Happy Birthday

Marci stepped out of the hot shower and immediately grabbed her heavy terry cloth robe. Before she slipped the robe over her shoulders, she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror; her long dark hair was slicked back and dripping down her back. She was in a hurry, she was supposed to meet her husband, Timothy, at their investment broker's office in an hour. However, after catching her gaze in the mirror, seeing her tightly knit brow, her worried eyes, her pursed lips, she could easily see why Timothy no longer felt an attraction to her. It had been months since he had touched her, or even kissed her.

It seemed their life was always hectic, chaotic even. She had long ago abandoned the idea of trying to balance Timothy's work schedule with the twin's schedule, he was always too busy to be bothered. However, lately, she felt she was always on the go, especially now with the twins conducting their college tours, in preparation for leaving next year. She sighed, cinched the belt of her robe, and wondered, do I always look this frazzled? Shaking her head slowly, she murmured, "When exactly did I cross over from being a woman to being carrion...my only purpose to provide nourishment and the occasional ride to the mall." She halfway laughed to herself as she shook her head in disappointment.

As she stood in front of the mirror, the hum of the overhead fan continued to vibrate. The house was empty. Timothy had left early, taking the twins to the airport to visit their grandparents for spring break. Her furrowed brow eased as she loosened the belt of her robe. She closed her eyes as she shrugged her shoulders, allowing the robe to fall into a heap at her feet. The droplets from her wet hair ran down her back, causing a chill and an eruption of goose bumps to race along her flesh.

She stared at her reflection and focused on her hips. They were round, curvy. Sure, they had widened over their eighteen-year marriage, but that was to be expected after two children and a couple of decades. Tenderly, she ran her cool fingers over her supple skin, caressing her way around her thighs, then up to her middle, a round, feminine, belly. For the first time in many years, she was able to see herself through kind eyes, forgiving of the fast food dinners, the missed aerobic sessions... the passage of time combined with gravity.

With nurturing hands she lingered over her breasts, pinching her silky pink nipples into stiffened peaks, enjoying the surge of desire that plunged through her core. As she continued to stoke and twist her nipples, she imagined it was Timothy, ravaging her, pulling and sucking on her rock hard nipples. "You used to love me... love my body, my breasts...you used to beg me," she mumbled, as she slid one hand down toward her dark brown mound.

She had never really touched herself before, but it had been so long, months since he had shown her any attention or affection. As of late, she felt she had become more of an afterthought, maybe even a regret. "Not even worth a peck on the cheek," she whispered. As she slid her fingers through her dark curls, she entered her warm slit. As she began to rub and massage her puffy, slick lips, she continued to pinch and pull her nipples, making them ball up, to the point of resembling tart Bing cherries.

She closed her eyes, imagining Timothy kneeling before her, licking her, his tongue lapping, devouring her sweet juices. Marci's body began contracting, her knees buckled, and she crumbled to the floor. She lay on top of her robe, smiling and chuckling to herself.

"I guess this is an early birthday present to myself. Besides, turning 40 is a big deal, it should be celebrated well!" She laughed as she stood up at the counter and peered into her reflection. "Happy early birthday... maybe I will meet you in here on Sunday, for the real thing."

"Oh crap, the appointment!"

Hurriedly, she smeared vanilla lotion over her body and in her rush, caught a glimpse in the mirror of her rosy ass. For just a moment the beauty, the eroticism of her reddened buttocks, mesmerized her. The sight sent a twinge of electricity straight to her wet pussy, she wanted more than anything else to pleasure herself again, to feel her warm, soft, engorged lips surround her fingers... "No, no... later," she said, shaking her head, reminding herself of the appointment she was already in danger of missing.

Quickly, she grabbed a skirt, a lacey bra, and a cream colored silk blouse. She hastily braided her hair and put on some mascara and eye shadow. She added a pale pink shade of lipstick and within minutes, was in her car heading south, begging the traffic gods to part the highway in two. It was not until she was pulling into the parking lot that she realized she had forgotten to put on some panties. With every movement, her slippery thighs rubbed together, serving as a constant reminder to her growing, impending need.

"I am so sorry I am late," she announced, as she walked through the slightly ajar office door.

