Mayor's Discipline: Two Domestic Discipline Short Stories Read online

  There, on the floor, was an open bin containing what appeared to be—wait, really? Yes, they were Claire's sex toys, unless the burglars had dropped off their toys after ransacking the place.

  It was wrong—totally wrong, but he couldn't help himself. He picked it up and set it on the bed, taking the items out, one by one. There was a vibrator, standard issue for any female, but the rest of the contents made his heart quicken. They were all spanking implements: paddles—wooden and leather, straps, a large wooden hairbrush, a rope flogger.

  Claire had a kink.

  A flush ran through his body just looking at them, imagining what Claire did with them. Or how he might use them on her. He'd give almost anything to have her tight little ass bared over his knee.

  He heard a gasp and looked up at Claire's horrified face, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide. A flush of red crept up her neck to her ears.

  “Top or bottom, Claire?” he asked softly.

  ~.~

  The mayor stared at her with glittering eyes, flexing her leather paddle in an authoritative way that made her knees go weak. His question indicated an understanding of dominant/submissive relationships, which derailed her embarrassment and sent her rocketing instead to confused wonderment. Her pussy clenched. It appeared Mayor Luis knew his way around a paddle.

  And she could not absorb that information and simultaneously come up with any kind of witty response to his question. “What do you think?” she managed to choke out, in an attempt at flippancy.

  “I think,” he said slowly with the same intense dark look, “that someone's going to get a long, hard, bare-bottomed spanking over her personal safety lapse this evening.”

  She swallowed and licked her lips, feeling her heart pulsing through her entire body, a loud thrumming that made her feel like she was spinning.

  The mayor wanted to spank her.

  The doorbell rang, saving her from answering. She literally sprinted to the door to pull out the chair Luis had wedged under the handle and fling it open.

  “I got it,” Luis said, appearing behind her with his wallet out.

  “No, I'm paying,” she insisted. He was doing her the favor here, after all.

  “No arguments.” The firmness in his tone sent her mind shooting to the image of him flexing her paddle. Her panties grew moist. He thrust several bills in the face of the delivery girl and she pocketed them with a wave of thanks.

  Claire took the Pizaños pizza box from his hands and carried it to her tiny kitchen. Her belly twisted with nerves. Reason had mastered desire and she was giving herself a stern talking to over the wisdom of getting involved with the mayor. They hardly knew each other beyond the client/practitioner relationship, for one thing. For another, she was not interested in a “play partner” for her kink. She'd been in a domestic discipline relationship with her live-in boyfriend when she'd acquired those implements, and she didn't plan on using them again until she was in the same situation. She knew there were lots of people who satisfied their interest in spanking by attending parties or BDSM events, but that wasn't her. She could never bare her butt to a room full of people, or get spanked by someone who wasn't her committed partner. So just because she and the mayor shared an…unusual interest…didn't mean she needed to get involved with him.

  Of course, her pulsing pussy said something different.

  She set the pizza on the table and pulled out two plates. Luis picked up a bottle of red wine on her counter. “May I open this?”

  Oh God. He was trying to seduce her.

  “Sure.” Her voice sounded too high pitched. She would just have to tell him she didn't get involved with clients.

  She pulled out two wine glasses and her fingers fumbled, dropping one. She jumped back as it shattered on the floor. “Oh!” she cried and crouched down to pick up the glass. Tossing the larger shards in the trash, she retrieved a broom and dustpan while the mayor calmly pulled out another wine glass and poured two glasses of wine. When she'd cleared the remaining debris, he handed her a glass.

  “You're nervous about your spanking,” he observed in a soft, silky voice.

  She tried to speak, but found her mouth was too dry and no words came to mind.

  Luis stepped closer to her and she stumbled back. “You're not sure if you're going to let me or not.”

  Her heart seemed to beat in the backs of her knees.

  He took another step closer and she had nowhere to retreat, already backed against the kitchen counter. “You want it, and you don't want it at the same time.” His husky voice was mesmerizing. He took the wine glass from her hand, set it on the counter and took one more step into her, his body now pressing against hers, his head bent close to her face.

