Party Lines Read Online Free PDF

a kiss.
    Ron
normally didn’t make love to his wife after a spanking but sometimes…well, he
just couldn’t help himself, especially when she offered herself to him so
sweetly. So they made love, and later in the dark Ron would reflect on how well
spanking worked on every level. Part catharsis, part aphrodisiac that simple
old-fashioned act cleaned the slate of sin and despite the tears, he knew Tina would wake the next morning with a smile and without a mention of
her sore bum. Throughout the day he would catch her – here and there-
rubbing at a sore spot and he’d recall the moment with an odd mixture of pride,
regret and excitement.
     It
would be several more years before he admitted that his old-fashioned
disciplinary remedy went beyond correction. It was, he knew, also his fetish.
But he didn’t see it as unhealthy and figured there were probably quite a few
dominant men out there who felt the same way he did about the practicality and
excitement of spanking a deserving female bottom. The trick was finding a woman
who felt the same way he did. He thought he had that with Tina until she went
back to work and began to express feelings of guilt for having ever allowed him
to “do that” to her. She seemed embarrassed at how well the system had worked
for them, as if she’d been part of something unnatural and unwholesome.
    For
his part, Ron never felt spanking was anything but natural and wholesome and in
the end ended up counting his blessings. Tina hadn’t used their exercise in
discipline as ammo during the divorce proceedings. Ron was sure it was partly
because she knew she’d consented and didn’t want to explain it but also because
she was embarrassed that word of it might leak out if the filing ever became
public.
    So
Ron was left alone and feared he’d never find a woman whose innate
submissiveness complemented his natural dominance. Until this
day.
    He’d
botched it, and badly. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the rain,
envisioning the way Lindsay had looked at him, how she’d questioned why she was
getting a spanking she didn’t deserve. And he knew, somehow just knew that
despite her job, despite who she was working for, despite her defense of
feminism Lindsay Martin was exactly what he was looking for – a
submissive woman who wanted just what he had to offer.
    The
trick now was to find a way to make her trust him.
     
    ***
     
    She
couldn’t face anyone. Not right now. Trying to keep her voice sounding normal,
Lindsay left Clara Faircloth a hurried message about how she’d come down with a
bug and was going straight home. Clara immediately returned the call,
congratulating Lindsay on her performance against Ron Sharp and urging her to
call should she need anything at all.
    Lindsay
listened to Clara’s words on her voicemail. She was still so rattled she couldn’t
answer the phone, couldn’t hold a conversation. She could barely give the
cabbie directions, and only murmured ‘yes’ when he looked in his rearview
mirror and spoke to her.
    “Aren’t
you the gal who’s running the Faircloth campaign?”
    At
her apartment building Lindsay got out and gave the cabbie twice the fare,
ignoring his calls that she wait for the change. She didn’t even bother to put
up the umbrella to shield her from the rain that continued to pour and ignored
the concerned look of the doorman as she shot past, dripping rain and tears as
she made for the elevator.
    Her
apartment was dark and quiet and for a few moments she stood in the foyer,
breathing heavily with her back against the closed door.
    After
a few moments she walked down the hall into her bedroom, leaving her coat,
umbrella and briefcase where she uncharacteristically dropped them by the door.
    She
turned the lights on in her room and blinked at the brightness before walking
over and drawing the blinds. The sky was still dark and stormy, befitting her
mood.
    Lindsay
walked over to the cheval mirror by her bed and turned. Looking over