Chelsea – 5

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Perchenonso.tumblr.com

(Continued from Chelsea – 4)

 

Geneva knocked lightly on the door.

“Come in”, she muffled. Chelsea was on the bed, laying on her side facing the window. She was fully clothed, but for her boots.

“You OK?”

“Sure”, she sniffed. The wall against her tears had evidently collapsed on the way up to her room. “My ass burns like hell.”

“I bet.” Geneva sat on the bed and handed the tube of salve over her shoulder. “He sent me to give this to you.  Apparently, it’s for burns, sunburn…he said it would help.”

“Thoughtful.”

Geneva rubbed her shoulder. “Sorry Chel…”

“Wasn’t your fault”, she sighed and handed the tube back. “What did he say?”

“When?”

“When he sent you up with this stuff.”

“Oh…he said, that I should…take care of you. That you’d want to see me…But I can leave…”

“Come on,” she almost snickered as she undid her belt. “Take care of me then.” She unsnapped, unzipped and pushed her jeans and underwear down to her knees, rolling onto her belly.

“Yeeouch”, Gennie said tentatively touching the double bulls-eye bruises on Chelsea’s bottom. “Has to hurt…” She squeezed a dollop of lotion onto her right cheek and rubbed gently.

“It hurts for sure, but guess what I won’t be doing anymore?”

“What?”

“Smoking anywhere near the workshop.”

“Guess it worked then. But I don’t know how you could stand it!

“Sometimes it’s easier to take a beating than to live with the disappointment.”

“Huh?…What?…I’m sorry.” Gennie was only half listening, distracted by the feel of Chelsea’s hot bottom under her slick, ministering fingers. Her skin mounded and crested as she massaged from the inside out allowing peeks of the treasures barely hidden in her cracks and creases.

“Remember the way he looked at me when he got out of the truck? That ‘you let me down look?’ I’d rather have my ass beat every day of the week than live with that.”

“I think I remember that…” Gennie said remembering her own spanking.

“Complicated”, Chelsea said.

“Truly…”

Geneva rubbed in circles, first one cheek then the other. She dabbed more lotion and widened her circles to the small of her back and then down to the tops of Chelsea’s thighs-places the paddle hadn’t touched. Her hands navigated the lithe body like a well-remembered but seldom trod path.  “Mmmm…that’s nice” Chelsea said into the pillow. As if awaiting a signal, Geneva allowed her hand and it’s exploring fingers to slide between her cheeks and rub up over her tight little button and further down between her legs. Chelsea began to wriggle at the touch.

“Would you do something for me?”

“If I can.”

“Slip my plants the rest of the way off.”

Geneva smiled ruefully watching her finger tease its way up the crevasse between the mottled cheeks. “I don’t know if that’s what he had in mind.”

“He sent you up here to rub lotion on my bare butt. He didn’t say just to bring me the salve, did he? What do you think he had in mind?”

“But you know he and I are…”

“Jesus! Don’t say it. You think I don’t know? This is a big house but not that big. I hear you guys at it every night.”

“Not every night!”

“Sometimes twice a night!”

Geneva giggled like a kid and took the bottom of Chelsea’s butt cheek in hand to knead it gently, her thumb playing at the soft spot just inside her thigh. “I just don’t know…” she stopped herself frustrated, but Chelsea would have none of it.

“Look, I can’t-not with your hands on me like this, imagine you leaving me here alone with my pants off and having to rub one off again. That’s all I do! Alone in my room while you make crazy love down the hall. I’m like a nun in here. Come on Gen-don’t make me beg! I know you don’t…feel about me the way I could about you. But you like me well enough don’t you?”

“Of course I like you well enough…”

“You don’t hate me do you?”

Chelsea was so engrossed in her pleading that she didn’t immediately feel her jeans being pulled over her feet. “Jesus, when did you become such a drama queen?”

“Celibacy makes cowards of us all”, Chelsea said allowing her legs, unbound by her jeans and panties, to fall open.

“May I never find that out”, Geneva said. Then, with a well-aimed and light smack on the bottom, “Roll over. I’ve seen enough of your narrow ass for one day.”

