From the notes of Dr. Kelsey Ransom, PsyD

Second meeting today with Rachel (36) and Bertram (32), recommended to me by Dr. Arkanian in hopes that they would be better able to address the issues in their relationship with a therapist closer to their own age.  The two have been together for seven years, mutual lack of interest in marriage or children as discussed in previous interview.

Employment/finance problems have been noted – Bertram works in a managerial position with regular hours and occasional overtime, Rachel is presently unemployed with a history in entertainment gigs – her vocation was hit hard by the pandemic and has not recovered since. This is resulted in Bertram taking a disproportionate role in household expenses, compounded by Rachel’s constant presence in the home. Both sides have acknowledged resentment of the other because of this.

Something interesting brought up today. When I asked the couple if their intimate relations had been affected by the change, Bertram indicated that this aspect had been on a downswing for some time, maybe as long as five years – which led to a remark from Rachel about him being unwilling to let go of a failed three-way from that time.

With some pressing from me, it was revealed that about five years ago, the couple decided to open the relationship – a decision with which Bertram was hesitant but eventually opened himself to, and which Rachel was at first interested, but later terminated before anything became of it. It’s clear that this sudden reversal created or widened a rift between these two, but my rapport with this couple hasn’t developed enough to pursue this line just yet.

Instead I changed tack slightly and asked how they had previously resolved these kinds of disputes. Rachel and Bertie exchanged private glances, but neither was certain what to say. This silence lasted nearly five minutes, by which point our time was up.

Rachel sat in the car, her arm buttressing her chin. Through the glass she crossed the five floors up and seven floors over that identified their apartment from the blocks that made up the building. They were parked, but Bertie still rested his hand on the ignition key, waiting for some mystery prompt to switch off the vehicle.

She could open the door and leave, she knew. Leave Bertie with his thoughts and just go inside, slouch her way into the elevator and drag herself to her – their – no, her room. She’d turn on her music and sleep the rest of this wasted day away to melancholic Euro-metal. But as much as her mind was drawn to the comfort of that waiting mattress… the key she needed to open the apartment door was linked to the one in Bertie’s numb hand.

“Why did you have to bring up the three-way?”

He shuffled in his own seat. “I didn’t bring it up, and I didn’t call it that, either. We were asked if we’d stopped hooking up because of the pandemic, and-“

“You’re right. Does that mean you’re going to tell Dr. Ransom about the spanking in our next session?”

She watched Bertie recoil subtly as the word left her mouth. At one point, it would have been endearing. But they’d passed that point years back, and she was in no mood to find tenderness now. She reached out to snatch the keys from his hand and missed, but he took the hint. With a defeated gasoline sigh, the headlights dimmed.

*** 

As fun as it had seemed at the time, Rachel had grown to regret their experiment with Maya.

The shy third-year student had accidentally witnessed some of Rachel and Bertie’s bare-bottomed activities, and had expressed an interest that the couple had decided to take her up on. It was their first time ‘playing’ with another person, and had been enjoyed by all present – or had it? Maya had seemed very worked up at the time, but she’d subsequently ghosted Rachel and stopped coming to her DJ nights at the university’s watering hole.

That had been the first sign of doubt. Even as she and Bertie discussed the possibility of another such encounter with an interested partner, she was coming up with reasons to defer – she didn’t want to play with someone she knew from work, she wasn’t comfortable using fetish personals, and the debate-ending argument she’d used more than once: She’d actually had a threesome in the past, and it wasn’t just something that Bertie could throw together.

At first he’d sucked up his frustrations and let her have her way, after all she was right. But by the time months turned into years without progress, he had stopped raising the topic at all. As far as he understood, she’d flaked out of the same idea she’d proposed.

But that wasn’t the truth.

Reclined on the long-awaited bedspread, Rachel was shocked out of her contemplation as Bertie flopped down onto the sheets beside her. They’d been home for hours now, she’d completely forgotten about him being in the other room until this time.

He shrugged apologetically, realizing that his appearance had caught her by surprise.

“What do you think of Dr. Ransom?”

“I don’t know yet,” she offered, “They have very trustworthy eyes.” She paused.  “When Dr. Arkanian said he was going to find us someone our age, though, I didn’t really think he meant, you know, our age.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? You said that confiding in Dr. Arkanian was like having ‘the talk’ with your dad. And Dr. Havelock was too accusatory.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m asking – in a roundabout way, maybe – if we should keep going with this one. I want this to work. Whatever I need to do.”

His fingers grazed hers, and she let out a breath. After a moment, he mumbled something about making a stir fry, and she felt his weight leave the bed.

