Troublemaker Read online

  With an angry huff, Jo emerged from under the quilt. Her face was bright red and her hair was sticking up all over the place. “That was below the belt, Mr Butler.”

  Chris smirked. “Yeah well, it worked, Mrs Butler. So… what’s with the freaking out?”

  Jo closed her eyes tightly shut. “You’ll laugh at me.”

  “I’m already laughing at you.”

  She opened her eyes again for the sole purpose of glowering at him.

  “Okay, okay,” said Chris. “So you’re upset about sending me that link. Why? I mean, why did you send it to me in the first place if you didn’t want me to look at it?”

  Jo screwed her eyes shut and tried to pull the quilt back over her face again, but Chris, laughing, held it down. “Come on, Jo.”

  Jo stopped trying to pull the quilt up and instead flounced up into a sitting position. “Fine!” she snapped, folding her arms tight across her chest. “Fine! I like that sort of thing—you happy?”

  Chris’s laughter became uncertain… and then petered away to nothing.

  “What, like ‘discipline’ and stuff?”

  “Yes.” Jo seemed to be pulling herself in as tightly as she could: her arms looked locked together and her shoulders were hunched inwards. She was looking at him with an expression of angry defiance. “And I know you’re not into it so you don’t have to sit there and take the piss out of me, okay?”

  “I wasn’t going to—”

  “Yes, you were!”

  Chris held up his hands. “Seriously, I’m not… I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”

  “What’s so surprising about it?” demanded Jo, who seemed determined to stay angry.

  A grin was fighting to get out, but Chris tried to hold it down. “Well, you’ve always seemed like the kind of woman who would rip a man’s balls off if he even tried to pinch your arse, let alone spank it.”

  At the sound of the word “spank”, Jo slapped her palms over her eyes and made a sound of pure mortification.

  “What, can’t you even talk about it?”

  “Not to you,” she moaned, her palms still pressed tight to her face.

  “Well, if I book us a place on one of these bloody courses, will you talk to me about it then?”

  Jo lowered her hands. “Are you serious?” The anger had faded: now she just looked pale.

  “Of course,” said Chris, still fighting to keep that grin in check. “We’re both owed a bit of annual leave and I can’t think of a better way to spend a week than seeing you being forced to do baking and housework, and then being taught how to give you a good hiding when you complain.”

  The grin finally broke free and Chris had to duck as Jo aimed a pillow at his head.

  Chapter Five

  Jo felt sick with nerves as they turned a corner of the tree-lined driveway and The Good Wife Training Centre came into view. The website hadn’t been wrong about the “secluded” part: Chris’s satnav had sent them via the middle of nowhere, down the sort of tracks that looked like they were only ever frequented by tractors and quad bikes.

  As they got out of the car and closed the doors behind them, Jo marvelled at the silence of the place. All she could hear was the rushing of the wind through the trees and the odd bit of birdsong. She couldn’t remember a time where she had ever been somewhere so remote.

  Chris seemed to be thinking along similar lines. “The Good Wife Training Centre,” he said, in a Hollywood film trailer voice, “where no one can hear you scream.”

  Jo shot him a sardonic look. “Well, I guess that’s probably the point.”

  “Well, babe, if you wanted me to make you scream, I could have done that back at the flat… wouldn’t have been the first time.”

  “Yeah, your modesty has always been one of things I love about you,” Jo muttered, making her way towards the entrance door.

  The website hadn’t included any photos of the outside of the building, for obvious reasons, Jo imagined, and she had been expecting something along the lines of an old stately home. That, however, couldn’t have been further from the reality.

  The Good Wife Training Centre was a modern-looking one story building with white walls, pine doors and window frames, and an individual, architect-designed feel to it. There was something clean and Scandinavian about the whole effect, and Jo found herself feeling largely reassured by this.

  “Huh,” said Chris, lugging their suitcase behind them and breaking the serene quiet. “I was expecting at least some stocks and a whipping post.”

