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From the notes of Dr. Kelsey Ransom, PsyD
There has been a development since our last session. The couple’s last therapist had described Rachel’s cooperation in therapy as reluctant at best, but today she was quite eager to participate. She apologized to me, admitting that she had been skeptical of the idea of therapy from the beginning, but that she and Bertie had been talking since our last session and both agreed to commit to the process.
I hadn’t expected to readdress the matter of the threesome they’d mentioned our last time together so quickly, but Bertie was surprisingly candid. They had both been interested in the idea of opening their relationship, but didn’t effectively communicate their expectations with each other. As a result, Rachel suffered a withdrawal of enthusiasm, which Bertie interpreted as her expecting him to make any decision on his own.
This seemed like a good segue to start discussing communication strategies, which it turns out the couple had started for themselves since our last session. Bertie described their own conversation as “heated” – which prompted an odd reaction from Rachel – but had been productive and they were eager to continue.
There was an interesting side effect of Rachel’s newfound engagement – whereas in our previous sessions Bertie would lead the conversation and turn to Rachel for assent or support, he was flustered when his partner started directly responding to my questions herself.
It was then that I asked each of them what they saw as both their own biggest obstacle to communication, as well as their partners’. Rachel, with support from Bertie, admitted that she had made a habit of avoiding any mental and emotional labour that she didn’t want to deal with. She took responsibility for the additional pressure this put on Bertie, and was about to beginning to answer the second part of my question when Bertie jumped in.
I reminded him that I had fielded the question to Rachel first. Rachel continued, adding that Bertie often acted out of a need to appear in control, that they had talked about his need to address this before this session, and that he was exhibiting that behaviour right there in the room. I could swear I saw Bertie shrink, and he was very much subdued for the last twenty minutes of the session.
“You just wait until we get home!”
Bertie hadn’t heard those words, whispered through clasped teeth, since he was six years old. He drove the car home in tense silence, Rachel’s expression inscrutable in the seat beside him.
Pulling into their assigned parking space outside of the apartment, he began choosing his words. Rachel was the first to leave the car once they’d settled, and took a seat on the hood as he turned off the car and fumbled with his keys.
He mumbled an inspirational phrase to himself, then rose from the vehicle. He was astonished to find his lover waiting for him with a wry grin.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so scared in your life,” she mused.
“I thought you were angry with me.”
“I’m not happy with you, but you weren’t going to admit your control issues in front of an authority figure unless you were being obvious about it. We both know that it was just a matter of time.” She leaned in, the boost from the car putting her at eye level with her taller boyfriend. “Just as we both know what’s going to happen next.”
From the corner of his eye, Bertie could see an elderly woman smoking and walking her dog not ten paces away. He became very aware of the fact that they were in a public place.
“So,” Rachel continued, “Should we take this upstairs?”
***
The elevator ride was agonizingly long. Bertie found himself averting his eyes from every other passenger, to Rachel’s clear delight.
“I think you’re enjoying this,” he hissed as they arrived on their floor.
“I’ve been waiting for this since the last session, Bertie. You know what they say about fair play.” She took the keys from his unsteady hands and unlocked their door.
There was a usual relief in coming home that he didn’t feel today. Rachel took the lead, depositing his keys on the hook beside the door, kicking her shoes onto the mat, only pausing in the midst of removing her coat, seeing Bertie standing morosely in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.
“It’s alright, sweetie. I forgive you.”
“You tricked me,” he mumbled.
“You got upset about me telling Dr. Ransom something that we were already going to bring up in session. It was predictable but not excusable. “
She shut the door behind him with a sepulchral thud.
“And if you really thought you were justified,” she added, “You wouldn’t be trying this hard to talk your way out of a spanking.”
He’d known about his kink for nearly two decades, and had been with Rachel for half of that, but that one word still left him powerless. His attempted retort died in his mouth.
Rachel drew her phone from her pants pocket, her slim fingers dancing over the screen.
