Troublemaker Page 4

  She picked up the sheet of paper and stared at it, squinting against the sunlight that was still beaming directly into her face. She was looking at some kind of complicated table, but her brain couldn’t make sense of it. She closed her eyes to find that the after-image was burned into her retinas.

  Urgh.

  Eyes still closed, she allowed her mind to drift, once again, back to last night.

  After snuggling on the bed in a post-coital daze for what felt like hours, she and Chris had finally emerged and had a ferret around in the kitchen. They had found a fridge full of fresh food and cupboards full of pasta, rice, flour, herbs, and spices: everything they had in their kitchen at home and more.

  They had selected two fillets of salmon from the fridge, baked them with some garlic and pesto, and completed the meal with little jersey royals and salad. There was a half-bottle of wine in the fridge which they were happy to glug, but Jo got the impression that drinking to excess was probably frowned upon here. They’d finished the evening by taking bowls of chocolate and peanut-butter ice cream to bed with them and, giggling, trying out the restraints on each other. Another, more languid, sex session followed, Jo’s wrists still fitted in the restraints, and then they finally fell asleep in a big snuggly ball.

  This morning had been a bit of a shock to the system though. A gentle knock at the door had caused Jo to lurch awake with a start.

  “Your first lesson begins in fifteen minutes,” Darcy had called through the door.

  The ensuing chaos, as Chris and Jo tore around the suite getting ready, had knocked all eroticism out of their minds.

  Jo had only just arrived to the class on time, her short black hair barely tamed from the night’s sleep, her skirt twisted round, and her belly rumbling from lack of breakfast (she had managed to down a glass of orange juice before legging it out the door, but nothing more).

  She wished she could have had just a little time with Chris this morning, just to see how he was feeling after… everything. What if he regretted it? What if he was confused and this evening ended up being just as awkward as yesterday? What if they found themselves back where they had started?

  Jo was still musing on this when Ms Edridge said, “Right, that’s enough time. Return your handouts to me. There will now be a written quiz on the example cleaning schedule, and anyone who fails to achieve one hundred percent will receive a note.”

  Jo sank down in her chair. Oh, fuck…

  Chapter Ten

  As he reclined in his own leather armchair with a cup of coffee in his hand and a plate of warm buttered crumpets on the side table to his right, Chris couldn’t help feeling that this course had been a great idea. Fabulous, even.

  “Can I get you anything else, Mr Butler?” breathed Darcy. She was leaning down next to him, the scent of her subtle perfume distracting him completely.

  Chris cleared his throat and gave her an amiable grin. “No, that’s all great—thanks so much.”

  She gave him an adorable little blushing smile and backed away to turn her attention to one of the other husbands.

  There were four others, all of different ages and all from different backgrounds. From his own questions and snatches of conversation he’d heard so far, Chris gathered that a few of them had considerably more experience in this whole discipline thing than others, but there was at least one other “newbie”: a gangly young guy with pale skin and floppy black hair, called Karl.

  Chris took a deep gulp of coffee and swallowed it down with a satisfied groan. He looked up and caught Karl’s eye. “Bloody hell, I could get used to this,” he muttered.

  Karl smirked and nodded. “I imagine that’s the plan. I’d be happy if Heather started waiting on me like this. Sure you would be if your wife did too.”

  Chris watched Darcy gliding out of the room in her high heels, balancing a silver tea tray on one palm, and tried to imagine Jo doing the same.

  The Jo in his mind raised her eyebrows and said, “You think?” Chris laughed to himself.

  “Maybe,” he said to Karl. “Maybe if we’re really lucky.”

  The door to their classroom creaked open and a man Chris didn’t recognise walked briskly into the room. “Morning, gentleman,” he called in a voice that combined restrained friendliness with a hint of authority.

  The conversations around the room petered out to nothing.

  Chris saw wary recognition in Karl’s face: ah, this must be Karl and Heather’s tutor.

  “My name is Michael Carter,” he said, “and I am here to instruct you in practical disciplinary techniques.”