"It's no worry," Michael Sparks replied, as he approached her.

His cobalt blue eyes took her breath away as his strong grip embraced her delicate fingers.

"Please, call me Michael," he said, while his perfectly white dimpled smile enveloped her.

She found herself inhaling deeply as he held her hand tenderly. His musky cologne filled her nose and flooded her throat, so all she could taste was his fragrance.

"Please come in and sit," he directed.

Marci could feel his eyes on her, watching her, as she crossed in front of him. She knew he was a good ten to fifteen years younger, but he seemed attracted to her sashaying hips and shapely legs. It was not until after she sat down that she realized Timothy was already there, sitting rigidly in his chair, his jaw clenched, his green eyes fixed on a watercolor of a sunset behind Michael's desk.

Marci glanced at Timothy nervously and offered a timid, courteous smile. Timothy refused to acknowledge her. He simply cleared his throat and said loudly, "Where were we, Michael?"

"Ah, yes," Michel replied, "the different options you have for your IRAs... as I was saying, there are different ways of sheltering your income. Some accounts will offer you more fluid options, if you need to have access to the funds, others will require the funds be non-accessible. I am sorry, Mrs. Horner, is there something I could get for you, coffee, some water?"

As Michael spoke, he moved away from behind his computer to lean against his dark oak desk, directly in front of Marci.

"Oh, no, no thank you, but thank you for offering," she replied, with a shy smile and flushed cheeks.

"Okay then," Michael said, returning a smile.

When she crossed her legs, she followed his gaze as he traced the lines of her shapely legs to her incredibly luscious thighs, to her generously, uplifted breasts, against her low cut silk blouse.

While Michael continued talking about interest rates and tax breaks, Marci was entranced by his deep voice, the way it washed over her, making her feel warm and comforted, like sunbathing on the hot sand of a faraway beach... The taste of Michael's lips, the touch of his tongue, the strength of his hands tearing off her blouse and lifting her skirt, forcing her to lean over his desk while he took her from behind...

She had not realized she had drifted away until she found herself locked in an intense and seductive stare with him. She felt her own cool fingertips against her jawbone, trailing down towards her cleavage. A warm flush flooded her body with the thought of crawling to him. Her tongue moistened her lips, envisioning Michael's cock gracing her mouth like communion. The idea of Michael caressing her nipples, gently biting them, sent a tremor through her legs and groin, making her grow increasingly more damp.

Timothy cleared his throat, snapping Marci back to the meeting at hand. Immediately, she sat up and adjusted her skirt.

"Excuse me, Michael, I am sorry to interrupt, where is your bathroom?"

"Down the hall, on the right, are you feeling okay, Mrs. Horner?"

"Yes, I am fine. I just need to use your lavatory. Please continue, I don't mean to be a bother."

In the bathroom, Marci splashed cold water on her face and washed her hands. She thought about Michael, the way his gaze seemed to devour her. He seemed to feel some type of attraction, the way his eyes raked over her body and beamed approval. It had been years since someone, since Timothy, had paid her this type of attention, it not only aroused her physically, but mentally too, to be objectified for pleasure. As she stared into the mirror, she considered Timothy and his reaction; he just sat there, silent, unaware, just like always. "Just once I would like to see him get angry, jealous, something," she said in disgust. "Just once..."

Angrily, she walked down the hallway and saw Timothy outside Michael's office, waiting for her. "I assume we are done here. Are you going to work?" she asked curtly, as she strode briskly past him to the parking lot.

He followed closely behind her without answering.

As she opened the car door, he suddenly slammed it and stood directly behind her, placing his mouth near her ear and his hands against the roof of her silver Volvo, boxing her in against the vehicle. Her body stiffened, bracing against this unfamiliar force, this unpredicted reaction.

Timothy inhaled deeply. "I will meet you at home," he whispered fiercely. "Go straight there." Then he opened her car door and waited for her to slide in before closing it securely.

