Page 88 of A Very Naughty Christmas

Sighing, I took my coffee cup and headed toward the office that my wife and I shared. I guess if she was going to work, I might as well respond to some office emails.

* * *

“I’m home, honey,” I called as I walked through the door. It felt so amazing to be inside the heated house after coming from my frozen car, Betsy. She conveniently decided to stop heating her interior halfway on my trip home. So, I felt frozen.

I took my coat off and hung it up in the closet before heading into the kitchen. The oven light was on and the entire room smelled delicious. Peeking inside, I could see that Drew had some of his famous pork chops cooking. I loved those so much, but was a bit surprised to see that it looked like they had just been put in. They wouldn’t be done for at least two hours.

Normally, if I had to work and he got home first, he had dinner ready or almost ready by the time I walked through the door.

“I’m upstairs,” I heard Drew’s voice call.

Closing the oven, I headed up the stairs to my husband. With each step I took, I felt more and more awful about how we had left things this morning. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings or break a promise, but I had a really good reason why I had to do it. The only inconvenient part about that reason was I couldn’t tell him it until Christmas Day.

I was hoping that he would be understanding and forget about our small dispute this morning, but when I entered our bedroom, I realized that wouldn’t be the case.

He was standing next to the bed wearing a tight black shirt and pair of form-fitting jeans. Both clothing items showed off his strong muscles. He held in his right hand my wooden oval hairbrush. His eyes were narrowed and his lips pursed together. This wasn’t a good sign for my backside.

“What’s going on?” I asked, a bit confused. When I left this morning, he didn’t tell me that I had earned a punishment. So, what happened between then and now?

One of his eyebrows rose in disbelief as he asked, “Do you not remember the conversation that we had three weeks ago, when we both promised to take this week off, so we could reconnect?”

So, it was about me going to work this morning. I knew I should have woken up earlier, so he wouldn’t have seen me. If only I hadn’t lost my damn briefcase.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied when I realized he was still waiting for an answer.

“If you remembered that conversation, then why did you go into work today?”

Crap! I couldn’t tell him the truth or else it would wreck my surprise for him.

“I told you… something came up and I had to go in.”

“So on top of everything else, you’re going to lie to me? Really?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his bicep muscles bulging even more than they had been before. “I’m going to give you one last chance, young lady. Tell me why you went into work today whenyou promised me that you would take the time off.”

His tone of voice was so cold. It made me feel horrible when all I wanted to do was jump into his arms and cuddle with him and tell him the truth. But I couldn’t do that. So, I decided for the next best thing.

“I can’t say. I’m sorry.”

He let his free hand run through his chocolate brown hair as he closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath.

I felt even worse now for making him upset, but I couldn’t tell him the truth.

Finally, when he opened his eyes, he looked at me with determination.

“All right. Tonight, you are going to be punished for breaking your promise to me to take today and the rest of this week off of work. After your punishment, we’ll go and eat dinner and after that, you will send an email to your boss and tell her that you will not be back into work for the rest of the week.”

I was about to protest, but he raised his hand to stop me.

“Seeing as it’s Christmas in two days, I’m also positive that she’ll understand.”

Feeling defeated, I let my shoulders drop down. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Now, strip and lay yourself across my lap. You will get a warmup with my hand and then ten spanks with the hairbrush,” he announced, taking a seat on our bed.

“But, Sir—”

“Do you want to make it fifteen?”

“No, Sir. I’m sorry.”

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