  Chris thought that Michael looked more like what he expected a “disciplinarian” type to look like than Thomas Anderson did. He was tall and slim, with close-cut greying hair, a lined but distinguished-looking face, and sharp eyes.

  “Now, if you have prior experience of physically disciplining your wife, please raise your hand.”

  Chris and Karl kept their hands lowered (Chris wasn’t going to count a couple of smacks last night as experience) but the three other husbands either briefly raised their hands or gave Michael a nod.

  After a quick look around the room, Michael gave a tight-lipped smile. “I see.”

  Chris watched as Michael picked up a small hand bell from the desk in front of him and rang it. Chris took advantage of the temporary pause to pick up his plate of crumpets and take a bite out of one of them. Warm butter oozed into his mouth. Yeah, this place was amazing.

  The door creaked open in a gentle arc and Darcy reappeared in the room. “You rang, sir?” she said, her face impassive. Chris had to hide a snort of laughter by taking an extra-large bite of crumpet.

  “Yes, Darcy. The gentlemen are going to use you for practice. Close the door and bring one of the hard backed chairs to the front of the room.”

  Darcy obeyed at once, but Chris, who was staring after her with wide eyes, noticed that her face had turned slightly pink.

  There was a large dark wood dining table with eight chairs towards the back of the room. It was strange, this room. With its drawn blinds, muted lamps, and dark, sumptuous furniture, Chris had had the feeling on entering that this was some kind of exclusive gentleman’s club from the 1930s. It was so different from the rest of the building that Chris had felt as though he were stepping into another world.

  As Darcy bent down and gripped one of the chairs under the seat, Chris remembered his manners and got to his feet.

  “Need any help?” he asked, edging around Karl’s armchair to get to her.

  “Oh.” She looked up and gave him a somewhat flustered smile. “Thank, you Mr Butler.”

  He grinned, took the chair from her and carried it to the front of the room. “Here?” he asked Michael, placing the chair centre stage.

  Michael was standing straight, his hands clasped behind his back. He gave Chris a faint, ambiguous smile and nodded. “Thank you, Mr Butler, for your assistance,” he said in a carrying voice. “Now, Mr Wright, as you indicated that you have prior experience, would you be so kind as to go first?”

  Mr Wright—Eddie—eased up out of his armchair to the left of Chris. He was a fairly big guy—late forties, Chris guessed—with close-shaven hair, dark skin, and a wide smile that seemed to be plastered onto his face on a permanent basis.

  Having exchanged some friendly conversation with him earlier, Chris found it hard to imagine him “disciplining” anyone. So he was suitably impressed to see him amble confidently over to the chair, sit his considerable bulk down on it, and pat his knee with an expectant look in Darcy’s direction.

  Mr Carter took a step forwards, hands still clasped behind his back, and said, “Over you go.”

  Without a word of protest, Darcy bent at the knees and laid herself over Eddie’s lap, her pencil skirt stretching tight over her bottom as she did so.

  “Now, Mr Wright,” said the tutor, “if you could please start spanking Darcy, the rest of us will be able to discuss your technique. Gather around, gentleman,” he called to t
he room at large as Eddie brought down his palm onto Darcy’s bottom in a loud, straightforward swat.

  As Chris moved forwards, he could see Darcy’s fingertips pressed into the carpet to the one side of the chair and the toes of her high-heeled shoes digging into the carpet on the other side. She was keeping still, and Chris thought she looked pretty relaxed, considering.

  Then again, this could have been because Eddie was spanking her in a laid-back sort of way. Hell, he seemed a pretty laid-back kind of guy. Unhurried, open-handed smacks spaced out at regular intervals. Even with the loud smacking sounds that Eddie’s handmade each time it connected with Darcy’s bottom, it seemed a less noisy affair than last night. But maybe, Chris figured, that was because Darcy wasn’t wailing and whimpering like Jo had.

  “Good rhythm,” commented Michael. “And I like the intensity for this kind of spanking. You need to be able to ratchet things up a notch if necessary, though. Also, you’ll get a firmer smack if you keep your fingers together, rather than splaying them out, although your way imparts more of a sting. Why don’t you try?”

