by Gwen Masters
(06/18/08)

"Show me."

I could hardly hear him even though he was right beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body against my arm.

"Show me what you do."

John and I had been married for twenty years. That was no small potatoes in this age of too little time and too many roadblocks, but somehow we had managed to make it work. We had seen two children through their formative years and off to college. We had gone through two mortgages, a dozen different vehicles, buried six dogs and both his parents. It was a normal marriage, filled with the comfort of years.

"Show me what you do, Jasmine. I want to see."

We had slept in this bed since our return from our honeymoon. It was a gift from my mother, a woman who understood that the most important things in a marriage happen in the bedroom. We arrived for our first night in our new home and there it sat, an imposing four-poster of solid oak, covered with soft sheets and a handmade quilt. We were making love on it within five minutes of dropping our luggage on the floor.

Things hadn't changed much. I still wanted John as much as I ever did.

"Touch yourself, baby."

And he could still surprise the hell out of me.

I slid my hand over the front of my nightgown. He wanted to watch? It was the most private act I could muster for myself, that slow and sensuous rubbing of my own fingertips when it had been just a little too long or when John was just a little too tired. I had never considered sharing it. It was as much mine as the forbidden thoughts that sometimes made their way into my fantasies.

"Do it. Or I'll make you do it."

Another surprise, the threat coming from John's lips against my ear. The heat of anticipation flared to life in my belly. I turned my head to look at him but his hand was there, holding my hair. The pull of the strands was a sharp pain if I moved too much. My breath was fast, but John's was faster.

"You'll make me do it?" I asked.

John's teeth settled into my earlobe until I squealed and gasped. I slid my hand down to touch myself, but one question stopped me: How far would he go?

"What if I say no?" I whispered.

John reached between my legs. He sighed in approval when he felt the wetness coat his fingertips. He touched my clit and my whole body shuddered. One stroke, then two. Then a not-so-gentle slap that sent me arching up off the bed and crying out in surprise.

"If you say no," he murmured, "I'll have to spank you, Jasmine."

For a moment I was too stunned to speak. I stared at him.

"You wouldn't," I whispered.

"Oh yes, I would. If you don't do as I say, you're a very bad girl. And bad girls deserve to be spanked. So touch yourself. Right. Now."

My heart pounded a bass line through my body, sending all sorts of places thrumming. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. "No."

John's hand tightened in my hair. "What did you say? I want to be certain I heard you."

He had never been like this, not in the twenty years of our marriage. Was he serious?

I was going to find out.

"No," I repeated. "I said no."

John was very still for a moment. I could feel his eyes on me but I didn't move. To move would be to break the spell he was so quickly weaving. When the moment became almost unbearable, he let go of my hair and moved from the bed with the swiftness of a cat. I was startled into opening my eyes.

John scooped his belt up from the floor. He looped it once around his hand and shook it, testing its weight. He stood before me wearing nothing at all. His cock stood at rapt attention. He looked down at me without even the shadow of a grin.

"I suppose you're wondering what's gotten into me."

I had the inane and completely inappropriate urge to laugh out loud. "Pray tell?"

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. He opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He waved them in front of me. I was completely confused.

"What's that?"

"These, my dear Jasmine, are dirty stories you've written."

The blood drained from my face and I went cold. Then it rushed back, embarrassment flooding me. I stared up at him blankly until anger got the better of me. How dare he?

"Those are private!" I shouted. "My private writings! How could you just...just snoop like that?"

John shook his head and rattled the belt. "This one is entirely your own fault, Jasmine. You left them on my desk. Right there in plain sight. Did you think I wouldn't look at them?"

I opened my mouth to protest but quickly realized that he was telling the truth. Of course he was. I had used his computer while he was on a business trip. I had printed the stories out to take with me and then purged them from the hard drive. But I must have left them on his desk. It made sense. And it was my own fault.

We just looked at each other, the belt swinging between us.

"I read them, Jasmine," he said. "I read them all. All those fantasies about being a whore. About taking on more than one man. About masturbating in front of a room full of people. About being punished. You want to be tied up, don't you? You want to be forced to do things? I never dreamed my wife had such a submissive streak in her."

I wanted to hide behind my hands like a little child who has been caught doing something bad. It took all the fortitude I had to look him in the eye as he went on.

"I read them. They got me hard. In fact, they did more than that." John gave me a slow smile.

"They made me come, Jasmine. Want to see?"

He flipped the papers toward me. They were stapled together and flapped like a wounded bird. They landed on the bed and immediately I could see the stains. The dark spots where he had--

"Oh, my God," I breathed.

