(medium, M/F Erotic Domestic Discipline) Eve knows it won’t be long before she gets hers, but household schedules are hard to manage.
Matt rubbed each eye as they started down the last big grade to the valley floor. Stretched out before him was a long, long shimmering line, red on the right, white on the left. The red intensified as drivers used their brakes, attempting to control their descent. No one was awake to see this sight tonight, except his youngest daughter, singing to herself in the far back. He found himself amused by the pairings of glowing red pinpoints that blossomed and brightened as he watched. Across the median, headlights passed in a steady stream. Big ones, little ones, high, low, even a pair of motorcycles wobbling along at an inconstant distance. Matt glanced over at his dozing wife, whose top, in the latest fashion, stretched a little tight across her own headlights and he smiled.
He was tired. And he was sore. God, was he sore. He might like to wear the baggy shorts and the big tee-shirts and get his Brad Pitt haircut from a girl not much older than his daughter but he had to admit, the years had taken their toll. It’s not the miles, he liked to say, or even the load. It’s the speed you drive and the road you choose and the lack of shock absorbers.
He’d driven it hard today. His shoulders couldn’t take these heavy restraints anymore. He’d been hung and swung, flipped and rolled. Coaxed slowly to the peak and then dropped like a rock, only to beg for more and more and more. Even standing up, one time. Sixteen roller coasters! Every inch of his body hurt.
The food hadn’t helped. Whatever had possessed him to try to eat his way across the park? Pretzels, cotton candy, corn dogs, root beer. That he could have handled. But what were those deep-fried things? Churzos? Funnelcakes should have been enough. He should have chosen between the two. And at some point he should have told his kids, “If you can’t finish that, throw it away.”
End of the line. Matt knew he ought to help unload. Six kids times a two-hour nap was twelve hours of sleep - why couldn’t they unload? But Matt knew that if he didn’t help Eve would do it all herself. And one job’s always saved for Daddy. Carrying sleeping children up to bed. How could she be asleep? She was singing when we pulled into the driveway.
The house remained dark and quiet. Even the teenagers went to bed. Matt trudged into the bathroom in search of Mylanta. Turning, Eve appeared before him. Her face was anxious. He wrapped her in his arms.
“I just need a quick shower,” she told him. The patter of running water was the last sound he heard that night.
***
“Matt!” Eve hollered.
“What?”
“Come down here where I can talk to you,” was her command.
Matt appeared at the foot of the stairs. Immediately, he saw what Eve expected him to do.
“Out of the kitchen! Everyone, out!” His calm, deep voice reached every corner of the big house. Their son even looked up from his Star Trek novel.
“Cindy. Out.” he repeated from closer range.
“I’m cooking,” Cindy claimed.
“She’s cooking,” Eve confirmed.
“Debbie, get your junk off the table.”
“Homework, Dad,” Debbie corrected him with imperious disdain.
“Off.”
Matt stepped into the hall where he could be heard. “Okay, little Evita, off with the stereo. Help set the table. Argentina will have to figure out why not to cry all by itself.”
“But Dad! I’ve been waiting for this song. Can’t I listen, just till it’s over? Pleeeease?”
“Dad, is Evita Spanish for Eva?” asked Tom, the youngest and the very spirit and image of his father.
“You can listen to it after dinner. Turn it off,” Matt told their wandering minstrel.
“Not tonight! Dad, you know!” came the reply.
He smiled and held a finger to his lips. She giggled.
“Dad. Is Evita Spanish for Eva?” Tom demanded.
“Little Eve. “Ita” means little in Spanish,” Matt tried to explain uselessly. In a second, Tom would be wondering about the moon, or something.
“You want to eat now, or when you get back?” Eve asked him.
“Later,” he said, checking his watch. He greatly preferred being able to sit down with his family. “Okay, guy. Got your gear? What time’s practice over?”
“Not till nine,” the boy sighed, heading for the car.
A few minutes later, Matt returned, managing to catch some dinner on its way to the dishwasher. The three little ones were buzzing around like little hummingbirds. Suddenly, Lori appeared with the car keys.
“Who’s ready for Tarzan?” she asked.
“We are! We are!” replied the excited chorus.
“What?” Eve asked, “Who’s going where?”