His Range Rover was parked just a few feet away. Marci watched him as he drove away. Her cheeks grew to a dark scarlet, her breaths quickened, and her hands shook as she took hold of the wheel. Timothy had never spoken so harshly to her before, never with such condescension, he had certainly never ordered her to do anything. His caustic tone made her flush in shame, maybe I embarrassed him...could he have know what I was thinking? He couldn't...maybe he is angry because I was late... she wondered. He had always been the silent one, the stoic one, never showing much emotion, good or bad. Her heartbeat thumped noisily, filling her head with the tangible rhythm.

Over the course of the drive home, her embarrassment turned to anger. "I did not do anything wrong," she voiced bitterly. Certainly, he could not read my thoughts, she wondered, trying to make sense of his volatile change. "I am sure he is upset because I was late..." she mumbled. "Really, was it such a big deal? I mean really..." she whispered with a slight laugh, trying to calm her anxieties.

When she pulled into the garage, seeing Timothy's SUV made her stomach lurch. He was already inside, waiting for her. As she leaned over to pick up her purse, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Again, she had a furrowed brow, pursed lips, and worried eyes. She consciously made herself take a few deep breaths, begging her worry lines to ease. A relaxed smile returned...for a moment she remembered the intense pleasure she had felt earlier that morning, how every capillary in her body had felt alive...

Keeping the soft smile, she opened the door to the house and stepped inside. Timothy was there, leaning against the wall with his arms folded against his chest, his emerald green eyes were sharp and blazing while his expression was of pained tolerance. He had removed his tweed sports jacket and his tie and had the sleeves of his white button down shirt rolled up to expose his naturally tan, muscular forearms.

"You know, Marci, for eighteen years I have waited for you to blossom for me, the way you lit up for Mr. Sparks. Christ it was like watching a fireworks display on the fucking Fourth of July. All these years, you have kept yourself separated from me, as if it is just you and the twins. I had assumed, over the years, that part of you, the sexual, intimate part of you, died. Now, I see it is alive and well and being showered on some stupid shithead. I won't have it. You are my wife, mine, those goddamn coy, flirtatious looks, your smiles, those should be mine."

Marci stood motionless at the door, her dark eyes wide, her heart racing. She was humiliated that he could see her desire for the broker and horrified because of her blindness. All these years she thought he had pushed her away, not wanted her, when all along it had been her... he thought she did not want him...

His stare was bold, assessing her as she tentatively closed the door and stepped towards him with a growing heaviness in her chest. He appeared larger to her, his stance only emphasized the strength of his shoulders and thighs, his trim waist. She longed to reach out to touch him, to apologize, but he displayed such an intimidating presence, she decided against it. Rather, she bit her lip, as she bowed her head and studied her hands, feeling like a child who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled quietly, almost inaudible.

"It is not about the 'sorry', Marci, I have decided I need to do something today that I should have done eighteen years ago."

Anguish gripped her, causing suffocation, constricting her throat, choking off any flow of air. The sting of hot tears burned as she raised her dark eyes to him.

"You're leaving me?" she said, her voice weak and tremulous.

In an instant, Timothy's eyes flashed like brilliant emeralds.

"No, I am not leaving you," he said surprised. "But I am going to discipline you."

The deep timbre of his voice reverberated through her ears as he tenderly cupped her chin in his warm hand.

"What?" she exclaimed, wiping the bitter tears away with the back of her hand and sharply jerking her head away from his touch. "I am not a child, Timothy, I do not need you to discipline me... whatever that means," she added contemptuously, as she moved away from him, her jaw tightening in defiance.

He stepped forward; blocking her from moving past him and abruptly grabbed her elbow.

"Marci, that is exactly what you need. I have done quite a lot of reading over the years about domestic discipline and I have decided in order for us to become closer, for you to be more open to me, I need to discipline you...not out of anger, but to help you remember how important our bond is... how much you need me and how much I need you. I should have done this eighteen years ago when you first began to slip away. After watching you today and the way your needs are unmet... I think it is imperative that I spank you...hard."

Marci drew an unsteady breath; she could not believe what he was saying, 'A spanking' of all things. Part of her was horrified and part of her was excited, with the mere mention of 'discipline' an electric surge pulsed through her body, titillating her nipples, making her thighs moist. She stepped backwards, attempting to pull her elbow from his firm gasp when he grabbed her with both hands and pulled her roughly, almost violently to him, his arms encircling her, his eyes impaling her, warning her to not move.

