The Obedient Wife Read Online Free PDF Page A

him.  He was standing there like the unyielding mountain she often thought him, arms crossed over his chest, unabashedly naked.
    And quite fully aroused, if she was any judge.  As was she.
    He didn’t appear the least inclined to be lenient with her, unfortunately.  Despite that fact, she could tell by the way the corners of his mouth were twitching that he was having a hard time not smiling at her comical slowness in heeding his command. 
    Ginger figured she had the timing about right by now; she knew just about how far she could push him.
    She thought.
    And then, as she turned to reach into his closet, to the umbrella stand that had never contained an umbrella in its life, she realized just how wrong she was when he delivered five hard clandestine smacks, saying, “Honey, I would think that when you’ve been sent to fetch your cane you’d be much quicker about it, considering that - one way or the other - that rod is going to end up in my hands and the longer you delay, the more strokes can be added . . .”
    She shrieked at that horrid pronouncement and whirled to give him the hated implement.
    There was no “thank you” or praise for having been brave enough to do so.  Instead he just said, “You know what position you should be in, don’t you?”
    She did, but dreaded it fiercely.
    In one corner of their bedroom was a vanity that he had surprised her with for their fifth anniversary.  It was antique mahogany, an absolutely gorgeous piece with a marble top - which he knew she loved - a trifold mirror and volumes of deep drawer space on either side.  As generous as the gift was, though, she knew that he was just eager to get her to organize her huge collection of perfumes, makeup, hair sprays, mousses and gels that daily threatened to take over their shared sinks area in the bathroom.  His poor one bottle of Polo, toothbrush, toothpaste and floss hadn’t a prayer against the sheer volume of her notions and potions, as he called them.
    It was a thing of beauty, and the only part of it she came not to love was the chair he’d bought to go with it, which had a generously padded seat. It was a straight-backed affair, and he put it to too many nefarious uses for her comfort.
    She’d tried once to replace it with a very pretty low stool with a gorgeous tapestried cushion that could never be employed for any other purpose, but that had mysteriously disappeared during the day, somehow, and when she got home from work, the same chair was back in its usual spot . . . resurrected, somehow, from where she’d hidden it at the very back of her dressing closet.  Sean had held her chin in his hand as he told her - in no uncertain terms - that the chair stayed exactly where it was.
    Now here she was, draped over the back of it - yet again - a kinky sacrifice, and there he was, standing to one side of her with that horrible thing in his hand.
    Not the fun thing, the awful thing.
    Her fingers were wrapped around the edges of the seat cushion, her nails biting into the soft wood as she felt him put the length of that thing across her bottom- not as a stroke, but just to remind her of what was coming.
    “Now.  You closed your legs to me night before last, didn’t you?”
    She desperately wanted to just nod, but he would not consider that an acceptable response.  “Yes, Sir.”
    “It wasn’t because you were sick or hurting or any reason other than you got a wild hair up your ass and decided to see if I was paying attention, right?”
    Well, she wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but in essence, she supposed, he was right.  She didn’t have a very good reason for why she’d misbehaved like that.  She’d just .   .  . wanted to.  Sometimes when they made love, it was more than a bit overwhelming for her, and she had just wanted to stop the feelings that were flooding her body for a moment in order to gather together the scattered pieces of herself that tended to fly apart the moment he touched her