(Continuing…)

 

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Chelsea – 3

 

tumblr_nzyvo9tk1x1s3zznpo1_1280(Continued from Chelsea – 2)

“CHELSEA!” Geneva cried as she was coming up the hill from the apple trees. “THE WORKSHOP!” Chelsea looked up to see her running and pointing behind her. She spun to see smoke rolling out of the open door. “SHIT!” She dropped the mower deck and ran into the smoke.

Fresh sawdust smolders for a long time before bursting into open flame. Chelsea figured she had not very many more seconds before the smoke bomb would have become a conflagration. As it was, she didn’t even use the fire extinguisher, just turned the hose on it. By the time Gennie came gasping through the door, it was out, leaving nothing but the smoky cloud behind.

“Shit, Chel. What happened?”

She was too shaken to just laugh it off. “I don’t know. I had a cigarette…”

“You were smoking in here?”

“No! I mean…I was smoking out there-working on the mower deck-then came in here for a wrench. Must have laid the cigarette…”

“Jesus!” Gennie was nervously circling. “Okay, okay…we won’t tell him, right? We just won’t say anything.”

“Sniff, girl. Smells like fire in here.”

“We’ll open the loft door. Then get rid of it-the sawdust. Everything that’s burnt. We’ll take it back into the woods.”

“It’ll still smell in here.”

“Fire up the saws. Fresh sawdust will cover the smell!”

“Gen, that’s not going to fool him. I’m fucked.”

“No. Come on!” Geneva grabbed a shovel, “Get that bucket, both of those…”

Chelsea wasn’t moving. “I’m not lying to him Gen. I’m not.  Is that what you want to do?”

Gennie came up short. “What? No…I didn’t mean that…” She shut up with the crunch of the pickup on the gravel outside. She hadn’t even heard him coming up the driveway. “Aw, Chelsea. We are fucked.”

“Not ‘we’. Not ‘us’…this is my problem, not yours. I’ll deal with it.”

Chelsea ached, not at what she was pretty sure was coming, but at the changing light of his face as he came toward them. Behind the taciturn mask was a smile of joy at seeing them, then a concern over their serious faces followed by the darkening clouds of anger, disappointment and dread of what might have happened. And now, what was going to have to happen.

She had caused this stormy weather. If not for her they would all be standing around talking, laughing, planning the evening. But they weren’t. Because of her. She had never forgotten how it felt to deserve to be punished.

(Continuing…)

But Why?

Because,

I want to gasp as you bump your fingers slowly over your handiwork.

I love to hiss at the cool burn when you drizzle the lotion over me.

I want to remember this all day.

I want to feel you all day.

When you’re gone,

I want to feel the tiny buzz when running my own fingers over the tight ridges.

I want to feel them wriggling below when sitting later.

To pause anytime and see a reminder of what we did this morning.

I want to reach back anytime and feel them.

Touch them.

Then make myself feel something more.

There was a time when the memory of your smile-of your hand in mine-was enough;

A long time ago.

Sometimes I wish you weren’t-but

You are too gentle to leave bruises so I could see them for days.

But you’ll be back soon-

To again, scribe your signature,

On me.

 

If you enjoyed, see Corduroy

A Whipping – Finale

(Continued from A Whipping – Part II)

She howled like a wolf at the rising moon as the first stroke cut cruelly across the top of her buttocks. The pain-THIS PAIN-she didn’t remember. The second followed immediately just below the first. “OWWWW!” she cried again lurching against the thick leather across the small of her back. She tried to gasp his name, to beg some kind of quarter, but another wicked stroke, then another, stole her words replacing them with yelps and cries.

“These walls are thick Missus”, he said in a way to calm her. “No one will hear-yell as you must.”

And she did, ignoring the memories of cries she had heard wafting from the high archer’s windows in the tower. Anyone passing by now would hear her but she cared not.

