I had no idea I was in trouble until I stepped out of the shower and saw my husband sitting on the toilet, tapping my flat-backed hairbrush on his thigh.
"What?" I said, nervously.
"You were completely out of line this morning," he said, firmly.
"But I told you that she drives me crazy," I said, nearly whining.
"Did you see her face after the comment you made about her decision to stay home with all of you when you were little?" he said. "She looked heartbroken."
"Why do I have to constantly be reminded of her mistakes?" I said, angrily.
"She doesn't think it was a mistake. You misheard and misunderstood everything she was saying. She was praising you."
"She spent my whole life criticizing me," I said, smartly. "And you want me to believe that she's going to start praising me now?"
"Noelle, you were out of line. You have no excuse for the cruel things you said to your mother," he said, firmly.
"But-," I said, starting to pout. He always managed to reduce me to a petulant six year old during his lectures.
"But nothing," he said, firmly. "You're going to get a spanking, and then you're going to apologize to your mother. A sincere apology."
"I could just- apologize now," I said, helplessly.
"No, you know the consequences of your behavior."
I sighed. He laid the hairbrush on the sink.
"But, Jake-,"
"You have no defense for your behavior, so stop stalling," he said. "Do I have to come and get you?"
"No," I said, meekly. I kept the towel wrapped tightly around myself. I hoped he'd at least allow me to keep the towel on, but I knew better.
I lay compliantly across his lap. He put his hand around my waist, and pushed the towel up to my hips. I groaned and whimpered a little. I felt a tickle in my tummy and began to feel odd. The familiarity of my husband's lap coupled with the smells, sights, and sounds of my childhood home sparked feelings of juvenile helplessness in me. I always became like a little child when I lay across his lap, but being across his lap in the house where I grow up felt strange yet comfortable.
I considered myself to be a staunch feminist. I voted democrat, idolized Hilary Clinton, and worked as the VP of marketing in a multi-million dollar corporation. I had been the woman who broke through the glass ceiling in the company, the first woman VP. I had all the control during the day and anyone who worked for me would tell you that I drove them hard, and then, if I were not in the room, they would inform you that I was a heinous bitch. I worked seventy to eighty hours a week and expected everyone under me to do the same.
I snagged a job with the company right out of college, and before I was married, I put in a hundred hours a week easily. I met my husband at work, and many of our first dates were merely conferences over Chinese food in my office. I didn't realize that I was even attracted to him until one night, after the whole team went home and we were throwing out the last of the Chinese food cartons, he took me right on my desk.
He was strong and confident. I was so busy building my career that I hadn't even considered dating or even casual sex for four years, and until that moment, I hadn't realized how much I missed it. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me forcefully on the mouth. I started to object, but then melted into his arms.
"I want to fuck your brains out right on your desk," he hissed in my ear.
"Fuck me," I hissed back.
He yanked my skirt up so hard that it ripped along the seam. I yanked his belt off and tossed it into the corner. He yanked my pantyhose down and groaned in pleasure when he grasped my bare buttocks. I hardly ever wore panties under my pantyhose. I was fumbling with the button on his pants, and he pushed my hands out of the way and yanked them down himself. He thrust inside me, and simultaneously began smacking my left bottom cheek with his palm. Electricity coursed through my veins, as the tip of his penis continually thrust against my g-spot and his tireless palm painted my bottom a hot shade of red. At some point, he switched to my right bottom cheek, but I was too busy hollering and calling him a god to notice exactly when.
My legs trembled as I collapsed onto the desk. He slid out of me, running his hands down the side of my body.
"Oh my God!" I said, breathless.
So, of course, I married him.
Here is the interesting part. At work, people who worked under me lived in fear of my wrath. I had been known to scream myself hoarse and throw things if someone missed an important deadline or didn't send things out on time. At work, I was the boss, the queen, the merciless dictator. I always got my way. When I became a wife, I was still the merciless dictator at work, but I learned quickly that my husband would not put up with nonsense like that.
About two months or so after we were married, my husband planned a weekend trip for us. I wanted to see a show in the city that started at eight o'clock. I got out of work early so we could arrive on time for the show. Unfortunately, after being on the road for a half an hour, Jake realized that he forgot to lock the backdoor to our house. I fumed the entire way home, but didn't say a word. When we got home, I stood straight and rigid in the foyer while he locked the back door. When he returned, I went off on a tirade.
