The Quarterback

I winced as three battle hardened two hundred pound gorillas smashed Jack to the snow tinged ground. Watching from the sidelines was hard, particularly when the game was going so poorly. Jack had been sacked four times and there was still twenty minutes to go.

Concern etched my face as Jack he pulled himself to his feet, the affects of mild concussion visible as he wavered from side-to-side.

Amy, one of the other player's wives, put her hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure he'll be fine," she said.

I forced a smile, glancing at the scoreboard. I squeezed Amy's hand as I rose. "I can't watch anymore. I'll see you downstairs."

I trudged down the stairs, hearing the awful sound of the home fans cheering again, reminding me why I rarely traveled to away games. Jack would be in some mood on the flight home. The poor guy had the weight of the whole town on his shoulders. I shuddered to think what the local paper would say after four losses in a row.

I waited outside the locker rooms for an eternity. For some stupid reason wives and girlfriends weren't allowed in until media commitments were finished.

The room was a wake, beefed up men and helmets lying scattered over benches. The coach sat head down on the floor in the middle of the room, a shattered man. His head was firmly on the block now. I found Jack hunched over in a corner, his waterlogged shirt caked with grass, mud and tinges of blood. He was a mess.

I sat beside Jack and put my arm around his shoulders. He leaned his head on my shoulder and I ran my fingers through his hair affectionately. If only that blasted sports reporter James Cracklen could see the players now, bruised and battered, barely able to lift a finger, all their energy spent. Perhaps he wouldn't question their commitment from afar.

Jack stood, pushing me away a little rougher than I would have liked. The hero had returned. He couldn't be seen sulking in his wife's arms. I watched as Jack headed for the showers, slapping hands with a muscle rippled linebacker as he passed. The swagger in his hips had returned, the cocky all American hero, a facade only I could see through. It was going to be another long week.

I lay beside Jack, privy only to his back. His breathing was less regular now; he'd be awake soon. I cupped my body against him, my breasts against his back, reveling in the warmth

The last few days had been as expected. Jack had moped around the house like a lost puppy. He'd been too bruised to made love for the last three days and I was feeling alone and shut out. I traced my husband's lovely shoulders with my fingers, feeling the tension as I kneaded his muscles.

I slipped my hands down Jack's chest, sliding against him in an effort to wake him. I'm not normally amorous in the morning and generally it's me shaking off his roaming hands to get a few more minutes of sleep, but today was different, my body felt hot and moist in deep places. My hands slipped to his manhood, smiling and nibbling at his ear as I felt a huge response.

Jack rolled over, smiling through eyes that hadn't seen much sleep in recent days. I straddled his waist, slipping my nightie over my head, giving Jack's eyes a pleasant "hello" wake-up. He looked up at me lovingly. Yes, this is what he needs; good shag and things will be back to normal. Much more pleasant than the alternative and I was just the woman to give it to him.

I lowered my mouth, kissing first Jack's lips deeply, then much later, trailing hot kisses down his body. He laid back looking relaxed but happy, his mouth forming an 'O' and his eyes rolling back as I took him deep into my mouth. I know first hand from Jack's tongue the stress relieving powers of long teasing oral play, so I enjoyed myself immensely, flicking my tongue and lips over his shaft, watching Jack's facial reactions, every moan sweet music to my ears.

Jack squeezed up on my shoulders, our secret signal for stop now or the point of no return cometh. I forced myself up, wanting to finish with my mouth but unable to resist the desire to put my husband inside me. I slipped my soaked panties off and lowered myself slowly, savoring the sensations as his girth filled me. I grinded against Jack rather than rode him, knowing he was well ahead of me and needing to catch up.

I rode higher now, letting out small cries of pleasure with each push back. Jack's hands and mouth were relentless on my breasts, sending chills down my spine that seemed to end at my clit. Perspiration made us slippery and hot as we moved together faster, achieving a lusty union of the loins. I felt Jack's cock thicken inside me, knowing the moment was near. My own tummy fluttered and my hips jerked back, pushing my clit against my husband's public bone.

I so wanted this to be memorable. Knowing Jack liked me to talk dirty, to say things I struggled to, even for him, I leaned forward, breathless with excitement and whispered unladylike words that would bring hot blushes to my face when remembered in the cold light of day. "Do you like me fucking you baby? I'm going to fuck this big cock of yours until you fill me up with cum honey."

