Cracker Barrel

 It's a chain of combination gift shop and restaurant establishments, usually located on major travel routes. For those of us into TTWD, they are notable for the fact that at one time they sold these little cedar paddles--you know, the ones with the cute sayings on them, like "For the cute little dear with the bear behind," and "wife tamer" or "Attitude Adjuster".
                              

At any rate, for many, the road signs announcing that one was approaching a Cracker Barrel invoked certain memories...ones that may have proved useful in the right circumstance.

From The Naughty Wives Collection, Vol. 2  here is:

 CRACKER BARREL

Tracy stomped on the gas, pushing the little red BMW to close to eighty five. Her teeth were clenched and her lips were pursed as she thought again of how Dex had driven her to this. She had stormed out of the house in a rage and now she was headed for who knew where. His precious budget. Was that all he cared about? What about her? It wasn't enough that he had made her move to this podunk town, far away from her friends in Atlanta, the country club, the shops, the restaurants and everything else. No, it was also the money. All because his little company was just getting started, they had no money. And so it was a never ending chorus of "no honey, we can't afford it".

What really made her mad is that he wouldn't take daddy's money. He wanted to do it on his own. Daddy had offered him that job at the bank, but Dex had turned him down. Well for God's sake, if she had to live in some hick backwater, she could at least show the locals some style.

It had been so satisfying to show up at church, at bridge night, going over to meet the locals and their wives, absolutely dressed to the nines. And with all the right shoes and accessories. She finally smiled to herself. That had showed them all right. The women had gaped at her in envy and the men had gaped at the way her shapely figure had filled out her custom tailored dresses. Perfect. She was hot and she knew it. It almost made wasting away in this rural hell worth it.

So now Dex was going to ruin it all, to take that last little bit away, and all because he insisted on starting up this company of his, doing it all on his own, without her daddy's help. The last straw had been the six pairs of shoes she had just bought. "Take them back," Dex had said. She'd stamped her foot and refused. Couldn't he understand? She needed all six pairs for all the different combinations that went with her outfits. Then Dex got angry and had lectured her again on the need to be frugal until they actually made some money. And she'd thrown it in his face again about daddy's offer and how this was all  his fault and so unnecessary. She had touched a nerve with that one. He had started to get steamed.

Then he had calmed down and had sat her down and patiently explained again. That had made her madder, it seemed. As an ex-linebacker for the Georgia Tech football team, you'd think he'd just raise his voice and get overbearing, but no. Instead he'd shoved the anger aside and got all patient and reasonable.

 Well, not her. She had told him, "You're just a stupid redneck jock and I don't know why I ever married you." The hurt look on his face gave her some satisfaction that she'd scored a bull's eye. Then without giving him a chance to talk, she'd stormed out, jumped in the car and driven off. Maybe this marriage was a bust. Maybe she should have stayed single or married Chad Pennington, like her parents had wanted. But Chad was no Dex Clarkson. Chad was an urban sophisticate. He was good looking, came from the right family, was already a member of her daddy's country club and an up and coming estate lawyer. But he was bland.

 Dex, on the other hand, wasn't as polished. She was an Emory girl and they had met at a sorority party. He'd grown up poor and had made it to Georgia Tech on a football scholarship. But, all that aside, oh my. He was pure male animal---tough, confident and aggressive in that understated way that had made her knees wobble. He rarely let it show, but it was always there, the alpha aggression. He had bad boy looks and a lithe build that hid just how strong he was. They said he'd been small for a linebacker, but his size had been no impediment to his ability to bring down even the biggest running backs.

Don't think about that now, she told herself. Dex may be a male animal, and in the bedroom he proved it, but there were more important things than great sex. She could not continue to live like this. Soon she'd be wearing nothing but crap from Wal Mart, living like some hayseed Daisy Mae. What she needed was a drink. Just up ahead was a roadhouse. She pulled into the parking lot.

