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A Change For The Better by Tobias Tanner
Copyright (c)
2006 Tobias Tanner, all rights reserved, not for sale
Trudy fell off
the back of her husband’s motorcycle and onto the driveway in
front of their house one morning. The bike wasn’t even moving at
the time, but she had her helmet in one hand, rather than on her
head where it belonged, and that was where she landed—right on
her head. Her only memory of the incident, oddly enough, was the
hollow bang and clatter of that helmet hitting the concrete
beside her, and a clear image of the silver oak tree in their
yard, with its leaves shimmering in a slight breeze against the
glorious blue morning sky. Everything else was a blank.
It was a silly thing, she would say later.
She just hadn’t been paying attention. The results, however,
were not silly at all. She had fractured her skull and was
severely concussed, unconscious for three days, and when she
woke up, she couldn’t remember her own name, or much of anything
else, come to that. She was lucky to be alive, as the doctors
pointed out to her on more than one occasion. She didn’t feel
very lucky.
Over the
long months of rehabilitation, she learned to tie her shoes
again and to walk and brush her teeth and shave her legs without
slicing herself to ribbons. There were short-term memory
deficits and headaches to cope with, and occasional blonde
moments, as she called them, when she would forget what she was
talking about between one sentence and the next.
The truth of it was that she would never
be quite the same, although she would continue to improve. After
a year, with her husband’s unflagging and selfless commitment to
her well being, she was fit again and managing reasonably well,
which was as much as anyone could hope for. She got to where she
could wear high heels again, and drive and even go to work on
her own. Those were all great successes, but there was,
nonetheless, a sense of melancholy about it, too.
She regretted the things that she had
missed, and had some deep-seated rage about the things that she
would never be able to do. Those feelings showed themselves as
resentment, and unfocused anger. Trudy had always been sassy and
assertive, but circumstances forced a dependency on other
people—her children, the doctors, her husband—most of all her
husband. She hated that. The two of them had always been
partners, and she prided herself on being his equal.
But after the accident, Adam did
everything. He took care of the house, paid the bills, shopped
and cooked for her—treated her, in fact, like a porcelain
doll—as if he was afraid she would break again. She thought of
that as a burden on him, and a failure on her part. She became
waspish and argumentative.
On the
anniversary of her injuries, when he had gotten thoroughly fed
up with her constant whining, Adam took Trudy over his knee and
spanked her. It wasn’t one of the friendly Friday night
varieties that she was, in fact, rather fond of. It was
something else entirely. He didn’t ease into it as he usually
did, didn’t warm her up with gentle smacks of the hand that got
harder and more urgent as he went along. No, not at all. He was
much more direct, and very blunt.
“You act like a child,” he said. “Maybe
it’s time I treated you like one.”
“You’re hurting me,” she hissed, expecting
him to sigh and step back, as he had been doing for months.
“Stop it right now.”
“Don’t say another word.” His voice turned
fierce, harsh and commanding in a tone she had never heard from
him. “This is for scaring me half to death last year, and for
being graceless enough to bitch about it, and maybe because
you’re just asking for it.”
He didn’t stop for a long time, until he
was sweating from the effort. All of his fears and frustrations
and outrage seemed to channel through his body and vent through
the flats of his hands. The spanking was brutal. She fought him,
grimly at first, stubborn and willful, but he held her, ignoring
her muffled protests. She clawed at him until he tied her hands
behind her back, then kicked and wriggled until he tied her
legs, too. Nothing she said or did seemed to make any
difference.
What infuriated her most of all was that
the humiliation and stinging pain had a distinctly sexual
flavor, right from the very start. It turned her on just as
certainly as flipping a switch. Her nipples hardened and rose,
and the slow familiar tension in her belly began. Wetness
bloomed between her legs, and her breathing tightened with the
unbidden excitement. After the initial surprise at her own
response, she tried her best to resist the betrayal of her body,
and fought against the stealthy arousal as hard as she fought
the ropes that bound her.
What was the point? She kept
wondering. Surely he didn’t think it would prove anything to
her. Who the fuck did he think he was?
But in reality, none of that calm
voice-of-reason stuff did any good at all. Her body writhed
under the punishment and after awhile, in spite of her best
efforts to the contrary, her helpless thrashing stopped being
any form of protest. Her movements turned wanton, instead. Her
hips bucked and the sounds in her throat were urgent with need.
And there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop it.
Afterwards, he held her, gentled her, and
finally made the best love to her that she had ever had in her
life. He didn’t untie her, or ask her permission. He knew what
he wanted, and seemed to know exactly what she needed. He kissed
and licked and pinched and bit until she was quivering and
gasping, and then he fucked her with hard piston strokes and it
was like nothing she had ever felt before.
Orgasms came and then, shockingly, came
again. In fact, once she started cumming, she couldn’t stop. The
climaxes jerked and tore at her guts like protracted hiccups,
harsh and sharp edged—and they went on and on and on—just as the
spanking had. She was as helpless to control them as she had
been to stop the beating. And she had never known such exquisite
release. Never.
When it was over, she pretended to be
angry. She was so embarrassed that she couldn’t think of what
else to do, but he saw through it immediately.
“Mind your manners,” he said, and swatted
her a good one for emphasis.
Her behind was mottled from pink to deep
red, and so sore that the single, tingling slap of his hand made
her burst into tears. And worse yet, drove her into one more
orgasm. She arched her back, disbelieving, and cried out as the
final muscular convulsion swept through her. Then she collapsed,
utterly spent, into his arms.
“Damn you,” she sobbed. “What have you
done to me?”
“We’ll have to see.” He stroked her hair
and kissed her.
“You’re scaring me.” She sniffed and
swiped at the tears. “Am I supposed to be scared?”
“No, never.”
“What, then?”
“I’ve got a few ideas about that,” he
said.
“Has it got anything to do with making me
cry?”
“Maybe,” he said lazily.
Trudy sighed. “I think that means yes,
doesn’t it?”
“Would you mind?”
A part of her wanted to snap out a
reproach of some kind. Would she mind? Of course she would
mind. What kind of question was that? But the way he looked
at her gave Trudy pause. He looked satisfied, and that was
exactly how she felt, too. In fact, she felt wonderful, and
there was simply no way to deny it.
She thought about it, and her eyes widened
as she realized that Adam wouldn’t have been able to do what he
had done without her. Well, of course not, dummy, she
said to herself. Who else’s butt would he have waled on?
It seemed obvious on the face of it, but there was more to it
than that. She had yielded to her own sexuality, to her own
needs, just as certainly as she had surrendered to Adam’s
punishment. And that meant that she wasn’t a victim at all. She
was an accomplice.
“It’s…complicated, isn’t it?” she said
finally.
“Or not,” he replied. “We’ll just muddle
along like we always have, Trude.”
“I’m too tied up to muddle” She couldn’t
quite stifle a sudden, slightly unstrung giggle.
“Then I’ll do it for you,” he said. “Any
problem with that, girl?”
“None that I can think of,” she replied,
looking him right in the eye.
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