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Version forty-four was stronger than version forty-three of her letter, and both were vast progress on her tangled, loving thoughts in version twenty.

The 'Notes' document in the same folder contained twelve organized points. The letter's passion and explanation was missing from the notes. They were twelve sharp points to lay out what she wanted.

Version forty-four of the letter contained passionate explanations of the sexy pleasure it gave her to accept his firm hand. It showed her pride in him and the trust she wanted to convey. Version forty-four stopped after she'd explained she deserved the cane for her flagrant interruptions when her husband was speaking. She'd left some reminder questions for when she continued. 'What punishment should he give me? Should I propose something? - he must decide.'

After fifteen minutes of reading, Martin had called his office and reported he had food poisoning. He'd only wanted to print the letter to their neighbor about the fence line. The yellow bar prompting him to recover an unsaved document in Microsoft Word had filled the twenty-seven inch screen of their iMac and launched an unexpected and shocking journey through his wife's mind.

Her relaxed and loving attitude whenever he returned from traveling was adorable. But he'd worried how time apart appeared to make her happy, and what it said about him. Now it made a different type of sense. She'd included a link in her letter to Miss Roberts' website. Reading articles, he'd lost an hour delving into the minds of girls who saw Miss Roberts. He could imagine Melody reporting herself to the disciplinarian. Knowing his wife had received a caned bottom for her behavior made him hard. His excitement would have bothered him, but her eloquent explanation of her own pleasure gave him the right to feel the same.

Beside the notes was an 'Actions' document. She'd listed straps, paddles and canes, grading them by severity. Her letter declared she deserved the cane for her flagrant interruptions of him, and so the two canes occupied another hour of exploration. The one she'd marked 'Gutsy' looked to be just that and spurred him to buy it.  

A full morning's reading complete, and with two days before delivery of the cane, he roamed around the house. He gazed at pictures of Melody in her police uniform and sweet as hell in her skinny jeans. The depth of planning by his well-organized wife hadn't surprised him, but the subject had.

The first three hours, he'd read every version of her unfinished letter to him, finding the differences between versions as much of an education as the repeated unchanged paragraphs. Her desire had flowed through the single page. Picking up an enticing honeymoon picture of her in a navy bikini on the beach in Hawaii, he whispered, "I don't deserve you, but I will."

He'd cleared the recent documents from Word, deleted his browsing history and the receipt from his email. The only evidence of his knowledge was the package in the attic. After his shocking day of reading, he'd called on a customer in the late afternoon, returning at 6pm, his wife none the wiser.

As a salesman, he was adept at hiding his emotions in a negotiation. He deployed his skill to keep his mind clear of its new obsession until she was on duty and he was alone at home.

Sliding the golden rattan rod from its box, he'd whipped it through the air and whacked it into the bed. Reading advice on how to deliver an effective caning, he'd declared himself fit after aligning twelve unbroken tracks across the width of the pillow he'd employed for practice. The precise pattern had proved the cane would land where he aimed. Now he must replace the pillow with his wife's bottom.

Her letter had guided his plans. It wasn't a situation in which he could ask her opinion. He must impose a stiff sentence on her. Interrupting him had been a persistent problem and six strokes undervalued the irritation it caused. Her first caning must be an incredible shock and heavy with authority.

"You're on tonight?" he asked, as he added the finishing touches to their Greek salad for lunch.

"Yes," Melody replied. "Six 'til two."

Saturdays together were precious. He'd understood she wanted punishment to become an ordinary part of her life. No special considerations. He'd decided her caning would follow lunch. She'd have a few hours to recover before work, but she'd go on shift sore and have to endure her caned bottom while she drove. It still left hours for sex.

He watched as she tidied up their plates and cleaned the sides. His gaze on her heavier than normal, she looked up, "What?"

"Oh, nothing," he said.

He berated himself. Nothing. It wasn't nothing. He was about to punish his wife. Thinking of the times she'd cut right across him while he'd been talking, his heart hardened. "It's not nothing," he said. Toughening his tone, he said, "Melody, go to the bedroom and wait for me."

Putting down the damp cloth, she turned complete shock on her face.

She gasped. She'd dreamed of hearing that determined tone from him and those words. Coming without warning, fear coursed her spine.

"Now," he whispered.

Unable to disobey, she wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and walked down the hallway to the stairs. Climbing, her mind whirled through their conversations this morning and in recent days. She hadn't told him yet. She hadn't given him her letter. There was no way he could know. Maybe his sternness had another reason.

On entering the bedroom, the closed curtains only convinced her more. She'd picked the navy curtains with white blossoms to increase the tranquility of the bedroom. The white bed ripped her gaze from the curtains. On the end lay a crooked handle cane, and not a thin one either. It wasn't as harsh as Miss Roberts' worst, but it was not a tease.

Her suspicions went wild as she picked up the cane. It was the same diameter as the 'Gutsy' one she'd found. Same length too.

Coming in behind her, he closed the door.

"How did you know?" she breathed.

"We'll get to that. Right now it's a discussion about your irritating interruptions I wish to have."

Guilt poured down her arms and legs, weakening her stance. She was ashamed of how annoying she'd become.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Sorry enough to accept you deserve the cane?"

God, in every dream and every worried moment, he'd never sounded this wonderful. She owed him a direct answer. Astonished that she was standing here scolded on a Saturday. Every ounce of her screamed to show her respect.

"Yes, sir. Sorry and ashamed. I'll take whatever punishment you decide. I realize you will hurt me and I appreciate it. You'll get only a respectful attitude from me."

"It wasn't just one time, was it?"