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Dex ran his hands through his hair. It had been hours since Tracy had stormed out. Where would she go? Damn, was it his fault? No, he decided. She wasn't acting like an adult. In many ways she was a pampered child, daddy's spoiled princess. And now that life, the one she'd known, was behind her. She was his wife now and where he went, she went. At least, that was the way it was supposed to be. But she wasn't having any of it. She still thought she was part of that big city country club set where money just fell from the skies. Well he was a struggling entrepreneur not the president of a bank, like her damn daddy. Well, this had been building for some time, and she'd finally pulled the plug.

Would she go home? She had declared that it was over. That she was leaving. Home would make sense. He'd have to call Mr and Mrs Fortner. Which he hated to do. Relations were chilly. He had sensed their disapproval nearly every step of the way. But they had gone through with the wedding, albeit reluctantly. He picked up the phone.

*****************************************************************
She slid into a booth along a side wall. It was a Friday night
and the bar was busy. Some cornpone country band was playing. She had a thought then. She'd go home---to daddy's house. Then she'd start the divorce or annulment proceedings or whatever. This marriage to Dex had been a bad idea. Sure, he could make a girl squirm with pleasure, but there was more to life than that. Or was there? She hesitated while a hot memory rose up and provoked a response in her lower regions. No! Just put that out of your mind, girl. Daddy had lawyers. She dialed the number on her cell.

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"Yes, Dex, I know where she is, but she is on her way home. I'd prefer that you not talk to her or try to stop her. I'm sorry, but I think it's over." Ted Fortner sat smugly in his home office holding the phone. He'd just heard from Tracy and she had told him that she had stopped at a diner or something called Uncle Bob's Inn on route 41. But he did not intend to tell Dex that. The girl had finally come to her senses. Maybe it wasn't too late for an annulment.

Dex could not agree. "Mr Fortner, I'm worried about her. I'll do whatever she wants, but I should find her. Just tell me where she is, if she's ok, she'll be on her way home to you if that's what she wants." And he meant it. Maybe in some weird way Tracy was right. She wasn't cut out for this. She was still a child and not ready for marriage. And the "dumb jock" insult had stung. Maybe he was ready to hang it up, too.

Ted Fortner sighed. "All right, Dex. It's called Uncle Bob's or something. She just stopped for a bite. But don't you dare cause a scene, young man or I'll have the police..."

Dex hung up. He'd heard enough. Uncle Bob's. Yeah, he'd driven by it. It wasn't too far. He grabbed his keys.

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Tracy was getting nervous. She just wanted to be left alone, but these men kept coming over and asking her to dance. She didn't want to dance with them. And everyone was drinking more. It was getting louder. A woman came over and slid into the booth. She was heavily made up, a bottle blonde with big hair.

"You know, honey, it ain't smart to refuse to dance with Duane over there. Duane gets what he wants one way or another and he can get downright mean. Take a word of advice. Play nice with Duane." Then she left.

Tracy shrunk back into the booth as if she could make herself smaller. But the blonde and Duane and his buddies were all laughing and looking her way. What could she do? If she got up to leave they might follow her into the parking lot. She knew. She'd call Chad Pennington. He had a fast car and he could get here and escort her out. She dialed his number. To her great relief he answered.

"Tracy, how are you? How is life up in...where exactly is it?"

"Chad I need your help." She explained her predicament.

"It sounds rough, Tracy. Why don't you call the police?" She explained they hadn't done anything yet. She just felt scared.
"Well, look, I'd like to help, but I'm at an important party right now. I can't just leave. I have some important clients here and...."

Tracy hung up. Damn. The selfish son of a bitch. See if she'd give him the time of day when she got back to Atlanta. She'd call daddy. She punched in the number. Nothing happened. Her cell phone had died.

Dex didn't want to speed but he had a bad feeling. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that he had heard bad things about Uncle Bob's. Fights. Drugs. He'd been on the road for half an hour when he spotted it. He wheeled into the parking lot. Sure enough, there was Tracy's BMW.

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"So what makes you so all high and mighty? I just want to dance with you. Come on." The man named Duane stood in a group of his smiling buddies who snickered. "She's too classy for you, Duane. Looks like you're down in flames, buddy." They all laughed. Duane got red in the face. He was clearly drunk.