"What the hell were you thinking? We'll never make it to the show at this point because of your incompetence!"
I went on like that for a good three or four minutes. He stood there, calmly, waiting for me to finish. No interruptions, no apologies. He just stood there, quietly.
When I stopped screaming, there was silence. He didn't speak for a full minute. I fidgeted, and started to feel nervous. Most of the admins were in tears at the end of one of my tirades. He was calm and silent. It was disturbing.
"Are you done?" he said.
I nodded, dumbfounded.
"Do you feel better?"
I was struck silent.
"Answer me. Do you feel better?"
"I-, I don't know."
"Go up to our bedroom. I'll be up in a minute."
I went. I was too confused and dumbfounded to even think about getting angry. I sat on the bed, unsure of what was going on. I slowly started to get angry again, realizing that he intends to make me miss a show I had been dying to see. Just as I stood up to find him and give him another piece of my mind, he came into our room.
"We're going to miss the show," I said, my voice tinged with annoyance.
"I know. We're not going to the show."
"What?"
"We have something we need to take care of before we go anywhere."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Sit down. I have a few things to say to you, and if you interrupt once, I will go away for the weekend by myself."
I sat and shut my mouth.
"I've been meaning to discuss your quick temper with you. For as long as I've known you, you've regularly made your admins cry with a barrage of emotional and verbal abuse. I knew at some point you would attempt the same bullshit with me. Well, the time has come for it to stop. You need to learn to control your temper because I will not take any form of verbal abuse."
He sat down and took my hand. My head was spinning. No one had ever said these words to me before. Even as a child, I was allowed to scream at my parents.
"Now, I know you're accustomed to getting what you want when you want it, but the world doesn't work that way. You've been lucky up until now that your temper hasn't gotten you into a lot of trouble. I know that getting a rein on your temper is going to take time, and I'm willing to do everything I can to help you learn self-control."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I said, thoroughly pissed that he was speaking to me like I was a child.
"That," he said, "and the tantrum you threw earlier. And all those admins you've had in tears for so many years. The admins you forced to quit because of your temper. And for all those times you've screamed at your mother and called her names."
I stared at him, speechless.
"When I was in college, I dated a woman who had a temper like yours. The only difference is that as a child, she was taken to task by her father. He died while she was in college, soon after she met me. Most of our relationship was tempestuous, and after a particularly long screaming battle, I threatened to leave her. She started to cry and begged me to 'whip her like her daddy did.' Those were her exact words. So every time, she lost her temper and said something hurtful, I spanked her."
My mouth hung open. Up until this point, I had relished his spanking during intercourse, but I had never, ever considered a spanking for spanking's sake. I certainly never considered it as a punishment.
"It helped, Noelle. And I think it would help you, too. I would like your consent to spank you whenever I see fit. If I don't get your consent, that's fine, but I want you to know that if you continue to verbally abuse me, I will leave you. If you want to work out your temper on your own, I will respect that, but I would like to help you with it."
My head was spinning from confusion, anger, and vulnerability. It was the vulnerability that shook me the most. I could deal with confusion and anger. I didn't want to lose him. I loved him with all my heart, with all my soul, and it dawned on me then that some of the things I said in the hallway were biting, hurtful. I was being abusive. The thing that made me feel the most vulnerable is that I had no idea that I was being abusive. All those times I made the admins cry, those times I had said awful things to my mother, I thought that they were upset because they were overly sensitive.
I looked deeply into my husband's eyes and saw true caring and sincerity there. I also saw something else, something unfamiliar. Resolve. He was calm. He didn't scream back at me during my tirade. He gave me clear, firm boundaries. He looked almost paternal.
"I consent."
I heard the words leave my mouth before I could stop them. What?! my ego screamed. You're going to let a man spank you like a child?
"Do you trust me, Noelle Mary?" he said, tenderly, brushing a tuft of hair behind my ears.
"Yes," I said, with absolute clarity.
He sat straight on the edge of the bed and put his feet flat on the ground.
