Chapter 5

Cecilia fell pregnant rather sooner than I had imagined she would; for some reason I'd thought that the effect the birth control pills had had on her system would have taken a little longer to wear off. Yeah, well, what do we men know about such things? From what I've been told since, I gather if you miss one pill for a day or so, or even take the wrong medicine with them there's a possibility that you could soon find a bun cooking away in the oven.

Anyway Cecilia made the announcement less than two months after our wedding. This galvanised us into action over my flat. It was a nice place for a young couple to live in, but not the sort of place to bring up children in. A move up the A40 further out of town was called for; to a detached six bedroom Victorian pile with a massive garden that suited my status as a company executive.

Jesus, we spent a fortune on the place, having it brought into the later part of the twentieth century. And I'm not quite sure that Cecilia was all that enamoured with the idea of cleaning all those bloody rooms when we'd first looked at it. That is, until I suggested to her that we'd get in a cleaning lady. When I said that, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.

"Buy it," she had said, "I love it!"

Anyway, I thought that all those bedrooms were going to come in handy for when the families came to visit. Which I suspected they would quite often, once the patter of tiny feet had been heard.

Besides that, looking at the size of the grounds, I could see that when/if the time came for us to move on again, the house could be knocked down and a whole bloody modern housing estate could be crammed onto the site in its stead. The bloody place could turn out to be a bloody gold mine in the long term. You always have to take the long-term future into consideration; the way things were going around the area, I suspected that building sites were going to be at a premium in the South East before too long.

Married life with Cecilia proved to be interesting to say the least. Hey, I'm talking about the sex side of it here. That should make some readers sit up and concentrate!

I pretty well thought that I had making love down to a fine art. Well, in essence I did but I was to learn that there was a lot more about "sex" that I wasn't aware of, or hadn't felt inclined to indulge in. Apparently Cecilia's six months or so affair with Rachael had introduced her to a side of sex that I'd never even thought that I'd venture into: domination, I suppose you might call it, or maybe a little bit of what is quaintly termed BDSM. Buggered if I knew; I hadn't been there before.

Sometimes when the mood took her right, Cecilia liked to be treated rough. Not made love to but literally taken. Not far off raped really. We were only playing at it but that's what the lady wanted. I/she/we also discovered that she could also get an orgasm through pain. This was all very new to me and to say the least I was never completely comfortable with it. But if that's what my woman wanted, who was I to refuse.

It all started one day when she threw out my rug. It was only an old rug that I'd had for years, I'd picked it up somewhere on my travels; I'll admit that it didn't look too good in my study, too damned small for the room. Anyway Cecilia had thrown it out without discussing doing so with me, and apparently she got a fit of the guilt's when I came home. Although she could have set the whole thing up on purpose, that's something I'll never know now for sure.

Anyway I've always had this habit of threatening to put women over my knee and smack their backside (actually I always say "bum") if they do anything to upset me. Even my secretary at work gets that threat. Never carried out though; shame, she has a beautiful little bottom!

Cecilia didn't tell me she'd thrown the rug out when I walked into the house that evening. She just said, "I've been a naughty girl today!"

"What have you done?" I demanded, feigning anger.

"I'm not going to tell you," she replied, and ran up to our bedroom.

At the time I wasn't sure what kind of game Cecilia was playing, but I decided to let her run with it. I chased up stairs and threatened to smack her bum if she didn't tell me what she'd done. She dared me to try and then kept pushing me until I finally bent her over the footboard of the bed and tapped her lightly on the bottom. Not such a simple task to undertake that, on a pregnant woman anyway, I had to be careful of her bump. Although I wouldn't say she put up that much of a fight to stop me.

"Is that the best you can do?" she sneered rather demeaningly I thought, but still with humour in her voice after I'd landed six gentle blows on her rear end.

That surprised me a little; I thought we were playing a game and I expected her to pretend that my light smacks had hurt her. But that obviously wasn't the game Cecilia was playing. Well, she asked for it so I wrenched her panties down and smacked her harder.

"Again and harder!" she demanded, taking me even more by surprise.