  Her breath came in little more than pants now as she stared at him, immobilized with shock at his bold onslaught.

  “You know the release would do you good,” he coaxed. “You can trust me, Clara.”

  “Come on.” He took her hand and stepped away, tugging her gently to follow. “Don't be afraid.”

  The mature part of her that had planned to shut him down was overpowered by the little girl who wanted to be called naughty and made to submit. She followed him obediently to the bedroom, her hand hot and clammy in his larger palm.

  He sat on the bed and pulled her gently over his lap. He gave her three hard, slow slaps over her pants and then slowly peeled her leggings down, thankfully leaving her panties in place. Dampness gathered between her legs and an insistent thrum pulsed in her pussy.

  The fact was, she wanted a spanking. She was dying for a proper spanking. And there was no one on earth who seemed more perfect for the job than Mayor Valdez. He was hot, available and exuded male authority. And to top it off, he actually appeared to know what he was doing, unlike her ex-boyfriend, who she had pushed into the whole domestic discipline arrangement and who never really took to leading her.

  Oh. The feel of his hand on her backside was so satisfying. He went slowly, allowing the burn to set in before delivering the next smack, connecting with the place where bottom met thigh every time.

  Though he hadn't told her what her punishment would be, she found herself counting, sinking into the methodical rhythm he set. After the first twenty or so, the initial shock wore off and she settled in, breathing deeply, determined to take the spanking with dignity.

  By sixty, she forgot about dignity. Her bottom blazed, and she squirmed and kicked from the pain, letting out little gasps and cries. Her struggles did not faze him, though. Part of her was glad—her ex-boyfriend had always stopped too soon. She’d had to keep her mouth shut tight or he’d stop spanking at her first cry. She’d always wanted someone who would just hold her down and keep on going, punishing her beyond what she thought she could take.

  The other part of her freaked out. What if he never stopped? On and on he spanked. Eighty. Ninety. One hundred spanks! It seemed he’d been counting, too, because he stopped then, and rubbed her burning backside.

  She moaned and was embarrassed to hear a wanton note to her voice.

  “How long has it been since you've been spanked, Claire?” Luis’ voice came low and sexy.

  “Two years,” she squeaked.

  He continued to rub. “Two years,” he mused. “I should go easy on you. Except I think, under the stressful circumstances, tears could be beneficial.” He stroked the back of her head and then tugged her hair gently, cuing her to turn her face toward him. “What do you think?”

  Her pussy gushed at the hair-tug. No one had ever done that before. It was an impossible question to answer. Did she want him to spank her to tears? Yes. No. Absolutely not. The spasm between her legs said differently.

  It didn't matter, because he seemed to derive some answer from her face, and smiled as though satisfied. He tugged her panties down and her clit throbbed in response, even as she whimpered a protest. Luis bent down and picked an implement out of her box.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and waited to feel his selection.

  Oomph—oh. She jerked when her hard wooden hairbrush connected with her upturned backside. Ow, ow, ow.

  He spanked with the brush, striking her sit spots alternately and holding her waist firmly as she squirmed. It was horrible and perfect all at once. Too painful, but exactly how she’d always fantasized a proper spanking should be. She fought him, rolling on his lap as if she might swim away. Her fingers dug into the comforter, pulling up fistfuls. It took all her willpower not to reach back and cover her throbbing backside.

  He wanted her to cry. Or rather, he thought it would be “beneficial.” Knowing that somehow allowed her to release any urge to keep a stiff upper lip. She gave in to the pain and listened to the emotion welling up in her. It was there, hovering, almost at the surface, but when she tried to make it come up, it retreated.

  Luis punished her relentlessly, not overly hard, but continuously, rapidly, giving her no time to get control of the pain or her feelings.

  She lost track of counting, lost track of everything but the hard smack of wood against flesh, the thud that caused a deeper ache below the burning surface. She writhed in anguish on his lap, wanting to dodge the never-ending blows. She reached back with her hand, though she knew that would not be allowed.

