Nancy Comes Out

(Continued from The Whipping Girl-Meeting Nancy)

The rough texture of the couch cushion where she lay her head didn’t register with Liz as her mind washed slowly out to the edge of consciousness. The spanking was far enough along that she was largely numbed to the smacks as long as they covered old ground. Once every few swats Nancy would hit higher or lower and she’d maybe jump a tad, or suck in some air or give a little “ouch” but by and large she was relaxed lying there.

Since her first spanking as a wee tot she swears she was conscious of-that she felt-the little fire smoldering between her legs ignited by the slaps to her bottom. Especially those spanks that fell at the bottom of her bottom, where the slaps echoed though the voids and crevasses where everything came together and sent tiny shocks buzzing through her down under.

She couldn’t believe that anyone else could feel this way and was convinced that she was the most vile little girl. No matter who had smacked her bottom back then-her mother (reluctantly), her father (vigorously, when he was still around), her older brother (twice as horse play and one time not, which was very confusing), elementary school teachers or boyfriends (not often enough) she came away less chastened and more energized and excited than anyone could know.

How depraved she thought she was when, after being spanked, all she wanted to do was go to her room or any private spot where she could reach down her front to find that secret spot that was already buzzing and rub it till it screamed.

These were not conscious thoughts that Liz was having now-nor clear memories bubbling to the surface-just woven strands of the fabric that made her who she was. Nothing that needed to be considered. Right now she was content to lay half naked across Nancy Shawn’s legs and have her friend take her to a different place.

But the ride was slowing. The time between spanks grew longer and the swats were not delivered with the same vigor. Between blows Nancy would gently rub one cheek then the other. This was different. Not unpleasant, but different. Nancy wasn’t the rubbing kind.

The whole visit today was a little “off”. It began with an unexpected “can I come over?” text from Nancy. Ever since her daughter had come home from college and they had reached their…accommodation, the primary reason for Nancy’s visits was gone. There was no more anger to be worked through-no direct line between Bethany pissing her off and Liz gritting her teeth through an enthusiastic butt-jarring spanking that rivaled any she had ever gotten from a man. Lately some spankings had felt perfunctory or ritualistic, without the fuel that had powered them before.

Liz came up onto her elbows and shook her hair out. The spanking felt finished but there was something else in the air. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Do you like this?” Nancy asked as she rubbed.

“Yes, very much…”

“Me too”, said Nancy as her hand moved from the thigh up over the curve of her bottom and back again. Liz dropped her head back down onto her crossed arms. Yes, this was nice-she would relax and enjoy the massage. At least she would relax. The silence that fell wasn’t uncomfortable-Liz had grown fond of Nancy over the last couple of months and could be at ease even in circumstances or postures that seemed less than comfortable. But Nancy wasn’t relaxed. As with the spanking, her rubbing seemed distracted or fidgety. Anxious.

“Everything alright?” Liz muffled into her forearm.

The hand stopped moving at the top of Liz’ thigh. Nancy’s voice was high and tentative as if she was trying to suck the words back in as she said them.

“I was just wondering….maybe I want to be on the receiving end.”

“You want me to spank you?”

“No! No-that’s not….but if you wanted to-I’d let you…”

“What were you thinking of then?”

Nancy let her hand slip slowly from the back of Liz’s thigh down between her legs. The younger woman opened a little and thrust gently backward opening the most intimate parts of herself. Nancy had seen everything before in the course of a dozen wriggling bare-bottomed spankings but nothing had been offered like this. She slid her hand up and down the inside of the thigh.

“Touch me…” Liz said softly. “It’s ok.”

Nancy moved her hand up the leg and touched gently and softly. Slowly, tentatively she slipped a finger slightly inside. “My God, you are so wet…”

“That’s your doing…”

“You know,” Nancy said, withdrawing her finger but keeping it down there, “I haven’t had an orgasm in years.”

“Years?”

“At least a year before he left, then the three years he’s been gone…”

“They don’t have vibrators in your part of town?”

Nancy barked a small laugh playfully slapped Liz’s rump.