Well, she got it that time, and I hurt my bleeding hand in the process of laying into that lovely bottom of hers. Then I got the shock of my life, I plainly heard her say, "Oh, yeah!" and, damn it, the woman appeared to have an orgasm.

"Oh, yeah," is the thing Cecilia normally says when she reaches an orgasm whilst we are making love. Cecilia isn't that vocal whilst making love; what I normally hear is a varied collection of ecstatic moans, satisfied sounding sighs and other similar noises from her. But always culminating in a long "Oh, yeah!" when she reached climax.

"Now fuck me please!" she almost screamed at me. "Don't make love to me, Stewart, fuck me and fuck me hard!"

If goading me into smacking her backside wasn't a big enough surprise, hearing that demand topped the cake. Fuck was not a word that Cecilia normally used; well, not when discussing sex between us anyway. So I did what she asked, right there, with her still nominally bent over the footboard of the bed and, boy, did she appear to love every minute of it!

After I'd brought both of us to orgasm, my mind began to take stock of what had just happened. As I slipped out of her, she stood up, turned around and clamped her mouth over mine.

"My, that was something else!" she said, when she finally stopped playing with my tonsils.

You know, Cecilia must have had the longest tongue in the world.

"And just what brought all that on!" I asked her.

"I'm not sure," she said turning around and pulling her skirt up again, so that she could inspect the damage to her backside in the mirror on the wardrobe door. "Here, look at your hand prints on my bum!"

"Cecilia, I asked you what was that all about," I repeated.

Our eyes met in the mirror; she was obviously embarrassed and didn't really want to face me.

"Promise you won't get mad at me?" she asked.

"I'll do my best."

"I dreamt about when Rachael used to do that to me last..."

I suppose my facial expression must have changed when she mentioned Rachael.

"No, Stew, please don't get annoyed with me. I didn't want to dream about having sex or anything with Rachael. But I did dream about how she used to..."

She stopped speaking then turned around so that she could look me in the eye.

"Stewart, I love you, you know that and I never did love Rachael. She was just someone to have some fun with. But Rachael likes to dominate her partners, whilst they are having sex that is. At other times she's manipulative."

"So?" I asked, Cecilia having ground to a halt again.

"I've been dreaming lately about what she used to do to me, like having my bottom smacked and being tied up and things. Stewart, I don't want to be dreaming about Rachael, I want it to be you doing those things to me in my dreams.

She stopped speaking and, leaning towards me, kissed me on the lips.

"I just thought... well, you're always threatening to smack my bum, aren't you? Now you have, so the next time I dream about it I know it'll be you who's doing the spanking. Does that make any sense to you?" she asked.

"Hmm, I think so, but what else do you dream about?" I asked, feeling curious about what was going on inside Cecilia's mind.

"Let's leave that for the moment," she said, climbing onto the bed whilst dragging me behind her. "Let's make love now."

If I'm going to be honest here, I had always enjoyed smacking a lovely female backside. I suppose we all have to have a fetish of one kind or another. I'd smacked a few shapely bottoms over the years, but none as hard as Cecilia had insisted that I smack hers that day.

The thing that I really found intriguing was that I was damned sure that Cecilia achieved some kind of a climax from my ministrations. Now I had heard of some people - both male and female - who get off on pain, but I had never come across one before that I knew of. I was to discover that I was married to one of those people.

I did discuss Cecilia's dreams with her later in the evening. Actually we discussed more than her dreams. She opened up, telling me of the desires she had that I was completely unaware of. Over the following few months, our sexual adventures became very enjoyable for both of us, most of the time. Although I was never really happy at the force she insisted I use when I spanked her or laid into her with the floggers and whip things she purchased off of the Internet.

She also liked to be tied up in different ways as well. Normally she preferred to be blindfolded and teased at the same time. This did have its disadvantages for me though, once the baby was born, that is. If the baby woke whilst I had Cecilia tied to the bed, it obviously fell to me to change and/or feed it, then get it off to sleep again. I never was too sure whether Cecilia enjoyed getting out of the baby chores more than not knowing when I was going to creep back into the bedroom to tease or spank her some more.