“Okay, I want you squeaky clean before we start. Five minutes should be enough for a quick shower?”
“We’re doing this now?”
She stared at him with genuine surprise. “It’s almost eight o’clock, and I know you have earlier hours at the café than you did at the restaurant. Let’s say five minutes, or I take off my belt.”
“You’re not wearing a belt“
“Starting now.”
The beep as she started out the time silenced any further thoughts of resistance. Bertie ran toward the bathroom, tearing at the buttons of his shirt as he went. He was too stubborn to plead for leniency, as he hadn’t felt her hand across his rump since his thirtieth birthday, maybe? – but he was not so stubborn as to test his girlfriend’s threat. Rachel wasn’t inclined toward sadism, but she could be very enthusiastic when armed with a new idea.
He was still dripping lather when he hurriedly emerged shortly afterward, a towel wrapped around his waist. The apartment was always warm, the result of an overindulgent boiler and decrepit ventilation, but even this single layer felt stiflingly hot. He caught sight of Rachel, who had stripped off her cardigan in concession to he heat and sat on the couch in her tank top and leggings.
She looked up from her phone. “Four minutes and twentyone seconds. Though I almost want to add on some time for sloppy cleanup.” She took a corner of the towel and dabbed at a glistening patch on his side, then followed the dribble up toward his chest. When the towel failed to stretch, she simply tugged and Bertie’s improvised knot fell apart, leaving him stark naked in the middle of the living room.
Rachel finished her ministrations without comment, then wadded up the towel and drew her gaze up to Bertie’s reddening face.
“Now, what am I going to do with you?”
“I thought you said that you’d been waiting for this,” he said, immediately cursing himself.
“Yes, I was waiting – not planning. Those are very different things. Go put your hands on your head and stand in the corner.”
Bertie managed to bite back his protest. He’d been the one, years ago, to start using corner time as a punishment – the mix of tedium and suspense had been delightfully effective with Rachel’s impatience. What he’d fail to see at the time was that she’d be just as eager to use it on him in return.
He shuffled to the neglected but familiar spot behind the couch, folding his hands behind him as ordered. He watched in his periphery as Rachel, sparked with some silent inspiration, strode away toward the kitchen. He could hear water running in the sink.
“Honey? What are you doing over there?”
“Mm? Oh, nothing…”
Bertie fumed, but forced himself to keep his gaze focused on the wall in front of him. The sound of splashing followed for a few minutes, and then he the familiar soft footfalls of Rachel returning to his side. He felt himself clench involuntarily.
Her chin brushed his shoulder as she kissed the back of his neck.
“I have a surprise for you, sweetie.”
“Rachel, come on. Just get it over with.”
She sighed. “You know, for a guy who gets off on giving up control – you’re making this very difficult.”
That wasn’t an act, he realized.
“I’m sorry.”
“I believe you. Are you listening?” she waited for his response, and took satisfaction with obedient silence. “I want you to keep your hands where they are, but close your eyes and turn around. This is going to feel a lot different if it gets cold.”
That didn’t sound promising, Bertie thought. Screwing his eyes shut, he twisted his body around to where he knew Rachel to be… and gasped as a soft, moist cover enveloped his manhood.
“Ah, ah! No peeking!” warned Rachel as his penis responded to the comfort of the hot washcloth. She settled him into her grip, the cloth wrapped around her hand as she gently began to stroke.
Bertie stammered – blind and aroused beyond expectation, he couldn’t get a word out if he wanted to. She kissed him on the cheek, and he decided then if this teasing was punishment, he didn’t even need the pleasure…
Her covered hands begin to move up and down his shaft, tugging harder with each pass, and as his head swam in euphoria it dawned on him that she wasn’t teasing.
But by then it was too late. He came with a ragged wheeze, emptying into the wet rag. His legs buckled, but Rachel pressed her free hand to his chest, somehow steadying him. He rocked on unsteady limbs, and stared at her through bleary eyes.