“I’m taking the kids to Tarzan,” Lori told her. Seeing her doubtful look, Cindy quickly put in, “Dad said we could. It’s twi-night pricing.”
“Well! I guess that settles it!” she conceded. Eve shot a quick scowl at Matt, who was relaxing on the couch with a book. He really should have asked her first. He was definitely going to hear about this. But as the door closed on the receding horde, a rare silence descended and she was reluctant to break it.
As Eve walked into the kitchen, she was met with a sight that made her heart do a little flip. Debbie was cleaning up after dinner, unasked! Would wonders never cease. Torn between feeling useless and relieved, Eve decided it would be nice to have some time for herself but as she looked for a book to lose herself in, the doorbell rang. Upon opening it, she was greeted by a young man and behind him she saw a car, idling at the curb.
“I’m here for Debbie,” he announced, to Eve’s amazement. He wasn’t that young - he must have a driver’s license, or a friend out in the car.
“Maybe you better come in. Have we met you?” she asked, with obvious suspicion.
“I’m Steve Mattson,” he told her factually, “We go to your church?”
“And what are your plans for the evening?”
“Oh, you know,” Steve continued, oblivious to the gathering storm, “Dinner, movie, just get out and away. Nothing special.”
Her daughter appeared, just as Eve prepared for battle. “Debbie, want to tell me what this is about?” Why the heck wasn’t Matt over here, backing her up?
“Mom,” Debbie whined, “Babysitting? It’s on the calendar.” With that, she ducked past Mr. Mattson and was gone.
“Nice to meet you,” Eve said weakly.
“See you on Sunday,” Steve called from the walk.
As Eve closed the door, a very clear realization came over her. A realization that, while it had been fun at the time, she really hated the fact that she had paddled her husband in front of the kids a few days earlier. In fact, the more fun she remembered it being, the more she hated it now.
“Eve,” Matt called calmly. “Want to take your panties off and come over here? I’d like to talk to you.” She looked over and Matt had already moved to the straight-backed chair. Of course.
“Um, it’s a swimsuit,” she mentioned and there was a brief, motionless moment before she hastened to comply. Her slightly damp seat was clammy when the air hit it. Trying to press it dry with her cover-up, she silently regretted her evening’s attire. Not only was the cover-up non-absorbent, it would offer no protection and only serve to assure that she got an extra layer of spanking.
Like she needed an extra layer. When she thought back to applying the paddle to her husband’s buns, she wondered just how long it would be before she was let up to fetch the hairbrush. Probably a long, long time, she concluded.
“Eve, it seems that, the other day, you thought I needed to be paddled, in front of the kids? Did you enjoy doing that? Enjoy it a lot?”
Eve, ill-advisedly, giggled. Then, she grew defensive. “You deserved it. You were mean to me. You lost your temper. You swore. In fact, it’s me who should be paddling you right now.”
“You’ve already taken care of that,” Matt said dismissively. “Whatever possessed you to do that?”
With a smile she couldn’t repress, Eve told him, “Have to set a good example.” But, let’s face it, it wasn’t worth what was coming.
“And did you, Eve? Did you set a good example?” When Matt used her name a lot, she knew the trouble quotient was at an all-time high.
“Had to,” she insisted. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, she thought.
“Eve,” Matt said yet again, causing her cold little cheeks to clench in anticipation, “what’s our rule about paddlings over the age of twelve?”
“Don’t,” she had to admit.
“And what’s our rule about paddlings over clothing?”
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“And about paddlings that aren’t over-the-knee?”
“Don’t,” she wailed.
“And about me paddling girls, or you paddling boys?”
“Don’t,” she squeaked.
“Seems like we're getting a lot here. Are you keeping count?”
“No,” she claimed.
“Well, we’ll call that six.”
“Four,” Eve said, then wished she’d bitten her tongue. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for that again.
“Fibbing?”
“Five,” she admitted.
With her teeth pinning down her lower lip, she nodded. She moved slowly over his waiting lap, hoping her seat had dried by now.
*****
Raising his hand, Matt began methodically patting Eve’s cover-up. Not patting, actually. The thin fabric did prevent his slaps from ringing like they usually do but they still stung plenty. He’s starting too hard, Eve cried to herself. But she wanted to save her protests for after she’d gone for the hairbrush. Why, oh why, had she done something this foolish? Sure, it had been fun, it had been irresistible and she’d remember it all her life. But if Matt realizes that, she thought, he’ll make this spanking just as memorable.