“But don’t forget to breathe”, he said pausing to inspect the deep pink and purpling weals slashing across her alabaster bottom. The eight stripes were perfectly spaced from the top of her deep crease to almost the center. He tenderly patted her right buttock which twitched at the touch. “Shhh… he said, gently palping the softness at the bottom of her cheek. When he last caned Eleanor Swick she was a girl whose slight curves flattened and disappeared when she bent. This was a woman bending now, her thickened body retaining its lush roundness as she reclined forward. She lifted her head and made to glance backward, curious about the delay.

“Sixteen more Ellie.”

“Yes…I don’t know how I’ll stand them.”

“You just will. Prepare”

She gripped the edge of the bench as the cane burned into the center of her bottom. She needn’t wonder any longer how a hot poker might feel touched to her skin. Her crying was now complete and non-stop; howls punctuating the kisses of the cane. He slowed his pace watching the new stripes bloom lightly. They were pink, no longer red. Ellie’s cries had likewise softened. Pulled by duty, he tightened his grip then hit a strong one low that bit into the top of her right thigh.  “Owww…” she cried anew.

“I’m sorry Ellie.” She felt him close again-his breath on her hot bottom then his finger at the top of her thigh. “Afraid I broke the skin on that one.” He rubbed it gently. “I’ll dress that for you…”She clung to the board wishing she had taken her top off as well, desiring as she did the feel of the leather against her nipples that-regardless of the pain-were hard and scratching as live beetles.

“How many more…?” she asked breathlessly, fearing the number.

He paused again before answering “None” definitively and laying the cane aside. “You are finished.”

“But that was only twelve or…”

“Shall I continue?”

“No! No! Thank you, Roger. God…I…” She blathered in relief and in another kind of heat.  “Come around”, she rasped. “Come to me.”

Roger stepped to the front of the bench where Eleanor’s grasping hands reached for him. He allowed himself to be taken by the hips and pulled forward. Her fingers worked feverishly untying the leather cord that cinched his trousers.

“Ellie…Eleanor…I don’t know…”

“Shush!” she said as the knot came loose and she pulled his thickening shaft free. “You’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn!”

He pulled back. “It was no fun for me Ellie! I didn’t…”

“Shush! Of course I know that…It’s a joke, that’s all…I’m sorry. Here, now…” Her hand wrapped around his cock and pulled him toward her tear streaked face. “You must come closer…”

Her grip tightened and pulled him to her mouth opening wide as a baby bird at dinner. The Punisher allowed himself to be guided forward and watched as her lips circled his manhood. He stood still, allowing her no more than the head, which she gobbled hungrily, stretching her neck for more. He stroked her hair allowing his staff to expand to its fullness under her feverishly flicking and rolling tongue.

“You must take me Roger. You must take me…back there.”

“Ellie, this would be a breach of office that I’ve never even contemplated.”

“Never?” She looked up at him with red eyes. “Never Roger?”

He gulped. “The one time. Yes.” He admitted.

“You will find that my wicked thoughts and your cutting cane have left me wet enough to accommodate even this-once I ready you.” She put him firmly back in her mouth and reached, taking his hips to draw him closer turning her head to better take him. Her arms wrapped around him clutching his backside-hugging him to her face his wild hair scratching her cheeks, his cock deep in her throat. She bobbed once, then again then pushed him away her saliva glistening on his engorged cock.

“Now Roger-take me. If you don’t it will be your cruelest punishment.”

He slipped between her legs and opened her bruised cheeks. She gasped as he placed his purpling dome against her moist folds to hear her beg once more, then slowly and inexorably pushed forward surprised and pleased that she could accommodate him. She moaned when his body touched her bottom-then again as he pulled back and thrust forward. Again, then again, he ground deeply into her. With his hands gripping her hips he quickened his pace, banging and slapping into her sweating body.

“Roger! I’m coming Roger-I’m going to come….!” She grabbed the sides of the bench and gritted her teeth as he worked faster feeling his own finish building deeply in his loins. He rammed her firmly as she squealed in release-pushing backward as much as she could against the leather. His pace now a gallop he kept her full of him pulling more cries with his rod than he had with the cane.