“You are a naughty little one. No, the thought of that only seemed to draw attention to the fact that I was alone…Then, the last time I had you across my lap I felt something…I let it go…but today, I was at the club and there was a woman in the locker room, she was in a towel-God, listen to me-I couldn’t see anything….but the towel was short. She reminded me of you…and I got this feeling….”

“…That you wanted to come over and beat my ass…” Liz said laughing.

“That I wanted to feel your skin against mine….” Nancy said without laughing.

The words froze the conversation and silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. Nancy had gone all in on this one and she sat almost not breathing with her hand resting on Liz’s bottom.

“Can I get up?” Liz asked.

“Of course”, Nancy said leaning back, her voice husky.

Liz came to her knees and watched her friend look away, thinking no doubt that her getting up was a rejection of an ill-timed, muddled advance. Liz pulled her T-shirt off over her head and gently pulled Nancy’s chin toward her. The woman’s eyes glistened as her face betrayed regret, fear, shame…but overriding everything, desire. Liz leaned into her and kissed her gently on the lips while allowing her right hand to slide between, then up Nancy’s thighs to rest on the silken panties at her crotch. The woman gasped as if her hand were an ice-cube tray.

“We can struggle on the couch like teenagers or you can let me take you into my bed.”

Nancy’s face split into a relieved, but wicked, smile. “Please do…”

The naked woman stood and took the older woman by the hand. They walked together into the darkened bedroom.

The Whipping Girl-Meeting Nancy

Liz tried not to stare at the woman on the other side of the produce aisle but it wasn’t easy. She was striking-late 40’s or early 50’s. Well dressed and well kept. Liz was in shape, but her body was borne of the gym; hours on the elliptical, the treadmill, the Stairmaster. This woman was blessed with a lithe frame that moved gracefully-like an athlete. Golfer probably. Strong looking hands and wrists with tight ropey muscles showing on her forearms where her sweater was pushed up. Her hair was a beautiful multi-colored mane of gold and honey, kept fashionably short around her face.

The woman seemed to be shopping but that might have been a secondary goal. There was a flush to her cheeks and she was…. manhandling was the only word for it, a variety of melons, mangoes and cucumbers.

Liz was standing close to the woman when she picked up a cantaloupe, hardly looked at it, and slammed it back down into the pile she took it from. Liz put on a half-smile and glanced at the woman to her right, “I’m glad you’re not pissed at me”, she said. The woman looked at her quickly as if awakening, then looked at the melon she had just crushed. “Asshole…” she mumbled.

“Sorry”, Liz turned on her heel, “Only kidding…”

“Oh no, no…not you. I’m sorry,” the woman sputtered quickly reaching out touching Liz on the arm. “Not you…I’m referring to myself…I’m the asshole here.”

Liz stopped, smiling. “That’s good-like I said, I wouldn’t want you as pissed at me as you are at those melons.”

The woman reached out her hand. “Nancy”, she said. “Nancy Shawn.”

“Hi Nancy-I’m Liz. You about done making fruit salad over here? Want to grab a coffee?”

“Maybe we should”, looking around. “Before I get banned from produce.”

They settled into the coffee shop at the front of the store. Liz with her French Roast, sugar-no cream and Nancy Shawn with green tea. Liz was a great listener in that any conversation she was a part of became entirely about the other party. Part of it was because she was interested in other’s stories and could move them along with thoughtful questions, wry observations and knowing asides. People would talk for Liz for an hour and realize later that they knew little about her but that they had told her everything about themselves. But another part of it was that Liz was always on sly alert-looking for an itch she could scratch or a hole she could fill.

With Nancy Shawn, that itch was her daughter. Nancy and her then-husband had raised her well, denied her nothing, had sent her to a private school in the suburbs that Liz had heard of and knew was elite and expensive, and generally, in Nancy’s mind, had doted on her. When the divorce happened-as they did more than half time time-Nancy not only got rich, but got Bethany. It had worked wonderfully through the final couple of years of high school but now, as college in Boston wore on, it wasn’t great.

