"You," Jason said sternly to his wife, "asked me to do this. Go get the brush."

"Wait, let's talk about this," Megan replied.

"We did. I didn't want to do this. But you convinced me that it's what you want."

"Yes, but this isn't what it looks like."

"No? You didn't say last week, I need consequences. I want you to spank me for real, if I smoke, and use the brush if I buy any?" Jason picked up a pack of cigarettes off of the kitchen table.

"I did. But these aren't mine," Megan said as she placed a cigarette on the table.

"Really, those aren't your cigarettes? You haven't been smoking?"

"They're not mine. I can explain..."

"You can try."

Megan took a deep breath, "Janet is trying to quit too. She was stuck at work, stressed out and couldn't run out at lunch. She needed a smoke really bad. I bought her the cigarettes. I said would give her one when she needed it, but I'd keep the pack and get rid of the rest."

"Uh huh," he said looking in the pack, holding the opened end way from Megan, "and how many did she smoke?"

"Three or so?" Megan said sitting with her hands together fidgeting with her fingers.

"Now, if I called Janet and asked her, how many would she say?"

"Please don't," Megan blurted out, "I don't want to have to explain this. If you hadn't come home early they would have been gone."

Jason paced the kitchen behind where Megan was sitting, "Here is how it looks to me. You bought cigarettes, against the rules. You may have smoked. You wanted to hide these from me, possibly throwing them away, but I doubt it." Megan didn't look at him. Her palms got sweaty and her breath was shallow. Jason said, "I didn't want to take the spankings out of our sex life but you convinced me. So, I am going to live up to my end. Go get the brush."

Megan felt like her heart had stopped, "But I didn't smoke. I've been good. I don't deserve it."

Jason stopped pacing, he lowered his head and stared at his wife, "I won't ask again. Bring me the hairbrush, Megan."

Megan waited. Jason couldn't tell if she was going to give in or not. He wasn't really angry with, but he needed to see if this was something he could do, and he certainly felt he was justified given their agreement.

"I didn't smoke."

"All right, let's see if this works then," Jason grabbed his wife's upper arm and pulled her out of the chair. The look on her face showed she was too stunned or scared to react. He turned her around to face the table and nudged her forward; she caught herself with her hands, "bend over."

Jason reached for his belt buckle. He could not help thinking about what Megan looked liked, under her jeans. He wanted to run his hands up the backs of her legs, and squeeze, before giving her some gentle pats with his hand to warm her up. "Not this time," he thought to himself.

He pulled the belt out in one motion. The black shiny dress belt cracked as the tip cleared the final loop. Megan turned her head to look. Her hands still on the table, "hey, we never said anything about a belt."

"You never said anything about being difficult," Jason said as he doubled the belt over and stepped to Megan's left side.

Megan snapped her head forward defiantly, with her chin up and her eyes open she straightened her arms and legs and remained silent. Jason rested one hand on the small of her back. He drew back the belt and without hesitation whipped his arm across his body. Crack. The leather made contact right across the bottom of the jean's back pockets. Megan let out a sound of surprise at the strength of the stroke. Crack. The second stroke came in higher than the first. Crack, Crack. Megan banged her right hand in a fist against the table and buckled one knee. She quickly pulled back into position, without saying a word. Crack. This one brought on a muffled grunt.

Crack, Crack, "Ow," escaped Megan's lips and she stamped her right foot.

"Good, so we are starting to reach you," Jason replied as he lifted his hand off Megan.

Crack, crack. She stamped again. Crack. Now her left foot came up. Megan quickly blurted, "Ouch, I'm sorry."

"That's better," he said.

Crack, "Ouch," was her response along with both fists balled up tight hitting the table. Every stroke brought the stamping of at least one foot and both of Megan's hands pounding the table.