Paula’s Story [Part Three]:

When the bath was over and I was rising from the tub, I had decided to tell Pete what was wrong with me and how things had happened. It was in that still moment as I gazed at my nude body, revealed in the full-length mirror I realized every towel was missing from the shelf; and, my terry-cloth robe had been taken off the hook on the door. I was left with the image in the mirror, of myself as I was:

Dripping wet, head-to-toe, and stark naked. A pink bottom was now joined by a slowly growing crimson face…and, would be later when I left the bedroom, as naked as I was,…alone, before my reflection.

I was still unaware Pete knew all; I just figured he had taken the robe and the towels and put them in the washing machine.

When I opened the door a crack and peeked out it dawned on me that Pete was well aware of what I’d done the day before, and why I was covering my ass now; why I’d sat for two hours, wiggling in my seat; and, why I laid on my tummy, reading the newspaper, this morning…and, why, I’d laid nude upon a chaise lounge in our backyard…oh no, I thought to myself, getting flush as a red tomato, heat rising in my face, Pete knows I have a sore bottom!

**

There, on the bed:

The chaise, in a reclined position. My face became beet-red with the extent of my exposure; or, I should say “over-exposure” (seeing it, once again, in the bright light of the bedroom).

I must say, I began to feel angry, and somewhat rebellious, after finding out that all of my clothes were missing from the bedroom as well [including, Pete's clothes, and underwear.]

As I went through the bedroom door, and down the stairs I kept this stance, and in my own mind I felt proud of the way in which I was holding my head up, and not giving Pete the satisfaction of seeing me feeling guilty, or ashamed.

Wearing nothing, but a big smile, and stamping my bare feet, one-by-one, down the wooden stairs, I reached the last step and turned right into the hallway and stood under the archway of the living room as if I were Venus, rising from a clam shell: hands on hips; butt, cocked, provocatively; breasts, full and uplifted in the heat; nipples, visibly, at attention.

There was Pete, sitting on the Love Seat, looking somewhat stunned by my stance in the hallway. I felt glorious, instead of ashamed…and, this hit Pete with a speechless wonder.

Pete motioned me into the living room with an upraised hand; a twisted, index finger. I padded onto the plush carpet, barefoot. I stood before him; hands on hips. I was determined not to lose my ground, to lose my stance, or lose the justification for my nakedness of the previous afternoon.

This man I’d married, only two weeks ago, twirled his finger in the air, motioning me to turn, full around. His head (I judged), was just about even with the crack in my ass; just about even with my red bottom. The moment of truth had arrived, and I was happy to oblige. I turned myself, slowly around, on my feet, and bent over as far as I could, cleaving my crack, and, my bottom out-thrust, right there, so near to his face.

“I guess you know ALL now, huh?,” I said.

Out of nowhere, the cheeks of my ass felt the hard leather of a sandal. Pete was spanking my bottom with one of the sandals I’d dropped by the foot of the chaise-lounge.

Holding my arm [not at all, forcefully], he walked me towards the front door; and, while doing so, spanked my already warmed fanny, with his open palm.

(TO BE CONTINUED)