“Ow. Ow. Ow,” Eve complained softly. Oh, this is too much. Oh, I hope he gets a lot of this over with now. Owwwwwwwww.
It really didn’t take long for Matt to stop. It only seemed that way to Eve. To Matt the time passed very quickly and he had to give her a lot more than she deserved in order to stretch it out. But he was finally satisfied and paused long enough to lift her sheer skirt.
Panic set in on Eve’s fanny. Matt had been spanking in the middle and now, as he rubbed her all over, the heat of his overworked hand made her realize how chilly the rest of her bottom was. This is not a good thing at times like these. If she’d had any clue whatsoever, she wouldn’t have gone swimming at all.
Oh, oh, oh, this was worse, much worse. Now the slaps had the familiar ringing sound. It felt like he was punishing her, not just warming her up! Well, maybe not that bad but had she been that wrong? How many had he said? All she remembered was that it was more than she deserved. Next time, next time, she would resist. Resist the urge, that is. That one morning when she pushed him in the pool when he was dressed for work, she should have resisted. Sitting down all those days later was easy to resist, even though her feet had been tired. Why couldn’t she resist sooner?
I don’t even think it stings any more, she thought. It’s just going to make me sorer. Longer to recover, longer to remember. Oooh, does this really help? Oh. Oh.
Just then, Matt stopped. Not paused, stopped. Eve held perfectly still, oh-so-tense, waiting.
“Stand up, sweetie,” he told her, with a pat on her jumpy seat. She moved immediately to comply.
“Want to get in position?” he asked and she leaned forward for him, grabbing the back of the chair. Legs back, straight, sloped. Back arched, offering. Feet apart.
Matt slid slowly off of the chair. His arms circled her waist, hugging her, tighter and then tighter some more.
“Mmmmm,” he insisted.
“Mmmmm,” she admitted.
But when she was absolutely sure his head was firmly between her thighs and his ears were definitely covered, she raised her head, smiled and said in a clear voice, “You deserved it.”
Matt rubbed each eye as they started down the last big grade to the valley floor. Stretched out before him was a long, long shimmering line, red on the right, white on the left. The red intensified as drivers used their brakes, attempting to control their descent. No one was awake to see this sight tonight, except his youngest daughter, singing to herself in the far back. He found himself amused by the pairings of glowing red pinpoints that blossomed and brightened as he watched. Across the median, headlights passed in a steady stream. Big ones, little ones, high, low, even a pair of motorcycles wobbling along at an inconstant distance. Matt glanced over at his dozing wife, whose top, in the latest fashion, stretched a little tight across her own headlights and he smiled.
He was tired. And he was sore. God, was he sore. He might like to wear the baggy shorts and the big tee-shirts and get his Brad Pitt haircut from a girl not much older than his daughter but he had to admit, the years had taken their toll. It’s not the miles, he liked to say, or even the load. It’s the speed you drive and the road you choose and the lack of shock absorbers.
He’d driven it hard today. His shoulders couldn’t take these heavy restraints anymore. He’d been hung and swung, flipped and rolled. Coaxed slowly to the peak and then dropped like a rock, only to beg for more and more and more. Even standing up, one time. Sixteen roller coasters! Every inch of his body hurt.
The food hadn’t helped. Whatever had possessed him to try to eat his way across the park? Pretzels, cotton candy, corn dogs, root beer. That he could have handled. But what were those deep-fried things? Churzos? Funnelcakes should have been enough. He should have chosen between the two. And at some point he should have told his kids, “If you can’t finish that, throw it away.”
End of the line. Matt knew he ought to help unload. Six kids times a two-hour nap was twelve hours of sleep - why couldn’t they unload? But Matt knew that if he didn’t help Eve would do it all herself. And one job’s always saved for Daddy. Carrying sleeping children up to bed. How could she be asleep? She was singing when we pulled into the driveway.
The house remained dark and quiet. Even the teenagers went to bed. Matt trudged into the bathroom in search of Mylanta. Turning, Eve appeared before him. Her face was anxious. He wrapped her in his arms.