This… this was the problem. Bertie was insightful, generous and kind – but since Maya, some of his worst traits had come out from hiding. They’d switched positions regularly between spankings at the time – thinking about it, Bertie had been over her knee more regularly than the reverse – but once Maya was part of the dynamic, he started presenting himself as the ‘top’. And Rachel had gone along with it, but once she let that be the dynamic, it had never stopped.

An errant thought intruded – if Bertie was cooking, why could she not smell chicken or grilled vegetables?

She found her boyfriend at the kitchen table, poring over some kind of note in his familiar chicken-scratch. His eyes lifted off the page as she entered, but made no effort to stop her as she leaned over his shoulder.

“What’s this, a prepared statement?”

“Pretty much. I’m not really comfortable with bringing up our… pastime with Dr. Ransom, so I’m trying to decide how to talk about it without specifics.”

Rachel grimaced. “We could just not bring it up at all. It’s not something we do much any more.”

Bertie’s silence spoke volumes.

“I don’t think we can just ignore that part of our history,“ he finally said.

No, she told herself inwardly, we can’t. Rachel took up the chair beside Bertie and sat down. Then, with deliberate intent, she picked up the page in front of him and loudly tore it in half.

“Honey, what the Hell?”

“So let’s not ignore it. The three-way never happened because you decided that you were going to be in charge of it.”

“We’re doing this now?” he asked, incredulously.

“I’m laying it out on the table.”

“Fine. You couldn’t decide what you wanted, so I took over. You’re right, that’s what happened, I don’t think I did anything wrong. It wouldn’t have gotten under my skin so badly if you just said you weren’t interested anymore.”

“I did. But wasn’t sure which Bertie was going to be there with me.”

“The dominant or the submissive one, you mean?”

Well, she’d chosen to rip off this particular bandage – there was little sense in stopping halfway. “I never thought of you as a dominant.”

His face fell, and she backpedalled quickly, “I don’t mean that I was only humouring you those times when you spanked me. It’s just… I get so agitated sometimes, and it’s a release for me. It’s weird to say, but I’m grateful for that. But that doesn’t mean I want you talking for me, or doing things on my behalf.”

Bertie stayed silent, so she continued, “I don’t blame you. I should have said something, but after the lockdowns started and I lost my job, standing back and letting you take care of everything was…”

She couldn’t look him in the eye anymore.

“Easier?” he offered.

Rachel nodded. “I’m sorry, Bertie.”

Wood creaked as Bertie shifted his chair over toward her and brushed his hand reassuringly over her forehead. A curtain of dark hair was drawn aside, and she could see him again, a faint smile escaping from under his beard.

“I still love you, sweetie,” he whispered.

She chuckled, wiping away a stray tear, “I love you too. I’m going to get another job. I’m going to start doing more around the house - I know it’s not fair to expect you to do it all. Also,” she added with a hint of a smirk, “it turns you into kind of an asshole.”

“Ouch.”

“True, though. Don’t let me off easy. I’m a big girl.”

She was expecting a playful crack about her height, but he let it pass. Maybe he had too much else to think about. Maybe they the divide between them wasn’t fixed just yet.

Bertie sat back in his chair. “Well, the stir fry may be a bust,” he announced, “I hadn’t even put the rice on. We can go out for dinner tonight – if you want.”

Between the counselor and the confession, Rachel was emotionally drained. Bertie’s offer was welcome, but it wasn’t what she needed right now.

“And if I don’t?”

The challenge knocked him back for only an instant.

“In that case – in the spirit of not letting you off easy, we could stay home and enjoy some hot-crossed buns.”

She snickered at the awful joke.

“I’d like that.”

He grinned and kissed her forehead. “I know. I need a moment before we start anything, okay?” Rising from the table, he snatched the pieces from his ‘statement’ off of the floor and carried it with him to the bathroom. She heard the door close with a pronounced click.

Rachel let out a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding in. In their pauses in conversation, she’d been ready to accept the worst. Now she was elated, euphoric.

She was also, she remembered suddenly, about to get a spanking for the first time in several years.

*** 

Bertie’s moment stretched out into ten minutes. She could only imagine what had gone through his mind, staring at his reflection in the mirror – but in the meantime, she had made good use of his delay. When Bertie opened the door, it was to the sight of Rachel leaning against the oven in a full-length apron on which was inscribed ‘BOYS AND GRILLS’.

“Oh my,” he remarked, brightening, “Are you here to help me cook?”

“I did say I was going to do more around the house.”

“You did. I haven’t seen that thing in years. Didn’t you get it for me as a birthday present?”

