Troublemaker

  Troublemaker

  By

  Gracie Malling

  Copyright © 2014 by Stormy Night Publications and Gracie Malling

  Copyright © 2014 by Stormy Night Publications and Gracie Malling

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Malling, Gracie

  Troublemaker

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by Bigstock/PlusONE, Bigstock/Lvnel, Bigstock/curaphotography

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Chapter One

  When Chris got home from work, Jo was ready. She had left the kitchen door half open and had collapsed on the sofa with her kindle, one leg hanging over the armrest in a position of studied nonchalance.

  “Hey, babe,” he said, as he elbowed his way through the living room door, two canvas bags of shopping in each hand.

  “Hmm,” replied Jo, not looking up from the screen.

  He gave a breathless laugh. “Nice to see you too, babe. Hey… what…?” He stopped dead in the kitchen doorway.

  Jo went very still on the sofa, her hands dampening as she gripped her kindle and an irregular beat pulsing in her stomach. This is it…

  “Jo, you said you’d tidy in here if I did the shopping. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten again.” There was a shuffling sound as he deposited the shopping bags on the tiled kitchen floor.

  “Oh, did I?” said Jo, still staring at the kindle screen although she was no longer seeing any of the words. “Oops…”

  A creak behind her told Jo that he was back in the living room. “You know you did. We only talked about it this morning. It’s still a tip in there and you’re just sitting here, reading.”

  “Oh what? So I’m not allowed to read now?”

  “What?” He gave another short laugh but this sounded more impatient than the last. “What do you mean ‘allowed’?”

  Heart pounding, Jo tossed the kindle onto the sofa and jumped to her feet. She spun around to see Chris standing with his hands on his hips, his dark blonde hair sopping wet and stuck to his forehead, and his expression torn between amusement and annoyance.

  “You think just because I only work part-time that I have to do everything around the house!” she shot at him.

  “Er, who just did the shopping and had to lug it all from the car in the pouring rain?”

  Jo folded her arms tight across her chest; God help her, but pretend annoyance was being rapidly overtaken by the real deal. “Oh, so you don’t even think you should do the shopping now?”

  “What? When did I say that?”

  “Well, if you’re going to act like it’s some big heroic deed or something…”

  Chris shook his head. “Jo, what the hell is wrong with you? All I asked was why hadn’t you tidied the kitchen.”

  “Fine!” she snapped, storming past him into the kitchen. “Fine! I’ll do it now then, if you’re so desperate for me to do it right away.”

  Her whole body was trembling as she reached the overflowing sink. Oh God, the bloody sink: it smelled of gone-off milk and burnt toast crumbs. The lengths she was prepared to go to… Surely it would be worth it, though? Surely he would follow her in? Surely she had pushed him far enough this time?

  She wrenched the tap as far it would go so that a screaming torrent of water sprayed into the sink, bouncing off a dirty side plate and splattering the front of her vest top.

  With a small scream of frustration, she picked up a mound of crusty knives and forks and flung them into the sink. The crash was loud enough to bring Chris running in from the living room.

  “For God’s sake, Jo, what the hell are you doing?”

  She glowered at him as he surveyed the chaos that used to be a sink.

  He shook his head, his eyebrows creased in a very un-Chris-like frown. “Jesus Christ, Jo, if it’s that much of a big deal, I’ll clean the bloody kitchen.”

  He went to take the cleaning cloth from her, but she yanked it back out of his hand. “No, you want me to do it, so I’ll do it. It’s obviously really important to you.” She turned back to the sink in as pointed a fashion as she could muster.

  “Jo, what’s wrong? What the hell was I supposed to have done here?” He went to touch her arm, but she jerked it out of his reach.

  “Nothing!” she all but spat. “Now do you want me to clean up or not?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath. “Maybe we can talk when you’ve calmed the fuck down, yeah?”

  “Whatever.”

  With a sigh, he left the kitchen, leaving Jo with soapy hands, a load of shopping to put away, and the sinking feeling that Plan A had been nothing short of a dismal failure.

  Chapter Two

  Chris lay on their bed with the laptop open beside him as he scanned the football results without really seeing them.

  It was a mess in here too, at least Jo’s side of the room was. There were piles of unwashed clothes next to her bedside table, spewing out of her wardrobe, and blocking the doorway to the en suite. Her purple bra and a knotted collection of tights were littering the top of her bedside table, along with hair grips, clumped up tissues, and three unwashed mugs.

  It didn’t make sense. She used to make more of an effort to keep the flat tidy. They had done so fairly amicably together: she’d take the kitchen, he’d see to the en suite. They’d share tidying of the bedroom and living room and had taken turns to vacuum.