"Is that it? I ain't good enough for you? Miss High Society, is that it? Well, you're gonna dance whether you like it or not. I want to see you shake that classy ass of yours." He grabbed her arm. Tracy squealed.

"Let go of her, bud." The voice came from behind him. They all turned to see the lean six footer advance rapidly toward them. His expression was dead serious. "Let go of her arm or you'll be carried out on a stretcher."

"Well, now, who the hell are you?"

"I'm her husband, bud."

Duane rose up like a bandy rooster and looked Dex up and down. He was bigger, but it was mostly flab. That didn't stop him.

 "You need to take better care of your woman, then." Duane chuckled and turned back to Tracy. "C'mon, girl, let's dance." He grabbed her arm.

It happened so fast, it never even registered with Duane. Dex grabbed his shirt collar with his left. His right connected with Duane's nose and broke it, which left Duane screaming shrilly, blood pouring over his face. Duane's friends backed up. Faced with that kind of speed and aggression they wanted no part of this guy.

"Let's go Tracy." Dex took her hand pulled her out of Uncle Bob's roadhouse.

"My car," she said.

"You've had a few drinks. I'll drive you here tomorrow. Then you can get it and continue on to Atlanta. That's what you want, isn't it?" All the way there Dex had been thinking. She wants a divorce? Fine. But he'd get her home safely. He looked straight ahead and drove, not saying a word.

Tracy was relieved-and confused. Dex was the one who had come, not Chad Pennington. How he found her she didn't know, but right now she was so grateful. He'd rescued her even after she'd insulted him and walked out. She slunk down in the seat while he drove, relieved but ashamed of herself.

The sign said "Cracker Barrel---five miles".

Cracker Barrel. It was one of those country shops that were all over. They sold snacks and tourist stuff. Then the memory hit her. That summer vacation when she'd gone with her friend Misty Wagner on that trip. It had been her and Misty and Misty's mom and dad. And for some reason Misty had been a holy terror, whining all the way. She'd wanted something---oh yeah, some candy popcorn. Her father had not wanted to stop. So she pouted and whined and fussed. It was the summer before 8th grade. They'd been thirteen. Finally her mother had turned around and told her to behave or else. And then Misty had called her an old bitch. That had done it.

They were just pulling up on a Cracker Barrel. Mr Wagner pulled in and stopped the car. He didn't say a word. He just got out of the car, went in, and came back minutes later with a small bag. He handed it to Mrs Wagner. She peered in the bag and said, "I agree, George."
Later they got to the cabins at the lake. Mrs Wagner had said, "Tracy, let's go outside. Misty has something to discuss with her father." Tracy remembered the feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was about to happen. She felt embarrassed and excited at the same time. A few minutes went by, then from inside the cabin she heard the sound. It was a series of sharp cracks---like wood hitting flesh. It went on for a time. She heard muffled crying and pleading. Mrs Wagner calmly said, "I didn't tell you Tracy, but there are some things we don't tolerate and insulting language is one of them. Misty is getting a spanking. She is over her father's knee and he is spanking her little behind with a paddle he got at the Cracker Barrel. If that upsets you, we'll take you home in the morning."

But, she had stayed. She had gone in to be with Misty afterwards and her friend had cried it all out. Misty had confided tearfully that she had deserved it, that she didn't know what had put her in such a mood.
But later the incident seemed forgotten. It was like a summer storm that blows over. They were a loving family, and now that punishment had been meted out, it was over. Mr Wagner even took them fishing the next day.

Later Misty had showed her the paddle. It was just a little thing. About a foot and a half long, it had cutesy sayings on it---"for wives that nag and burn the toast. Put me to work!" It had drawings of kids bent over with stars coming off their butts.

"It really stings," said Misty. "Especially bare," she whispered. Tracy hadn't thought about that, but the sound had been that flat crack that sounded like a slap. In her mind's eye she saw Misty, little white play shorts down around her knees, face down over her dad's knee while the little paddle cracked down on a squirming bare fanny. It gave her tingles in the pit of her stomach.

