by Lucy Appleby
"Edward Anthony Gillespie - come here. Now."
Ted gulped. When Betty was pissed at him she always used his full name of Edward ... the addition of his middle name meant she was seriously pissed.
"Er, okay. I'm coming."
He put down his newspaper, got up from the sofa and headed towards the kitchen wondering what he'd done to displease her. She hadn't raised her voice, nor did she need to, because when she used that certain tone, Ted always knew she meant business... and when Betty was in one of her moods it was best not to irritate her further.
So he scurried into the kitchen, and there she was, his wife of six months, standing by the sink as the tap drip-drip-dripped into the bowl.
"Ah," he said apologetically. She had asked him twice to repair the dripping tap. Or was it three times?
"Four times I've asked you to see to the tap, and four times you promised to do so." Betty glared at him, her pretty face set into a hard stare.
"Uh, sorry. I forgot."
"You forgot? That's a pathetic excuse Edward, and you know it." Betty narrowed her eyes and looked at him speculatively. "If this marriage is going to work, things are going to change around here, Edward."
"Of course, of course," he said, with no clear idea of what she had in mind. "I'll do it straight away ... after the football." He glanced at his watch. "It's on in ten minutes."
"You'll do it right now," she said firmly, her green eyes blazing.
"But the football-"
"I don't give a damn about the football. I've been asking you to do this simple task for three weeks. So get on with it."
Ted frowned and was about to argue but thought better of it. He reached for a spanner out of one of the kitchen drawers. "Needs a new washer," he announced a couple of minutes later. "I'd best nip out and get one."
"Fine. But be quick about it. Or else," Betty added ominously.
Ted had every intention of buying a replacement washer, after the football. He couldn't miss kick off! He drove to the pub and raced inside, just in time to see the start of the match on the big screen.
"Ted! I wasn't expecting to see you here this afternoon." Ted's best mate Bill grinned, slapped him on the back, and ordered two pints from the bar.
Ted got the second round of drinks in at half time. His team continued to play brilliantly, winning 4 - 0. Ted was hoarse with shouting and ordered another two pints. "To ease our throats," he told Bill.
"Cheers, mate. I'll just give Molly a Call," said Bill. "Tell her I'm going to be another hour or so. She likes to know what I'm up to."
"Betty thinks I'm out at the hardware store buying a replacement washer for the kitchen tap," sniggered Ted.
"Won't you be in bother when you get back home?"
"Nah. She'll have a go at me, but it'll all blow over. Anyway, I'll buy her a bunch of flowers on the way back; that should sweeten her up."
Bill looked at Ted, and for a moment was tempted to say something, but decided not to. After all, what went on behind closed doors between himself and Molly was their business, and even though Ted was his best mate, he didn't feel entirely comfortable telling him he was a disciplined husband. Some things were best left private.
So Bill made the call to Molly, explaining he'd be a little longer in the pub as he'd met up with Ted and they were having a couple of pints.
The two men celebrated the victory further with bawdy talk and a game of pool.
"I'll get another round in, shall I?" said Ted.
"Nah, not for me. I have to be home by seven."
"Ah okay. Suppose I should be going too. Bummer - I'll have to walk back. I've had too much to drink to drive."
"Yeah, me too," said Bill.
"It's alright for you - you only have a five minute walk. It'll take me at least half an hour and I have to call at the hardware store."
"You mean Walkers?"
"Yeah. That's the one."
"They'll be shut now. They close at five on a Saturday."
"Oh shit. That's not going to go down well with Betty. I hope the florists are still open."
The two men took their leave and Ted hurried to the florists just as they were closing.
"Can I just get a bunch of roses?" he asked the assistant.
"Sure. What colour would you like?"
"Er ..." He surveyed the range available.
"Each colour symbolizes a different meaning."
"Oh. I didn't know that."
"Take the yellow ones for example... they signify excitement and passion in a relationship.
"Oh - give me a dozen of those then please. They'll do nicely. You can't beat a bit of excitement and passion on a Saturday night."
The young assistant giggled as she handed them over. "Hope you get what you're looking for," she said. "Enjoy your evening!"
"Oh I will," said Ted.
Ted was still euphoric when he arrived home. His alcohol-fuelled brain convinced him that once Betty saw the wondrous flowers he had bought her, she would quickly forgive his little lapse. His stomach growled as he opened the front door and he sniffed the air hungrily wondering what was for dinner. Unfortunately there was no welcoming aroma of food cooking.
"Hi darling," he announced, striding into the sitting room. "I got you these. Aren't they lovely?"
Betty barely even glanced at the flowers. Deadly calm, she surveyed her husband.
"I just called in at the pub. Had a couple of drinks with Bill."
"I know."
"You do?" He hadn't expected that.
"As you didn't bother answering your cell phone, I called Molly," she said icily. Ted was oblivious to her tone. "We had quite an interesting little chat."
"Oh. Damn. Sorry about that - I left my phone in the car. And I left the car in the pub car park. It's best to be sensible about these things. I knew you wouldn't want me drinking and driving." Ted beamed at her and sat down in the armchair. "I'm starving. What's for dinner."
