Chapter Two
Hannah
“Tell me, Hannah, what did you agree to only hours ago?”
“That I would give up control to you.”
“Did that control have any conditions? Any limitations?”
I couldn’t help but think maybe I should have been a bit more hesitant to offer what I had, but it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. I had been at the breaking point, stressed beyond belief, having no control over my emotions, and when Brett had offered to help, to guide me, to take care of me, I’d jumped at the chance. It wasn’t like we hadn’t discussed it before. We had, several times. Yet, I’d always pulled back, afraid that what he assured me would be a solution wouldn’t be. Finally, I’d taken that step and this was the result of that choice.
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I don’t remember any conditions.”
He didn’t respond except to lift his eyebrow.
“Um, no limitations?”
Who knew an already lifted eyebrow could arch higher? I shifted my weight, wondering what I was missing and then tried again.
“No, sir?” His nod and relaxed brow told me I’d finally gotten it right.
“That’s correct. But the very first time I take control, refuse to allow you to get yourself into another situation that will drive you crazy, how do you react?”
I could lie but was pretty sure that would only land me in hotter water. “I wasn’t happy.”
Brett shook his head. “That’s putting it lightly. You were far more than unhappy. You were extremely vocal. I’m sure many people heard you misquote the Bill of Rights, adding nonexistent clauses to the first amendment about the right to do whatever you want, say whatever you want, and accusing me of being… what was the term? Oh, yes—a bloody tyrant.”
It sounded so much worse coming from his lips. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No?” His eyebrow lifted again, and I had to consciously fight the urge to squirm. “What you meant was that you’d honor your commitment when and if it was convenient for you. If it didn’t interfere with your plans and if it didn’t include anything but my concurrence. Well, those days are over. There is a new declaration in this household, and it states that I will decide when you are in over your head. I love you, Hannah, but I do not love the fact that you are already reneging on our agreement.”
“I’m not—”
“That’s right, you’re not because I won’t allow it. You asked for help. Your life has been spinning out of control for months. Every time I try to curtail you, you assure me you’ve got it handled—”
“I do! I might seem a bit scatterbrained, but just because I’m not some sort of military robot doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing! I do handle things!”
A bit taken back when he didn’t respond but took my hand instead, I could only walk beside him as he took me into the dining room.
“This is handling things?”
The entire surface of the table was covered. My laptop stood open on one end, surrounded by papers. Baskets and items to go in them were strewn across the table. Cups, plates, and bowls sat on top of several folders serving as impromptu paperweights from where I’d eaten while working on projects. Chairs were pulled away from the table so that more papers and boxes could be piled onto them.
“I’m working on the welcoming party for the new families. I need to have everything where I can get to it easily.”
He reached into a box and pulled out a t-shirt, holding it up. “And these?”
“Those are for the 5K run in a few weeks.”
“I thought Stephanie Carter was responsible for the t-shirts.”
“She was, but I didn’t think the design was… um… creative enough, so I decided to do them myself.”
“I see.” Dropping the shirt back in the box, he took my hand again and led me toward the spare bedroom. I couldn’t help but notice his foot had kicked away a wadded-up sheet of paper—one of many that had fallen out of the overstuffed wastepaper basket. Opening the door of the guestroom, he waved his hand.
“And this?”
Brightly colored paper was everywhere. Green florist wire, tape, and scissors lay on the pillows at the head of the bed. Tissue paper flowers in various stages of completion lay across the bed, window seat, bureau, and floor. It was like stepping into a flower garden… albeit one that looked a little messy.
“These are for the Mexican-themed dinner.”
“The one at the end of the month, correct?”
I nodded, not surprised that he remembered as he didn’t seem to ever forget anything.
“How many flowers are you making?”
“Um, a lot… it’s a big room and we decided to use them as centerpieces on each table and make a big arch where people can have their picture taken. We’re going to have piñatas for the children.”
“How many is a lot, Hannah?”
I couldn’t help but fidget a bit. “A thousand?” I could practically see him counting the flowers visible, knowing there were no more than a hundred done.
“And you don’t have any help? The party is in two weeks.”
Why that surprised me, I really didn’t know. I’d known the date but to realize that the many weeks I’d thought I’d had were down to two was a bit scary.
“Um…”
“Let me guess. You decided that your team didn’t make the flowers as well as you could so you decided to take on that responsibility as well?”
