Chapter Six
For the next month, we settled into life as a couple. I was surprised at how easily, and how comfortably, I fell into the role of homemaker. He would do his cowboy thing, and I kept house. I relearned my cooking skills and loved greeting him when he came home, tired and sweaty, with a beer, a kiss, and a hot supper on the table.
He had a self-defense "school" set up in a downtown storefront and we would go down there at least twice a week. His "classes" were by appointment only, and he taught women how to be as close to rape proof as possible. Since I had accumulated black belts in Japanese Karate, Korean Tai-Kwan-do, Chinese Shaolin-do (kung fu), and American freestyle, it was an interesting contrast. My style of self-defense focused on smooth movements, those techniques that used momentum and careful strikes, the stuff you see on TV and in the movies in other words. His was pure army, something he summed up as, "hit hard, hit often, keep hitting until he stops moving."
He seemed fascinated with the movements of the Chinese forms, and I taught him Cranes and Snakes and Tigers. He taught me how to gouge an eye, break a nose, or strike a throat in a potentially killing blow. When he would have one of his students in we would demonstrate at full speed so she could see what a technique would look like in real-time. When there was no student we would work out and spar, giving each other lumps and bruises and enjoying it all. Soon I found myself in the best shape of my life, the debauchery of those past three years a fading memory.
We went out, regularly too. He had bought me three outfits that I rotated through on our "date nights." He was always the gentleman, and I absolutely wallowed in his little courtesies. I LIKED having doors opened for me, having chairs held, and in a wonderfully old-fashioned gesture, having him stand when I came back from the lady's room.
We would eat and drink (I was never an alcoholic, just a drunk for a while) and dance. We caught all of the movies, strangely enough, it was me insisting on the actioners while he seemed addicted to chick flicks. When we got home, the sex was wonderful. If there is a heaven, I'm sure his Mamy Mama is smiling down on us. Thank you, dear lady.
We got home from one of our date nights and I realized there was something different between us. When we stepped in the front door I turned and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and said, "WHAT!?"
He kind of chuckled at that and leaned forward and kissed me.
"Come and sit with me, Susan (he still insisted on calling me Susan, NEVER Sue)," he said, "and all will be revealed."
I giggled at that. I LOVED when he fell into his courtly style.
So we sat on the couch, his arm around me, my head nestled against his shoulder, looking like a couple of teenagers I suppose.
"Spill it," I said.
"There's one final thing that mom taught me that I haven't told you about," he said.
He obviously wanted a reaction so I said, "go on."
"Sometimes," he said, "a woman needs to be claimed, to be reminded."
"Reminded?" I asked, not really following.
"Not often," he said, "maybe once a month or so, she would ask me to turn her over my knees."
My breath caught.
"You mean like a spanking?" I asked.
He chuckled at that. "I mean EXACTLY a spanking," he said.
I turned and looked at him.
"You're serious?" I asked.
"Yes, Susan," he said, "I'm serious. I won't force you, but it's something I think you should try."
"Right now?" I asked and he smiled.
"When you're ready," he said, "you'll let me know. For now, just think about it."
"Your mom?" I asked.
He laughed softly and said, "yes. Once Mamy Mama was done with me mom took me to her bed. One of the things about the Oneidas was that they didn't have a taboo against incest. The thing is, mom was a very high functioning alcoholic, but it was a strain on her. You know how it is when you're in charge. You're always making decisions and in her case, often those decisions were literally life and death decisions. And sometimes she needed, desperately, the release of the pure submission, and yes, the pain, of the spankings. I, of course, was always happy to accommodate her."
We made love that night very gently. My back was healed up, and sometimes we got wild and rough, sometimes it was like this, gentle and slow. I liked, very much, that he seemed able to keep me guessin'.
I suppose that is why, the second Friday after he had broached the subject, when we got home I had him stand, just inside the front door, a funny look on his face, while I walked into the kitchen and got one of the sturdy kitchen chairs. I put it in the middle of the floor and led him to it. When he sat I bent and kissed him.
"Wes," I said, "I'm scared."
He smiled, understanding, and said, "then don't do it."
"Oh God," I moaned, and bent down and laid myself across his lap.
He didn't say anything as he lifted the short skirt and then pulled my panties down, exposing my ass but leaving the elastic as a tight band around the top of my thighs.
I shivered as his hand, strong and hard, laid across my ass and caressed gently.
"Susan," he said, "this MUST be with your consent. You can say 'stop' any time you want. We don't need any safe words if you trust me."
"I understand," I managed, my breath already catching.
He caressed my ass, very gently, his palm brushing the skin. When he lifted his hand I clenched. It was involuntary. I don't think I could have stopped myself from doing it.
He waited, and when I relaxed, the first stroke was hardly more than a pat.
I gasped, anyway, and finally breathed out as he began caressing again.
"One," he said.
I have no idea how long that first spanking lasted. He would caress and calm me, then his hand would lift and I would clench up, he would wait, I would relax, and each stroke would be slightly harder than the last, followed by his count.
By "10" it was starting to hurt.
By "20" I would shudder with each stroke.
I started to cry about "25" but something strange was happening too. The pressure deep in my belly, as if we were engaged in foreplay, started to build.
His left hand was between my shoulder blades, holding me down, while his right spanked me.
I was bawling by "50." But I was also aroused. I could smell my excitement, feel my nipples so hard they ached, and way down in my mind, down where the lizards still ruled, I understood.
At "74" I came as I had never cum before. I've always been pretty, well, wet when I climaxed, but not a "squirter" as you see in those porno videos. But this time I didn't just "squirt," I sprayed. I thought I had lost bladder control. I could hear my release spattering on the floor and then feel it running down my legs. My entire body was involved, every muscle fiber suddenly clenched.
Later, when he asked me about it, I told him it was like a blast of purest white pleasure suddenly blasted away the agony.
When he lifted his hand for "75" I couldn't even clench, and at "82" I came again, another of those life-changing orgasms.
When I relaxed that time he said, "I think that's enough for now," and I didn't want it to end. I was crying, tears and drool and snot puddling on the floor, my breathing in harsh little gasps, but I didn't want it to end. I sort of whimpered when I realized that it was over for now.
It seemed natural then to squirm around and get on my knees before him. He smiled as I started on his belt buckle and then the button of his jeans and his zipper. He lifted himself enough to allow me to get his jeans past his hips but he didn't really help me and I was glad, I WANTED to do this work myself.
I was still crying, my nose running, my saliva thick with mucus, and his cock was instantly slick in my mouth.
