Fantasy Talk Part 5 - Roses

Sometimes I wonder if you all think my life, our life, is all roses, if we live in the land of milk and honey.

It's good, I admit; we have a strong relationship, stronger than many, maybe most.

But it's not 24/7 happiness, not by any stretch.

Example. About six months ago, Emily was annoyed with me, maybe even mad. Well, no, mad. 

Justified? Maybe, maybe not.

Maybe not? I can hear her asking.

Okay, okay, yes, I promised to do something. Several somethings, actually. 

Okay, okay, no, I did not do them as promised. So justified? Yes. 

I knew it as soon as I walked in the door and didn't hear little footsteps coming to find me. Rather than the baby rushing up to greet me, it was Emily standing in the kitchen, clearly annoyed.

I looked up from setting my things down, saw her face. "What?" I asked.

"Well, I had a long day," she said. "A bad client, two bad meetings, a barely civil conference call. But those aren't your issues, just a head's up that it's been a day."

"Okay," I said. "You have that look, though."

"Look?" she asked, eyebrow raised. 

"That look you get when you're annoyed with me."

"Annoyed is an understatement," she said, folding her arms over her chest. 

"W...why?" I asked, "what did I do?"

"Am I your mother?" she asked.

"Um, no," I said, knowing immediately this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

"Yet I have to nag you about things like I'm mothering you," she said.

"I don't...what are you annoyed about?"

"Did you take care of that insurance thing?" she asked.

Oh. Oh, shit, I felt my inner voice say. "Um, it's on my todo list," I said, a weak excuse.

"Is it now? Well that was supposed to be done by yesterday."

"Oh," I said.

"Did you call the shop about the oil change? Or is that on your todo list, too?"

I swallowed. "It...it's on my list," I said.

"And registering the warranty?"

"L...list," I said softly.

"A todo list is of no value if you don't do the things on said todo list," she said.

"I...I know," I said. 

"And delegating tasks is of no value if the person I delegate tasks to doesn't do them but instead leaves me to nag them."

"I...I'll do them in the morning," I said.

"Not insurance. Took care of that between meetings today. Oil change, too. It's on Tuesday. You can, if you find time to get to it, register the warranty."

"I...I will," I said.

She picked up her phone. "Siri, remind me to make sure Sara took care of the warranty tomorrow at noon," she said.

"You don't have to do that," I said.

"Yet, here I am doing just that," she said. "Because if I don't stay on top of things, no one else in this house will. My daughter is too young and my spouse is too unorganized."

"I'm sorry, Em," I said.

"I love you, very much, and I appreciate taking the lead in our marriage, I appreciate being in charge. But that means you do what you promise to do," she scolded me. "If I'm taking the lead and I delegate something, I should have to follow through to make sure you did it; it should just be done."

"Now you sound like a mother," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm her mother, not yours, I'm your wife."

"I know, I'm sorry," I said. "Where is she?" I asked with a smile, not reading her face still.

"Playing next door," she said, an icy tone. "She's having dinner over there and watching a movie; she'll be back later."

"Oh," I said. "Why?"

"Because while I may think it appropriate for her to hear her mother scolding you like this, I do not think it appropriate for her to hear her mother disciplining you."

"Emily," I gasped.

She opened the fridge, took out a bottle of wine, a single wine glass. "Over there," she pointed to a corner of our kitchen. "Stand there while I have a glass of wine to relax for a second."

"Em, please."

"Over there," she glared at me, "face the wall."

"Emily."

"Did you miss the part about my day? Did you miss the part about your contribution to my day?"

"Em..."

"Over there," she glared. "You're going to get a spanking, Sara, I'll let you know when I'm ready to do it." She said it without anger, almost businesslike. 

"Emily, please," I said.

"Don't make me repeat myself," she said.

I sighed, walked to the corner, stood.

It wasn't frequent in our marriage, but it isn't unknown, either. It isn't appropriate for big issues, but she'll go to that well from time to time. And unlike many of our adventures, it wasn't sexual at all.

Intimate, yes, purposeful, yes, appropriate, yes, but not sexual. 

It was about my transgression, the hierarchy of our relationship, and accepting her decisions.

She drank her wine, told me to put the bottle away, wash her glass, then come to the bedroom.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, still in her work clothes, similar to the image above: a just above the knee light gray pencil skirt, a button down satin blouse, black hose, and black heels; she was holding a hair brush in her hand.

"Undress," she said, "down to your underthings."

I looked at her, the determined look on her face. I took off my shoes, trousers, trouser socks, and top until I was wearing just a bra and panty set. She motioned me to her, reached up, pulled my panties to my thighs, motioned for me to lay across her lap.

"Wait," she said, and I froze just as I was about to go over her.

"This isn't meant to be pleasurable," she said, "but it's been awhile since you're had any release, so in case you leak." She wiggled her ass, hiked her skirt way up her thighs, up to her garter straps, her creamy thighs. "Go on."

She was right, it wasn't pleasurable, it wasn't erotic. It was punishment. Discipline. And when she was done, my ass was red, hurt, my eyes had tears in them.

She was right to hike her skirt up, too; I did leak, luckily only onto her hose.

When she was done, she had me apologize.

"I'm going to change," she said, "get on the bed, I'll rub some coconut oil onto it."

This too wasn't meant to be erotic, it was aftercare. She explained again how disappointed she was with me, how she had no issues leading our marriage, but could not tolerate mothering me.

What's the point of telling this now?

I suppose I wanted to say that not everything is roses for us. Sometimes I disappoint her. Sometimes she disappoints me. Sometimes I anger her, sometimes she angers me. Sometimes we're just a couple who have to work at it, like everyone.

The next month will be good, that I know, it always is before she visits him. It's like a time of heightened awareness and play.

But that doesn't mean it's all good. It doesn't me we play every day. Sometimes, often, one or both of us is tired, stressed, annoyed. 

I long ago learned that when she's annoyed with me, I'd better find out why and apologize. Even if I'm not in the wrong, I'm better off apologizing (often prompting her to apologize as well). That's okay, she's in charge, not me.

In the end, though, it's everything to me.