Under His Roof (5 page)

She looks up at me with her big brown eyes and nods so sincerely I nearly melt. “I’m sure it will.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“David?” she says as I open the door for her.

“Yes?”

She looks nervous and shifts her gaze to the ground. I want to lift her chin with my hand and force her to look at me but I deny myself that pleasure. Besides, she’s cute when she’s uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Oh, she plans to kill me with her words. I want to take her, to hug her, kiss her and make everything right in her world. But I steel myself, take a deep breath, and say, “You’re welcome. I expect that e-mail. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

“Drive safe,” I call out, repeating myself, as she walks to her car.

She doesn’t respond and I just watch her as she gets in her car and drives away.

I pull out my laptop, grab a beer, and have a seat on my couch to check my mail. I know I’m waiting for Rachel’s message but I tell myself I’m actually checking on other clients.

Sure enough, I have three notes asking for an appointment—
soon.
There is such urgency with these women. I wish they would learn to plan ahead. I reply to all three immediately, fitting them into my already busy week. I have booked two women for one day, which I usually never do. I would hate to ask a crying woman to leave so I could receive another client. But these women are regulars and I schedule them in a way that I know it’ll work out.

I tap my fingers impatiently on the couch cushion as I stare at my inbox, waiting for confirmation that Rachel has arrived home safely.

Finally, after over an hour, she writes.

David,

Thank you again for the session. I’m home safe. I’m still unsure of how I feel, but I am glad I went through with it.

-Rachel

I sigh. I can’t write much back, except,

Rachel:

Good to hear. Please be in touch if you figure out how you feel. You really did wonderfully today.

David

Then, something terrible happens. I receive a notice and she has paid me for the session. Except, I don’t want her money. I want
her
. What’s worse, she’s paid double what she owes me. I sigh to myself, though I’m also pleased that she clearly got what she needed out of the discipline session.

I call Sparky inside; I need the company. He runs slower now, but still has his youthful playfulness. I pat the couch and let him jump up and cuddle against me. I wish I could call her or e-mail her more or do anything else but sit here and do nothing.

Professional
,
David
, I remind myself.
You’re a professional.

The following morning I have eased my mind about Rachel. She is a client, I am her disciplinarian, and that is that.

I have a client—Suzanne—scheduled for noon and I get ready for her. She’s been using my services for nearly three years now, off and on when she feels she needs it. Her husband is a wealthy man who travels a lot, so she tends to get herself into a bit of trouble when he’s gone. She annoys me, but she pays well. I wish my discipline had an effect on her, but I have my suspicions that she gets off on the whole thing sexually.

Her crime this time: she got together with her girlfriends and they all smoked some pot. I don’t think that’s such a criminal act, but she has sent me an e-mail explaining that she must be severely punished. My plan is to lecture the hell out of her and wallop her butt fiercely. I’d like her to tell me why she’s really coming to see me, though I know that would take the fun out of it for her.

I have a few different types of clients. My all-time favorite type is like Rachel. Innocent to the idea of being spanked, but open to it. Needing discipline, but unsure about it. Rachel will, in time, develop and understand that she needs what I give her. I like that she’s honest—that she can admit she doesn’t know how she feels.

Apart from the clients who need discipline, there are the ones who need to be punished for wrong-doings. This is my second favorite type. These clients overlap with the Rachel-types. Rachel, too, would need a punishment if she committed a specific crime. But these types
don’t
need ongoing discipline to keep their behavior up to their standards. These are women who want someone to hold them accountable for their actions. They seek redemption. For them, I deliver firm punishment sessions to help them get rid of their guilt.

The third type is like Suzanne. Suzanne does not actually believe she’s done anything wrong by smoking some dope with her girlfriends. No, she’s looking to be spanked because she enjoys it. While some of my clients in the first two categories do enjoy their punishments to a degree, they see a difference between an erotic spanking and a disciplinary session. Suzanne gets physically aroused during her discipline sessions, to the point where I have to make it clear to her that she will not be getting more from me
ever
. I usually feel a little dirty after sessions with her. Like I’m a gigolo or something.

