The Belt

It was some time before he stopped sobbing. She waited for his weeping to subside, patiently. It was a beautiful morning, with a brisk breeze that rustled the acacias lining her property and rippled across her glittering pool. She could hear clearly the distant crash of waves onto the rocks below the cliffs.

The race the afternoon before had been particularly hard-fought, in tricky gusting winds that followed the morning squall. She and her crew had barely beat their closest rivals, and in the yacht club that evening, seeing as the season was statistically won, she had bought more than a few rounds for them in celebration. The girls were in a particularly boisterous mood, and as the night wore on, they each departed with a squirming serving boy or two in their arms—and in one case, dragging a whimpering boy behind her by his hair to the laughter of the other women in the bar—to the clubs' rooms provided for the members' more private entertainments.

There she was left somewhat alone with this intriguing little thing, many of the other women left in the club bar being similarly entertained. Alan, the head boy, had yet again excelled in his staffing assignments that week, she had mused to herself, as her chosen one ran his soft lips up her thigh.

Tamara had warned her, of course.

"We've had to leave the boys mostly unsupervised in the last few years, Mom and I," she had said quietly as if in apology. "You'll probably find James to be a spoiled brat for a husband, although I'm also quite sure you'll be able to whip him into shape." They shared a laugh, and she had gazed over the sunlit rim of her champagne flute at the handsome boy across the garden who, still oblivious, had just been engaged to her earlier that afternoon.

Perhaps she shouldn't have favored him over her other husbands so much the few days after the wedding, but he had proved to be a delight in bed, eager and hungry to please, with a body so responsive that it surprised even her. She couldn't help herself.

The lights were still on when she returned from the yacht club that night. She had stayed very late, yet somehow, she had been expecting a scene. He was in the living room, screaming obscenities at her as she entered, her other two husbands standing helplessly, pleadingly behind him. There was a broken vase on the floor. He rushed at her and she caught his wrists in one hand and threw him on the ground. She undid her belt with her other hand and with it, tied his wrists and ankles together behind him. "Get to bed," she had said to the others, "he'll clean up the broken glass after his punishment is over in the morning." They left, quick steps running softly up the stairs. She picked him up by the free end of her belt, strode out to the back patio with him dangling helplessly, and threw him on a patch of lawn. "You'll sleep outside tonight," she said to him, and she closed the door behind her as she went back in the house.

"Do you know why I whipped you?" she asked him as his sobbing finally died down. His little body was still shaking. He nodded, miserable. One side of his face was still marked by the impressions of the rough concrete paving from when she had held him on the ground with her foot on the side of his head.

"Yes..." he choked, his voice a hoarse whisper. He had screamed uncontrollably beneath her foot, his body writhing with each lash of her belt across his back, his small hands desperately grasping at her ankle. She hadn't whipped him hard, not enough to break his skin or raise any significant welts. His back and buttocks would be tender for a week or two at most.

"Is this the first time you've been whipped with a belt?" she asked.

He shook his head and stammered, "It's been a long time since my sister's... punished me." He still hadn't looked up at her since she had ordered him onto her lap. The lack of female influence in their family couldn't be helped. After all, Tamara had lived and worked in New York City for several years now, with a family of her own, while Helen, their mother, had been away from home most of the last decade since she was elected to the Senate.

"You are now my husband, James. A husband should not disobey or question his wife. What kind of example would that set for my children?" She let that sink in. "Do you remember the vows you took last week?"

He nodded.

"What were they?"

"To love, honor and obey you." His voice trembled.

"Completely," she added.

"Completely." He looked up at her, and then quickly cast his eyes down again.

"And if you fail to do so?" She placed a finger and thumb on his quivering chin.

"You shall discipline me as you see fit."

She leaned forward and kissed him forcefully, felt him tense and struggle before yielding to her, his hard arousal pushing against her stomach. She broke the kiss off and looked him, a fresh tear rolling slowly down his cheek.

"Get into the house and clean up the broken vase in the living room," she said. "You can have breakfast after you finish." He nodded. "After you eat and shower, you will help Eric and Ross prepare for the dinner party tonight."

"Yes, Angela."

"Good."

He gingerly climbed down, bent to retrieve his robe that she had stripped off him so that it would not be torn as she lashed him. She smiled as she watched him trying to to conceal the erection he was carrying ever since she had let him rise from whipping position.

His punishment was not over, she thought to herself. Tonight, after the last dinner guests leave, she would order him to her room, throw him roughly on his tender back, and take him. She would not be gentle.