A  R a i n y  D a y

 

The heavy rain pattered against the windowpanes. Blankly staring outside from her seat by the large bay window, she watched the occasional car drive by on the lonely, suburban street. Across the street, an SUV pulled into the driveway; parents hustling children into the house and out of the rain. As they disappeared through an oak front door, she leaned back on her palms and turned her attention back inside. He sat at the rarely used dining room table, focused only on the papers and laptop strewn before him.

“Honey?” she called to him.

“Hmm,” he mumbled back.

“Do you want some cheesecake?”

“No, thank you,” he replied

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Ok,” she said, more to herself. She ran her hands over the cushion beneath her. “Honey?” she called again.

“Yes?” he replied, the slightest twinge of impatience now in his voice.

“Do you think it’ll flood?”

“What?”

“Do you think it’ll flood?” she repeated.

“I don’t know.”

“But what if the creek overflows?”

Still staring at the screen, he stopped typing abruptly. This time his voice no longer masked his irritation. “Baby, I need to work. Please.”

“But I’m bored.”

“Please.”

With a heavy sigh, she stood and walked behind his chair. Over his shoulder she peeked at the unfamiliar program running on the screen. Pulling out the chair nearest to his, she sat silently watched him work for a few minutes. Bored, she looked aimlessly around the dining room, her fingers drumming against the table top. His large hand closed over both of her small ones. She looked up into his eyes, solidly fixed on her for the first time in more than an hour.

“Why don’t you get out of the house for a little bit? Go shopping,” he suggested.

“It’s raining,” she whined. “You know I don’t like driving in the rain.”

“Then go read a book, watch tv, or surf the net,” he growled, clearly exasperated. “I need to get this done, and you’re not helping.”

“Fine,” she huffed, quickly stalking off into the living room.

Grabbing a magazine from the coffee table, she flopped onto the sofa. After turning several pages with disinterest, she glanced in his direction as a wave of frustration ran over her. Without a second thought, she flung the magazine at a waste basket situated a few feet away from him. Thrown with more force than necessary it bounced off the wall before falling onto the rim of the basket. She saw his body stiffen, and she held her breath. Apparently ignoring her outburst, he continued working. Eyes falling on a book resting on the sofa, she picked it up and turned it over in her hands. Frustration stewing inside of her, she hurled the book at the wall.

The book missed its intended target. She watched helplessly as it smashed into one of the China cabinets in the dining room. He spun around in his chair at the sound of shattering glass; rising to his feet. Eyes opened wide, she covered her mouth with both hands.

He stared at her in complete disbelief. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked, raising his voice.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized, moving the palm of her hands to her forehead.

“Why did you do that?’ he demanded.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…” she continued, shaking her head.

Glass crunched beneath his shoes as he took a step towards her. “Go to the bedroom. I’m going to clean this up. If you know what’s good for you, you’d better be in the corner with your pants and panties down.”

“I’ll…”

He cut her off. “Go.”

For a moment she stared at him. Shrinking under his hard gaze, she turned and walked out of the room. She cursed her stupidity while making her way into the only empty corner in their bedroom. She hesitated for only a moment before unbuttoning her jeans, pushing them to her knees along with her panties. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the wall; replaying the previous scene repetitively in her mind. Butterflies twittered in her stomach as she heard him enter somewhere behind her.

“Stand up straight.” His voice cut through the tension. “Put your hands on your head.”

She complied immediately. The ticking of the clock loudly reverberated throughout the room. She stared at the white walls in front of her. With her hands on her head, her arms began to tire. To alleviate the stiff discomfort she shifted her arms, her hands slid down along her hair.

“Stand still,” he warned from behind her.

Letting out a small sigh she straightened and replaced her hands back to their required position. She studied the corner again, looking over the perfectly finished paint for the hundredth time. Internally screaming from boredom her mind began to wander.

His voice interrupted her thoughts. “I hope you’re thinking about why you’re standing there.”

How well he knew her startled her, bringing her focus back to her present predicament. All too aware of how foolish she must look standing in the corner, she blushed. Unexpectedly he grabbed her arm and turned her around. She found herself involuntarily following him to the bed in an awkward shuffle. He pushed her over edge, and she lay still, unsure of what to do. Her sense of hearing heightened by her anticipation, she listened carefully. Her stomach dropped as a slight, clinking noise caught her attention. Turning her head she saw him behind her. His belt slid ominously through his belt loops in slow motion.

“Please, not the belt,” she pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

“Too late,” he answered, doubling the belt in his hand. “What in the world were you thinking? Throwing something like that?”

“I didn’t mean to hit the cabinet! It was an accident,” she explained.

He answered through his belt; the leather striking against her bare skin. Letting out a small squeal, she reached back to cover her bottom. Gently rubbing away the sting, she waited expectantly for the command to move her hands. Scared by his silence, she slowly slid her hands up towards her head. The next stoke fell immediately, followed by several more.

“Oww,” she sniffled, wiggling her bottom and kicking her feet against the floor. “Please, it hurts!”

He swung the belt again. “Good.”

“Please, please,” she begged. “I’ll never do it again.”

“I’m sure you won’t.”

She gasped and covered herself once more. “Oh, God.”

“Move your hands,” he warned, “or I’ll spank your thighs.”

She hesitated; squealing when the belt landed on the tops of her thighs. She pulled her hands away, and the belt cracked sharply against her bottom.

After a series of hard smacks, she kicked up her feet, putting the weight of her body completely on the bed.

“Put your feet down,” he ordered.

“Noooo,” she sobbed, burying her face into the soft comforter.

Tossing the belt onto the bed, he yanked her to her feet. He sat on the bed and pulled her quickly between his legs. Her body supported by the bed, he flipped her over one leg and pinned her with his other. He reached over her to open the drawer on the nightstand. She felt the cool surface of the back of the hairbrush resting on her rear. He caught the hand traveling protectively backwards, pinning it to the small of her back.

“You don’t say no to me,” he lectured, cracking the hairbrush against her already throbbing bottom.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, trying to twist out of his immobilizing hold.

“Do you still want to throw things?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Are you going to let me finish my work?”

“Yes!”

“If you ever do something like that again, this time will seem like a warm up,” he threatened. “Do you understand?”

She coughed, choking on her tears. “Yes! I won’t do it again. I promise.”

He stopped and relaxed his grip, allowing her to rise to her feet. In front of him, she shifted from foot to foot, rubbing her bottom. With both thumbs he wiped the tears from her face, pulling her into his arms. Her sobs increased at his sympathetic touch, and she covered her face with her hands. Slightly bending, he reached down to pull up her pants and panties; gently sliding them over her sore backside. She wrapped both arms around his waist, pressing her face against his chest.

He kissed the top of her head. “You make me crazy sometimes, but I love you.”

He rubbed her back soothingly. Regaining some composure, she took a step away from him, her tears subsiding.

“Why don’t you go wash your face?” he suggested softly, brushing a hand against a wet cheek.

She nodded and walked wordlessly into the adjacent bathroom. Still sniffling she sat on the closed toilet seat cover. With closed eyes she leaned against the wall, listening to the sound of falling raindrops.