Chapter 9: The Truth Emerges

As our relationship with David and Kiri deepened, Gemma and I became even closer, if that was possible. I was enthralled with Gemma; appreciating her as a person in her own right for the first time, seeing the woman within start to emerge from the little girl I thought I knew like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. In David and Kiri we found, not soulmates exactly as Marion and the girls occupied pride of place, but people with whom I could relate on a level I hadn't known since I was young. It was a novel sensation. As an adult you get used to dealing with all sorts of people, with some of whom you have some things in common. But you rarely find that deep level of friendship that you have as a young man.

As a result I didn't notice the changes in Marion. She withdrew from me, both emotionally and physically. We talked less and began to argue, something we had never done before. In part I was feeling a new sense of well-being and confidence so I was less prepared to put up with what I considered petty issues but in part I was so caught up in myself that I did not appreciate that Marion was feeling excluded.

She started to nag me about household chores, being less sympathetic when I had to work late, complaining about Gemma's and Connie's behaviour. It all came to a head when she announced that she would be going out on Thursday.

"But, Marion, that's our club night," I protested.

"You can miss it for once, can't you?"

"Why should we? It's a regular thing."

"Then it won't hurt not to go. It'll still be there next week."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point?"

I sighed. "The point is that I don't make arrangements on Wednesdays because that's your evening class. And I don't make arrangements on Mondays because that's Connie's gymnastics night. If something needs to be done on these nights, I ask you first and we come to some sort of arrangement. I don't just announce I'm doing something and so there."

"Oh? And what about all these times you phone up and announce you're working late? What about them? I'm expected to drop everything and work round that."

"Marion, you know I can't help that. I'm sorry. I know it's a pain, but it's my job. We discussed all this before I took it on."

"So it's all right for you to expect me to drop everything when you want but not the reverse. Is that it?"

"Marion," I said warningly. She really was being most unreasonable.

"And all because of this silly club you and Gemma sneak off to on Thursdays. Like a couple of schoolkids you are, the pair of you. I really don't know what's come over you these days." Her voice was rising.

"Marion," I said again more firmly.

"And while we're on the subject, I don't think your relationship with Gemma is healthy." I was stunned. There was enough resonance to be upsetting. "It's not right for a father to be so close to his daughter. You two are almost like a pair of lovers rather than father than daughter."

That was a low blow and close enough to the truth to hurt. I was beginning to get angry. "Marion," I said loudly. "That's quite enough."

"No, it's not quite enough at all. It's not nearly enough." Her hands were clenched and her face red. She had worked herself into a fair old fury.

"I think you should stop right now before you say something we both might regret."

"Or you'll do what? Spank me like a naughty little girl?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Who do you think you are, Gerry?"

Suddenly I was icy calm, beneath the trembling, that is. She was behaving exactly like one of the girls in a tantrum. A spanking was precisely what she needed.

"I'm you husband," I said as I grabbed her wrist and pulled.

Taken by surprise, she stumbled forwards. I caught her and pulled her over my knee. The breath whooshed as she fell across my lap. Before she had a chance to realise what I was about to do I had one hand pinned up her back.

"Spank you? Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do. If you behave like a naughty little girl, you'll get treated like one."

"Let me go. How dare you. You wouldn't..."

She was struggling on my lap, trying to get up. My hand came sharply down on her round bottom.

"Oww..." she screeched. "That hurt."

"It was meant to," I said calmly.

I laid on a few more hearty slaps, watching her cheeks wobble under her tight jeans.

"You b... Let me up, Gerry. Ouch. This is beyond a joke. Ow. That's sore. Aiee. It's not funny. Stop it at once."

I would have preferred to have taken her jeans off and spanked her bare bottom but knew I couldn't risk letting her go. I continued to rain blows down on her.

"Shit. Ow. This is not funny. Ouch. What are you... oh... playing at? Aiee. Let me go. Ouch. Oh. Gerry, please stop. It's sore. It really hurts. Gerry, please."

