Barbra would never have believed that buying a pair of shoes while her husband was away at sea would land her in so much trouble.
Alan could not believe that their relationship was so close to disaster, yet he knew that desperate times called for desperate measures.
Could a spanking really save their crumbling marriage?
This story includes M/f spanking and bondage.
Barbara gritted her teeth, her father had been right, Alan was a pig! The indignity! How dare he do this! She loved shopping, but he always spoiled it by bitching about every cent she spent. God she hated this petty debate every time she spent a dime on herself. Couldn’t he just enjoy the fact that she looked good?
His grim funeral director’s face stared back at her over the breakfast table. Barbara tried to coax him out of his foul mood with what she hoped was one of her winning smiles. Alan sat there, seemingly unmoved by either her attempts to lighten the mood, or the aromas of coffee that mingled with the sweet pungent smell of grilled bacon, filling the kitchen.
He had the credit card bill open, lying accusingly in front of him on the table. His features looked as if they had been carved from a slab of granite. His eyes were cold and hard, as though he was about to announce some great natural catastrophe had occurred. This happened every damn time the credit card bill arrived and it made her feel sick to her stomach!
She found his rigid control over the finances unsettling, as if nothing in her life was really certain or stable. She had always found shopping a comfort, but Alan had destroyed the pleasure in that, making her feel guilty, with his constant scrutiny of bank statements.
She longed for the time in their early marriage when he had been lighter, before his constant nagging about money, when he had treated her like a princess to be pampered and spoiled. In an
attempt to rekindle those early feelings, she tried to summon up a smile but saw not a glimmer of his mood melting.
A trickle of alarm slid through her, refusing to be squelched. He did seem more angry than usual this morning. There was something in his manner, coldness, and distance that hadn’t been
She watched as his eyes narrowed and his fork clattered to the plate. She shivered a little and moved in her seat as she felt a wave of cold wash over her.
Like a volcano, Alan erupted, “You have to be fucking kidding? This is a credit card statement?”
She watched as his cheeks flushed and his nostrils flared. She heard the rush of air over his teeth. He was barely containing his rage. His sudden ferocity shocked her. He had gotten angry before,
but he had never exploded quite like this.
She felt lost, alone, empty in the face of Alan’s explosive anger, and it frightened her. “This is ours? Right?” He shook the piece of paper. “I was just wondering if I had opened the statement for the third world debt by mistake.”
Barbara felt herself smile, involuntarily. She had always loved his sense of humor, but she hated it when he used it sarcastically. It was like having something she loved used against her as a weapon. Her teeth squeezed her lower lip as she tried to suppress the deep sadness that filled her, threatening to overwhelm her. She’d felt herself succumbing to this familiar feeling of sadness and isolation as Alan had become stingier and stingier.
As she sat before him she felt her anger rising as she thought of him goading her. She found it frustrating, as there really was no reply to his sarcastic humor.
“Well? The shoes. Are they solid gold? Or what?”
“What the hell do you know of style?”
“I know how fucking much it costs.” She saw the muscles in his jaw go tight.
Alan felt the anger bubble inside him like the agitated fermenting of an angry sea. His anger was a boiling churning cauldron of bile, souring the taste in his mouth as it frothed, climbing ever higher on the inside of his mind. He saw red and boiled over. What the fuck was he to do with her?
His mind turned the events over, his patience at an end. It drove him crazy that with Barbara it was all material things. He knew her father had always given gifts to compensate for his lack of time with her. Gifts—things instead of time. He sighed. He could easily understand why Barbara equated gifts with love and why she believed that money could buy happiness but he hated that outlook.
The situation was desperate and as he sat there, despair clouding his thoughts, his thoughts turned to the article he’d read in a magazine while waiting for a haircut. The article had been about domestic discipline. The writer of the article had claimed that the introduction of spanking had saved his marriage.
He had read about spanking in adult magazines before and he found the whole idea arousing, but he had never considered it in terms of repairing his relationship with Barbara. He rolled his shoulders. Maybe spanking would be the magic bullet that would save their marriage.
Her words from another fight over money came flooding back into his head, “Maybe I could just ask daddy for my allowance back, or maybe he could give you a raise.” He felt a moment of calm, that silent spell before the thunderclap. His fists came together in front of him scrunching
the flimsy paper into a ball. “I hold the purse strings in this house! Is that clearly understood?”
“Yes Sir,” her voice was small, that of a lost little girl, standing at the headmaster’s desk. She looked so innocent, her head cast down, her eyes looking up at him. There was the expression of a little girl sorry for doing wrong and it tugged at him making him want to wrap her up in his arms and tell her it would be okay, but he’d done that many times before. The other part of him was intensely irritated by her blatant attempt to manipulate him. He knew this meek and mild stance was all a part of the game. She wanted to slip from the hook, as he had let her in the past.
Yet he knew that he could not go on like this. This time he had to be strong, one way or another, this had to stop. A line had to be drawn.
“You have two choices. Either we go back to the shop and I stand there while you tell the manager that $1500 is a ridiculous price for a pair of shoes and your husband won’t allow you to
spend that kind of money or...”
Barbara smirked and half giggled at the absurdity of her trying to do that. The humiliation would be unbearable. She had shopped at that particular store since she had been old enough to buy her own shoes. The staff knew her. Returning the shoes like that was not an option.
Alan’s jaw tightened. “You think this is funny?”
She watched as he folded his arms, a wall of defiant muscle before her.
“Your alternative is to submit to a spanking.” She felt her jaw slacken. She could not believe what she was hearing. He had to be kidding. She looked at him incredulously.