She gave him a wicked smile and held out a dainty hand.
“To the couch, I think.”
A mechanical chime broke the moment, startling them both. Rachel glared at the phone she had left on her seat.
“Did you reset the timer?”
“No, that’s a call.” She swore under her breath. “Turn around and don’t move – I’m going to need a minute.” Snatching up the phone, she ducked into the neighbouring bedroom.
Still awash in afterglow, Bertie resumed his position with the sinking realization that his real punishment still awaited him. The warmth of the tiny apartment was no longer so comfortable.
“SorryhoneyIhavetogoI’llbebacksoon!”
Rachel grabbed her shoes and cardigan and was gone before Bertie could put together what she had said.
He stood alone, sidelined and distressed like a naked, hirsute piece of accent furniture, wondering what was going to happen next.
***
After ten minutes, the last rays of daylight vanished behind the horizon. The room was dark, save for a dull tint from the streetlamps below.
After twentytwo minutes, Bertie could no longer ignore the ache in his shoulders. Daring a peek behind him, he unclasped his hands and stretched.
After twentynine minutes, he risked leaving his station to check his phone. There were no new texts or calls from Rachel, however one of the serving staff at his work had called in, complaining of a stomach bug.
After thirtyfive minutes, his own stomach began to rumble. He and Rachel had stopped for sushi before going to their session, but that had been little more than a pricy if convenient snack. Even considering his current predicament, he decided it was too late to start cooking.
After fortyone minutes, he picked his towel and the nowcrusty dishcloth off the floor where Rachel had left them and took them to the hamper in their bedroom. His girlfriend had established a trend of leaving used clothing strewn across their home, but this didn’t seem like the night to bring it up. He checked his phone again.
After an hour and five minutes, he began to consider the risk of going to bed.
At an hour and eighteen minutes, he was caught offguard by the scrape of Rachel’s key at the door. She couldn’t have known it wasn’t locked, but her mistake gave Bertie the time he needed to tuck the phone in between the couch cushions and rush back into the corner before the lights came on.
There was no “Honey, I’m home,” and Bertie’s stomach flipped, had she caught his mad dash? She said nothing as he caught the sounds of her taking off her shoes, her coat, the sweater without being able to see her, could he judge if she was angry?
If so, was it playangry, or real angry?
“Oh. Sweetie, I’m so sorry – how long have you been there?”
She’d forgotten.
His own anger melted as she curled into his back, planting a trail of kisses down his shoulders. Slowly, he lowered his arms and took her into them.
Rachel’s eyes were bleary, her forehead waxy. Her once vibrantlycoloured hair had not been treated in months, her dark locks having chased away the last vestiges of periwinkle. He could even make out a few strands of grey. She looked tired.
But she smiled.
“I got a tip from one of my Discord friends, her cousin works for the radio station here in town – the pregnant one. The cousin is pregnant, I mean, not the station. She’s starting mat leave in three weeks, and she tells her cousin – the one on Discord – that the station doesn’t have enough staff to cover, but she’s leaving before the college students start exams…” She took a breath.
“I have a job.”
Bertie blinked. “That’s… that’s great, honey.”
“The station manager liked that I’d worked in sound engineering, so I’m starting as an ‘associate producer’ – sounds fancy, but it’s mostly timekeeping and screening calls.” She plopped onto the couch, fluttering her hands in front of her face. ”Can you get me a vitamin water? I’m still all nervous energy.”
“Would you rather have something to celebrate? I think we still have those fruity coolers you like.”
She nodded enthusiastically, and he dutifully went to the fridge. The blast of cold air hit him square in the crotch, reminding him once more of his nudity, but he took it in stride and retrieved a can for Rachel. She eagerly took her prize and raised it to her lips – then stopped. A frightened expression crawled across her face.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
It hadn’t occurred to Bertie that he should be. She’d left him naked and waiting for over an hour, after all. And without a word as to why, or when he could expect her return. He hadn’t even known until she got back that this wasn’t some kind of lesson, it just hadn’t crossed her mind to let him know what had happened.