John nodded. "You like that, baby? Knowing your fantasies made your husband come?"

I reached for the papers. He stepped forward and swept them out of my hands. He snapped the belt against the side of the bed and I gasped in surprise. Before I had time to register what was happening, his hand shot out and twisted in my hair.

"On your knees," he said. "You're going to touch yourself for me. I'm going to punish you for it. I'm going to come while I do it. I'm willing to bet you're going to come while I do it, too."

Breathing became an effort. I couldn't look at him any longer. Emotions warred within me, and my eyes blurred with tears. I wanted this so badly but I was so embarrassed, so caught off-guard. John gently laid the belt across my thigh and whispered again, this time with more gentleness than I could stand.

"I want this," he said. "Now I know you want it, too. There's nothing wrong with this, Jasmine. Don't you know that?"

I shook my head and to my chagrin, a small sob broke free. When I expected John to take me into his arms, he instead pushed on my shoulder and rolled me to the center of the bed. "Get on your knees."

I got on my knees.

John moved around behind me. The belt buckle clicked a bit with every motion of his hand. I flinched when he carefully laid the belt across the small of my back. He slapped it gently against me. It didn't hurt; in fact it felt delightfully good. He slapped the leather against my skin a second time. Anticipation began to edge in along with the embarrassment. He really did want to do this.

"Show me," he said.

I hesitated. The belt came down harder, this time a bit of a sting right across the top of my buttocks. "Do it."

I reached between my legs. I touched just the inside of my thighs at first, still scared to show John what I did when I was alone. I was stunned when I heard him moan. He had never sounded quite like that before. Completely forgetting all my inhibitions, I turned to look at him.

My husband was staring at me with an impossible look of raw lust. His eyes trailed from my hands to my thighs to the belt that rested across my hips. Finally he looked me full in the face. For a silent moment we stared at each other, as if seeing one another for the first time in twenty years.

I closed my eyes and slowly slid my hand up the inside of my thigh.

A groan ripped from John when I touched my clit. It echoed my own. I slid two fingers around the little pearl, squeezed and pulled, then stroked. The spiral of pleasure was building fast, and I had hardly touched myself yet. I teased myself with one finger, then pushed it deep inside with one thrust. I moaned aloud at the wetness I found there. Had I ever been that wet before?

I was startled when the belt came down. It slapped lightly across the backs of my thighs. I spread them wider and heard John whisper, "Good girl..."

The belt came down across my ass. The strokes were designed to overlap all the way up from my thighs to my back, then down in the same rhythm. Lightly, just light enough to bring a blush to my skin. I could feel the heat of it after every gentle sting. John took another swing, this one obviously experimental because it was so hard. I almost came right then.

"Oh, God...like that," I gasped. "Hard."

John's breathing was just as fast as mine. I looked back over my shoulder to see him stroking his cock with long, fast strokes. He swung the belt. When it hit me, his cock jerked in his hand.

I slid two fingers into my pussy. He moaned in approval and the belt came down harder. Spurred by his encouragement, I started to fuck myself. Hard and deep, sliding my fingers in and out as if they were John's cock, riding my hand and flicking my clit with my thumb. I was going to come and John was going to watch, and suddenly it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Don't stop," I gasped. "Spank me harder."

That gave John pause, though I hardly cared. "Harder?"

"Harder!"

"Jasmine -- "

"This is what you wanted," I gasped. "Don't stop now, please John, if you stop I won't be able to stand it, please -- "

The belt came down with a resounding crack. My skin flared in pain. And I came, harder than I ever had on my own, maybe harder than John had ever made me come. My juices flooded my hand. I groaned aloud and shuddered under the silken touch of the belt.

John spanked me one more time and then I heard the jingle of the belt buckle as it hit the floor. The bed shifted. One gasp and one long moan announced that John was coming with me. The warmth of his semen was almost cool as it splashed across my reddened cheeks. John jerked my hand out from under me and brought it to his lips. As the last pulses of his orgasm faded, he sucked my juices from my fingertips.

John gently pushed on the small of my back. I lay obediently on my belly and he settled in beside me, running his shaky fingers along the curve of my spine. Our breathing gradually slowed, but still we said nothing. The silence was too rich with discovery.

I was almost asleep when he finally spoke.

"Did I hurt you?"

I smiled and nodded. "But that's okay. I wanted it."

John cuddled up against me and slipped his hand over the curve of my hip. His breath tickled my ear. His fingertips spread wide on my buttocks. His touch felt cool and exciting.

"You need to write more stories like that," he said.

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