OK, tonightâs the night. It really is. It has to be.
Iâve lost count of the number of times Iâve almost brought the subject up.
Iâve rehearsed the words seventy-three times while Iâve cooked âspecialâ meals or clipped my stockings on to my suspenders or even just lain sprawled with his head in my lap watching something vaguely sexy on TV.
I always start with some kind of mention of how Iâm a âbad girlâ, just to see what he might say to that. But he always says, âJust the way I like you, love,â and there we are, taking the vanilla fork in the road again, while he reaches for another handful of popcorn and pats my thigh absent-mindedly.
This makes me sound like some kind of unsatisfied horn dog but I should stress that Iâm not unhappy with our sex life, and he can be prevailed upon for some slap and tickle when the moodâs right and weâre in the thick of things. Itâs always jokey and short-lived and self-conscious, though. A couple of quick swats on the bum when I bend over for rear entry, for instance, because he likes the way my cheeks jiggle. I always moan over-dramatically, encouraging more, but he must think Iâm just desperate for him, because he never repeats the move.
Yeah, I know itâs ironic. Communication. Exactly what I spend all day teaching troubled teenagers about. Yet, when it comes to translating my fantasies into words for my lovely husband, Iâm useless.
But tonight Iâm taking the bull by the horns. (Please provide your own rude joke.) Could any night be more perfect? Our third wedding anniversary. And whatâs your third wedding anniversary? Oh, yes â leather!
Iâve heard all the bawdy suggestions, thanks. Catwoman outfit, check. Strap-on, check. Gimp mask, check. None of these are what I had in mind for him, though.
I went to a little shop in town that specialised in leather goods. It was surprisingly hard to find exactly what I wanted. Everything was the wrong colour or gimmicky, over-designed with stupid monogram buckles.
What I wanted was a plain, old-fashioned manâs belt, tan leather with that authentic cowhide kind of look and feel. Smooth on one side, suedey on the other, and with a big brass buckle. And the weight had to be right. I donât mean right for sitting around his hips and keeping his trousers up either. I mean right for wrapping around his fist and giving me a good thrashing with.
I browsed dozens of the wrong kind, wrinkling my nose at their unsatisfactory smell. They were too light, borderline plasticky. I needed that good, deep leather aroma that travelled like lightning from my nostrils to my clit.
When I found it, I had to take a moment, look over my shoulder to make sure nobody saw me, and breathe deep and long.
Oh, yes. That was the one. Right colour, right weight, right buckle, right feel, right smell. This was the belt my husband could whip me with.
I felt ridiculously coy taking it to the counter. I had to keep telling myself that itâs perfectly usual for a man to receive a belt as a present and nobodyâs going to assume Iâm a pervert. But I just felt that the man who untagged it and wrapped it and took my money knew perfectly well what I wanted it for. And he thought I deserved it too.
By the time I left the shop, I was in a stew of arousal. I walked to the car with wet knickers and nipples punching their way out of my bra cups. When I got home, I took the belt out of its bag and lay on the sofa, sniffing it, while I slipped my hands inside my knickers.
I fantasised about Dan coming home early and catching me at it. In my fantasy he was still wearing his uniform, even though he has to change at the end of each shift in real life, and he strode over, snatched the belt off me and ordered me over the back of the sofa.
âWhat have I told you about that?â he said sternly, pulling my knickers down to my knees. âYou donât do it without me. You donât come when Iâm not around. Is that so hard to understand?â
âNo, Sir.â
âSo why canât you behave yourself?â
âI guess Iâm a bad girl, Sir.â
âYes. And you know what happens to bad girls.â
He was wrapping the buckle end around his fist.
âYes, Sir.â
âWhat?â
He trailed the V-shaped end over my bare bum cheeks, cold and ticklish.
âThey get punished, Sir.â
âThatâs right. Youâre going to learn your lesson, Pip. Itâs going to be a hard one, but thatâs what you need.â
Thatâs what I need. Oh, yes.
He was only halfway through the spanking, the leather falling full-strength, heating my arse like fire, before I came, really hard. I jerked around so much that the belt slid off my face and on to the carpet.
No sign of Dan, though. Hardly surprising because his shift didnât finish till nine.
My orgasm had ironed out the knots a tough dayâs work had added to my spine, though, so it was all good. I headed for the shower and thought, yet again, about how I was going to talk him into what I had in mind.