The wooden dining chair slid back on the kitchen’s quarry tiled floor and he stood. She felt intimidated by his sheer physical presence as he drew himself to his full height, shoulders back,
shirt tight across his chest.
Spanking? Surely he was not serious. Her stomach churned, this was crazy. She felt her hackles rising, as the thought of him spanking her filled her mind.
“This is a joke right? You are kidding?” She folded her arms indignantly across her chest.
He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I am going spank you,” he said simply, in a matter of fact voice, as if he was announcing that it was time for supper. He took a step toward her.
“You are the one that has to be kidding now! I have not been spanked since I was four.” She felt dwarfed by him and took a step backwards. It was as if the walls were closing in, her field of vision narrowing. She felt small and insignificant, in the shadow of his massive frame.
“If your father had taken you firmly in hand earlier this would not be necessary now.”
She watched the twitch in his cheek and was mesmerized by his furrowed brow. He was not messing about, and she knew her attitude was making him even more angry, but she didn’t care. Her own blood was boiling. How bloody dare he talk to her like this? The thought of being physically punished for buying shoes was absurd. There was no way she was going to submit to this.
Barbara stood. She felt her jaw clench. She watched as his grimace slowly transformed to a grin of pearly white teeth that left her feeling a bit like Little Red Riding Hood confronted by the wolf for the first time. His smile was disconcerting. It made her feel as if he knew something that she
He stood there as immoveable as Mount Rushmore. He flexed his shoulders. “So you are defying me?” His eyebrows rose in an impressive arch.
She said nothing but didn’t break eye contact. The turmoil inside her grew. She wanted to fight him, yet she knew she didn’t have the strength. She wanted to hit him and at the same time she wanted to cry and run for sanctuary. A warm flush hit her face while a cold tingle ran down her spine radiating to pins and needles in her fingers.
He folded his arms across his barrel like chest, his back ramrod straight, unyielding. “I did think of a third option, maybe it would suit you better.”
He paused and Barbara racked her brain, searching for options of her own. There must be something. Maybe he would settle for a blowjob. The smile on his face sure hinted at that. She was sure it would pacify him for a while. She returned his smile, happy to have been let off the hook. She began to relax a little more thinking the storm was about to pass. A bullet dodged.
The expression on his face didn’t change. “I could send you home to daddy. I am sure he would be delighted to have his little girl back."
Her heart sank into a bottomless pit of despair. Christ no! After all the fights with her father there was no way she could ever go back there to live.
“I’m sure he’d be delighted to be proved right. I’m sure he would be overjoyed to see you could not hack it in the real world.”
His words were cruel, yet she felt the truth in them. A cold fear welled up inside her. She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt unsure what to say, searching for the words. A lump caught in her hroat, she could not believe he was serious. He was talking about divorce, over shoes.
A flash of anger tingled through her fingers and she felt a warm flush across her cheek. She tried to keep her composure. Maybe a little break would give him time to cool down and reconsider. Maybe it would make him a bit more reasonable. “Give me the car keys.” She spat the words like venom, fists clenched, expensive manicured nails pressing into her palms. A wave of cold washed over her again.
Alan threw his head back and laughed, “Not a chance! You leave here with what you brought to this house, a jewelry box, if you can carry it, and a shitty attitude. I suppose you might as well take these shoes. Better still walk home in them, I bet you won’t get five yards.”
She felt the finality of his words clear through her soul. She wiped her moistened palms on the soft fabric of her skirt. Would he seriously throw away their marriage for this?
She felt a pain in her chest. How could she have pushed him this far?
In an epiphany, she saw how trivial possessions were when weighed against her love for Alan. With this new insight glittering in her mind, she knew with clarity that she could not lose him; she would do anything to keep that from happening. He was her life, her bedrock and she could not see a world without him in it.
She felt her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up at him, looking for anything that would tell her she’d misunderstood, that he still loved her. There was nothing on his face that gave her the reassurance she so desperately needed. The scenes of their marriage flashed through her mind, like snippets from a movie, each one bringing her closer to the dreadful, predictable end.
She saw by his chiseled, marble face, that he was not going to budge an inch. He was a man on the edge and she had pushed him there. She flinched, as a wave of guilt washed over her. She had really not meant to go this far. What she wanted above all else, was for him to make her his princess again. She felt herself wither, deflating like a balloon.
How could she leave? While her father never bitched about her spending he never gave her the feeling of being loved, protected, safe, nurtured, the way Alan had in their early marriage, before they had started to fight about how much money she spent. In walking away from Alan, she would walk away from everything she wanted.
She didn’t want to leave and there was no way she could go back to the shop and return the shoes. She had run out of options. Her heart sank. The spanking was inevitable.
“God please Alan, let’s not do this.” A tone of pleading entered her voice. Her mind was an emotional briar patch, a tangle of mixed emotions. “Can’t we just make up? I promise not to do this again.”
Alan smirked, slowly shaking his head, “I remember you saying that last time. Oh yes, and the time before.” He folded his arms across his chest.
“It will be different this time, I promise.”
“Barbara, we have been here before.” Alan looked at her, his gaze met hers, pinning her, making her feel like a moth trapped in the glare of a bright light. “I am not doing this to be a horrible
bastard.” His fingertips stroked her cheek. “I love you. I really do want you to be happy. I just want you to be content with what we have.”
She turned her head to the side, “And you think spanking me will make me content?” she asked, not understanding how a spanking would make her happy.
“Frankly, yes I do. You lack discipline and respect.”
Not really having a reply for him she looked at the floor, the hollow void of shame enveloped her. Her head lowered in contemplation as she bowed to the inevitable.
“I take it that you are staying to face the music?”