"I want you to look at me the same way you looked at Mr. Sparks today. I want you to want me the same way you wanted him. I could see you begging to submit to him. Christ, I thought you were going to suck his cock right then and there," he hissed. "Tonight, this entire weekend, you are mine, you will submit to me, beg to suck my cock, beg me to take you, make love to you, fuck you...however you want it. In the meantime you will get reacquainted with my body and I will remind you of yours, of how wonderful I used to make you feel."

Marci inhaled sharply at the contact of his body, her pulse pounded and a rush of pink stained her cheeks. His musky after-shave was intoxicating and made her feel weightless in his arms. His heartbeat invaded her, commanded explosive currents through her body. With his full lips just above her, his warm breath against her cheek, she expected him to kiss her, so she closed her eyes and pouted her rosy lips. Her nipples tingled in anticipation. Timothy leaned in closer, barely brushing his lips against hers as he swept his mouth to her ear and whispered, "For now, unzip your skirt and step out of it, and hand it to me. Leave on your heels. You know I am a leg-man and I have always loved your perfect heart-shaped ass," he said huskily, stepping back to watch.

Marci opened her eyes, feeling bewildered and embarrassed.

"Take off your skirt, Marci," Timothy repeated.

Part of her wanted to contest, to argue...part of her wanted desperately to comply, if only to feel the reward of his touch, his kiss. Cautiously, she reached around and unzipped the skirt then wiggled her hips out of the black silk. Carefully, she stepped out of the skirt and handed it to Timothy.

She stood shivering in front of him, still in the entryway of their house. She was not really cold but anxious about this new change in him...in their relationship. She was swimming through a plethora of emotions and feelings and was trying to reorient herself to this unfamiliar territory when Timothy's voice made her jump.

"No panties...either you planned on Mr. Sparks fucking you this morning or you are some type of clairvoyant," he said mockingly, his glare accusing.

Marci kept her eyes casted downward. She felt too ashamed to look at him, not only to be on display, but also to have to explain herself. She began to feel angry with him for speaking to her as though she were a child, yet she did not want to lose his attention.

Nervously, she moistened her lips, "I was running late, Timothy...I just forgot is all," she stammered, surprising herself by how timid her voice sounded.

Timothy reached forward and lifted her chin, making her meet his gaze. "I see." His voice was deep and confident, his eyes flickered. After observing the way her legs were elongated by her heels, her creamy thighs, he stared for what seemed to be an eternity on the mound of dark curly hair that was tucked tightly between her legs. "Turn around and face the door," he ordered.

As she turned, he stroked and patted her buttocks, pausing for just a moment at the spot where her ass met her thigh, "I love this area," he said warmly. "I want you to take your blouse off along with your bra."

Hesitantly, she caught her breath, trying to maintain the fragile bit of control she felt she had left.

"Now," Timothy repeated, aggressively. "I told you to take off your blouse."

With wide eyes and trembling fingers, she began unbuttoning her blouse and after unfastening her bra, she shrugged both her shoulders.

Timothy continued to caress her buttocks while he waited then reached around and tenderly stroked her soft, cool nipples into stiff peaks. Her body quivered under his commanding touch, the heat from his hands spread through her body like wildfire. Her dark slit grew moist with each pull and tug of her hardened nipples.

"Leave your heels on and go upstairs, I want you to lay down on the bed, spread eagle. I have to take care of something before I spank you. Now go," he said firmly, as he patted her sharply on the buttocks.

She could feel his eyes on her the entire way up the staircase. When she got to their bedroom, she reclined across the navy blue bedspread and waited for Timothy.

"Spread your legs," he said hungrily, as he unbuttoned and removed his dress shirt. "You are going to have to lay still and trust me... You do trust me right?" he said, not expecting an answer as he disappeared into the bathroom. He returned shortly, holding a razor and shaving cream.

"I am going to shave you. While I am spanking you, I want to watch your body, your reactions; I think you are going to love being spanked, Marci," he said tenderly, as he knelt between her legs. After tenderly stroking her thighs, he spread the shaving cream, and began shaving. Carefully he dragged the razor down over her engorged lips, being mindful of her pink nub.