  Eddie kept his fingers together and doled out a few smacks at a much quicker pace and with rather more force. Darcy shifted slightly and let out a little whimper.

  Michael gave a brief smile which showed his small white teeth. “Very good,” he murmured. “Right, Mr Parry, if you would be so kind as to swap places with Mr Wright here?”

  Chris stood, a tad awkwardly if truth be known, and watched as each husband took his turn. Each “performance” (if that’s what he should call it) seemed more assured than the next as each person picked up tips from their predecessors.

  As Darcy stood up, pink-faced and breathless, to allow Mr Younge to stand up and Karl to take his place, the tutor interceded. “Darcy, as we have now come to those husbands without considerable experience in this area, you are to remove your skirt and knickers so that they can have a better view of what they are doing.”

  Catching no one’s eye, Darcy proceeded to ease her tight skirt down over her hips and past her knees before letting it fall to the floor. This was followed by her cream silk knickers. She stepped out of both garments, bent down to pick them up (every eye in the room—except for Michael’s—was riveted), and folded them in her arms before depositing them on the nearest empty armchair.

  Chris tried very hard to not stare at the pink curves of her bare bottom or the sheer fabric of her black suspender belt—or, indeed, anything below her waist—but it was a battle he wasn’t going to win.

  He saw Karl visibly swallow as he sat down and held his hands up out of the way as Darcy draped herself over his lap.

  “Ready, Mr Drake?” asked the tutor.

  Karl cleared his throat. “Yep—yes.”

  Michael nodded, unsmiling. “Then please continue.”

  Karl drew back his hand and brought it down onto Darcy’s bare bottom. The muted clapping sound it made was fairly underwhelming after the efforts of the three experienced husbands.

  “Don’t be afraid to go a bit harder, Mr Drake,” said Michael in a clipped voice. “Darcy is very experienced: you’re not going to damage her.”

  Karl flicked his floppy black hair out of his eyes, raised his hand far higher this time and delivered a more forceful whack. The crisp smacking sound it made this time was much more satisfying, and Karl looked suitably pleased with himself.

  Karl’s confidence seemed to grow with each successful whack, and by the time he was told he could stand up again, Darcy’s bottom was fast turning from pink to red.

  “Right then,” said Michael, clapping his hands briskly together, as Karl got—smirking slightly—to his feet. “Last but not least; Mr Butler, if you please.”

  Maybe it was just from the buttery crumpets, but Chris’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. With a laidback grin that was mostly an illusion, he thrust his hands in his pockets and ambled forward.

  “Almost over now,” he said to Darcy with a wink as he sat down on the hard backed chair.

  She returned his smile with a blush that was almost as deep a shade of pink as the blush on her bottom before lying across his lap.

  Chris shifted slightly under her warm weight as she settled across his thighs, her reddened bottom thrust upwards. He had noticed, in a sort of wonder, the way she didn’t clench and flinch like Jo had last night. She just sort of offered herself.

  And now she was offering herself to him…

  Michael’s sharp voice cut through the fog of his thoughts. “Off you go then, Mr Butler.”

  Chris took a deep breath, reached back, and then brought his hand down smartly on her bottom. As sounds went, it wasn’t bad. But he noticed that she hadn’t even shifted and that, actually, his palm was stinging quite a bit. He had another go and the result was equally uninspiring.

  Mr Carter was circling, his clasped hands now held up to his lips. “Can anyone see the reason why Mr Butler’s smacks aren’t having as strong an impact as they could?”

  Chris paused to hear the answer: he would happily admit to being none-the-wiser himself.

  It was Mr Parry who spoke up, a slight, fair-haired youngish guy wearing flimsy-looking glasses. “You’re holding your hand a bit too flat,” he said directly to Chris, demonstrating with his own hand. “You want to try it more like this,” he advised, cupping his palm slightly.

  “Exactly,” said the tutor. “Try it, Mr Butler. Gather round everyone.”