Jack grunted, unused to me saying much in bed. His hips lifted off the bed, his hands on my hips pushing him deeper inside me. I squealed with pleasure as I felt him coming inside me. I felt the electricity rush through me as I jerked my body against his, the tension of the last few days flowing through us as we brought each other to ecstasy.

We laid there for quite some time cuddling as our breathing slowed down. The tension was gone from Jack's shoulders and his joking affectionate self was back. His hands started to wander again, cupping my petite bottom, moving up my thighs. I slapped his hands away. "Later Romeo! We have some Christmas shopping to do."

Jack rolled his eyes, putting on his best put out look. I leaned closer and kissed him again. "When we get back however..." I ran my fingertips over his semi-hard erection, enjoying the twitch. I grinned, cupping his balls with a feathery touch, before stroking up the shaft. "If you can tear yourself away from the football, I'm all yours".

I left him there in mock agony, got dressed and went to the kitchen, starting a breakfast that would satisfy the appetites we'd worked up. Jack came in and hugged me from behind, his tall frame towering over me. Our size difference, me at a couple of inches over five feet to Jack's six foot frame always amused our friends. How surprised they'd be if they knew how things worked in our house.

I shooed him off to the table, knowing from the erection he'd pushed into my skirt he was still looking for a chance to ravish me before we left. I was so pleased his mood had lifted, and if he'd persisted, would have been happy to go another round.

Jack slammed the morning paper down on the table. "Oh Jesus, would you look at this crap!"

I whirled on my heel. "Mind the language will you. It can't be that bad."

Jack gave me a glare, tossing the paper across the table towards me, sports page up. "Really Miss know-it-all, take a look at that."

I didn't have to look closely to seek the offending article, complete with picture of Jack peering out from a pile of Green Bay defenders. The headline ran "Jack gets the sack - star quarterback could be benched."

Jack buried his head in his hands. He puts every once of energy into each game and doesn't take criticism well. "If they ran some decent lines I might get a play away, but blame the quarterback, they always, blame the quarterback."

I bit my lip and served breakfast. Now wasn't the time. We may has well have eaten in silence, Jack berating his teammates, the press, his coach, and the media in one-way conversation.

Shopping was little better. Jack was moody and certainly didn't want to be in a shopping centre crammed full of festive shoppers. I had to buy an extra present for my sister's ten year old daughter Lisa and couldn't decide between a nice art kit and a Harry Potter book. I ended up getting both, which did nothing to help Jack's mood as he mentally calculated the cost of Christmas this year.

The check-out experience was up to par. Lisa's art kit rang up "Unknown item", sending a fresh faced youth into the crowds to try and find the price. Jack cursed again, a habit of his picked up from footballers that I've been trying to break.

"Geez, why are we waiting? Can't you just key it in or something? We're in a hurry", he asked the young girl behind the counter.

The girl murmured an apology, in awe of my superstar husband. I stepped up behind him, resting my hand on his bottom. "I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get home honey. You are so in for it. Now behave," I hissed in a low whisper.

Jack's eyes widened. He blushed and looked away, unable to meet my piercing gaze and not wanting to make a scene. The girl behind the counter gave us a puzzled look; something was happening that she couldn't put her finger on.

The price arrived and I paid the cashier, giving her a friendly smile with the change. "I'm sorry about my husband. He gets a little uptight in crowds. I'll certainly be dealing with him."

I slapped my hand to Jack's bottom as we walked off, leaving my hand there as a reminder. The smack wasn't a full spank but was no love tap either. Jack's face was nearly as red as the cashier's.

We walked to the car, stopping every few minutes to sign an autograph or talk to a well wisher. Thankfully Jack didn't cop any abuse for a change. My hand never left his bottom. Twice, when he had a moment of piece, he opened his mouth to protest. Twice a firm slap to the seat of his pants shut him up. I don't spank for punishment often, but when I do it's non-negotiable.

The drive home was somber. Jack didn't try and talk his way out of what was coming. I was fuming. I'd tried so hard to avoid this, what he'd had coming for days, but no, he just had to keep going until I snapped. Until things were settled, there would be no peace.

Finally we were home. I marched into the house, determined to get this over with quickly. Jack trudged behind me. Any thoughts I had of letting Jack off were shattered when he angrily kicked a football that had been lying on the front lawn. The ball sailed off the front porch and bounced across the side of my head. I glared back, completely unimpressed though no real damage was done.