  Luis caught her wrist and bent her arm behind her back, never faltering with his steady rain of smacks on her throbbing bottom.

  Damn, he was good. He definitely knew his way around a paddle.

  She started to panic—what if it became more than she could take? She didn't know this man at all—how could she trust him to bring her to an edge she hardly knew herself? She had no safe word to fall back on, nor the history of a relationship in which he might know her cues.

  She struggled harder against his hold. As she began to panic, the pain seemed to increase tenfold. “Stop!” she yelled. “Stop! No more!”

  He immediately responded by throwing the brush to the floor but continued to spank with his hand, not even missing a beat of the steady rhythm he was spanking out.

  That, for some reason, was her undoing. A sob welled up in her and came crashing out, and then she cried in earnest. Luis's spanks lightened, but the rhythm carried on, the steady march of slapped skin music that gave her emotions free passage out of her body and into the bed covers. They cleansed her, her body releasing endorphins to combat the pain, while her tears rinsed her of the stress of the break-in. She wasn't sure when exactly it stopped, but she realized she was sobbing to a new rhythm as he rubbed slow circles over her aching bottom.

  He crooned softly. Reassuring words, comforting words. He was right there with her—matching the intensity of her release with his tender focus.

  She experienced an enormous rush of affection for him, mingled with relief that he had known how to handle her, how to give her what she needed, despite the fact they were almost strangers.

  He lifted her onto the bed and lay next to her with his arms around her, continuing to murmur encouragement. Her cries subsided and she sank heavy-limbed on the bed, with what felt like a post-orgasmic lethargy and contentedness.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked gently.

  “Mmm hmm.” She sat up and then slid to her knees, kneeling between his legs. He stroked her head, watching her with those intense, dark eyes as she unzipped his pants and freed his cock.

  Chapter Two

  He had never spanked a woman to tears before. His ex-wife had tolerated his interest in spanking to a point, but it wasn't really her thing. He found spanking Claire to be intensely satisfying, despite his internal conflict over bringing her to tears. It wasn't directly erotic—only the first half of the spanking had made him hard. Once he'd picked up the hairbrush and really caused her pain, it had become something else—the answer to a deeper need within him, to both dominate and take care of a woman. Gratitude that she'd trusted him, put herself in his hands and allowed him to bring her over the brink of self-control flowed through him.

  Now, to see her genuflecting at his feet, her leggings and panties still lowered in humility, his cock surged to attention.

  She looked up at him through long, wet lashes, a burning seduction in her gaze. Her lips parted

  His breath caught.

  She licked one long, slow trail from his balls to the tip of his cock, then circled the head with her warm, wet tongue. His breath stopped while he watched. As if in slow motion, she opened her jaw and took his full length into her mouth, guiding it first toward the inside of her cheek several times, then directly into the back of her throat.

  He groaned.

  Her eyes teared as she blinked back a gag, but she went on ambitiously, gliding her warm, wet mouth over his rock-hard cock, rolling his balls in her hand, then massaging further back, over his prostate.

  Madre de Dios. She was incredible. It had been a long, dry year since his divorce, but even so, he he'd never had better. And he'd never seen anything so beautiful —her full lips stretched wide, eyes lifted to his face, watching for his reactions. The tiny diamond stud in her delicate nose twinkled in the lamplight with her movements.

  It was as if she'd invented blow jobs. Her skill seemed so expert to him that an irrational jealousy of the men who had been in this position with her before bloomed. Then, like an adolescent boy, he was unable to delay the oncoming orgasm. He grasped the back of her head and urged her to a rapid pace, feeling the building release like a freight train steaming through his body. His thighs flexed, balls tightened.

  “I'm coming!” he warned and she pulled off, holding his cock at her throat to receive the ubiquitous “pearl necklace.”

  “Oh Claire!” he shouted as he spurted, coming harder than he had in years. Stars danced before his eyes.

