, he made his way to the bedroom door. Passing his naked wife, he cupped one of her breasts in his hand, rubbed the hardening nipple with his fingers and looked past her and at his bed. "Perhaps tonight, little one. Don't forget the laundry though, OK."

He looked so smart in his grey flannel suit, thought June as she heard the Studebaker start in the driveway.

The chastised wife drew a silken robe over her naked body, picked up the laundry basket of his clothes and made her way through the house and down the stairs. There, in front of her, was her pride and joy -- a brand new Maytag washing machine from Sears. She loaded the machine, added a scoop of detergent, closed the lid and turned the big center dial to "wash" and pulled it on.

Her hands rested on the lid a few seconds as she thought of that black belt hitting her rounded buttocks again and again. The steel of the lid felt so cold to the touch. So cool and comforting. Below her fingers the machine chugged and hummed as it began the first wash cycle. June removed her hand from the lid, pulled her robe up over her scarlet cheeks and hoisted herself up onto the machine. Hot flesh met frigid metal and the relief swept through June.

She closed her eyes and relished the sensation.

She thought about the Reds having the Bomb. She thought about how strange it was she was thinking about the Reds and the Bomb at a time like this. She thought again about how good it felt -- the coolness of the metal against her punished bottom and the vibrations of the machine as they worked their way up and into her. She thought about her husband and the belt punishing her for her failure to do yesterday's laundry.

She spread her legs. The flesh stuck and squeaked against the metal of the lid.

She licked her index and middle fingers.

She touched herself.

The machine hummed beneath her.

She rubbed up and down.

She was wet.

She began to make motions practiced and perfected in the dark, under the covers of her adolescent bed.

The machine changed cycles and began to shake.

She twisted the dark hair of her pubes. She saw the belt. The disapproval in his eyes when he discovered the laundry still in the hamper. The feel of his hands roughly pushing her down over her bed. She remembered the silk of her panties making their way down her thighs. She felt the horrible pain of the first strike as leather wrapped around barred flesh.

Two fingers entered her.

She moaned.

She pushed aside the robe and pinched her nipple. She tugged on it.

She pulled the fingers out, dragging a glistening and manicured nail over her special spot. And again. And then in tiny circles around that spot. She was vibrating. The belt was falling. Again and again on her up-thrust bottom. Her nipples hardened. Her chest flushed. She jerked, opened her mouth and threw her head back and shrieked.

June's cry filled the basement, bouncing off the hard concrete floor, rattling around her husband's golf clubs and finally came to rest in silence.

In this silence, the sound of the pebble hitting one of the windows up high was what caused June to open her eyes. Her robe had fallen free and lay in a puddle of silk on the cover of the washing machine. Her legs were spread. Her sex was swollen and wet. Her breasts heaved, nipples pointing skyward. The washing machine stopped. Looking up at the window, she saw the young man's face looking down at her.