Confessions of a Kinky Wife by Justine Elyot Page A

could do it tomorrow, but the crab salad didn’t go down quite as well as I’d hoped because I was suddenly very nervous, in a gastric kind of way.
    Deep down, I knew that I hadn’t ‘forgotten’ to pick it up. I’d deliberately chosen to go to the lido instead. The question was, should I tell Dan that? Or should I pretend it had completely slipped my mind?
    This dilemma kept demanding that I wrestle with it between mock interviews, all afternoon. It was tough pretending to be the boss when I suspected I might be spending the evening with my knickers around my ankles and my bottom on fire.
    I made my final decision in the ladies’ toilets at the end of the session. I wanted Dan to know the extent of my defiance. I wanted him to punish me.
    I was going to tell him.
    I was almost too anxious and excited to keep still on the bus home. It was so hot that I could imagine the window frames and fittings melting around us and I shifted my damp thighs uncomfortably on the fuzzy upholstery, wondering how much more uncomfortable they might feel tomorrow morning. This thought was disturbingly arousing and I hoped my fellow passengers, wedged up against me on both sides, couldn’t smell anything untoward.
    I found myself wondering if anyone else on this bus was in for a spanking tonight. What about the bored-looking young woman in the office suit, texting away? Was she trying to plead with her partner to be lenient with her? Or the middle-aged hipster with the sideburns and the sweary T-shirt – was somebody going to put him over their knee for being provocative in public? Or perhaps they were doing the spanking. The woman with the half-dozen shopping bags at her feet looked as if she might wield a mean strap.
    By the time we reached my stop, I’d involved practically everyone on the bus in my secret world of fetish. I felt a bit guilty about it, to be honest, but it was so much on my mind I couldn’t think of anything else.
    Dan wouldn’t be home till eight, so I made sure I had his favourite meal on the go and a glass of wine poured, soft music pouring from the speakers, and so on. Not that he really likes soft music. So that was probably not the best idea. The visible stockings, promising interesting underwear at the top of the suspenders, were sure to stand me in good stead, though. Distraction was always a good technique.
    He might even have forgotten about the parcel.
    But no, if he had, I was still going to bring it up. Otherwise I would feel that I had wasted all this effort, somehow.
    ‘Hey, hey, hey, what’s all this?’ he wondered, walking into the living room and sniffing the air. ‘Mexican steak?’
    ‘Your favourite,’ I purred, standing in the kitchen doorway in the most siren-like pose I could muster.
    I wanted to laugh at the instant suspicion that clouded his eyes.
    ‘Have I forgotten something? An anniversary or birthday?’
    ‘No. I just felt in the mood for something special.’
    He was right in front of me by then and he grabbed my arse and pulled me into a long, sultry snog, the kind that usually ends up on the sofa with clothes strewn all over the floor.
    Much as my body and mind chorused, ‘Yes! Hot sex! Result!’ I could still perceive the nagging voice of my conscience behind it all.
    But sex first, yeah? Why not?
    Because the steak was burning – that was why not!
    ‘Ohhh,’ I wailed, running back into the kitchen, where flames had started leaping around the edge of the pan. I doused it with a damp cloth, but the steaks weren’t exactly as rare as Dan usually liked them.
    Never mind. He made a valiant effort with his knife and fork and we laughed it all off. ‘How-was-your-day?’ took us through the meal to ice-cream, and that was where the road started to get rocky. (It was Rocky Road ice-cream too – appropriate.)
    ‘Oh, did you pick up that package?’ he asked.
    He posed it as an afterthought but, in retrospect, I think he’d been building up to it, lulling me into a false