  When he finished, she sat back on her haunches and he cupped her face, holding her jaw, his thumb trailing appreciatively across her cheek. “You are very good at that,” he murmured and she smiled like a satisfied cat.

  “I'm going to take a shower.” She stood up.

  He followed, watching as she pulled her pants back over her punished butt cheeks.

  In the bathroom, he leaned against the doorframe, taking in the view.

  Her shirt came off first, revealing a black satin bra with hot pink trimming. She glanced at him and he flicked an eyebrow appreciatively. She smiled and pulled off her leggings next to reveal matching panties, black with a hot pink Batman symbol on the front.

  “Very nice,” he murmured.

  She turned the water on and hesitated before unhooking her bra, not quite meeting his eye. Her modesty both aroused him and brought on a fresh surge of protectiveness toward her. She bent to step out of her panties and he saw her full tattoo. It was curling ivy across her low back, one tendril trailing onto her right buttock. A delicate blue and black butterfly perched upon one of the vines just above the dimple at her low back. Although he wasn't normally a fan of body ink, this one suited her perfectly, just like the subtle diamond in her nose—artsy yet classy.

  Her eyes darted over her shoulder toward the mirror behind her.

  He stepped forward, putting his arms around her to cup her reddened cheeks. “Did you want to see?” He turned her so her bottom faced the mirror. “Go ahead and look,” he urged, his throat husky again.

  She flushed and looked over her shoulder, staring at the beet-red marks he'd left across her sit spots. He rubbed them slowly while she watched.

  “I spanked you hard,” he murmured and was rewarded by her full weight pressed against him, her hips thrusting forward eagerly. He brushed his lips across her hair, then nuzzled her ear, flicking his tongue over the earlobe before nipping it lightly with his teeth.

  She let out an unsteady groan.

  “Come on.” He led her to the shower, then quickly pulled off his clothes and stepped in after her.

  “I'm not having sex with you,” she warned as he entered.

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  “I'm not like that,” she explained. “I don't put out on the first date.”

  “Are we calling this a date then?” he asked seductively, picking up the bar of soap and lathering it in his hands. Her words relieved him, in a way, of some of that jealousy he'd felt toward her unknown lovers when she'd sucked his cock. She wasn't like that.

  He put his soapy hands on her breasts, smoothing circles around them. Her breath caught and she arched into him. He pinched her stiffened nipples.

  She grasped his arms unsteadily, her head falling back into the spray of water.

  He lifted one arm and soaped from her wrist down the inside to that enticing breast again, then repeated for the other side. He turned her around and soaped the long, graceful arc of her back. He used both hands to rub simultaneous circles around her muscular butt, then knelt and slid his palms down the backs of her legs.

  Still kneeling, he turned her around to face him. Her pussy wore a neat trim, landing strip style. He ran his thumb along her swollen slit.

  She made a purring sort of hum in her throat.

  He spread her labia and licked into her, flicking his tongue over her clit before moving lower to penetrate.

  She grasped his hair in her hands, lifting to her tiptoes as she leaned back against the shower wall.

  He grasped one of her legs and placed it over his shoulder, sliding two fingers into her as he made circles around her clit with his tongue.

  She pulled his hair harder, urging him on.

  With his free hand, he cupped one of her firm butt cheeks, squeezing the hot flesh as a reminder of her earlier punishment. It was precisely the encouragement she needed. Her moans grew loud and she undulated her hips eagerly. He thrust his fingers in and out, hitting her g-spot until she squirted and then cried out, muscles contracting around his fingers. He left them pressed inside her, slowly rubbing the hardened button deep within her as the spasms continued to ripple through her body.

  “Jesus,” she moaned.

  He chuckled. “I'm not sure I've been called that before.”

  ~.~

  Claire woke feeling warm and contented. She hadn't made the mayor sleep on the couch and instead had fallen asleep with his long body curled around hers, his arm draped over her waist, listening to the sound of his deepened breath. It had been two years since she'd broken up with the man she'd thought she was going to marry and moved back to New Mexico. Two years since she'd shared a bed with a man, or even moved past second base.

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