Under His Roof (2 page)

David pushes the papers aside and stares at me hard, though his eyes are still shimmering and seem so kind. “You were probably wondering what I meant by punishment versus discipline. Many of my clients come to me with specific things they have done wrong. Then, depending on the client, a punishment is scheduled and delivered for each of the wrongdoings. Understand?”

Oh, it is so far out of my realm of comprehension that there is no way in hell I can understand. But I nod anyway.

He continues. “Others are like you. They have become a person who they don’t want to be. Regular discipline sessions can be of great help.”

I take another sip of the martini. “Regular sessions?”

“Yes. You won’t go from being a bitch to an angel after one spanking, Rachel.”

I blush more when he says the word ‘spanking’. “Oh,” is all I can manage to say.

“Now, I would like to go over how typical sessions play out. But first, tell me if you're comfortable with me.”

“Comfortable?”

“If you feel very uncomfortable right now and you’re having second thoughts, you should go. This is a free consult and I don’t like wasting my time with women who aren’t serious about improvement. I expect that you aren’t feeling emotionally comfortable, but I need to know if you are for whatever reason repelled by me. Sometimes, very rarely, a person is just turned off of the idea of discipline when they meet me. Or, vise versa; I’m turned off and know I won’t do a good job with them. As of this point, I think I can work with you, Rachel. Do you feel the same about me?”

I contemplate this. I am comfortable with him. Outstandingly so, considering the circumstances. “Yeah,” I say casually.

“You are serious about making improvements in your life?”

“Yes.”

“And you are serious about employing me to help you do so?”

“Yes.”

“OK. I’ll tell you a little about what you can expect from a session. You can feel free to interrupt and ask questions.”

“All right.” He certainly is professional. He has clearly given this speech many times before, but I still feel like he cares about making sure I understand what he is saying. I like him. David Jacobs.

“Sessions occur at my house, which is a bit out of town. Because of my location and the nature of my business, I’ll e-mail you a list of references who can verify my honesty and integrity. Contact at least one of them. Understand?”

“Yeah.”

“When you arrive, we will sit together and discuss the session. I can be a very strict disciplinarian and can dole out harsh punishments, but only at your request, because of what you’ve indicated on this form.” He waves the sheet of paper in the air and I get the feeling he would prefer be the one deciding the severity of my session.

“OK.”

“After we speak, we will begin the session in my discipline room. Upper body clothing is optional, lower body clothing is not.”

I stare at him blankly. He’s not leaving room for negotiation. “Why?”

“I have to be able to see my target.” He smiles again and I’m beginning to find his casual calmness irritating.

“I think you can still see… the
target
… if I’m wearing a skirt.”

“I disagree, and I am the professional. This is not a matter up for discussion, Rachel. Are we moving on or are you leaving?”

I frown. “Fine.”

“Fine. With someone inexperienced, such as yourself, the first session will be longer than our subsequent sessions. I need to get a feel for what your body needs and what you can take. You will find that your second session is much different.”

“You really don’t think this is a one time deal?” I ask. He's making major assumptions now.

David sighs. “I can only speak from experience with others. I can’t speak for you. We’ll just have to see.” He takes a sip of his beer which he has barely touched and I play with my empty glass. “Want another?” he asks.

“Please.”

He hops up and makes a refill and I watch him as he moves. His butt is incredibly perky and images flash in my mind of me spanking him, rather than the other way around. I push the lewd thoughts from my head and instead focus on contemplating what the hell I’m doing. I’m happy to hear about the references. Maybe they’ll help me understand what to expect.

He is back in a flash and sitting in front of me and I’ve got a cold martini to sip again.

“I don’t like to go into much detail about what your session will be like. I allow my clients to work with me on severity, but once we settle on the ground rules, I go with what works. You will probably not enjoy it.”

“So why am I doing this?” I say, quite loudly. I clamp my mouth shut and hope I wasn’t overheard.

“So, why are you doing this?” he says back.

Nice retort.

“I guess… I don’t know…” I look down at the table, suddenly feeling very sad. “I don’t know what else to do.”

