Their time together draws to a close.
"Someone is getting turned on," Matt observes.
"No, two people are already turned on," says Emma, reaching behind to grasp the hardness distending his jeans.
"Better do something about it, then," he suggests.
"You're not fucking me lying on my back with a bottom this sore," is the smart rejoinder. "Come and sit on the sofa where I can straddle you."
Moving above him Emma seizes his impressive erection, and with tantalising slowness lowers her soaking sex onto it. Urgently, breathlessly, s he rides him towards the release each so eagerly crave. Holding firmly to the back of the seat Emma kisses him feverishly. Grasping her waist Matt struggles to hold her in position as Emma bucks and writhes. Feeling his climax imminent and sensing Emma too is on the edge, he cruelly grips her scalding buttocks. With a shriek she comes, slumping forward as a torrent erupts deep in her vagina, then flopping, physically and emotionally exhausted, into Matt's arms.
Over the next few months Matt's system of fiscal penance was, just as he'd predicted, enacted on more than one occasion. As for its effectiveness, well, that's open to doubt...
"Oh, there you are, Emma. I've been reviewing our finances." "Really? I've been shopping, and found an amazing candelabra; look it'll make a brilliant table centre. "I may have overspent a tad," says Emma with a winsome look, "but I'm sure we can work something out."
"Don't go making big eyes at me girl spanking was intended to make you associate financial fecklessness with a sore bottom but lately you seem to be using your feminine wiles to subvert the system so what are meant to be proper punishments became an appetiser for sex."
"Don't know what you mean," Emma teases, flouncing across the room and bending low to retrieve a lipstick from her handbag, her short summer dress rising at the rear to reveal pert buttocks clad in alluringly brief white knickers. Clearly dressed to distract Emma maintains this provocative position while applying lip gloss, then, with a coy look over her shoulder at the smouldering Matt, coquettishly wiggles her bum at him.
"Right, that's it, the last straw," snarls Matt. "You're really for it this time, young lady." Grasping her by the arm he propels his delinquent wife towards the sofa. "I am going to put the punish back into punishment.
"Sit on your hands," he commands sternly, pushing her unceremoniously onto the arm of the sofa, yes, the one that began these rows all those months ago. Her short skirt is now at the tops of her thighs, almost at crotch level, toes hanging a few inches from the carpet. Emma sits mute, puzzled by the obvious failure of her usually infallible seduction ploys.
With her palms effectively trapped beneath her legs she's in no position to defend herself against a volley of stinging, slaps delivered to the front of her thighs with a thick plastic ruler.
"Since tanning your hide is obviously not having the required salutary I' clearly have to discipline more sensitive parts," Matt adds determinedly, unleashing another salvo amid wails of protest. Satisfied with the impact of his opening gambit he presses home the element of surprise by pushing Emma backwards onto the sofa, catches her ankles and holding them above her head.
Head and shoulders on the sofa seat cushions, hips raised by the padded arm, knees upon her chest, her rear end is now perfectly presented to Matt, who resumes his work with the ruler anyway. Thighs - the back, every bit as sensitive as the front - calves and the broad cheeks of her bottom all suffer a series of smarting smacks.
"Oh no, please, please Matt," she protests, to little avail. Only when a series of fine red ruler lines mark her flesh from ankle to waist does he halt, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Idly he runs a finger across the gusset of her knickers, pulled tightly into her cleft, "Oh what's this, you seem to be a rather moist?"
"It's my body acting of its own accord," moans Emma.
"All hot and bothered,' he gloats with mock concern, slyly f