“You should have seen theirs,” I said, taking advantage of his suggestion as my reason. “Exactly! They were pretty awful and…”
His expression told me he didn’t particularly care that I wanted perfect flowers. Without a word, he took my hand again and led me back through the house into the utility room. I had to fight not to just shut my eyes as I was pretty sure what he’d be asking next.
“What is this?”
Sure enough, he was pointing to the basket containing his uniforms that I’d totally forgotten to take to the dry cleaners.
“I’m sorry; I meant to take those yesterday.”
“And these?” He pointed to two more baskets that were full of laundry waiting to be ironed.
“I washed those and just need to finish ironing them for the officers’ wives’ tea.” Before he could drag me to another area of our house, I conceded. “Okay, I’m a little behind, but that doesn’t mean I can’t catch up.”
“You are not a little behind, Hannah. You’ve fallen overboard and have been fighting against the current for far too long.” Taking my hand again, he led me back into the living room. After taking a seat on the couch, he pulled me to stand between his legs.
I discovered there was something more embarrassing than knowing I’d been walking around the house half naked. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen me nude, we were married after all, but now he had an unobstructed, up close and personal view of my pussy and it wasn’t because we were going to enjoy hot monkey sex. The only thing I could be grateful for was that he wouldn’t see the dampness that had gathered between my legs. My arousal had died as he’d made me face all the things I’d promised to do that were undone and were actually stressing me to the max.
“The good news is that you finally had the sense to come up for air and ask for help. I’m going to be your lifeboat, and you are going to learn never again to jump into the deep end without someone to be there for support.”
That actually made sense and sounded good. I was about to agree when he gave his next command.
“All right, put yourself over my knee.”
I’d known this was coming, he’d not been the least bit unclear, and yet… I could only stare at his leg, my feet rooted to the floor. “Brett… please—”
“No, not Brett, and not Major Brett. But to make sure that you are in the correct mindset during these sessions, and anytime you are being punished, you’ll address me as we agreed.”
“But that was just a… a joke. I can’t call you Daddy. I’m not some child—”
“You’re not actually a child, but you are acting like one. Not only are you now enrolled in my boot camp, we’ve already made this decision. We agreed that while ‘sir’ is a term of respect, being in the military, you hear it too often. You wanted something unique to the two of us. A term that would instantly remind you that you are not in control when it’s necessary that you be disciplined. Correct?”
I couldn’t deny that I’d said those things, or that I heard ‘sir’ a hundred times a day around the base. Standing in front of the man who was going to punish me, I also couldn’t deny that his expression, his very tone was coming from a place of authority I’d never experienced, even as a kid.
“Hannah, I expect an answer when I’ve asked you a question.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” I acknowledged.
“That’s correct, what?”
I could feel my face heating and my fingernails biting into my palms, but I took a deep breath and, for the first time in my life, addressed him as he’d commanded. “Yes, Daddy, that’s correct.”
“Thank you. Now do you need Daddy to help position you for your spanking?”
God, who talked like that? What sort of woman called her husband Daddy? For that matter, what husband actually wanted to spank his wife? That question was answered when Brett spoke again.
“Hannah?”
Mute, I could simply nod. Before I knew what was happening, he’d turned me to the side and tipped me over his left knee. That seemed to unfreeze me for I immediately planted my hands on the floor in front of me as he splayed his fingers over my naked buttocks that were now clenched tightly.
“Tell me why I’m going to spank your ass.”
I couldn’t help it; I swear I couldn’t. Though I’d been determined to accept the fact that he was truly going to spank me for the very first time, though I’d not only agreed but implored him to take charge, take me in hand, hearing those words, looking at the floor beneath me, feeling my toes scrabbling to remain on the floor versus bicycling in thin air, I heard myself give a whimper.
“Please, I-I’m sorry. Please don’t do this. I was only trying to be a good wife.”
“Hannah, you are a good wife. You are just having problems remembering that your first responsibility is to us—”
“I do all those things because they are expected of an officer’s wife!”
A searing swat had me screeching and bucking up.
“Do not interrupt me again. We come first. You and me and this house. I’m sick and tired of coming home and finding the house is a wreck, and my wife is nowhere to be found. When was the last time we actually sat down to a hot meal together? One that didn’t come out of a fast-food bag? When was the last time we cuddled on the couch and watched a movie together? I understand that you think you are helping my career, but not at the cost of becoming so stressed, so overcommitted that you don’t enjoy a damn thing. I listen to you bitch and moan every day about how you are unappreciated by everyone on those committees you keep volunteering for.”
