‘Lie on your front,’ he said, coming in after me. ‘I want to make sure I didn’t bruise you.’
I rolled over and let him inspect the state of my rear. He rubbed and patted and prised the cheeks apart to check inside them.
‘No visible damage,’ he said. ‘You’d never know it happened. Maybe it’s slightly pinker than usual. Were you uncomfortable today? Sore?’
‘No, not really sore. I was just a bit more aware of it than usual, if you know what I mean.’
‘I thought people were meant to not be able to sit down for a week after a good hiding. What the hell would you have to do to achieve that, I wonder?’
‘I don’t think I want to know.’
‘No. I don’t suppose you do. So, what did you have for lunch?’
‘Falafel from the van across the road. Orange juice. Pear.’
‘That’ll do nicely.’ He pushed my thighs further apart and crouched down, examining the scene. ‘Oh, look. Nice and wet.’
He kissed me between the lips and stuck his tongue deep inside me. I moaned and raised myself slightly, begging for more.
‘Have you been hot for this all day?’ he asked, pulling me up on to all fours.
I nodded and wiggled my hips.
‘So have I,’ he said, gliding into my well-lubricated passage without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Get ready, love. I’m going to give you what you’ve been waiting for.’
27 July
I woke up all stiff and sore between the legs, with a big smile on my face.
What a night.
But what a day I was going to have. I’d say, Thank God it’s Friday, but I work Saturdays too, and Dan often works Sundays, so that five days on, two days off thing isn’t really us.
He was already at work, so I started my day with only the memory of a long, hot night spent mainly on my knees, with occasional moves on to my back. It seemed that what we did yesterday morning had really started a fire in Dan. He couldn’t get enough of me.
I made it through the working day without falling asleep somehow.
When I got home, he was there, and dinner was in the oven, judging by the savour of the air around me.
‘Oh, smells lovely,’ I said, coming in and putting my bags down on the kitchen table.
‘Yeah, I thought we could have something special tonight. All your favourites. There’s an open bottle in the fridge, if you want to pour yourself a glass.’
I have to say, whatever this domestic discipline thing was doing for me, it was also turning him into the ideal husband. There were fresh flowers on the living-room mantelpiece too.
I sat down on the bench with a large glass of Pinot Grigio and watched him flit around with his apron on until he was satisfied that everything was under control.
Then he pulled a notebook and pen from the drawer and sat down opposite me.
‘What’s that for?’ I asked, a little confused. ‘You going to interview me?’
He smiled. ‘I’ve had enough of that for one day, to be honest. Massive haul of stolen goods, six guys in for questioning … anyway, never mind that. This is about us.’
‘You want to make a list?’
‘Yeah, I suppose I do. You brought this whole discipline thing up because you said there were things you wanted to change about yourself. Well, not yourself, but, you know, you wanted to modify your behaviour in certain ways.’
‘Yes.’