Like the selection Nicole had to make.
Justin thought things couldn't get much hotter than under the paddle.
Wednesday found Nicole watching the clock, mentally kicking herself for not noting what The Spank Shop's hours were. She'd gone by a little after 11 and things had appeared to be quiet but she assumed that they opened by 10 at the latest. Putting in her order earlier in the day just might get her purchase shipped one day sooner, maybe even a Friday instead of a Monday, so at 10:15 Kimberley answered The Spank Shop's phone.
"Mrs. Thompson," she greeted the anxious customer, who was maybe not the most apprehensive she'd hear from today. "How nice to hear from you." Nicole had noted the catalog, page, and item number and provided them all to Kimberley despite the fact that the receptionist had the information in front of her. "Wheeww," she whistled softly, "You must have one tough customer on your hands." The woman hadn't given the impression of being all that strict but Kimberley was glad it wouldn't be her bottom having the fearsome brush applied to it. And she saw that Nicole Thompson was right to have hesitated over the price. She clearly wanted somebody spanked very, very badly.
Hearing Kimberley, Nicole experienced a tug below the waist so strong it was nearly painful. Not wanting to respond she covered by checking the shipping expectations again. She may have been a bit brusque with the young woman. Businesslike but not rude, she assured herself.
Two weeks to wait, she took consolation in a weekend with lots of paddling. She'd find reasons, at least for those after the first few. Maybe they'd go to that one pub, the Tilted Kilt, and she'd paddle Justin for the waitresses. He swore that their attention was due to the fact that they "felt safe" around him since they could see he only had eyes for his wonderful wife (his words). That might even be true, Nicole considered, but when the women were hired for their bust (large) and willingness to wear the uniforms (small), well, that was a red bottom waiting to happen.
The following Monday Nicole was, not for the first time, a bit disappointed that Justin was not having more trouble sitting than he was, a disappointment softened by her knowledge that it would not always be the case, not even for long. Her other consolation, odd as it sounded, was that she was at least as sore, if not sorer, than her smack-seated husband, and she'd received not so much as a single swat. Life, it seemed, was good.
Good in the morning, not afternoon. Right after lunch a message from Kimberley notified her of a delay in her order. Upon contacting the shop, Nicole was informed that her particular brush was on backorder and she could expect another two weeks' delay which, having experience in such matters, she mentally adjusted to three. March 5, she guessed, much too late for Valentine's Day. Kimberley was so apologetic that Nicole couldn't bear to voice her disappointment. Did she want a different one, she was asked? But by now her heart was set as firmly as her mind. In the grand scheme of things, what was a few more weeks?
As it was still January, Nicole decided to wait a few days before telling Justin. In that time she decided that the hold-up was a blessing in disguise, that she could find a much better and more appropriate gift for him. Still, she wanted him to know sooner rather than later.
"I decided it wouldn't make a very good gift anyway," she explained, "No matter how much you believe you want it and how much good it will do you. You may find out that you hate it and then I'd feel just terrible, maybe not even be able to use it. So it will get here in March and we'll get started then, I've waited this long and besides, now that I know it's coming, whatever you do doesn't get to me."
"It doesn't?" Justin asked.
"No, because I know I'll spank you for it," she answered simply.
"I'm also considering another change," she went on. She tried to sound in command but in actuality she wanted her husband's reaction. If he was against it too strongly, she'd later say she'd reconsidered. "I told you that some things, I can use the paddle. Helping you get stuff done, for instance."
"Like this weekend."
"Right, like this weekend. Including games like "too much cleavage."
"Way too much cleavage."
"Careful, or that will be this coming weekend as well. But seriously, the paddle for that kind of stuff. For discipline, I'm going to call it."
"Haven't you always called it that?"
"Yes, but now it will be different. For the hairbrush, I'm going to call it punishment. For us, for me, for things that you need to stop, or change. Because I really do expect that I can make you not like it, truly try to avoid it." Nicole held her breath while she waited for Justin's response.
"Oh," was all he said to start. "So, no short spankings with it, I guess."
Once again relieved by his reaction, she confirmed his assumption. "Not very likely, I wouldn't think. It comes out, you're going to be sorry." When he didn't comment she added, "Very sorry."
"Ah. Good to be clear on that," was his only reply.