  Jo gave him a pointed look. His piss-taking hadn’t been too bad since their talk a few months back, but he wasn’t able to entirely keep it in check. She knew he was trying to be understanding though: he wouldn’t have offered to come here with her if he wasn’t.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll be good,” he whispered, bumping his hip against hers. “Good thing this isn’t the Good Husband Training Centre, huh, or I’d really be in the shit…”

  “Yes, you would, Mr Butler.” Jo leaned over to give him a quick kiss and then reached forward to ring the doorbell.

  It was answered by a woman who looked to be in her early 30s, with soft brown hair pulled back in an elegant knot and an attractive, gentle-looking face. She was wearing a fitted white blouse and a black pencil skirt and couldn’t have looked more like the archetypal secretary-about-to-be-punished-by-her-boss if she’d tried. A small, shiny badge on her chest said that her name was Darcy.

  Jo noticed the clipboard she was balancing on her hip as she pulled the door wide to let them through.

  “Welcome to the Good Wife Training Centre,” said Darcy, her voice soft, sweet, and totally without an identifying accent: she could have been from anywhere. “Can I take your names, please?”

  “It’s Joanne and Chris Butler,” said Jo, as Chris lugged in the suitcase behind her.

  Darcy smiled. “Ah yes, here you are Mr and Mrs Butler. You’re in suite three. Won’t you please follow me?”

  “Suite?” whispered Chris, as they trailed along the corridor after Darcy, who was walking in that arse swinging Hollywood siren kind of way. “Sounds posh…”

  Jo gave a little shrug. She wouldn’t admit it to Chris, but she was feeling a little inadequate traipsing along after Miss Perfect over there when she was just wearing jeans, a vest top, and an old cardigan. Darcy was like a woman from another era. An era of rotary phones, powdered milk… and authoritative husbands.

  Jo smiled to herself, just for a moment. Well, just because the building had thwarted her expectations, that didn’t mean the staff had to as well.

  “Here we are,” said Darcy, turning to them with a professional smile and indicating the pale wooden door on their right with a golden number three in the middle. “Your tutor will give you your induction shortly, but please feel free to call reception if you have any questions at all. Here is your key.”

  Jo held out her hand but Darcy passed it to Chris instead. “Here you are, sir.”

  “Er, thanks,” said Chris.

  “I hope you both have an enjoyable and instructive stay,” smiled Darcy and then she was sashaying back the way they had come.

  Jo could feel the heat in her face, which wasn’t helped by Chris’s smirk as he put the key in the lock.

  “You know you can’t be trusted with keys, little wife.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Chris laughed as he pushed the door open. “I’d watch the language if I were you, Jo. I can’t see it going down well here…”

  Jo’s retort died in her throat as she walked through the door and into what turned out to be the bedroom part of their suite. The walls were a soft white, there were stripped floorboards on the floor, and the room was dominated by a white four-poster with pale blue checked curtains and bedcovers. A tall window on the other side of the bed was half open, letting in pale late-afternoon sunlight and the smell of freshly-mown grass and lavender.

  “Not bad,” muttered Chris, dumping their suitcase next to the bed and turning arou
nd on the spot.

  “It’s beautiful,” breathed Jo, pushing the door closed behind her. Now that she was inside, she had a proper look around. Along with the bed, there was a white wooden desk and chair, a squishy blue armchair in the corner, and a half-open door through which she spied an en suite bathroom.

  An archway beyond the desk led through to the rest of the suite, and Jo wasted no time in exploring. The next room was a sitting room, with French windows leading out into the garden—there were the lavender bushes on either side of private patio area—a pair of elegant dove-grey sofas, and a white wooden coffee table. Behind the sofa was a pale wooden dining table with four chairs and another archway, this one leading into a small but well-appointed kitchen. A crisp white apron was hanging on a hook next to the sink. Next to it, on another hook, was a long wooden spoon.

  Jo gave a little start as Chris wrapped his arms around her from behind. He kissed her on the temple. “Should I just tie you to it now, babe?”