Maybe he should be mad. But Rachel had been trying to make improvements in her own life. She was stepping up where she needed to, and after months she would finally be able to contribute to the household again. All of which was a benefit, even if the timing had been terrible.
And maybe some things were just out of his control.
“It’s fine, honey,” he said, and meant it.
Rachel took of sip of her drink and sighed in relief. “You didn’t really stand in that corner the whole time I was gone, did you?”
“…Maybe?”
“So that’s not your phone I’m sitting on?” She laughed. “That makes me feel a little better. Whew! The day really got away from us, didn’t it?”
Bertie nodded and let out a yawn. He bent over beside Rachel to collect his phone. Even before he could touch it, Rachel’s slim fingers snaked around his wrist.
“I think you’re forgetting something, mister.”
“Rachel, come on. It’s late.”
“It is late, and you’ve waited long enough. Come here.” She tugged, and he did not have the strength or balance to avoid being pulled into her lap.
His stomach landing on her knee took the breath out of him. He twisted reflexively, but she held him by the waist, shifting him into position. It felt like ages since he’d last found himself here…
… and he yelped when her hand struck him just below the curve of his ass. Rachel was small and not particularly strong, but she had stamina – when she had spanked him before she’d tended to take her time, peppering him with lighter slaps that built up over fifteen or twenty minutes.
But tonight she was on a schedule.
The second blow came before he’d recovered from the first, and the third even quicker than that. He bit into his knuckle to keep his hand from shooting back, and if she appreciated the gesture she didn’t show it.
He had forgotten how much noise he made, how the walls of their home amplified each slap and crack. Had forgotten how much the back of the couch restricted his ability to move, that if he bucked or wiggled too hard he’d come crashing to the floor.
He thought he’d remembered what it felt like, that harsh contact of flat hand and round bottom. He had, in quiet moments, reminded himself by giving his backside a quick slap, to feel the snap of pain and the resulting warmth. But what he remembered was the feeling of being spanked – not the feeling of a spanking.
Not the engendered helplessness of being at the mercy of the body above him.
Not the head rush that swept him as that warmth turned into a glow.
And because it had been as long as it had – he’d forgotten how much a spanking hurt.
His whimpers and grunts were soon replaced by a low, drawnout moan. He kicked out his feet, launching one of their throw pillows into the air and earning himself a particularly hard smack on the back of each of his thighs.
And then it was over. Several seconds passed before Bertie noticed that his bottom was no longer under assault. The ache in his seat was fresh, and he winced as he tested his legs, rising from the couch and resisting the urge to rub.
Rachel was massaging her hand. Her tank top clung to her in the most alluring way, she was just as slick with sweat as he must have been. The effort had clearly taken something out of her.
She noticed his gawking, and raised an eyebrow in an expression that made him hard just looking at her.
“Now straight to bed. Get!”
She punctuated herself with a final slap, a dismissal instead of discipline. He nodded sheepishly and made himself scarce.
***
Once he was ensconced behind the walls of their bedroom, Bertie’s first and most immediate priority was to switch on the ceiling fan. He lay in the dark, facedown on the mattress as the blades began to spin, thankful for the aid of the cooling air.
He rubbed his stillsmoldering backside. It had been his first spanking since his birthday… a year and a half ago? And he’d been ready to cry uncle after only a few minutes. Rachel had been right, it was going to take some time and effort before they could resume where they had left off.
Thinking of his lovely girlfriend directed Bertie toward more pleasurable needs. His hands drawing tight around his member, he fixated on that last look she had given before sending him away, that wry mask that promised that she knew something he didn’t.
He jumped as her hand brushed his hip.
He sat up in bed to find her standing beside him. She was just as naked as him.
“I thought you told me to go to sleep.”
“I told you to go to bed.” She kissed him once more. “Those are very different things…”