  Chris laughed. “No pressure then, gents.” He cupped his hand, as instructed, and aimed a smack at Darcy’s bottom. This time, the sound it made was clear and sharp, the flesh of Darcy’s bottom shook and reddened, and Chris heard her gasp beneath him.

  Everyone around him was nodding and murmuring in approval.

  Buoyed up with his success, Chris doled out a volley of spanks using the same method, each one slightly harder than the last. Darcy’s panting and gasping increased in volume and pace…

  …until a sharp swat right on the crest of her bottom made her cry out and clench her cheeks.

  “Bravo, Mr Butler!” said Mr Carter with what appeared to be his first genuine smile. “I think we may now safely say that you officially have experience.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” hissed Jo, snatching her arm out of Chris’s grip and wriggling off the bed away from him.

  Chris gave a disbelieving laugh. “Er… shouldn’t that be ‘are you fucking kidding me, sir’?”

  “You think you can just make jokes?” Her voice was rising now. “I can’t believe you just spanked some random other woman and somehow thought I would be okay with it!”

  “What? That’s what the course is. Everyone did it—that’s what the tutor told us to do.”

  “Oh, so if they told you to fuck her too, you’d have done that, would you?”

  Chris gave her an ill-advised grin. “Well…”

  With an incoherent sound of disgusted outrage, Jo spun around and stormed into the living area, where she flung herself down onto the sofa. She had been so looking forward to having a relaxing evening with Chris. This first day had been challenging in the extreme: good bloody housekeeping all morning, and then a whole afternoon on “being the perfect hostess”. When Ms Edridge had come out with the priceless line “the ability to throw a sophisticated dinner party is something that every decent man looks for in a wife”, Jo had fought to resist the urge to vomit all over her desk.

  And then, to get back here and discover that not only had Chris’s day been way more fun and relaxing than hers, but that he had actually spent most of it spanking the bloody secretary… well, to say that she was pissed off might be something of an understatement.

  There was a creak and footsteps, and Jo looked up to find Chris leaning against the archway and gazing at her in an ‘I’m-trying-not-to-laugh’ kind of way.

  She glowered at him. “Well, I’m glad you can find this all so fucking amusing.”

  His infuriating grin just got wider. “You’re t
he one who wanted me to learn how.”

  “Not on her!”

  He took a step towards her, still grinning. “Want me to practise on you instead?”

  Jo leapt to her feet, face flushed. “Don’t even think about it!”

  “Oh, I’m thinking about it.”

  Jo picked up a cushion and aimed it as Chris took another step closer. Then there was a knock at the door and they both jumped.

  Oh fuck, it was time for their private tutorial already.

  “Come in,” called Chris.

  She shot him an irritated look and he gave her one of amused challenge.

  Scowling, Jo flung the cushion back down on the sofa and sat down in an angry tangle of crossed arms and legs.

  Mr Anderson appeared in the archway and took in the scene. “What’s happened here, then?”

  Jo flinched but the scowl stayed plastered to her face.

  Chris cleared his throat. “I was just explaining how I’d spent my day and Jo… er… wasn’t impressed.”

  “And what exactly is the issue, Joanne?” demanded Mr Anderson, standing right in front of her. With her eyes now lowered, Jo could see from his knees down.

  In Mr Anderson’s intimidating presence, all of her righteous anger seemed to desert her. She suddenly felt just like an unreasonable, petulant teenager. And that, she supposed, was how he wanted her to feel.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to look up. “You never said anything about him… practising on anyone else.”

  “Are you questioning Mr Carter’s teaching methods?” His voice was calm, detached almost, but Jo sensed nonetheless that she was treading on dangerous ground. “Surely you wish your husband to become confident and competent in disciplinary techniques? How is he to accomplish that without the opportunity to practise in a controlled and non-judgmental environment?”

  Heat rushed to Jo’s face. “Are you calling me judgmental?”

  “Watch your tone, Joanne!” snapped Mr Anderson. “You are already in enough trouble this evening as it is.”