She stopped struggling and started to cry. My heart went out to her. Never, in the seventeen years we had been married, had I even hinted at violence towards her but here I was spanking the living daylights out of her bottom. But, just as with Gemma's first, I knew I couldn't stop. I had to keep going until I knew that she knew that this was for real; that I was in control and I wasn't going to accept her behaviour. She lay quiescent as I spanked on at a measured pace, alternating cheeks. The pace was important, too; too fast and it could be mistaken for anger, too slow and the effectiveness was reduced.

"You can stop, now," she said in a small voice, between sobs.

She was right. Her voice contained surrender and that was the signal I'd been waiting for. I was relieved, not just because of the pain I was inflicting but because my hand felt almost as sore as her bottom must. I helped her to stand. She stood with her head bowed, sniffling, the tears streaming down her cheeks, her hands rubbing her bottom.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, her voice a surprised whisper.

I tilted her chin and wiped away the tears with one finger. "Because I love you," I said gently.

I gathered her in my arms and let her sob against my chest. Her hands left her stinging bottom and crept around my waist. I was aware of my hard cock pressing against her stomach and her nipples swelling and hardening. Her grip tightened and she looked up at me with a look of surprise.

"My God," she whispered.

I bent and scooped her up. She wasn't as light as she was when I married her but somehow I managed to stagger upstairs with her cradled in my arms. Having her giggle and clutch at my neck every time I stumbled on the stairs didn't help. Then we were tearing our clothes off with an urgency we hadn't felt in many years. She was first and launched herself backwards onto the bed. She cried out as her sore bottom hit the covers but, when I clambered up beside her, she spread her knees wide and grabbed my cock, pulling me to her. I practically fell into her, making her cry out again as my weight pushed her down.

Then we were fucking. There's no other word for it. We didn't make love or have sex. We fucked. I pounded into her, sparing her not at all. She met each thrust eagerly, curling her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck and pulling me hard against her, urging me on. She moaned and cried and panted and I was no better. It couldn't last and it didn't. It didn't need to. I felt her stiffen slightly, a sign, I knew, that meant she was about to cum. My balls contracted and I was spewing my cum into her at the same time as her legs locked around my waist and held me tight.

Spent, we relaxed, or collapsed more like it, panting and blowing. I felt her hands push at me and rolled off. She turned onto her side, wincing, as the pain from her abused bottom suddenly hit her. She curled up into a foetal position and immediately fell asleep.

I didn't sleep. The reality of what I had just done came crashing home. How would she feel when she woke up? Would she hate me or not? Would we still have a marriage in the morning? Whatever, there was no going back. The deed had been done and only time would tell which way the die would fall.

I heard noises outside and realised, with a start, that it was Connnie returning from visiting her friends. I scrambled into my clothes and managed to pull the bedspread out from under Marion and cover her before stumbling downstairs to greet Connie and thank her friend's mother for having her.

I was tidying the living room, having got Connie to bed, when Gemma came in. She had been hanging out with some friends, ostensibly doing homework but I suspected not much was achieved. She had made a new set of friends since that fateful day and seemed much more relaxed with them.

"Where's Mum?" she asked.

"Asleep. She was tired."

She looked at me shrewdly. "What's going on?"

In the past I'd have tried to hide it from her but now I simply said, "I spanked her."

Her eyes flew wide. "You never."

I nodded. "We had an argument and I felt she was being unreasonable so..." I shrugged.

"So you spanked her. Just like that. How did she take it?"

"On the bottom," I grinned, unable to resist the opening.

"Dad." The tone as scathing as only a teenager's can be. "You know what I meant."

"Sorry. I don't know. She wasn't too happy but afterwards she was quite, er, passionate. I don't know how she'll feel when she wakes up."

"So you guys..." She blushed slightly.

"Like rabbits," I laughed.

She put a hand on my arm. "Don't worry, Dad. It'll be okay."

"I wish I could be sure."

"Trust me." She grinned impishly. "I'm my mother's daughter. I know."