"Come over my lap," he said, quietly.
Don't! the ego said. Say no! Don't tolerate this sort of treatment!
I looked into my husband's eye again. Our eyes locked for the longest time. I trusted him. I trusted him with my life, my heart, my soul. Deep inside, past the rage, past the ego, I knew he was right. I lay across his lap.
"Are you comfortable, baby?" he said. "It's going to be a fairly long spanking."
He rubbed my back until I was settled. I tried to let go of the voice that screamed in my head. It was the same voice that told me that I was no good, that I never worked enough, that people around me were idiots. As I lay across my husband's lap, I realized that my ego had been more detrimental than I had originally anticipated.
I jumped as his palm connected to the seat of my jeans. As he fell into a slow, methodic rhythm, I tried to push all thoughts out of my brain, including shame and embarrassment. I was 28 years old. I had never been spanked in my entire life, not even in childhood, and here I was, stretched across my husband's lap, squirming a little from shame.
The sound of his palm against my soft cotton jeans resonated throughout our bedroom. He started to spank with more force, and my bottom became warm and tingly.
"Stand up, honey," he said, quietly, and I did. That's it?, I thought. My ego said a few nasty things and the quiet part in me needed more.
He started to unbutton my jeans, and I swallowed the desire to rip into him again. I pushed down the angry voice. It suddenly felt more important to comply than to argue. He lowered my jeans to my ankles and guided me back over his lap. He rubbed my back and bottom as I settled in again.
"I'm going to start spanking you harder now," he said, quietly. "It will hurt."
He wasn't kidding.
His smacks followed in rapid procession, and I squirmed and gasped. I started to give less thought to the angry voice and more thought to the growing warmth and sting in my bottom. When I felt his fingers in the elastic of my silky panties, I reached back and grabbed the hand I could reach.
"Do you trust me, Noelle?"
"Yes," I said, timidly.
"Then let go of my hand."
I slowly let go. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach. Tears started to well in my eyes. I wasn't sure if I could go where I was about to go.
I cried out as I felt crisp, sharp smacks against my bare skin. I kicked and squirmed, but he held me firmly. My arm flew back and he grabbed my wrist and pinned it to my back.
"Owwwww. It hurts!" I cried.
"I know, honey. It's supposed to," he said, tenderly.
"Stop!" I shouted, and tried to squirm off his lap. He held me down firmly and continued to set my bottom ablaze with his tireless palm. "No more! I don't consent anymore!"
He stopped.
"Noelle, do you trust me?"
"You keep asking me that!" I said, tears running down my face.
"I know. I keep asking for a reason."
"What is it?"
"I don't think you trust me, and I want you to. I love you with all my heart," he said as he rubbed my flaming bottom. "Let me help you. Please let me help you."
I burst into gut-wrenching sobs. He tenderly rubbed my back and stinging bottom.
"I consent," I sobbed. "I trust you."
"Okay, bring me your hairbrush," he said.
"What?" I said, confused.
"I'm going to paddle you with your hairbrush," he said.
The hairbrush descended mercilessly on my bottom.
"Owwww," I moaned, trying to keep my voice down. I kicked and squirmed, but I didn't try to fight it or cover. He had been teaching me across his knee for seven months now, never letting an infraction slip, never letting me wiggle my way out of it, figuratively and literally.
"I turned the fan on in the bedroom, so you can make some noise without anyone hearing you," he said, speaking gently, but as if he wasn't sending hot, achy smacks across my bare, freshly showered bottom. I hadn't dried off completely, so bumblebee stings accompanied some of those first smacks.
When I broke into heavy sobs, he slowed.
"Just ten more, baby," he said, softly.
"No," I wept.
SMACK! "One," he said.
SMACK! "Two."
I bucked after each hard smack, but he continued and slowly made his way to ten.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed.
"I'm not the one you need to apologize to," he said, quietly, rubbing my back and sore bottom to soothe me.
When my tears slowed to hiccups, he helped me up and then pulled me down onto his lap. He hugged me to his chest until I calmed down completely.
"I love you," he said, kissing my flushed, tear-stained cheek.
"How long is it going to take?"
"For what?"
"For me to learn?"
"As long as it takes."