The sign said, "Cracker Barrel---three miles."

Misty had deserved it and had taken her licking. Then it had been forgotten. The air had been cleared. Misty had apologized to her mom who had hugged her and told her she was forgiven. The world had teetered, but had been righted again. It made her feel sad for her own situation. If only it were that simple. Dex probably didn't want her now. He looked like he was finally fed up with her tantrums. He drove silently, eyes focused straight ahead.

All of a sudden Tracy decided she didn't want a divorce. She realized that she'd made a big mistake. She wanted to come back to Dex. She'd been a spoiled child, pouting and whining. Then she'd hurled insults---just like Misty. But Dex was angry and hurt. How could she make it up to Dex? Get him to take her back and forgive her?

The sign said, "Cracker Barrel---one mile".

An apology would have to be more than an "I'm sorry." She would have to demonstrate that she meant it. This was something that had been building and to reverse it would take drastic action. And what about Dex? Perhaps he had made up his mind? Even if she said she was sorry, maybe he was through with her.

The sign said "Cracker Barrel-500 yards."

"Dex," said Tracy softly, "will you pull in at the Cracker Barrel? I need to get something. It won't take a minute."

Dex sighed, but he pulled off the highway into the lot. She got out and ran inside. Five minutes later she was back, holding a small bag. He wheeled out and they drove home in silence.

Once home, Dex turned to her and said, "You take the bedroom. I'll sleep on the couch. Tomorrow we'll go get your car."

Tracy nodded and went upstairs. She took a deep breath. Can I do this? Will it work? She undressed and looked at herself in the mirror. She liked what she saw. Five foot seven, long streaked blond hair, and legs like a showgirl. She had firm uptilted breasts, not too large, but just right. She turned, looked over her shoulder. Her ass was heart shaped perfection, twin hemispheres that jutted saucily outward from the tops of her thighs. She gulped. If this worked, that cute hiney would have to pay.

She rummaged through her lingerie drawer. There it was, her honeymoon negligee. She slipped it on, a diaphanous white creation with nothing underneath but a pair of dainty lace panties. She slid the Cracker Barrel paddle out of the bag. It was some kind of light wood, but it stung when she slapped her palm with it. She winced as she thought of it smacking her bare bottom cheeks. Maybe he wouldn't she thought. Maybe he'd accept her apology and take her to bed. She realized that she was aroused. Was it was some post traumatic adrenaline rush? No matter. Clutching the paddle she went downstairs.

Dex lay there thinking. His marriage was over, a failure. He had to take some blame too, he supposed. Tomorrow would be a long day. He rolled over on the couch. Movement caught his eye. It was Tracy---and she was wearing, what? A white negligee. What was that in her hand?

"Dex," she said softly. "I've come to apologize."

Dex sat up. Was this for real?

"I've been...well, childish. I've acted like a spoiled brat. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I called you that name. I know it hurt."

"I thought you wanted a divorce," said Dex.

"Not anymore. I want you."

"That's nice, Tracy, but tomorrow when you want to buy clothes or go to a spa and I say no, will you still want me then?"

"I'm serious. Really. I've behaved terribly. And...to show you how sorry I am, I want you to take this." She held out the little paddle.
"I deserve a good spanking for all the grief I've put you through over these months. Use this on me, but take me back. Please Dex, I don't want a divorce and I feel awful about my bitchy attitude."

He took the paddle. It was light. He tapped it in his hand. Was this what she really wanted? It looked like it was. It was in her face---the shame and the guilt. Yeah, maybe this is right. God, she looked sexy as all get out, but she wasn't trying to seduce him---she was asking for a spanking to clear the air it seemed.

"A sound spanking for a naughty wife, huh? I think you may have something there." Tracy's expression brightened. He sat up straight on the edge of the couch. "All right then," he said, "over my knee, young lady. Let's see if I can't adjust your attitude. Then we'll talk."