"We'll see."

I slipped quietly into bed, not wanting to disturb Marion and, if truth be told, wanting to avoid what I believed would be the inevitable confrontation. To my surprise I was instantly asleep.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=

I was alone when I awoke and my heart sank for it probably meant that Marion had gone to sleep with one of the girls meaning I was in her bad books. When I came downstairs, however, she was in the kitchen making breakfast. This was, in itself, unusual for Marion is not an early bird and breakfast is normally a chaotic rush. She was humming quietly to herself and that, too, was unusual. I stood and watched her for a moment. Although she was in her rather ancient dressing gown and hadn't combed her hair, she still looked beautiful to me.

"Good morning, dear," she smiled when she realised I was standing there.

"Marion, I..." I began.

Then she was in my arms. "Hush," she said, putting a finger to my lips. "We'll talk later."

"Are you sore?"

She smiled ruefully. "A bit. Come and have breakfast. I woke early as I slept early and decided breakfast was needed."

"I'll call the girls."

The only person who seemed normal was Connie who chattered away as usual. She didn't seem to find it odd that we were all sitting down to a civilised breakfast. Gemma watched her mum, a small, knowing smile playing around her lips. Me, I kept quiet, hoping this wasn't the calm before the storm.

Work kept me from brooding and it wasn't until I arrived home that the worry returned. As I dumped my briefcase and went to get changed, I met Gemma. She gave me a thumbs-up.

"Don't look so worried, Dad. I told you it'd all be okay?"

"Have you and Mum been talking?" I asked with concern.

"Yes. But it's okay. Really. I've told her a bit about the club. Not all of it but about the spankings."

"Oh, my God. What if she asks about the rest of it? You know, what we do now."

"I don't know. Stay cool and go with the flow."

"But what will she say when she finds out that you... that we've had sex?"

"We haven't had sex with each other."

"But I've been unfaithful. Oh God, what have I done?"

She stepped in close and grasped my lapels. "Dad. You remember when this all started, you promised to listen to me if I listened to you?" I nodded. "Then listen to me now. Stop being a worrywort. Don't wimp out. Be firm but be fair. Listen to Mum and let things come. Promise me."

I took a deep breath. "Okay, Gemma, I promise."

She stood on tiptoe and kissed me lightly on the lips. "Good. See you do. Better get a move-on or you'll be late for supper." And she skipped away, grinning.

I had to grin back. "You little minx. If I'm late it'll be your fault." She turned and stuck her tongue out at me. Nevertheless, I hurried.

Supper was easier than I'd expected. Both Marion and Gemma seemed quite relaxed. As we cleared away the dishes, Marion announced, "I'm not going to my class tonight. I want you girls to do your homework then find something to do. Perhaps, Gemma, you could let Connie watch TV with you in your room. Your Dad and I need to talk and I don't want to be constantly interrupted."

"Can we have juice and crisps and things like a sleepover?" Connie asked.

"Yes, okay," Marion laughed.

"If you guys are still busy later, I'll chase Connie to bed," Gemma offered.

"Thank you, dear."

As she organised the girls, I went and sat on the settee. I heard them clattering upstairs then Marion came through, handed me a glass of wine and curled up beside me. I put my arm around her shoulders and she snuggled in.

"You're a complete bastard, Gerry. You know that," she began without preamble but without any heat.

"Oh? How so this time?" I kept my tone light.

"How long have we been married? Oh, don't answer, I know. You'd have thought, after seventeen years that there'd be no surprises, wouldn't you? You'd have thought that you'd know everything there was to know about a person." She sighed. "Last night, let me tell you, you threw a hell of a surprise." She paused. I said nothing, only pulled her more comfortably into the crook of my arm but she pulled away and looked at me, her eyes searching my face.

"I thought I knew you, Gerry. I was comfortable. You were predictable. You were a nice guy; kind and considerate but you took a back seat. You never lost the rag, rarely raised you voice and you always seemed calm and in control. What happened to you?"