Charlotte was taken aback by her husband's reaction. She had made a confession, it was true. She had been feeling guilty. But Charlotte had not expected Brent to get so upset. Now she was inclined to agree with him: she was sorry she brought the whole matter up.
Truth was, the incident in question revealed something about herself that she didn't like. She was a bit, um...avid, to put it politely, at least where her passion for antiques was concerned. A few weeks ago she had given Miriam fifty dollars for a Steuben goblet that she knew perfectly well was worth close to two hundred. It was more than driving a hard bargain and she hadn't meant to take advantage of a friend, but sometimes she lost control. Now she was too embarrassed to bring it up with Miriam and make amends. Seeing similar pieces at the Brower County Antiques Fair had prompted her to mention it to Brent.
Her Brent, whom she hated to see unhappy! He was usually so solid and accommodating that it still intrigued her to see what got to him. They were married almost three years now, and had driven upstate for the weekend as a sort of anniversary celebration. Heaven knows they both needed a break. Charlotte had been so busy at work, as she always was at the beginning of the term, getting the new girls to settle in. She taught art at Fairfield Academy, while Brent had his hands full as an engineering consultant. Brent had worked hard to establish himself, beginning as a construction laborer, then going into business as an independent contractor. Now, seasoned and in his fiftieth year, his advice was sought on projects throughout the state. To Charlotte, he always seemed so refreshingly direct and honest. Brent's business dealings over the years had taught him a lot about people. He surprised her with his intuitive understanding of them. Fourteen years her senior, he sometimes seemed like a father to her.
Yet he was always so eager to learn! Charlotte loved sharing her knowledge of art and antiques with him. They had met at the local artists' show held at the school each spring, the year that Charlotte had moved to Fairfield to take up her teaching post. Her divorce had been painful, and the first months in her new job had been very lonely. Brent courted her joyously, smoothing her way around Fairfield, introducing her to his prodigious circle of friends. They had married that same year, moving into a stately Victorian that Charlotte lovingly decorated.
No, thought Charlotte, nothing was going to spoil this weekend.
After a full day exploring the local shops, they were heading back to the inn to relax before changing for dinner. They had reservations at a charming little restaurant by the lake that Charlotte had always found especially romantic. But the silence in the car troubled her. And she knew what was on his mind.
"Brent, I'll make it up to Miriam."
Brent smiled, in spite of himself.
"How is it you always know what I'm thinking?"
"I should think that after three years I would know something about you."
"What is it you'll say to her?"
"I'll tell her...I'll tell her I saw a similar piece up here and I didn't realize how valuable they were."
"Yeah, I'm sure Miriam will fall for that one: your not knowing the going price for an antique."
"Well, even if she does see through it, she'll be polite enough not to say so."
"Charlotte, really, is that all you care about? What people say? There's a principle involved here!"
Chalotte was abashed.
"Oh, Brent, please don't scold me. I know it was wrong. I just didn't think. And I am sorry."
Brent softened a bit.
"Well, tell your little story to Miriam. It's not right to fix a swindle with a lie, but in this case I guess it's the best you can do."
He sighed, and looked at her pointedly.
"You know, Charlotte, sometimes--just sometimes--I think you could really use a good spanking."
Oh, thought Charlotte. Oh, dear. I'd better be still and not say a word, and maybe that thought will pass. Brent was not a violent man, but in many ways he was very old-fashioned. One didn't cheat, one didn't lie, and a man was responsible for his wife's behavior. A spanking! The very word upset Charlotte. She shifted uneasily in her seat and fixed her gaze on the passing landscape.
Ineluctably, her thoughts drifted back to her childhood. Her father had employed a novel system of discipline for the children. They had a choice of a paddling or extra chores. The extra chores usually turned out to be weeding and mowing the terrace in their expansive backyard. Charlotte and her younger brother spent so much time out there that they called it "Punishment Hill." She smiled even now to think of it. But her older sister Melanie always chose to be spanked. Melanie and Charlotte would argue their preferences. You spend all afternoon in the sun being punished, said Melanie, but I get mine over with in a minute. Charlotte could see the logic there, but she was always too scared to take a paddling. She admired the way her older sister confronted things. Charlotte, on the other hand, usually tried to sidestep issues.
But not this time, Charlotte thought suddenly. She had looked forward to this evening with Brent for weeks; she had to resolve things quickly. Almost immediately, she knew what she had to do.
Before the fireplace in their room at the inn was a fine old Empire sofa. Upon entering,
Charlotte asked her husband to sit there, she had something to say.
"Well, what is it, Charlotte?" asked a puzzled Brent. Instead of sitting down, Charlotte had her back to him and was going through her carryall. "Do you want to talk, or not?"
Charlotte turned toward him with her wooden-backed hairbrush in her hand.
"I don't want to talk, not really, Brent. I want you to do what you have to do. I deserve it, I'll admit it, and I'm going to take my medicine. Brent, go ahead and spank me."
"Oh, Charlotte, I don't want to spank you."