  “To what?”

  “The sink.”

  Jo made to elbow him in the guts but couldn’t quite manage it in the position they were in.

  Chris laughed and kissed her again, grinding the bulging front of his pants against her bottom. “Or I could just tie you to that nice bed. Didn’t you see the restraints?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Mm-hmmm,” murmured Chris, nuzzling into her cheek and pushing himself more forcefully up against her bottom. “Want to test them out?”

  But a blackboard next to the fridge had caught Jo’s attention.

  Welcome, Mr and Mrs Butler. Your tutor is Thomas Anderson. Mr Anderson will visit you at 6 pm for your induction meeting.

  “Looks like we’ve only got about ten minutes ‘til the scary tutor turns up,” said Jo, extricating herself from Chris’s embrace before she allowed herself to get carried away. “Maybe we should unpack instead?”

  “They left us a message on a blackboard?” Chris gave an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “This place is amazing.”

  Jo laughed as well, but it was more to hide the surge of nerves spreading out from her belly at the thought of meeting their tutor.

  Chapter Six

  “So, you two are just starting out, are you?”

  Chris cast a sideways glance at Jo, who nodded. She had been looking very pale ever since Mr Anderson turned up.

  Chris didn’t really understand it. She was the one who wanted this, after all. And this tutor bloke actually seemed pretty normal. No black school gown, no curly, evil moustache, no vampire teeth. He was just a middle-aged guy with a slightly gone-to-seed look about him, with dark hair and a beard that were both flecked with grey. He was leaning back in the dove grey armchair, hands clasped in front of him, managing to look both calm and alert.

  Chris followed his lead and stretched back on his half of the sofa, but Jo was still sitting bolt upright next to him, her knees pressed tightly together and her gaze lowered.

  “And was it a mutual decision?” asked Mr Anderson.

  Chris watched as Jo’s face turned from pale to pink to scarlet and decided it was time to intervene.

  “This sort of thing,” he said, waving his hand in a vague circle, “is something that Jo is interested in. I didn’t know until recently, so we decided to come on this course to see if it’s something that might work for us.”

  The tutor nodded, still leaning back in his chair. “And have you ever spanked your wife?” he asked in the same calm manner, as if he were merely asking about the weather forecast.

  Chris gave a short laugh. “Not yet, mate!”

  Mr Anderson’s expression didn’t change. “Have you ever spanked anyone else?”

  Picking up on the fact that Mr Anderson was taking this seriously and clearly thought he should be too, Chris did his best to straighten his face and replied, “No—I’m completely new to this.”

  The tutor nodded and turned his attention to Jo. “Have you ever been spanked, Mrs Butler?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “No, sir,” he corrected in that same cool, calm voice. “While you are here, Mrs Butler, you will address your husband and all male tutors as ‘sir.’”

  Chris blinked at that and shot a look at Jo, expecting an outraged retort, but she just repeated back “No, sir” and her face turned, if possible, even redder.

  Another nod. “Well, that will change over the course of this week.”

  Jo squeezed her eyes tight shut and Chris knew that if there had been a duvet available at that moment, she would have been hiding underneath it.

  “Mr Butler, you and the other husbands on the course will have tutorials with myself or one of my male colleagues each day: one morning session and one afternoon session. Mrs Butler, your sessions will be with the other wives on the course and all of these will be led by our female tutor, Ms Edridge, also morning and afternoon. You two will be together for breakfast and dinner and will then have a private joint tutorial session with me each evening. Oh, and before I forget: the Centre’s safe word is ‘red’. Joanne, use this at any point if a punishment goes further than you can cope with.”

  Chris noticed that Jo’s clasped hands were trembling and he reached out to squeeze them. He then turned back to Mr Anderson. “So, what sorts of things will we be learning in these… sessions?”

