Jealous Rage, by Laylah

She sat hunched in the passenger seat of his little sports car with her arms crossed as they sped down the parkway toward Manhattan.  She was feeling a quandary of emotions.  Worried that he was really upset.  Pissed at herself that she’d let that bitch get the best of her emotions.  Angry at him for probably having a right to be mad at her.  Jealous.  Frustrated.  Cranky.  And a bit afraid of the consequences.

The relationship was only six months along.  This wasn’t their first disagreement.  It was the first time that she’s clearly been wrong.  Dead wrong.  She hated being wrong.  Worse, she had acted like a child.

He clutched the wheel and said nothing.  The only sign of emotion was a small twitch as he clenched his jaw and concentrated on driving.

She turned and stared out the window and thought, “Well, whatever!” She wasn’t normally a jealous person.  What had gotten into her?  After she’d tossed the glass of Chardonnay in the flirtatious red head’s face, causing the small party to come to an uncertain halt, she’d felt only slightly vindicated.  The vindication hadn’t lasted long when he appeared at her side with her coat and quietly escorted her out the front door and to the car.  Their hosts and the remaining guests just sat around in shock as the red head sobbed loudly and screamed obscenities at her as they left.

As they continued to speed down the FDR, she was surprised that he didn’t turn off on her exit to simply dump her in front of her building.  They were going to his place.  She steeled herself for a fight.  She wished that she had a decent argument.

He wove the car through the streets of lower Manhattan to his building in the East Village.  He pulled into the garage, tossed his keys to the attendant and turned on his heel toward the elevator.  Her anger subsided only slightly in a haze of confusion and she ran to catch up with him.  

Inside the door of his spacious loft, he dropped his keys on the table and headed toward the wet bar.  He poured himself a scotch and finally turned to look at her.  She dropped her purse on the floor and just stared back at him, crossed her arms and waited for him to say something.

He took a long sip and said, “I can’t believe you.”

The tension left her in one swift motion and she was no longer angry.  “I know.  I’m sorry.”  Her shoulders slumped and she suddenly concentrated on the floor.

He paused and said, “Come here.”  She was so surprised by the anger in his voice that she moved quickly toward him.  He set his drink down and reached to unbuckle his belt.  She stepped back quickly and uttered a small cry of surprise as he slid it from the around his waist.  She looked up at him and could only say, “What are you doing?”

“Come here,” he commanded, again.  She looked at him in disbelief and said, “Wha…”

“You acted like a jealous child.  And deserve to be treated as such.”  His gaze was steady.  “Now, don’t make me ask you again…”

Her head was going to explode.  Being spanked was an erotic fantasy that they had often shared in passion.  This was different.  He was really mad.  She didn’t know where to put it.  She was having trouble processing this turn of events.  Yet, she knew that she had been clearly wrong.  In the back of her mind, she knew that she deserved to be punished.  Her body seemed to move of it’s own accord as she shuffled toward him.

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He gripped her forearm and pulled her purposefully toward the leather sofa.  He sat and pulled her down across his lap.  She was gangly, wriggling, and instinctively trying to escape his grasp.  He captured her legs with one strong leg and deftly pulled her cotton dress up to bare her ass.  He pulled her thong briefs up to fully expose her backside.  She squealed in protest.  She suddenly couldn’t believe that this was happening.

He didn’t say anything more.  He simply raised his arm and began to assault her tanned ass with the folded, thin bit of leather.  He didn’t count.  He just continued until the red strips that he created covered her backside and his arm began to tire.  Her tears fell copiously on the hard wood floor.  He dropped the belt on the floor and pulled her up to him.  She sobbed into his shoulder.  He held her tight against his chest and rocked her.

Finally, she began to quiet.  His t-shirt was wet with her tears.  “Shhh…  ssshhh…” he just kept saying.

Gently he took her chin and raised her face.  He kissed her softly and said for the first time, “I love you.”

She sucked in her breath and covered his mouth with her own.

He stood up from the sofa, lifting her in one swift motion and carried her to the bedroom to commence the reconciliation.

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