Five weeks, or even four, is a long wait when you've got spanking on your mind and your husband has great buns that truly call out to be smacked, especially when said husband knows you're watching him and goes around the bedroom in nothing but a t-shirt. A short t-shirt, frequently black. Practically waving a red cape in front of a bull. Or a bull's wife. Does he think I'm a cow? Nicole asked herself jokingly. Maybe I should spank him for that.
Ironically, his continued enthusiasm for her new policies made it harder than ever to find reasons to spank him, especially after she'd burned through all she could think of. On top of that, those few times when he did something she might turn into an excuse, she'd forget it too quickly to use it. While this was a great formula for a happy marriage it did not add up to a lot of spankings (after a second trip to the Tilted Kilt she had a brainwave that after the brush arrived they could go to a strip club but then she considered that she probably couldn't give him that many spankings one after another).
Given time, help arrived in an unexpected form – her mother. Not arrived, exactly, since they were going to see her rather than vice-versa, but any port in a storm. While Justin liked her mother, he was far too fond of teasing her, often getting her quite wound up (again, with his silliness) while he remained merely amused. Nicole was not generally amused and reasoned that for once she might better address it beforehand.
Having sent him to the bedroom instructed to have his pants and underwear off she soon followed with the paddle and instructions. With him positioned over her knee, not merely over but far over for a very good spanking, she rubbed his bottom, knowing it wouldn't diminish anything. "I don't want her sighing with exasperation," she explained, "Or rolling her eyes at either of us." Nicole knew if she started fast and kept it hard it'd be difficult for him even with merely the paddle. Maybe she could use her hand, which she actually preferred, after or later. From the very first yelp she was telling him "You're not going to get going on any of those crazy logic circles. You're not even going to get started on them." She assumed that her rosy-cheeked husband could hear her over the noises of distress he was making but just to check she asked, "You're not to do any of those things. Okay?"
Justin may have nodded or maybe that was simply his reaction to the swats.
"Okay?" his wife repeated.
"Okay, okay!" he protested.
"Don't you take that tone with me, young man!" she cried, backing it up with a whole new barrage of solid swats. Afterward she wondered if he, or his excitement, anyway, would be as quick to recover after the hairbrush. Remembering the reaction she got the time she'd whispered, "I may not be done with you" she decided not to worry about it.
Justin's behavior during their visit was so funny that Nicole had to constantly fight the urge to laugh. They'd barely returned home before she said, "Okay, you! Pants, underwear – here. You, bedroom, there!"
"What did I do?" her husband asked innocently even as he raced to comply.
"You know darn good and well, Justin Michael" she retorted, following him. The paddle still lay on the nightstand where she'd left it after they'd finished this morning – finished the spanking, at least. "Over."
Without protest he positioned himself again but he was not going to keep her happy, not with a pair of barely-pink cheeks she'd worked so hard to paddle only this morning. Even if she didn't need it at the moment, that hairbrush couldn't get here soon enough. When he got spanked he needed to stay spanked. "You were so patronizing!" she complained as she resumed this morning's spirited paddling.
"Your mother was happy," Justin gave as his defense. It was true, her mother had been completely happy throughout their visit.
"Do you think I didn't know what you were doing?" Gratifyingly his butt reddened up quickly under the second dose of the day and his reactions were so amplified she wondered if he might be exaggerating them. Yes, she had barely been able to keep herself from laughing at Justin's constant, almost mocking, agreement with everything her mother said but that didn't make it appropriate. She would have continued her lecture but he only seemed to be noticing what she was doing to his backside with the paddle and she had to focus on helping him stay in position. He might not stay spanked but at least not all of this morning's significant effort was wasted.
Finally stopping and, once he'd settled down, letting him up, she warned him "That happens again and it's going on the hairbrush list."
"Oh?" he was still gasping a bit. "There's a hairbrush list?"
"Of course there is and you don't want anything more on it," she warned. Rather than taking heed, however, her chastised mate apparently decided that while standing between her legs he should sink down and reverse the post-spanking ritual and not with the brevity she usually employed. While different, when he rose again at last it was evident that his approach was every bit as effective at restoring his readiness as her usual method.
Nicole was good at moderating her impatience or at least she liked to think so and after several weeks of having waited already she was fully prepared to go one more when Kimberley called to say that "her order" was now expected Wednesday afternoon, two days hence. At last! icole actually shook with anticipation and smiled at what sounded like sympathetic anxiety in the receptionist's voice.
"I've been tracking it on-line since it shipped," the pretty blonde told her. "Packages tend to come in about two. Did you want to call after that or have me call you when it arrives?"