  “You will be learning how to effectively discipline your wife, how to establish and maintain rules and boundaries, and how to recognise your own strengths in this area and any room for improvement. Your wife will be learning about effective household management and how to submit to your discipline. In your evening sessions, we will be putting what you have learned separately into practice and dealing with any transgressions that Mrs Butler has committed during the day.”

  Chris felt Jo’s hands tense under his.

  “Er… transgressions?” he asked.

  Mr Anderson gave him a frank look. “If Mrs Butler misbehaves during her morning or afternoon sessions, Ms Edridge will write out a note which I will bring to your evening tutorial, and it will then be up to you to punish your wife accordingly.”

  Chris resisted the urge to shoot a sardonic sideways glance at Jo and instead just said, “Right.”

  Mr Anderson leaned forwards ever so slightly. “Is this going to be a problem for you, Mr Butler?”

  Chris held up his hands and released some of the tension with an off-hand sort of laugh. “Please, call me Chris!”

  “Is this going to be a problem for you, Chris?”

  Chris looked at Jo but she was still staring at her knees. He was going to have to go it alone. “Well… it’s going to take some getting used to… but that’s why we’re here, right?”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Mr Anderson. “And in the interests of getting used to it as soon as possible, I think we should have—shall we say—a practice run. Right now.”

  Chris reckoned he could feel the tension burning out of Jo like heat next to him on the sofa. “You think I should… er… punish Jo… now?”

  “Yes.” Mr Anderson’s face was calm, almost blank. “Has she done anything recently that would warrant a punishment? Any disrespectful behaviour, neglect of domestic chores, reckless or dangerous behaviour, that sort of thing?”

  Chris held back a laugh: truth was, Jo was disrespectful all the time. It was part of her charm. And as for neglecting household chores…

  “She has sworn at me several times since we arrived here,” Chris said, fighting to maintain a serious expression on his face. “I did warn her that it was a bad idea.”

  “In a jokey way!” she whispered, managing to sound pissed off and terrified at the same time.

  “Joanne, what did I tell you about calling your husband ‘sir’?” snapped Mr Anderson, whose calm aloofness had been suddenly superseded by a decidedly sharper tone.

  Jo started, eyes wide. Chris could hear her breath coming in shallow gasps. “I—I—”

  “Stand up, Joanne.” The tutor was glaring now, his face
set, and even Chris was feeling slightly intimidated.

  “But—”

  “I’m not interested in arguments,” snapped the tutor. “If you are disrespectful to your husband, you deserve to be punished. Now stand up!”

  Jo was shaking as she rose off the sofa, her clasped hands pressed against her chest. She looked so tiny, so… vulnerable.

  Mr Anderson gave a brisk nod and turned to Chris. “Are you right-handed or left-handed?”

  “Right.”

  Another nod. “If you could sit further forward then? Good.” His tone sharpened again. “Now, Joanne, lie over your husband’s lap.”

  Poor Jo: Chris didn’t think he had ever seen an expression of such utter mortification on her face before.

  “Please—I—”

  “We’re waiting, Joanne!”

  Chris watched as she took a deep, shaky breath and then, face averted, leaned down and positioned herself over his knee. He felt her weight, the rapid thudding of her heart against his thigh, the trembling of her limbs.

  Mr Anderson was leaning back in his chair again: a cool observer once more. “And now, Chris,” he said. “You give your wife the spanking she deserves.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jo was starting to have serious misgivings about this whole idea. What had she been thinking? How could she have put herself into such a humiliating position?

  Chris’s thighs felt hard under her ribs and she hated the fact that her heart was beating so violently—so obviously. Worse, though, was the fact that Chris seemed nearly as terrified as her.

  “Er… how should I…?” he asked.

  “Just slap her bottom with your hand,” replied the horrible tutor. “You won’t hurt her much through those jeans, so don’t be worried.”

  Stop talking about me like I’m not here! she wanted to scream.

  “Okaaaaay…” said Chris, breathing out.

  Jo felt a light slap on her bottom. It was half-hearted: in fact, it barely registered.