My job is not always a pleasant one. However, clients like Rachel really make it worth all of the Suzannes I face. I’m sure I’ve brightened up Rachel’s life with my work and I’m also confident she’ll come back. I just hope it will be sooner rather than later.

Suzanne is right on time at noon. She’s dressed in tight blue jeans that I know she’ll want me to yank off her. In spite of the ways she annoys me, she is a beautiful woman and is also quite fun to chat with. She greets me with a peck on the cheek and I discreetly wipe her lipstick off my skin. Her curly blond hair bobs as she walks and she’s got on this flowery blouse that is so revealing I can see the entire outline of her bra.

“So you got my note, Mr. Jacobs?” she asks sweetly.

That’s right. I forgot about the ‘Mister’ thing. Another bothersome aspect of Suzanne.

“I did. Go on to the dining room. We’ll discuss your behavior there before we get started.”

She’s chewing gum and she pops it as she sashays her way to my dining room table. She has a seat and crosses her legs toward me and leans in so that I get a view of her ample cleavage.

I clear my throat and look at her sternly. Taking a napkin in my hand, I hold it out to her, near her mouth, and she spits out her gum. I wrap it up, slide it away from us, and say, “So, Suzanne. You were out smoking pot with your girlfriends.”

She cocks her head, trying to look seductive. She actually
is
seductive and I try not to let my attraction to her show.

“Yes, Mr. Jacobs,” she purrs. “My poor husband was off working and I just feel terrible for havin’ all that fun with my friends. And, he absolutely hates it when I do drugs. He says it can get him into trouble.”

I lean back, thoughtful. What she's said is actually true. I’ve seen her husband on television; he is a prominent public figure. Having a wife who goes off and smokes pot in order to get spanked… I think I could actually legitimately punish Suzanne for this.

“Did you tell your husband what you did?” I ask.

“No. Never. He can’t know.”

“Suzanne, I’m going to tell you a little secret,” I say, knowing I could ruin everything with a few words if I’m not careful.

“All right,” she says.

“I usually spank you for crimes that aren’t really that big of a deal. Would you agree?”

Suzanne blushes. She actually blushes. And she nods. I am feeling the power, the upper hand.

“And tell me, do you get off on those spankings? Sexually?”

Her blush deepens and she is positively red-faced. She can’t look at me. She uncrosses her legs and assumes a less confident stance. Her knees are locked tightly together, her ankles a few inches apart, her toes facing in. “I… I don’t know, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Suzanne,” I say, my tone growing very stern, “tell me the truth. Right
now
.”

She throws her hands over her face and nods. “Yes, sir. I like it when you spank me.”

“Good girl,” I say, patting her knee gently, trying to be comforting. “Now listen very carefully because you are about to make an important decision. After I’m done you will either march yourself out my front door, or agree to be punished. Understand?”

She nods again. I grab her wrists, pulling her hands from her face so I can see her reaction.

“Your little fun with your girlfriends might seem like a joke to you, but it could be detrimental to your husband’s career. Had you thought of that?”

She’s silent for a long time but I’m patient, so I sit back and wait. Finally, she says, “No… I hadn’t.” Her voice is small.

“How many of your friends should you trust with such an important secret?”

“None of them… sir.”

“And does your husband trust you?”

She nods. She looks positively petulant and I’m loving it.

“Suzanne, if you agree to be punished, I’m going to give you a spanking you will never forget. If you want to leave, you should leave now. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers.

“I’m going to go check on some things. You have ten minutes to decide. If you decide to leave, there are no hard feelings and no need to pay for this session. If you decide to stay, you will be in the discipline room, completely nude, waiting for me in the corner. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

I wait until I’m out of her eyesight before I let myself smile. She could benefit from this; a reminder that she is not perfect and that discipline can be real.