David's voice is gentle when he responds. “Rachel, this session won’t kill you. It won’t even hurt you that much, except for maybe your ego. I’ve had a lot of clients. Your type is the most common.”

I perk up. “Really?” So, I’m not the only one!

“Really. You just need a reminder that you’re a human.” He pauses thoughtfully and I manage to look back up at him. “Anyway. After the session, I will give you some—”

“Wait! What about during the session?”

He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m not into playing out what will happen step by step. It’s not how I do business.”

“I
am
business. Isn’t the customer always right?”

“You’re a client. I’ve got many. I don’t need your business, so don’t you ever take that attitude with me. Got it?” His voice is strong and I shrink down in the booth.

“I am going to continue,” he says. “Is that all right with you?”

I nod, feeling sheepish.

“
After
the session you will either be very emotional or confused or just fine. We can’t know that until we get there. Your butt will be sore.”

My constant blush spreads through me, down my chest. Another sip of the martini cools the fire in my mind.

“I typically give clients a few hours to relax. Some of them take a nap. Then, you’ll go home.”

“And payment?”

“You’ll pay me after the session. Electronic transfer.”

“You trust me to do that? What if I just forget about it and don’t pay?”

“You’ll pay.”

“Yes,
I
will,” I say. This guy has no sense of business at all. “Don’t you get ripped off? By your other clients?”

“No.”

“Why? Seems like the obvious thing to do.”

“Sometimes it takes them awhile to pay,” he says. He looks a little cocky. “But they always do.”

“And what makes you so confident?”

He shrugs. “If they want to come back for more, they have to settle up.”

“Oh.” So they really do come back for more.

David pulls out an agenda and flips through it. “It’s either tomorrow afternoon or next Sunday.”

Geez. Two options. I mentally run through my schedule. Tomorrow is Saturday, so that could work, but is also incredibly soon. Then again, next Sunday is so far away. Can I really wait that long without backing out? I doubt it.

I barely find my voice to say, “Tomorrow.”

“Four o’clock?” he asks, pulling a pen out of his pocket and scribbling in his agenda. Will he really forget that he was scheduled to spank me? Is writing it down completely necessary?

“Got another appointment in the morning?” I ask, my tone sarcastic.

He sets his pen down. “No. I rarely schedule more than one a day.”

“Why not?”

“Because my arm gets tired.”

My eyes widen and he bursts out laughing.

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s because sometimes, very rarely…” he trails off, his smile thinning into a little frown, and he seems unsure how to continue. After a long pause he says, “Sometimes a client needs more time than anticipated to recuperate. I would never want to push someone out of my door if they weren’t ready. I’ve had clients spend the night in my spare bedroom.”

“It hurts that bad?!” I’m alarmed now.

“Emotionally, at times. You’ll be fine.” He gets up, pulls out his wallet, and places a ten dollar bill on the counter. “Settle up with her, would you? I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow at four.”

“Your address? Directions? Your phone number?” I’m near frantic now. This is it. He’s leaving. The plan is set. In stone.

“Check your e-mail.” He holds out his hand and I shake it and then he leaves, just like that.

~2~

David

As I pull out of the parking lot of Maddy’s Place, my mind is whirling. Rachel Walker. That picture she sent me only vaguely reflects her beauty. In person, she is absolutely gorgeous.

She certainly does need some discipline and I’m looking forward to doling it out.

I’m always eager to meet new clients after they send me their forms. Rachel’s case is fairly typical. I’d say half of my clients, more or less, are dominant figures in their work or their home environment. Or, in the worst cases, both.

Patricia, for example, came to see me this morning. She’s a high school principal and a single mom of three teenagers. Her life, at times, is a complete nightmare. When she comes to see me, she gets what she needs—a few hours to let someone else be in charge.

I think that's what Rachel needs. She’d been so snippy with her responses to me. It’s clear it’s been awhile since she was put in her place. I wonder what made her realize that a spanking could be good for her. Was it a recommendation from a friend? Or just instinct? Curiosity?