"I won't be there to pick it up until nearly six," Nicole informed her, "so I'll call first to confirm."
"I can't imagine it won't be here by then."
This time Nicole had no qualms of parking nearby. Funny how quickly you get used to the idea, she thought to herself. Arriving at a quarter to six she could plainly see that Kimberley's anxiety was more than imagined, enough that she wondered if something had gone wrong. The young woman looked very professional in a pale pink broadcloth shirt with plenty of starch but she nearly trembled as she presented the long-awaited product. A rectangular box with a clear plastic lid held Nicole's new masterpiece on a bed of synthetic white silk.
"You might want to check it over just in case," Kimberley suggested, clearly hoping she'd open it before leaving.
While it appeared to be gleamingly perfect, Nicole took her advice as much to accommodate her as out of real concern and, turning it over, was nearly mesmerized by the perfect, smooth wood and the tiny carved border that encircled the edge. Worth every penny, she thought, and every day of waiting. It wasn't until she lifted it entirely out of the box that she fully realized how heavy it was. With the briefest flash of bringing it down on poor Justin's compliant buns she felt a huge wave of sympathy, despite it doing nothing to weaken her ever-building resolve. It was enough, however, to momentarily check the rise in her excitement. If he doesn't feel this for days afterward, I'll throw it in the fire, she promised herself figuratively. And she had no intention of ever doing that.
Gingerly Kimberley picked up the empty box from the counter and her look of worry deepened. "Is it terribly heavy?" she asked, evaluating by subtraction.
"Yes, it truly is. I admit I'm a bit surprised." Andrea had assured her it would do most of the work and arm strength, or lack thereof, shouldn't be an impediment. Even so…
"I can't say that Aunty is envious, exactly, but she did admire it quite a bit." Kimberley divulged. Almost on cue Nicole picked up the unmistakable sound of Andrea at her work, or had she been too preoccupied to notice until now? Before she could decide, similar sounds made themselves heard from a wholly different direction.
"We normally close at five, but we were busy today," Kimberley explained with a note of apology.
"Absolutely. You probably want to get home, I imagine. I mustn't keep you." Still, Nicole sensed no impatience on the receptionist's part for her departure. Perhaps the appointments were on the half-hour, she speculated idly.
"Do you… have a name for it?"
"Her," Nicole assured Kimberley. "We'll call her The Correctress." One of the (possibly few) advantages of Justin's overly-fertile imagination and fondness for wordplay was that she'd had a plethora of possibilities to choose from. Several suggestions containing "correction" combined with "The Countess" to provide the perfect appellation for the perfect instrument of correction. Far better, Nicole had felt, than the other suggestions, which had ranged from "Her Majesty" to "Ma'am Yes Ma'am" and beyond.
"Someone is going to be behaving much better in the very near future, I'm sure of that," Kimberley posited as Nicole returned the lovely lady to her box and made to leave.
Not soon enough, she thought. Not grimly, not resolutely. Rather Nicole had a sensation of embarking on a new adventure, fun, exciting, and different but with a very great deal of the familiar, akin to moving to a new house close to the same neighborhood. Considering Kimberley one last time, Nicole felt certain she'd had more than a few meetings with "Mrs Ebony," regardless of what Jen had said about it being a singular experience. And every indication was that Kimberley had survived and, behaviorally speaking, prospered.
If Kimberley can have multiple "meetings" with the hairbrush, Nicole reasoned as she left the shop, then there's no basis for Justin not to, even if his will be a bit closer together. Over the past month her list had grown from four to six – well, five, actually, plus she was confident she'd come up with an issue regarding her mother somehow. She'd said eight and had made limited progress but remained confident she'd work it out or, if stuck at seven (since upcoming misbehaviors wouldn't count against the total), explain it away somehow.
More to the point, for the moment, was what should happen when she got home. It would be the height of understatement to say she was anxious to put The Correctress to the test, or into use, since Nicole was certain she'd pass any test. All the same, she had dearly wanted a day of anticipation, in fact had planned one quite thoroughly almost from the start. Tomorrow night, Thursday, would still have him sitting on a sore (very sore) bottom at work the next day, which she greatly desired, and would allow him a day at the office to worry, which also appealed to her. Tonight, therefore, would be for information only.
She said this (to herself), but before driving off she again unboxed her purchase. She didn't dare so much as smack her palm with it, not any more than lightly, but the electrifying effect charged through her from nose to kneecaps.