“I just need a quick shower,” she told him. The patter of running water was the last sound he heard that night.
***
“Matt!” Eve hollered.
“What?”
“Come down here where I can talk to you,” was her command.
Matt appeared at the foot of the stairs. Immediately, he saw what Eve expected him to do.
“Out of the kitchen! Everyone, out!” His calm, deep voice reached every corner of the big house. Their son even looked up from his Star Trek novel.
“Cindy. Out.” he repeated from closer range.
“I’m cooking,” Cindy claimed.
“She’s cooking,” Eve confirmed.
“Debbie, get your junk off the table.”
“Homework, Dad,” Debbie corrected him with imperious disdain.
“Off.”
Matt stepped into the hall where he could be heard. “Okay, little Evita, off with the stereo. Help set the table. Argentina will have to figure out why not to cry all by itself.”
“But Dad! I’ve been waiting for this song. Can’t I listen, just till it’s over? Pleeeease?”
“Dad, is Evita Spanish for Eva?” asked Tom, the youngest and the very spirit and image of his father.
“You can listen to it after dinner. Turn it off,” Matt told their wandering minstrel.
“Not tonight! Dad, you know!” came the reply.
He smiled and held a finger to his lips. She giggled.
“Dad. Is Evita Spanish for Eva?” Tom demanded.
“Little Eve. “Ita” means little in Spanish,” Matt tried to explain uselessly. In a second, Tom would be wondering about the moon, or something.
“You want to eat now, or when you get back?” Eve asked him.
“Later,” he said, checking his watch. He greatly preferred being able to sit down with his family. “Okay, guy. Got your gear? What time’s practice over?”
“Not till nine,” the boy sighed, heading for the car.
A few minutes later, Matt returned, managing to catch some dinner on its way to the dishwasher. The three little ones were buzzing around like little hummingbirds. Suddenly, Lori appeared with the car keys.
“Who’s ready for Tarzan?” she asked.
“We are! We are!” replied the excited chorus.
“What?” Eve asked, “Who’s going where?”
“I’m taking the kids to Tarzan,” Lori told her. Seeing her doubtful look, Cindy quickly put in, “Dad said we could. It’s twi-night pricing.”
“Well! I guess that settles it!” she conceded. Eve shot a quick scowl at Matt, who was relaxing on the couch with a book. He really should have asked her first. He was definitely going to hear about this. But as the door closed on the receding horde, a rare silence descended and she was reluctant to break it.
As Eve walked into the kitchen, she was met with a sight that made her heart do a little flip. Debbie was cleaning up after dinner, unasked! Would wonders never cease. Torn between feeling useless and relieved, Eve decided it would be nice to have some time for herself but as she looked for a book to lose herself in, the doorbell rang. Upon opening it, she was greeted by a young man and behind him she saw a car, idling at the curb.
“I’m here for Debbie,” he announced, to Eve’s amazement. He wasn’t that young - he must have a driver’s license, or a friend out in the car.
“Maybe you better come in. Have we met you?” she asked, with obvious suspicion.
“I’m Steve Mattson,” he told her factually, “We go to your church?”
“And what are your plans for the evening?”
“Oh, you know,” Steve continued, oblivious to the gathering storm, “Dinner, movie, just get out and away. Nothing special.”
Her daughter appeared, just as Eve prepared for battle. “Debbie, want to tell me what this is about?” Why the heck wasn’t Matt over here, backing her up?
“Mom,” Debbie whined, “Babysitting? It’s on the calendar.” With that, she ducked past Mr. Mattson and was gone.
“Nice to meet you,” Eve said weakly.
“See you on Sunday,” Steve called from the walk.
As Eve closed the door, a very clear realization came over her. A realization that, while it had been fun at the time, she really hated the fact that she had paddled her husband in front of the kids a few days earlier. In fact, the more fun she remembered it being, the more she hated it now.
“Eve,” Matt called calmly. “Want to take your panties off and come over here? I’d like to talk to you.” She looked over and Matt had already moved to the straight-backed chair. Of course.
“Um, it’s a swimsuit,” she mentioned and there was a brief, motionless moment before she hastened to comply. Her slightly damp seat was clammy when the air hit it. Trying to press it dry with her cover-up, she silently regretted her evening’s attire. Not only was the cover-up non-absorbent, it would offer no protection and only serve to assure that she got an extra layer of spanking.