  But the past few months…

  He wished that he could pretend that this afternoon had been a one-off, a bolt from the blue, but it was the sort of thing that seemed to be happening more and more often since they stopped being two people who lived together and had become husband and wife. Jo was still the same smart, funny woman he had fallen in love with, but it was like she had developed never-ending PMT or something. Everything he did seemed to be wrong.

  The door creaked open.

  Chris kept his eyes trained on the screen. “Hey, Jo, you come to chuck a plate at me or something?”

  “I’m sorry…”

  He looked up and saw Jo standing in the doorway, her head with its mop of pixyish black hair bowed and her cheeks red and blotchy.

  “Hey, hey…” Chris pushed the laptop aside and scooted up to a sitting position. “I’m sorry. Don’t cry, babe. Come here.”

  But she hovered in the doorway, leaning against the frame, eyes still downcast. “I don’t deserve you to be nice to me,” she whispered.

  “Aww, Jo, don’t be silly.” He held out his arms but she shook her head, fresh tears pouring down her sodden cheeks.

  She looked so tiny, leaning in the doorway like that. Usually she wore massive heels to make up for the fact that she was only five foot one and a quarter (never forget the quarter), so to see her crouched like that really brought home how small she was.

  “Come here and we can talk about it, babe. Everything’s okay.”

  But it turned out that was the wrong thing to say.

  “So you’re just going to let me get away with being so horrible to you?” Jo’s voice cracked with renewed sobs.

  “What do you mean?” asked Chris, levering himself off the bed. “Do you want me to divorce you or something?” He tried to make it sound like a joke but his chest felt as if it were constricting. Oh God, that wasn’t what she wanted, was it?

  “No, of
course not!” wept Jo, as Chris pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Then what?” he whispered, laying a kiss on the top of her head.

  There was a long silence as Jo stood, pressed against his chest, her breath catching and her chest hitching as she cried herself out.

  And then she pulled back, wiped her eyes, and stepped back from his arms. “It doesn’t matter, sweetie,” she said and her voice had that kind of quiet restraint to it that was becoming more and more apparent since they were married.

  To Chris, that voice meant that he had let her down. That she wanted something and he had failed to provide it.

  “Well, it obviously does matter, so why don’t you tell me what—”

  “Sweetie, it’s fine,” she insisted, smiling in a way that looked almost pained. “I’ll make you something nice for tea to make up, yeah?”

  “You don’t have to make—”

  But she had already turned away and was hurrying back through the living room towards the kitchen.

  Chris stared after her and wondered if she was ever going to tell him what it was she wanted.

  Chapter Three

  Later that night, Jo sat curled on the sofa, the hot laptop resting on her thighs. It was past midnight and she could hear Chris’s deep breathing through the half-open bedroom door. The combination of the harsh overhead light and the glare from the laptop screen was giving her a headache and her mouth was dry; God, she had been online way too long, but she just didn’t seem capable of pulling herself away.

  She was flicking through the same websites as usual—spanking web, punished wives, DD online —her stomach twisting in a constant knot of longing, frustration, and despair.

  Face reality, Jo, she told herself. Chris is never going to want to do this to you.

  She clicked play on another clip.

  It was a real life domestic discipline recording. Alan had caught Mia out in a lie, or so it said in the text above the video, and now he was giving her a good spanking over his knee to teach her a lesson.

  Jo squirmed on the sofa and her thigh muscles tensed, but she didn’t dare do anything more with Chris just in the other room. What if he woke up and found her? She would literally die from embarrassment.

  Alan stopped spanking Mia and ordered her to her feet. Jo watched, her eyes wide and strained as he ordered Mia to bend over the sofa and took off his belt.

  She had the sound as low as it would go without being completely off, but she could just make out the lecture that Alan was giving Mia, her cries of pain and remorse as he whipped her with the belt, and the sharp smacking sounds that the belt made against the red skin of her bottom.

  Once the clip finished, Jo scrolled down to read the comments.

  I wish I was Mia!!! someone had written. Jo could only agree.

  Nice one, Alan—that’s what I call a proper spanking!

  Mmmmm…

  Jo was just about to start searching for another clip (the last one—honest—and then she really would go to bed) when a comment at the bottom of the page caught her eye on account of it being quite a long one.

  So, Mia lied to you, did she? And you’ll forgive me if I say that I can’t help noticing that your living room is looking a little untidy. Dear, dear me. Maybe this punishment won’t really make that much difference in her behaviour, in the long term. Maybe you need to take firmer measures. If you’re interested in establishing a domestic discipline structure that works, I would recommend a short stay at the Good Wife Training Centre. Maddie and I visited last spring and we haven’t looked back since.

  Good Wife Training Centre? Jo had never heard of that before. Heart pounding, she clicked on the link. Once she had confirmed that she was indeed over eighteen, Jo found herself on a website that didn’t look like a porn site at all.

