SWITCH by Kate Richards
Esme Stone’s marriage is on the rocks. Her husband, Rick, has Peter Pan Syndrome to the extreme, partying till all hours and spending every dime he makes. She cooks, cleans, earns the money for their expenses, and takes responsibility for paying the bills. In short, everything. How can she start a family when her husband is a big kid himself? Heart breaking, she considers divorce.
One step from walking out, she meets a woman online, then others, who swear a Domestic Discipline agreement saved their marriages. That putting their husbands in charge helped them grow up. In hopeful desperation, Esme approaches Rick with an ultimatum.
Take charge or take a hike.
They jump in with both feet and then come up against a wall. Rick needs help with the discipline elements he must employ. Spank Esme?
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“Not so bad, was it?” Once again he rubbed her buttocks. Soothing the heat left by the flat of his hand. “Now, we will go to the bare skin, but first I want Rick to make his first decision.” He stopped stroking, but left his palm resting on her ass. “Go to the closet and pick out an implement. I suggest a paddle, but whatever looks good to you.”
Rick moved through her field of vision and disappeared again, while her anxiety rose. Her husband, who hadn’t even laid a hand on her backside, wouldn’t pick anything too crazy, would he? Of course, crazy was all in the eye of the beholder…or the bottom of the spankee.
A chuckle rumbled from the Trainer, irritating her beyond all reason, and she struggled to sit up, to get off the bastard’s lap. He dropped his arm over the small of her back, pinning her in place. “Some people have eclectic taste. See anything you like, Rick?” “I think so, yes.” She braced her upper body on her left palm raising her head and straining to see. What did he have from the cabinet of horrors? Esme let her eyes drift closed. Whatever would be would be.
A loud thump and they flew open again.
“Sorry, clumsy me.” What had he dropped? A bowling ball? The rock-hard thighs under her belly vibrated with the Trainer’s humor. She didn’t share his amusement in the situation. Of course his fanny wasn’t sticking up in the air, ready to be a target—again. Would anyone dare to give him a taste of his own medicine?
Perhaps this whole domestic discipline thing had gotten out of hand. The humiliation clause in their agreement hadn’t included a group guffaw while her butt caught cold.
“Ohhh.” The Trainer’s warm palm circled her cheeks again, one then the other, rhythmic and sensual. And created a whole other problem. Until now, she’d had zero reaction to his touch. Something had changed; the very thought of a paddle or flogger in her husband’s hand had triggered a reaction.
Although it wasn’t him touching her, somehow the on switch had been flicked to her libido. Every inch of exposed skin was a tiny erogenous zone and his smooth palm swept from one to the next, lighting her on fire. “I don’t know—I’m not sure….”
“Rick, have you made your selection? I’m keeping your wife warm.”
Hot, he is keeping your wife hot, and you may not like that.
Rick’s white athletic shoes returned to her view. “Keeping her…warm?”
Well, gee, Rick, thanks for noticing another man is rubbing my bare ass. Just please don’t notice how turned on I’m getting. At least until she could think it through and decide whether she was becoming a slut who didn’t care whose hands were on her. She blew out a shuddering breath. Was it more distressing when she hadn’t reacted or now that she had?
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