Through a second cup Liz let Nancy unburden the typical tale of woe: Bethany sided with her father on everything, had no respect for her mother since she had left her career behind-which she had done to devote time to Bethany for Christ’s sake!-now the “little bitch” begrudged her the money she had “won” from her father but didn’t hesitate to feel entitled to it…on and on.

“Little bitch-that’s strong”. Liz was glad Nancy wasn’t drinking espresso the way this was all coming out on green tea.

“Yes, maybe so. I retract. I wouldn’t call her that if she was still a child….But it’s so frustrating…”

“It’s adult children not wanting to be adults. They want to act like children…get all the childhood rewards and protections with none of the childhood risks or rules. Regardless of how she acts now you’re not going to ground her or spank her.”

“No”, said Nancy into her cup. “Never did-never touched her.”

“Never spanked her once?”

“Nope. “

“Wish you were my Mom”, Liz smiled.

Nancy smiled ruefully. “Maybe, maybe not. Look at you-you turned out OK. We’re having a good, normal conversation. I can’t have that with her. And it pisses me off.”

“And the produce suffers…”

“And the produce suffers. And the golf balls. And the tennis balls. And the Vodka bottles…” she smiled. “It goes on and on”.

This is where the conversation stopped being the “normal” give and take conversation that Nancy thought she was having and picked up more of a direction as Liz herded it her way.

“All misdirected aggression. You should think about making up for lost time-or revisiting lost opportunities.”

“How do you mean?”

“Bethany shows up at the door after semester, meet her at the door with a paddle and set new ground rules.”

“Hah!” Nancy barked. “Too late for that-she’s a fully mal-formed and malfunctioning creation.”

“Never too late to mold a person. The clay might be drying but it’s still malleable”.

Nancy’s smile faded as she shook her head. “I don’t see that working-not right now. We’re not talking. And when we are, it’s yelling. Just too late.”

“Too bad. But you know, she’s not the only one involved here. You have a life to live too. Even if it’s too late for her, it’s not for you.”

“How so?”

“You’re telling me that spanking her butt wouldn’t be a stress reliever for you? Keep you from destroying the produce. Or your liver?”

Smiling again, “So those times I want to reach through the phone and choke her-I should aim lower.”

With a smile-“That’s one way to think about it.”

“Funny….” Then, after a pause that seemed longer than it should have been, “Wouldn’t even know how to begin….”

“Did you ever hear the story of the whipping boy?”

“Sure”, said Nancy. “The boy assigned to the young prince to take his whippings for him.”

“Right-you could start there. Find a substitute. A surrogate for Bethany. Someone to take the spanking you can’t or won’t give her.”

“I should put an ad in Craig’s list?”

“Maybe look a little bit closer.”

Nancy looked up from her cup then and into Liz’s eyes. Liz returned the look-exposed out there with the reality of the proposal. Nancy broke away first, leaning back in her seat. Her gaze shifted slightly from open to guarded, maybe a little suspicious. She squinted slightly with one eye as if from cigarette smoke.

“Who put you up to this?”

“Pardon?”

“Someone from the Club?”

“No, I’m not pranking you. This is just us talking. I thought I saw a way to help you. Look-if I went too far, I’m sorry. Let’s get a refill and forget it.”

“So you’re saying I should spank you.”

“I’m saying you could. If you wanted to. If it would help you…”

“…Deal with the stress of fighting with my daughter….”

“….Constantly.”

Nancy regarded her closely. “She’s about your age I guess…” That’s the second time she said it and Liz beamed inwardly. Nothing like being mistaken for a 22 year old. “I have to warn you though-there is a woman in town who still won’t speak to me because of my work as pledge master over twenty years ago.”

“You look like you could have a mean swing.”

“Do you golf?” Nancy asked.

“Poorly.”

“Come on. Let’s go out to the range and hit some. I’ve got a driver that will fit you.”

“Sure, I’m game.” As with many deals, this one would close around golf.

(Continued in Nancy Comes Out)

Ready to cut

There’s a saying that the things we hate when we’re young, like spanking and naps, become rewards as we get older. I’m adding the first lawn cutting of the season to the list. After the winter we’ve had, I’m looking forward to walking behind the mower instead of the blower.