"I have something special planned," said Betty, rising from her seat on the sofa.
"Fantastic. What is it?"
"Roast rump." The corners of Betty's mouth twitched a little.
"Yum! I'm ready for that!"
"You certainly are. Come through to the kitchen."
Ted jumped up enthusiastically and followed Betty into the kitchen. She usually had the table set well in advance of dinner, but clearly hadn't got around to doing so yet as instead of place settings, there was just her hairbrush and a tomato cane from out of the greenhouse.
"You been doing some gardening?" Ted asked, glancing at the cane.
"No. Stand up straight, Edward, so I can get at your zip."
"My zip?" For a moment his face went blank, and then understanding dawned. Kinky sex before dinner! Whooppeee! "Ah, I get it. Aren't you the sneaky one, planning a pre-dinner seduction." He chuckled, and assisted by eagerly undoing his trousers and shoving them down to his thighs along with his underpants. As he stood there bare-assed, his cock jutted out like an iron bar. "Look what I've got for you," he said meaningfully.
"And look what I've got for you." Betty picked up the hairbrush.
Ted guffawed. "Honey, I'm not about to brush my hair at a time like this."
Betty responded with a flash of her green eyes and a thin smile as, hair brush in her right hand, she reached out and grabbed his cock with her left.
"Ahhh," breathed Ted. "That's it, baby. Give it a good fondle. Then you can go down on me. I ... hey! Steady on."
Betty sat on one of the kitchen chairs and tugged hard at his cock. Moments later, Ted found himself sprawled in a most undignified manner over Betty's lap.
"Hey! What are you doing? Let me up!" said Ted in alarm.
"Oh I don't think so. Not until I've well and truly roasted your rump."
"Eh? What the hell are you on about, woman?" Ted struggled to get up, and then yelped out in pain as a searing pain blazed into his bare backside. "Aaaaagh!" he yelled. "What are you doing?! Owww!" he hollered as a second pain bloomed.
"I'll tell you what I'm doing," said Betty. "I'm spanking your lazy ass, that's what I'm doing. It's long overdue." The hairbrush splatted down on Ted's left cheek with a loud crack, followed by an anguished howl. "And from now on, you're going to get your sorry backside soundly spanked at regular intervals." Down came the punishing brush again, on his right cheek, then his left, and then a third blow that caught both cheeks together.
"Bett-eeeee!" screeched Ted, his eyes bulging as he registered the pain from the bastard hairbrush.
"I've had six months of you being lazy, (Crack!) inconsiderate, (Crack!) selfish, (Crack!) and disrespectful, (Crack! Crack! Crack) and I'm not tolerating that kind of (Crack!) behaviour (Crack!) from you (Crack!) any more. (Crack!) Do you understand?" CRACK!
"Yeowwww!" yelled Ted. "Oh man - that fucking hurts!"
"And you can stop that foul language too." Betty brought the brush down again hard on his reddened cheeks. With her left hand pressed down firmly on his lower back (as instructed by Molly) she held him in place as she got into a fast rhythm, pasting his bouncing butt cheeks with the fearsome hairbrush.
"Aaarggh! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" yelled Ted.
"Not sorry enough. Not by a long chalk," said Betty grimly.
Ted beat the floor with his fists as his legs splayed and kicked frantically. In his distress he kicked his trousers and underpants right off, and carried on kicking until Betty did a clever little trick, deftly pinioning his legs with her own (another neat little tip she got from Molly.)
"Nooooo!" wailed Ted.
"Yes," said Betty emphatically. "If our marriage is to continue, I'm going to take charge of everything - including your discipline. It may take some time, but you are going to learn how to be a dutiful and obedient husband." She delivered half a dozen zingers to the back of his thighs, which made him howl like a banshee. "You will be punished for all infractions, however minor. And you will also receive regular maintenance spankings to ensure continued good behaviour." The brush decorated his sit spots with deep red blotches. "Are we clear on that?"
"M-maintenance sp-spankings?!" Ted was aghast. His cute, blonde little wife had turned into some fierce harridan. "There's no need for that, Betty-OWWW!" he shrieked as another strike battered his bottom.
"There's every need for it. And it's non negotiable. Now get up and bend over the table."
"What for?" sniffled Ted, snot dripping from his nose. His backside burned and throbbed.
"Because I say so, and because YOU WILL LEARN TO DO AS YOU'RE TOLD."
Whimpering, Ted dutifully leaned over the table.
"Feet apart," barked Betty. "Stick that bottom right out."
"Please, Betty ... I said I'm sorry." Ted reached back to rub his blazing buns.
"No rubbing."
"But it hurts," he wailed.
"That's the idea, boy. Get used to it."
Betty picked up one of the canes and swished it through the air. "Lovely. Music to my ears," she said conversationally as though she was discussing the weather. "This should do to finish the job off. It's not a proper cane of course ... I've ordered a proper one off the internet... but it will do just fine for now."
"Fuck! Not a cane," wailed Ted.
"What did I tell you about swearing?" Betty brought the cane down firmly across the centre of his cheeks.
Ted squealed like a girl and hopped up and down, both hands clasping his bottom.
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