Jack looked pitiful, aware he was digging a deeper hole for himself. "Sorry."

I shook my head and went inside, heading straight for the bedroom for my trusty wooden hairbrush. Returning to the lounge, I found Jack staring sheepishly at the carpet. He knew what was coming.

I reached up and grabbed him by the ear, leading my naughty husband over to the corner. "Nose to the wall. Now you just sit there and think about what's coming to you." I reached around and undid his belt, pulling his pants and jocks down to his knees. He looked rather cute there with his white bottom on display, which is of course why I always use corner time.

I fetched a chair from the kitchen and positioned it in the centre of the room. There is something special about spanking in the lounge room, the added humiliation that somebody could just turn up unexpectedly.

I let Jack stew for a bit, allowing my own temper to subside. I intended to give him a sound spanking but anger could cloud one's judgment. Besides, the wait would have his stomach crawling.

It was time to pay the piper. I hitched up my skirt; spanking on bare thighs was more enjoyable for both of us. At least I figured it was more enjoyable for Jack. Though once I get going with a hairbrush, the fun soon stops.

"Jack, over my lap now honey."

He shuffled across the room, pants dangling, his semi-hard penis barely hidden by his shirt. I could see the desperate look in his eyes. He knew he needed it, wanted it, but knew he was going to hate it too.

I guided my wayward husband over my lap, putting one leg behind his to hold his stronger frame in place. I grabbed his hand and held it in place. Once I got started, I knew he'd be most uncomfortable.

"Jack, you know I love you."

"Yes sweetie. I love you too."

I patted his bottom lightly with the brush, getting a satisfying jump. It was fun keeping him on edge a bit. "You know you've been awful to me don't you? That you deserve this?"

"I know. I'm sorry, but they wrote that stuff and we keep losing real badly and, I don't mean to take it out on you, honest."

I rubbed the brush in circles. His butt is so nice, I'd never hurt it with my hand. "I know honey, but I don't bring stuff home from work do I? I don't treat you badly if the brats I teach are awful, do I?"

"No."

I started a series of light swats with the brush, just taps really. It was as close to a warm-up as I employ. "I so didn't want to spank you for this Jack, but you kept asking. Now have a good cry and everything will be back to normal in a couple of minutes."

It was true; I really hadn't wanted to spank Jack for his mood. He'd been really hurt in the game and I felt so sorry I just wanted to hug him better. A little birdie had told me I'd have to, and sometimes your best instincts are right.

I lifted the brush and delivered the first swat to Jack's upturned bare cheeks. It was nice and hard to get his attention. Then I settled into a rhythm, spanking each cheek in turn without time to catch his breath in between. I've always felt punishment spankings must be delivered fast with little respite. Men have such powers of dealing with pain that must be broken down.

There was nothing Jack could do to escape. I had his hand and legs firmly trapped. My brush tattooed fire on his bottom. Within thirty seconds he began to plead, he face already flushed to match his bottom. I spanked on, flicking my wrist, the heavy brush doing the work.

It was no idle boast on my part that Jack should have a good cry. He always did, I never stopped until he did. And telling him beforehand made my job that much easier.

Jack's pleas got louder. He was promising the same promises all men reduced to little boys over a strict woman's lap sprout. I'd heard most of them before, but was particularly impressed with his promise to give me daily massages. I'd be remembering that one.

Finally I heard soft sobs and sniffles. I stepped up the hairbrushing, delivering five spanks in a row to the bottom of each cheek. Jack lost control and let the stress flow out of him. I dropped the brush and continued with my hand. My hand would have barely registered on my hunky football hero's hard bottom, but the emotion and complete submission kept his tears flowing. I spanked until stopped struggling and lay limp over my lap, my hand felt sore but his bottom looked a lot sorer.

I stroked my naughty boy's bottom tenderly before letting him up. Red faced and wet eyed, he snuggled in on my lap. I held him close, enjoying the tender embrace. I felt a little guilty, as my panties were drenched while poor Jack had cried like a baby over my lap. He asked for this in our lives, I reminded myself. He just didn't know I'd like it so much.

I pulled back with a smile. "All forgiven now." I kissed his forehead. Jack smiled. I could see the lines of stress gone from his face. He had so needed that, just as I had needed to give him his just desserts.

"Now, about that massage. You can start on my shoulders and then work your way down very slowly."