Tonight they'd have the steaks, Nicole decided, with asparagus and fried potatoes with bleu cheese crumbles and a very solid Malbec they were fond of. Justin would be happy to make this and it would leave the Cobb salad with grilled chicken for tomorrow night when a slightly lighter entrée might be advised.
She had difficulty making it until bedtime, even a slightly early one. Waves of lust repeatedly swept over her, stiffening her nipples, tightening her thighs and momentarily blanking her mind. She rubbed her husband's shoulders (which she claimed to be tense), unbuttoned his shirt a bit, rubbed her head against him like a cat and generally but subconsciously exhibited the wanton craving she was feeling. She had set bedtime as the moment to tell him about the arrival of the hairbrush (she wasn't sure yet whether it was "hers" or "theirs" but she was leaning toward the former) and in that regard had no impatience. It was just everything else.
If Justin hadn't already realized that something was up, she removed all doubt by coming to bed in a "weekend" nightie – in fact, the new one he'd given her for Valentine's Day, claiming they were getting a lot more use lately (true!). Smart boy, it was identical to her favorite emerald negligee in everything but color – Bright Cherry with Pinky Cheeks lace, it had said, and whether he was thinking of the future state of his own bottom when he chose it, she hadn't asked. She returned to rubbing his shoulders as an excuse to put him on his tummy before revealing that she had a surprise for him.
"The hairbrush has finally arrived," she announced in a stage whisper, her hand inside his pajama bottoms, cupping his buns. "At this time tomorrow you will be getting your very first… truly corrective spanking."
"Oh?" he sort of whimpered, his mouth open but no more coming out of it.
"Mmmm hmmm," she confirmed. She hadn't expected much of a reaction. That is, not much of a verbal reply. Her own warm response upon telling him was about what she had expected.
"Um, for? I mean, have you, ah, chosen something?" He squirmed under her touch but she knew it was more to accommodate his growing excitement than from anxiety over his pending punishment. She hoped that in the future the balance would more closely favor trepidation, though not entirely.
"I thought we'd start with something light since it will be your first meeting with The Correctress. Mmm, first of many, that is."
"Light, as in, not serious, not emotional, at least not too much. Still a tendency that badly needs to be corrected. I didn't mean to imply that you would be getting a light spanking, forgive me if I did. The Correctress doesn't give light spankings."
"Oh – so you've seen it?"
"Her. Seen her and yes, I have, seen and felt her. Well, a bit, a tiny bit, not the way you'll be feeling her twenty four hours from now. But I've held her and I must say, she's all she was advertised to be and much much more. I don't anticipate," she continued, squeezing and rubbing his buns, "that I'll have any problem influencing your behavior. Not any problem at all." Just you wait, my poor cooperative boy. Just you wait.
"Are you going to tell me what it'll be for?" Justin asked, even while he had to suspect that the answer was "no."
"In the morning I will. That will give you plenty of time to think about it. Just a little behavior, a bit of a habit. Ordinarily a habit might be hard to break but I don't expect this little problem to give us any trouble. A minor issue I've mentioned, more than once. In fact, it's something you've done again just since I let you know that we'd be getting a hairbrush."
"Oh – ouch," he concluded.
You have no idea, sweetie – no idea at all, Nicole thought. But what she said was "Oh yes, ouch."
With this build up she started simultaneously pushing his pajama pants down and turning him over, finding him much as she expected if not more so. "Ohhhh, look who's turned on. How will I get you to be good when you think you like to be bad?"
"Um, we'll just… have to find out?" he half moaned before raising her nightie enough to take her right breast in his mouth. Nicole was as hungry for her husband as he was for her but she let him suckle her breasts, each in turn. Too late for subtlety, he pressed her nipple to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, causing the centers of her excitement to expand throughout her body until they met somewhere in the middle. As she sank onto her back he quickly chased, covered, and entered her effortlessly, filling her deeply, capturing her in his arms. His kisses found her lips, her neck, her ear and then returned to her breast as she arched in pursuit of her climax, gripping him, not in resistance to his thrusts but to return some small part of the exquisite sensations she was experiencing. Even as she felt herself carried over the top she was aware of him close behind her, exploding every bit as much as she was.
"See?" he whispered as they drifted from sort-of-stunned to sleep, "I can be a very good boy sometimes, too."
Yes you can, she thought or maybe said out loud, her hand finding his buns once more before sleep.