A kind of code developed between Cecilia and me about when she wanted me to indulge her kinkier desires. I'd come home from work or sometimes she'd even ring me at the office and announce that she'd been a naughty girl. That meant she wanted a tanning of some kind.

Other times I'd come home from work and she'd be dressed in very little, probably just a housecoat, that meant she was hoping I would tie her up later. If she was wearing a short skirt and suspenders she wanted me to take her there and then as hard as I could. But most of the time we just made love like most folks do, I suppose.

I think Cecilia was about six months pregnant with our second child when I first heard the news about Emily and Graham breaking up. All I could get through the grapevine was that Graham had walked out on Emily and the children. No one would speculate as to why; they just said it had never been a happy marriage. Obviously I'd missed a lot of gossip living so far away.

Once Cecilia heard the news she spent a lot of time on the telephone talking to Emily. But she told me that Emily was very vague on Graham's reasons for leaving. Over the following few months, the two women must have talked on the phone almost everyday.

Our second child was born (another boy) just about the time that Emily filed for divorce on the grounds of Graham's desertion. She told Cecilia that she hadn't seen or heard, or received a penny of support from Graham since the day he walked out. Apparently he soon reappeared after he was served with the divorce papers and through a solicitor they arranged an apparently amicable settlement. I don't know the details but Emily appeared to be on a good financial footing from it, to start with.

As far as I could understand though, Graham lost all interest in the children, not that he'd ever displayed much affection for them when I had seen him with them anyway. Oh, he coughed up maintenance for them to begin with, but never did arrange to visit or see them that I ever got wind of. That must have been hard on the kids at the time, but by the time I saw them again they didn't seem to be bothered about it.

Soon after her divorce was final, Cecilia and I took Emily and her children with us to the south of France for a holiday. A friend of mine had a large old farmhouse down there that he used as a holiday home and I'd been in the habit of borrowing it for a couple of weeks every summer.

I've got to say that if anything, Emily appeared to me to be happier in herself than she'd been the previous few times we had met. Although she'd always given the outward appearance of being happy, I'd sensed something wasn't quite right the few times I'd seen her after her twins had been born. That aura had apparently disappeared now that Graham was not around.

Oh and please don't get the idea that either Emily and I or Emily and Cecilia come to that, got up to anything that we shouldn't have during that holiday. Cecilia and I were old friends coming to Emily's aid. For the second week that we were down there, both Emily's and my parents came down and joined us. They looked after the children whilst I took Cecilia and Emily out a couple of days.

I, of course, was itching to know exactly what had happened to break up Emily's marriage, but whenever I tried to bring the subject of conversation around to it, Cecilia headed me off.

"Stewart, Emily really doesn't want to talk about it. She won't even tell me, so please don't upset her by asking her again," Cecilia lectured me in bed one evening.

After that I left the subject alone except when talking to my Uncle Norman, Emily's father, but from what he said, I gather he had no idea what had caused the break-up either.

"Who gives a shit what happened? I never did like the bugger," Uncle Norm said to me. "You can never trust those religious Wally's anyway. Too bloody self-righteous for their own good. My baby never did look happy when he was around. Look at her now, smiling and laughing all the time, just like when you were all kids together."

Actually, although Uncle Norman was looking happier than I'd seen him looking for years. But I was genuinely shocked by his appearance; Uncle Norm had always been a big man, with a much heavier physique than my father or any of my brothers or myself. But he appeared to have lost a lot of weight since I'd last seen him the preceding Christmas.

When I asked my mother about him, she told me that Uncle Norm would not be with us for very much longer. She informed me that Norman had been suffering from cancer for a few years by then and he only had months to live. I was upset and expressed surprise that I hadn't heard about this before.

"You know your Uncle Norm, son!" my mother replied. "He's a proud man and doesn't want people fussing around or feeling sorry for him. It was only when he had chemotherapy last year that your father and I found out. From what Aida has told us, he's got about nine months left at the outside."

Emily's mother, Aida was her normal weird self around me. I'd never said anything to anyone else in the family about it, but for sometime by then I'd thought that she was losing it. Now that I knew about my Uncle Norman's illness, I figured that I understood the cause.