No. It had been many. For every one of them, she craved a sincere beating from him.

"No. I haven't learned my lesson. Maybe this will help."

"Oh, it will," he said. "And we'll return here every time until you improve."

Tumultuous ecstasy burst in her brain. This was permanent. She could expect it whenever her behavior slipped. Her desperate arms wanted to wrap around him and thank him, but she stayed where she was.

Taking the cane from her shaking hands, he said, "Drop your jeans."

She'd done it before on Miss Roberts' orders, but the hard voice of her husband compelled her fingers to the button of her skinny jeans. Undoing them and pushing them to her ankles, pride burst at her embarrassment as she rose, her brilliant green string bikini panties revealed to her husband's hard gaze.

He tapped the end of the bed with the cane. "Bend over."

Absolute obedience drove through her as his voice commanded her over their bed. She lowered her weight onto her arms, riven with desperation for the punishment he required her to take.

She'd never faced the cane in green panties, or string bikini panties. Miss Roberts required meek white cotton of her clients. The slender strings adorning her hips reminded her she was in her own bedroom being caned by her husband.

The rattan rested against her half-bare cheeks.

"For a one-off incident, I might have shown some mercy, but I must meet your repeated transgressions with severe punishment. Twelves strokes."

Proper. The word vibrated in her brain. Proper punishment. Twelve full strokes. He meant to correct her.

The sharp whistle evaporated as the cane cracked across her cheeks. Fierce sting burst across her bottom. Seething heat pulsed along the line of hurt as the pain soared. The loud retort in the room broadcast her embarrassment to the empty house. She feared neighbors might hear it in the street.

"How does it feel to be caned by me?" he demanded.

"Honest," she replied. It had rushed straight out of her mouth with not a shred of thought.

"Good. I expect better of you."

"Yes, sir."

By taking command of her with such strength, he'd earned the right to the title, and respect coursed through her veins as she addressed him that way.

The cane tapped low on the underside of her bottom. She marveled at his skill. He was marking out a framework to fill in with pain. The rattan slashed into her bare bottom, below her panties, blasting heat and agony into her delicate skin. She panted as waves of stunning pain washed through her behind. Her sex admired her bravery and rose to join her. As the rattan rod laid lines of hurt down her bottom, she gasped and winced, but held still for the suffering she deserved. She'd been eager to cut across him when he'd been speaking. She offered the same keenness for the cane to cut across her cheeks.

"Are you less ready to interrupt now?" he asked, his voice kind but firm.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Good. Glad to hear it."

He tapped the cane against the crease where her bottom met her legs. "Three strokes to go. Do you deserve them here or in the middle of your bottom?"

His question was so cruel and kind he must have read her mind or her notes.

"Where it hurts the most, please, sir."

"Good girl," he said. Her obedience and honesty honored her letter and notes.

The cane rested right in her sensitive crease then rose an inch, slithering over her skin, full of wanton will to inflict pain.

A resounding crack assaulted her ears before agonizing heat launched an assault on all her senses. Her grateful sex consumed the tremendous heat, spinning it into molten pain and pride. Vicious agony exploded in two sharp impacts as he laid the rattan on with full force, branding fiery hurt where she'd sit as she drove tonight. Panting over their bed, the rapid conclusion of her caning didn't register. Her sex kept feeding off her pain and pulsing pleasure up into her mind.

He went over to the closet on her left and placed the cane on the top shelf, next to her tall winter boots.

When he came back behind her, she remained still, in strict obedience.

"Well done," he said. "You may get up. It's over."

She pressed against the bed and rose, her bottom criticizing her every move. Turning to him, she burst into tears. His loving arms encircled her body and held her tight. "How did you know?" she pleaded through her tears.

"Microsoft Word. I was going to print the letter about the fence, but it demanded I recover an unsaved document, so I did. I read version forty-four of your letter, then the notes, the actions and every other version you'd written."

Pulling away, she gasped, "All of them?"

"The changes showed me, better than anything else, how you felt."

"When?"

"Earlier in the week. I called in sick and only saw one customer in the afternoon. I even read Miss Roberts' website."

Her tears drying themselves, she said, "She's wonderful."

"I imagine so. I was pleased she'd caned you for your behavior. When I'd been away, I'd noticed how lovely you were and feared you preferred time without me."

"Never," she said. "Grace is natural in a well-disciplined girl."

"I'll look forward to more of it," he grinned, his eyes locked on hers as he thrust off his jeans.

She kicked her jeans from around her ankles and lifted her green polo over her head. Firing her bra into the corner of the room, she climbed onto the bed in only her skimpy green panties.

He followed, his short black shorts strained by desire for her. Pulling her into him, he landed the hottest kiss of her life. Kissed by her husband, the husband who'd just caned her. Slipping her hands to her hips, she slid down her panties and kicked them off, forcing her bare flesh against his hard body.

He powered her sex, grabbing her self-respect and driving it to new heights. She gripped his manhood, solid proof she'd pleased him with her obedience.

"Thank you for caning me," she gasped.

"I was hard on you," he growled.

"The hardest. I deserved it."

He drove his desire through her confirmation and deep inside her. She screamed his name as he exploded, raining storms of pleasure down on her. She thrust back hard against him, holding each wave of pleasure for as long as she could, before it stole away into their tranquil bedroom.

"Thank you," she said. "So, so much thank you."

He stretched back, drew her against his hard body and ran his hand down over her burning bottom. She winced as his fingers touched each of her twelve stripes.

"Will it be tough working tonight?" he asked.

"Yes. Very. As it should be. My husband's caned me."