She adjusted the oversized straps, not for the first time. “That would explain the fit.”

He pulled her into an embrace. “I think you look better in it that I do. But I think you’ll look better yet…” he reached his hand behind her back, only to break off abruptly.

“Sweetie… are you naked behind that apron?”

“Aw, you spoiled the surprise,” she pouted. “Listen, there are two things I want to get out of the way first. Are you listening?”

His eyes were drawn forward, but his hands continued to wander down her back toward the curve of her wide little hips.

“You have my attention.”

“One, I think we should keep seeing Dr. Ransom. I didn’t want us to have to go to a therapist before, but I think they can help us.”

“Good to hear.”

“Two – oh! Yeah, I haven’t shaved in a while. Sorry about that.”

“You’ve still got nothing on me in terms of body hair, so nothing to forgive, either. Is that all?”

She bolstered herself, this was the big one. “At some point – not today, but some point – we need to do something about your… ooh!... control issues, both in counseling and at home. And when we do…”

She blushed as his hands found their way under the curve of her buttocks, nearly lifting her off the ground. She recovered and fixed her eyes on his.

“… You can expect some spankings of your own.”

“Spankings, plural?”

“Uh-huh.” She drew in closer, standing on tiptoes until their faces met.

“I see,” he mused, his voice closing to a whisper. “Regular spankings?”

“As often as necessary.”

“I look forward to it.”

He drew away suddenly, and Rachel overbalanced. He caught her with a mischievous grin – and then tucked her under his left arm. She shrieked, more in surprise than anger, and then was drowned out by the sharp crack of hand on backside.

She was expecting to feel: Oh god, I missed this!

What she felt was: That hurts! Why did I miss this?

As his hand fell again and again, she wiggled and whined, her feet slipping across the floor as if she could escape his strong grip and run away – and only encouraging her boyfriend further, each slap landing in a different spot as he worked his way across the full canvas of her bottom.

“Ow, ow, ow!” she whimpered.

“You’re carrying on an awful lot down there, Rachel.”

“It’s been a while!”

He cooed with sympathy – false sympathy, she realized, as he tightened his grip on her waist. In an instant, he shifted his stance and the swats came raining down faster – striking and vanishing, only to strike again before she could ingest the sting from the preceding. The force behind them had oh-so-slightly softened – instead, his focus was on bringing the heat.

A long moan escaped her lips. It was working!

It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two before the rear assault ended, and Rachel was surprised at how quickly it was over. Surprised, but not at all sorry.

He quietly took the weight from her limp limbs and carried her to the table. He paused, perhaps considering how she’d react to sitting on the hard wood, and instead laid her prone over the flat surface, her legs dangling off the side.

“What are you doing back there?” she managed, her spit thick in her mouth and throat as he crossed behind her and kneeled on the floor.

“Just making sure the meat is evenly cooked.”

Her entire body rocked as his fingers rolled around a portion of her flesh and squeezed. He made a dissatisfied grunt.

“Nope, still feels pretty tender. Too rare for me.”

“Bertie!”

Chuckling, he drew a hand through her cleft, tantalizingly spreading her cheeks.

“You know, I’ve got a meat thermometer in one of these drawers...”

“Bertie!”

The warm, wet sensation startled her, and Rachel might have rolled off the table had Bertie not once more grabbed her by the hips in the same motion. 

The rough touch of his beard enflamed her already smoldering flesh, but the pain was driven back as he dove into her inner recesses with abandon, his tongue teasing every nook and cranny within reach. Pressed into the table, she could hear herself begin to pant with the deep breaths of want.

He’d found her sweet spot now, and his skill in tasting her had not atrophied with time. His grip tightened again – she was lifting her hips with each stroke, threatening to overwhelm and drown him, but she just needed him to hold his breath, to hold one for just one more minute-

She gasped, with a volume that shocked even her and sent Bertie sprawling across the floor. Her own grip faltered, and she awkwardly slid off the table as well, wincing as her butt made contact with the cold, tacky linoleum.

Still laying on the floor, Bertie absent-mindedly cradled his right hand against his body and began to massage his palm.

Rachel giggled. “I guess we were both tougher five years ago.”

“Guess so.”

“You want to take it to the bedroom, or maybe just…” she patted the floor.

“Bedroom, definitely. My knees are killing me.”

She watched him lurch to his feet – his back bowed, his tent pitched. He was different now, he was older. Achier. Maybe a little fatter.

But he was still the man who she had loved, the man who loved her and sometimes took her in hand.

As she would to him. Someday.

Maybe even after their next appointment…