I didn’t like hearing this. I honestly thought I was doing all I could to make sure that no one could accuse me of slacking off. But, it didn’t take but a glance down at the floor beneath my face and seeing that my very breath was making dust bunnies swirl around to realize I had been negligent when it came to our home.
“I’ll tell Judith that you won’t let me help.”
“I’m not saying you can’t help, Hannah. What I’m saying is that you will not chair another committee. You need to learn to prioritize and delegate. There are several women who’d love a chance to step up if you’d only allow them to show you that they are capable.”
“You make it sound like I’m some sort of… of overbearing bitch.”
“What happened to all the women whom I’m sure volunteered to help you with those flowers? How do you think it makes them feel to learn you don’t think they are capable? And the t-shirts? How would you feel if you designed them and had them printed only to discover they aren’t the ones being worn? You’re not a bitch, Hannah, but you are guilty of disregarding the fact that you are not the only woman on this base who wants to help. To echo your own words, you are becoming a bit of a tyrant and that stops now.”
Well, that didn’t sound much better. Was I really so awful? “I said I’d call her.”
“Yes, you will, as well as call some of the other women to help you finish the flowers and Stephanie to thank her for her hard work with the t-shirts. They are for a charity run, not to hang on the wall at the Louvre. And you will tell me why you will be making those calls with a burning butt.”
I was finding it extremely hard to think with the presence of his large hand against my flesh. This was no longer some vague idea I’d thought I’d be willing to try to get my life back on track. No, from the moment he’d instructed me to remove my panties, he’d been dedicated to proving that when he made a commitment, he gave it his all. This was going to happen. My husband—my daddy—was actually going to spank me. It was humiliating… it was humbling in a way I’d never imagined.
“I was rude and disrespectful. I refused to listen to you explain why I was making a mistake. I called you names, and evidently, I’m a horrible person and treat everyone like sh… crap.”
“Hannah, you are digging that hole you are in deeper and deeper. I never said you are horrible. But I’m not going to sugarcoat this either. Your behavior is unacceptable.”
God, I wasn’t very comfortable admitting he was right, but my embarrassing position, his hand on my ass, made it a bit easier. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you are, but tell me what all of those have in common.”
They all mean you’re going to smack my ass. Okay, I might be bratty at times, but I definitely wasn’t stupid. He and I both knew what had been written in the document we’d signed. We were both well aware that continued disobedience meant escalating consequences. I’d never been spanked before, but even I was pretty damn sure I wanted to avoid saying anything that would most likely find his belt coming off to add to my punishment.
“I broke my promise to you.”
It was as if actually saying the words finally triggered something in my head. I loved this man, trusted him with my very life, and had asked for his help. Being Brett, he’d instantly agreed to do all he could to make my life easier. When I was ready to jump in with both feet, he’d made sure our agreement wasn’t something we’d entered on a whim. We’d spent several days discussing what I needed, what I wanted, what I expected. We’d written a set of rules, and I’d not only agreed to follow those rules, I’d promised to accept the consequences if I broke them. We’d chosen one night a week, Fridays, that would be considered as maintenance night. I’d balked at first, stating that it didn’t seem fair to get my butt smacked if I’d been good, but he’d explained that regular maintenance would help ingrain the mindset of who was in control of our household. But he was right. The first time push came to shove, the first day of maintenance, I was ready to bail.
I turned my head to look over my shoulder to see him looking down at me. “Will it help if I say I really am sorry?”
“I’m sorry too, babygirl, but I’m here to help you learn that words are easy to say; accepting your daddy’s punishment will help you remember what happens when you choose to be his naughty girl.”
How his words, his choice to use triggers such as ‘daddy’, ‘punishment’, ‘naughty’, and, most especially calling me his ‘babygirl’, removed the humiliation of hanging over his lap, my bare bottom perched over his knee, I didn’t know. But I felt a warmth spreading through me, somehow assuring me that despite the position I currently found myself in, he didn’t think less of me. When he put his free leg over both of mine, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that if he didn’t care, if he wasn’t determined to help me find balance in my world that had spun off its axis, then he wouldn’t take the time to correct me. Right?