Flipping open my laptop, I’m silently praying that I have an e-mail from Rachel. Anything. Another session, maybe? A request for part of her money back? An update on her well-being?

There’s nothing, though, and I sigh heavily and putter around for ten minutes before I go back to Suzanne.

She’s left the discipline room’s door open and I walk in silently and admire her for a moment. I doubt she knows I’m here. She has a ‘tramp-stamp’ tattoo on her lower back—it’s a dragon breathing fire. She has a killer body, especially for her age.

I’ve no idea what made Suzanne marry her husband, but my suspicion is that she was pretty enough to take as a wife and he was rich enough for her. She could feel unfulfilled, and perhaps that is why she comes to me. Perhaps she wishes her husband would have a firmer hold on her and expect more of her.

I shake my thoughts aside. In any case, she’s about to be a very sorry woman, and my job is to ensure that happens.

I slam the door shut, alerting her of my presence and making her jump. She does not turn around though, and I smile. She’s trying to be good.

As loudly as I can, I walk around and gather implements. I know she’s listening carefully. I place an array of paddles out on the desk. Some are leather and flexible, others are wooden, still others are soft and lined with fur.

“I want to mark you today,” I say. I lean against the desk, half sitting on it, half standing. “I know what you usually do when I mark you. Your husband, if he wants sex from you, will just have to wait. Isn’t that right?”

She speaks so quietly I can barely hear her. “Yes, sir.”

“Instead of that, I want you to service him. With your mouth. Or on your back, so he can’t see the marks. But I do
not
want you denying him simply because you fucked up. Understood?”

Even the back of her neck gets red so I know she’s blushing though I can’t see her face.

“Yes. I understand, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Good. Turn around then, come to me.”

Suzanne is usually comfortable with naked sessions but today she seems shy. I like that. I watch her carefully as she makes her way to the desk and I can tell she is trying to decide if she should bolt or accept what I have to give. She truly is a beautiful woman. Her breasts are large but still full and firm. Her stomach is lean and I can't help but notice her completely bare sex.

I have my arms crossed and my disciplinarian side is kicking in. Her demeanor is so submissive. I am guessing this is one of the first times in her life when she has not been in control.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say. “You're going to pick out two of these implements. You’ll get fifty with each.” I watch as she decides her fate. She looks at me for help but I just shrug.

This is my way of getting to know what she needs. If she hands me the furry paddle, I will either think she’s being impertinent or that she doesn’t want a beating. I don’t suspect that Suzanne feels either of those things and I’m eager to see what she’ll decide.

She moves slowly, now less concerned about her nakedness than her upcoming spanking. With some paddles she pauses, picks them up, feels the weight of them, then sets them down.

“I can give you an example of how it’ll feel,” I offer when she picks up a particularly heavy paddle that would seriously wear my arm out.

“No, thank you,” she replies quietly.

“Hurry up, then. You’re wasting my time, Suzanne.”

Her fear is palpable. She fingers a small, oak paddle for a moment before handing it to me. I tuck it in my back pocket and continue to look impatient. “One more,
now
.”

Her next choice is a slightly flexible thick rubber paddle. It’s heavy.

Now I know what she wants, because she has told me through her choices. Suzanne is experienced enough to understand the implications of her decision. She wants a beating, and I will deliver.

“You’ll take the fifty with the wooden paddle over my lap,” I say, pulling my chair into position.

“Warm up?” she asks hopefully.

“Not a chance.”

She drapes herself over my lap with grace and I smile to myself, thinking of how awkward and special Rachel was. Rachel would be floored to see what I am about to do.

“Safeword this time, Suzanne. Pick one.”

She knows what I mean and she visibly trembles. “Stop.”

“Stop is your safeword? No.”

“Yes. I won’t say it unless I need you to stop. It’s fine.” There is a determined tone to her statement and I go with it.

“All right then. Tell me what you need me to do.”