  There was none of the usual stuff, like a black background, flashing clips, and close-ups of red bottoms. It was a muted, professional-looking site with a pale green background and clear, unfussy text. The only picture on the front page was of a kitchen table covered in a pale blue gingham tablecloth, neatly arranged teacups and, Jo realised with a jolt, a folded-over black belt.

  Do you yearn for domestic bliss?

  We at The Good Wife Training Centre have over ten years of experience in helping couples to develop and structure their relationships based on the practice of “domestic discipline”. If you long for discipline and control in your relationship, then The Good Wife Training Centre may be the place for you.

  With tuition provided in disciplinary techniques, good housekeeping (including cooking, household management, and hosting), and ongoing advice around relationship issues, a stay at The Good Wife Training Centre will give you the opportunity to look at your relationship from all angles, learn new skills, and develop the kind of domestic structure that you and your partner desire.

  The Good Wife Training Centre is located in a beautiful and secluded part of the country. We have extensive grounds, discrete, professional staff and comfortable, well-appointed accommodation. You may of course rest assured that we operate at the highest standards of confidentiality.

  Interested? Then click on the tabs to the left to find out more…

  Hands shaking now, Jo scrolled through each of the pages on the site. There were pictures of the gardens, the bedrooms, the training rooms. Everything looked serene, comfortably stylish, and suffused with natural light.

  She was pleasantly surprised to look on the tariff page and find that the price for a midweek “Starting Out” course with four night’s full-board accommodation was about the same as you’d pay for a half-decent hotel.

  Jo let out a breath that she hadn’t realised she had been holding. It was only then that she realised how much her back was aching. She really needed to go to bed.

  But… this was too good to leave. It would be perfect for her and Chris; she knew it. The only problem was how she could broach the subject to him without it being so hideously embarrassing that she spontaneously combusted with shame.

  It helped that the website looked so professional, so… respectable, even. Maybe… maybe she could just email him the link?

  A twinge in her shoulders made her groan. Whatever she was going to do, she’d better do it fast before her whole body seized up.

  Her pulse was thudding somewhere in her stomach as she copied the link and pasted it into an email to Chris.

  Hey sweetie, she typed with trembling fingers. Maybe this is the answer to our problems?

  Yes, she was happy with that. Short and sweet and it could be spun as a joke if his reaction was one of horror or massive piss-taking.

  She stared at the email for a full minute before she closed her eyes, squeaked, and pressed send.

  She opened her eyes.

  Message sent.

  Oh God, what had she done?

  Chapter Four

  Chris’s cup of coffee was going cold but he hadn’t noticed. He was sitting at the kitchen table, frowning at the laptop screen through his glasses (he liked to give the contact lenses a miss on the weekend) and trying to figure out if Jo was playing some kind of game with him here.

  When Chris got up, she was still out of it, sprawled halfway across the bed, one arm flung over his side and her face squished up into her pillow. No wonder, really, if she had been sending him emails at two in the bloody morning.

  …relationship based around discipline and control…

  “What the fuck?” he muttered to himself, as he scrolled down through the front page of the Good Wife Training Centre website. Jo had always seemed like the last kind of woman who would allow anyone to “control” her, and God help anyone who tried it. So what the hell was this all about?

  …training in good housekeeping…

  Chris snorted. If Jo couldn’t cope with being asked to tidy the kitchen, how the hell would she cope with sitting through lessons on household management? And besides, what kind of backwards place was this, insisting that “wives” ne
eded to learn that sort of stuff anyway?

  Chris made a noise of distaste and looked up from the screen. That was when he saw Jo, standing silent in the kitchen doorway, watching him. Her black hair was sticking up on one side and there were red lines on her face where it had been pressed into the pillow edges. Her eyes, though, were wide. Wide and scared, he realised.

  “You okay?” he asked, shifting back in his chair so that he was no longer hunched over the laptop.

  “What are you looking at?” she whispered. For some reason, she sounded horrified.

  “Just that link you sent me last night. Hey—what—?”

  At his words, Jo had given a gasp of horror, twisted around, and had run back into the bedroom.

  Chris heard her bare feet slapping on the hardwood floor and then a twanging creak as she flung herself onto the bed.

  He pushed back in his chair and hurried after her. “Jo, what’s up?”

  In the bedroom, Jo had pulled the quilt right up over her head.

  “Jo?”

  “Don’t look at me!” she moaned from under the quilt.

  Chris started laughing in spite of himself. “Why not?”

  “I was hoping I’d just dreamt it…”

  “Dreamt what? Sending me that email?”

  Jo gave a groan of horror and started kicking her legs under the quilt.

  Still laughing, Chris sat down on the bed next to her and tried to find her under the quilt, but she wouldn’t let go, scooting down further into the depths of the bed. Being so tiny clearly had its advantages.

  “Want me to tickle you, Jo?” he threatened, rummaging around under the quilt and finally managing to grab hold of her left thigh. “Come out or I will.”