"Yes, you do. I have it coming. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
With one hand Charlotte proffered the hairbrush, while her other hand rested on her behind--seemingly in anticipation of what she might soon be getting. Suddenly it seemed to Charlotte her whole body was tingling with excitement.
Brent searched his wife's face for some sign that she was joking, but all he saw there was a resolve he had to admire. As Charlotte held her breath, he took the hairbrush from her hand. Then he reached behind her and took her other wrist. Charlotte found herself thinking how handsome Brent looked in his grey wool slacks and cashmete sweater as she felt herself being pulled lower and drawn across his knee. She had always known his strength, but now she gave herself up to it completely. Brent gently settled her into position, then grasped her firmly about the waist. Bottoms up, yet cozy across his lap, Charlotte thrilled to the posture traditional for chastisement.
Charlotte had chosen a white sweater top and a Talbot's tartan skirt for the day's outing. She gave a little cry as Brent raised that fashionable skirt. Beneath were Charlotte's favorite pair of satiny blue underpants. They were a very nice pair, lustrous and trimmed with lace, only Charlotte was not keen on sharing her taste in lingerie with what seemed to her to be all of Brower County. She felt so exposed!
"Brent, is that really necessary?" gasped Charlotte.
"Well, yes, dear, I think it is," Brent replied. "What were you expecting-- a few pats on the back of your dress?"
Charlotte wasn't sure what she had expected. The cool air played about her satin-covered hindquarters. Whatever had possessed her to suggest this humiliation? She turned to look at her husband. He was grinning at her predicament!
"I'm glad you find this amusing, sir!" she huffed. "I must admit I'm getting a little worried myself."
"Why, darling, it's nothing to worry about," Brent maintained, sounding almost cheerful. "Just a little overdue domestic discipline, to be applied to the seat of the problem. You know, I think this will do us both a world of good. And," he added cordially, "as long as you cooperate, I won't have to take your panties down."
"Oh, no, Brent! Please, you mustn't!"
Charlotte was shocked. She certainly hadn't considered that possibility! Things were moving much too fast for her. She had to talk him out of this. She'd try a different tack.
"Brent, darling-- I know I did behave badly and-- I will talk to Miriam-- but you forgive me, don't you, honey? I really have learned a lesson here today and..."
"Charlotte," Brent chuckled, "you're not getting out of this. You yourself said you had it coming."
"It-- it just seems a bit drastic to me now."
"Charlotte-- " he intoned warningly.
"Oh, Brent, please reconsider!"
"Charlotte, once you make a decision, you should stick with it. Now, we've settled on a spanking, and a spanking it will be!"
She knew from experience that there was nothing more she could say to dissuade Brent. She had to surrender. Snuggling deeper into his lap, she couldn't help a small sniffle. Tremulously, she awaited the first spank.
It fell fully on her thinly-clad derriere. Be brave, she told herself. The second and third sounded quickly after. Oh, this is dreadful, thought Charlotte as the blows kept coming. Each spank was loud, and she could feel her shapely cheeks bounce and jiggle under each sharp swat. She thought to squirm free, but Brent's grip was tight. She would have to bear the pain and embarrassment. She was sure the other guests in the inn knew exactly what was going on. Naughty wife in Room 210! Brent continued unfazed, calmly applying the hairbrush with an expertise Charlotte had not anticipated. She could feel her buttocks rapidly warming beneath the cool satin of her panties. As her bottom heated, each spank stung all the more, and the more it stung the more Charlotte wiggled and squirmed, in a most unladylike fashion. She didn't meant to, for she had truly hoped to be able to take her punishment gracefully, but her whole backside was on fire! Brent was being so mean! A woman of her sensitivity, being treated like this! Sure she could stand it no longer, she burst into tears.
Brent hesitated, then applied just a few more spanks, softer ones to finish with. His elegant, lovely wife, suffering so! A wave of tenderness swept over him.
"That's all, sweetie. That's it. Come on now, don't cry," he admonished softly, trying to calm her.
Charlotte felt all in disarray. Her skirt was up about her waist, she had lost a shoe, and her poor behind was smarting terribly. She got up quickly and rearranged her skirt. It was soothing to have it back where it belonged. Through her tears she found and reclaimed her shoe, then stood meekly before her husband.
She sought his eyes, anxious to know what he was feeling. There was a curious, concerned look on his face. It was all the sign Charlotte needed. She plopped down on his lap.
"Ouch," was all she said.
He put his arms around her and pulled her close.
"That's all you have to say? 'Ouch?'" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "That's all I have to say. That, and-- I want this to be over with. I'm tired of talking about that damn Miriam. Let's just get on with our weekend."
"You've got it, sweetheart," he replied, and kissed her with passionate enthusiasm.
Later, over dinner, she coyly questioned him. He had never really wanted to spank her, had he? She watched him closely as she waited for an answer, thoroughly enjoying the look of panic that flashed across his eyes.
"No, of course not, Charlotte," he stated guardedly, "it was ... just an expression."
She smiled sweetly.
"Of course," she said.
The rest of the evening, the rest of their life together, looked to be very interesting.