I can’t stop thinking about her bright eyes. Big and brown. Sparking and full of life. I resist the urge to imagine what she’ll look like, bare-bottomed and over my lap. Though at times it’s difficult, I always try to retain a professional attitude toward my clients.

Marilyn's apartment is just a block out of my way. I wouldn't mind chatting with her. I pull over to give her a quick call and make sure it’s all right to drop by.

“Yeah, sure. Just got home,” she says, her voice cheery.

When I arrive, she buzzes me in, and I find her sitting at her kitchen counter. She's eating chocolate ice cream from the container. She’s still wearing her suit from work and I smile. She looks so professional, but all I see is my kid-sister, in pigtails and wearing pajamas, sneaking ice cream before bedtime.

I grab a spoon and dig in. “How was your day?” I ask. The ice cream tastes fantastic, and I check the box for the brand.

“Eh. So so. You?”

“Good. Met a new client.”

“Oh yeah? Still expanding that business of yours?” She raises her eyebrows at me.

I shrug. “Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

She sets down her spoon and gives me a stern look, which makes me laugh. I abruptly stop and try my best to look apologetic.

“I’m going to set you up on a date,” she says firmly.

“No, you’re not.” The last time Marilyn set me up was a disaster. Kelsey Rowan. I’ve never met a woman who needed a spanking more than her. Unfortunately, Kelsey didn’t agree with my assessment.

“David, you have to start dating. You can’t live alone in that big house for your whole life.”

I frown, and know she has a point. “It’s difficult.”

She nods. “I know.” She gives my shoulder a little squeeze.

“What about you? Still seeing… what was his name?” I ask, changing the subject and feeling a little guilty that I can’t remember the name of the guy she’s seeing. I must have blocked it out.

Marilyn rolls her eyes. “Randall. No, I’m not.”

“Good. You deserve better.”

She snorts and fake punches my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever dated a guy you thought was good enough for me.”

“No,” I say seriously. “You have not.”

“TV?”

“Yeah.”

We sit on her couch and I forget about dating and disciplining for a half hour sitcom. Then I give my sister a hug and make my way home.

Sparky, my golden retriever, is waiting impatiently for me. I let him outside and feed him before I sit down to e-mail Rachel. I’m glad I moved things along quickly with her. The temptation to back out of the first session is huge. I’ve found that encouraging sessions to happen sooner rather than later ensures that the client will go through with it.

I send her directions and my updated list of references, wondering who she’ll call. Then, I do a thorough cleaning of my discipline room to make sure everything is in order for the following day. I need Rachel's session to go well, though I don’t quite understand exactly why. I take all of my clients seriously, but there’s something about Rachel that makes me want everything to go perfectly.

Perhaps it’s because I can perceive her own need for a strong hand in her life.

I frown and think about Marilyn setting me up on a date. She’s right. I need a woman in my life. My house should be filled with a wife and children. It’s way too big to be a bachelor pad.

But it’s too hard. Sometimes I think about approaching a client and suggesting a romantic relationship, but I know that would be horribly unprofessional. And borderline cruel. My clients trust me as their disciplinarian, and to even broach the subject of taking things to a new level would break their trust.

Broaching the subject of a domestic discipline relationship with a potential girlfriend, though, is even more dangerous. I’ve tried it with my last three girlfriends, all of whom I’d been seeing for over a month. They were all clearly submissive, but they just couldn’t wrap their minds around the idea of submitting to a spanking from me. One of them enjoyed erotic spankings, but that was where she drew the line.

Marilyn suggested looking online, and maybe she’s right. Still, something old-fashioned in me says that looking online for a girlfriend is wrong.

I guess I’ve given up on the idea that I’ll ever get what I need.

I sigh heavily and Sparky hears me and barks. At least I have him. He comes and sits by me and nuzzles his head under my arm, pushing me to pet him. I chuckle and give in.

“Good boy, Sparky,” I whisper. I give him a final pat on the head and then go to bed, pushing thoughts of women out of my mind.