Like she needed an extra layer. When she thought back to applying the paddle to her husband’s buns, she wondered just how long it would be before she was let up to fetch the hairbrush. Probably a long, long time, she concluded.
“Eve, it seems that, the other day, you thought I needed to be paddled, in front of the kids? Did you enjoy doing that? Enjoy it a lot?”
Eve, ill-advisedly, giggled. Then, she grew defensive. “You deserved it. You were mean to me. You lost your temper. You swore. In fact, it’s me who should be paddling you right now.”
“You’ve already taken care of that,” Matt said dismissively. “Whatever possessed you to do that?”
With a smile she couldn’t repress, Eve told him, “Have to set a good example.” But, let’s face it, it wasn’t worth what was coming.
“And did you, Eve? Did you set a good example?” When Matt used her name a lot, she knew the trouble quotient was at an all-time high.
“Had to,” she insisted. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, she thought.
“Eve,” Matt said yet again, causing her cold little cheeks to clench in anticipation, “what’s our rule about paddlings over the age of twelve?”
“Don’t,” she had to admit.
“And what’s our rule about paddlings over clothing?”
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“And about paddlings that aren’t over-the-knee?”
“Don’t,” she wailed.
“And about me paddling girls, or you paddling boys?”
“Don’t,” she squeaked.
“Seems like we're getting a lot here. Are you keeping count?”
“No,” she claimed.
“Well, we’ll call that six.”
“Four,” Eve said, then wished she’d bitten her tongue. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for that again.
“Fibbing?”
“Five,” she admitted.
With her teeth pinning down her lower lip, she nodded. She moved slowly over his waiting lap, hoping her seat had dried by now.
*****
Raising his hand, Matt began methodically patting Eve’s cover-up. Not patting, actually. The thin fabric did prevent his slaps from ringing like they usually do but they still stung plenty. He’s starting too hard, Eve cried to herself. But she wanted to save her protests for after she’d gone for the hairbrush. Why, oh why, had she done something this foolish? Sure, it had been fun, it had been irresistible and she’d remember it all her life. But if Matt realizes that, she thought, he’ll make this spanking just as memorable.
“Ow. Ow. Ow,” Eve complained softly. Oh, this is too much. Oh, I hope he gets a lot of this over with now. Owwwwwwwww.
It really didn’t take long for Matt to stop. It only seemed that way to Eve. To Matt the time passed very quickly and he had to give her a lot more than she deserved in order to stretch it out. But he was finally satisfied and paused long enough to lift her sheer skirt.
Panic set in on Eve’s fanny. Matt had been spanking in the middle and now, as he rubbed her all over, the heat of his overworked hand made her realize how chilly the rest of her bottom was. This is not a good thing at times like these. If she’d had any clue whatsoever, she wouldn’t have gone swimming at all.
Oh, oh, oh, this was worse, much worse. Now the slaps had the familiar ringing sound. It felt like he was punishing her, not just warming her up! Well, maybe not that bad but had she been that wrong? How many had he said? All she remembered was that it was more than she deserved. Next time, next time, she would resist. Resist the urge, that is. That one morning when she pushed him in the pool when he was dressed for work, she should have resisted. Sitting down all those days later was easy to resist, even though her feet had been tired. Why couldn’t she resist sooner?
I don’t even think it stings any more, she thought. It’s just going to make me sorer. Longer to recover, longer to remember. Oooh, does this really help? Oh. Oh.
Just then, Matt stopped. Not paused, stopped. Eve held perfectly still, oh-so-tense, waiting.
“Stand up, sweetie,” he told her, with a pat on her jumpy seat. She moved immediately to comply.
“Want to get in position?” he asked and she leaned forward for him, grabbing the back of the chair. Legs back, straight, sloped. Back arched, offering. Feet apart.
Matt slid slowly off of the chair. His arms circled her waist, hugging her, tighter and then tighter some more.
“Mmmmm,” he insisted.
“Mmmmm,” she admitted.
But when she was absolutely sure his head was firmly between her thighs and his ears were definitely covered, she raised her head, smiled and said in a clear voice, “You deserved it.”
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