Tracy stood and lowered herself across Dex' lap. The posture made her cock her bottom up so that it pointed straight at the ceiling. She felt Dex raise the negligee in back. Oh, she shivered. It made her feel so vulnerable.

Dex beheld his wife's ultra shapely derriere propped up over his lap. His cock surged with arousal. He put that aside for now though as he inserted his fingers into the elastic waistband and drew the tiny panties down to her knee hollows. Her bared bottom was breathtaking. He watched, almost mesmerized, as she nervously clenched and unclenched those jouncy cheeks. He took a firm grip on the paddle and brought it back. Then he brought it down in a flat arc.

Smack! Tracy flinched. A hot sting spread across her bottom.
Smack! Another one. It stung more than she'd thought.

A few seconds later---smack! Another one landed, square across her lower behind. Yow! This was intense.

The smacks started to fall with some regularity and they really stung. So this was a spanking, she thought. It had never happened to her before. It was a hot and ever-intensifying sting. She fluttered her legs and humped up and down, squirming over Dex' lap with abandon. She felt her eyes welling up with tears. "Ow! Ow!" She started to vocalize her distress.

Dex got into a rhythm with the little paddle. It didn't take much effort, just a flick of the wrist and the paddle landed with a satisfying crack! Tracy's rear cheeks jiggled lasciviously as each swat connected. He had no idea how many he intended to give her, but she had asked for this so he decided to make this spanking memorable. If she was really sorry and this was what it took to atone, he was going to give her what she needed.

"Oooh...owww, I'm sorrrry." Tracy wailed as smack after smack of the paddle lit a fire in her luscious seat. As she writhed over Dex' lap she felt something else too. Her own arousal was bubbling to the surface, competing with the stinging assault of the paddle. And she could feel Dex' male hardness beneath her.
After a flurry of brisk smacks that made her yelp, Dex stopped. He put down the paddle and ran his hands over Tracy's inflamed mounds. Tracy moaned as Dex' hands rubbed and squeezed the wobbling globes.

"Now," said Dex. "Do you want to start over?" He patted her bottom and watched the ripples as his hand struck.

"Yes, oh, yes Dex." She wriggled. He patted harder. She ground her pelvis against his knee. "Nunnh...Dex?" The pats turned to smacks. She started to hump up and down.

"From now on (smack!), I don't want a lot of complaining (splat! smack!) if I say we can't afford it. (Smack! Splat! Smack!) Understand?

"Oh...ow! Yes, Dex." Yow, it was starting to sting again.

"We'll try to splurge when we can, but you've got to support me. We work together, right? (Smack! Splat!).

"Ow! Yes, yes, darling." Her fanny was on fire again.

A few more brisk spanks to drive the point home and Dex flipped her over, pulling her up onto his lap in a sitting position.

"I know that hurt, Tracy. But it showed me you were serious about us, about our marriage. I'm willing to start again. I forgive you."

Tracy flung her arms around Dex and they kissed passionately. The flimsy negligee hit the floor and Dex carried her to bed naked. She was more than ready, which amazed Dex as he slid into her with no resistance whatsoever. Their coupling was furious, born of the emotional and physical events of the night. At one point he entered her from behind as she presented herself on hands and knees. He marveled at the bright red blush of her bottom. She had really taken a serious paddling. He did all he could to make that one last, stroking in and out slowly while she moaned with pleasure, finally begging him to speed up and finish her.

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Seven years later......

"Ready darling?" asked Dex as they waved goodbye to Tracy's parents who were babysitting their two kids while Tracy and Dex got away for a much needed vacation.

"MMM...and how!" said Tracy, kissing Dex. "Two weeks and no kids. Plenty of time to play."

It had been tough those first few years, but Dex' civil engineering firm had plenty of work now and the money was rolling in. To celebrate the latest big contract they were headed for a luxury resort in the Florida keys. As Dex hummed and drove along, Tracy reflected on how she'd almost thrown it away. Then she saw the sign.

The sign said, "Cracker Barrel-one mile."

She snuggled up against her husband and whispered, "When we get there pull in. There's something I left at home."