With a final shudder she ceased her fevered bucking. He withdrew his throbbing cock and gripping firmly, allowed himself to spurt fully across her backside. She moaned at the feel of the wet heat against her skin. Deflated against the bench she closed her eyes and just breathed, luxuriating in the twitches and jolts that emanated from her warm and well-served pussy.

There was movement behind and she felt the cool wet of a soft cloth cleaning and cleansing. Her senses were clear for the first time in weeks; she smelled the unguent as he gently touched where she needed it. She allowed him to minister as she wondered at her emptiness-the serpent of her needs had been cast out. For the time being.

Epilogue

Having cleared the room, the Queen Regent regarded The Punisher from her seat behind the ornate, elevated desk. She was high enough on her platform that even Roger Peterman had to look up to her. Not one to dabble in emotion, she regarded him silently as he wondered how she could look so much the same as when he first laid eyes on her as a boy.

True, her thick golden locks were thinner and laced through with platinum but her face didn’t betray her years. Her life on horseback-her preferred mode of travel around the realm-kept her body, which she did little to conceal beyond the conventions of the day, vital and strong. No longer a warrior, her mien nonetheless betrayed a readiness-maybe even an eagerness-for physical effort; for combat. Her iron-gray eyes penetrated still.

“So. I hear there was no whipping in the square while I was gone.”

“No Mam”, he said.

The silence was deep enough that dust motes could be heard crashing into each other falling through the sunlight.

“Did I not clearly express my wishes?” she asked simply and evenly.

“Oh, yes Mam. Verily so.”

Those who knew the Queen Regent best (and they were precious few) would have noticed a smile just then. If not at the corners of her mouth then in her eyes. The Punisher saw nothing.

“You’re not quite old enough to be considered eccentric. Or charmingly cantankerous…”

“No Mam.”

“Or odd. But. You want to be careful of appearing willful. Or disloyal.”

“No, Mam. Never that.”

“No, not you. But there is such a thing as misplaced loyalty. Misguided perhaps.” She paused and regarded him coolly.  “If I were to bring Mrs. Plumm-and it is Missus, Roger, with a husband and child-if I were to bring her in and strip her down, what would I see?”

“Thirty purple stripes Mam, cut right across the bottom. Evidences of abrasions. At least six open wounds.”

“Some caning. Thirty strokes at your hand.”

“Yes, Mam. Shall I send for her?”

“She would come for you, wouldn’t she?”

“At your behest Mam. At your behest.”

The Queen Regent allowed another invisible smile to bloom unseen across her face. “No, that’s fine. Let her be. You though, come to my chambers at sundown. We will discuss this further.”

“Yes, mam.”

“Use the back stairs from the library, so you won’t be observed.”

“Yes, mam. Thank you, mam.”

“You might want to save the ‘thank you’.”

“Yes mam.” He bowed his leave.  “Until sundown, then.”

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Katheryn Winnick as as Lagertha in Vikings. Not necessarily the model for the Queen Regent…

A Whipping – Part II

(Continued from A Whipping)

The Punisher regarded her coolly, hiding any feelings behind an implacable mask. He had never wavered in his responsibilities or shirked his duty though the things he had been offered in this room would send a priest pounding for entry at the doors of Hell. He was looking beyond the woman on her knees before him until, deciding, he pushed away from the bench and strode purposefully toward the steps; not pausing as he took one, then another up toward the courtyard.

“Noooo Roger, please!” she bawled and sprawled prostrate on the cold floor crushing her silken beret against the stone. “I’ll die Roger! I will die up there in the courtyard…” She wished suddenly that she wasn’t as strong a woman so she could swoon like some stricken damsel and impress him with her desperation. It wasn’t to be, though. All she could do was weep openly on the stone floor and beg.

She heard the door’s heavy bolt slide definitively closed. Then the cross beam fell securing it. She snuffled and fell silent lifting on an elbow. Roger appeared back down the staircase and crossed to her, reaching down to offer a hand. “Come, Ellie, get up…”

“But Roger…” she took his hand.

“We won’t be going up into the courtyard. And no one will be coming down.”

She held onto his hand but couldn’t rise, slipping down onto her haunches-a hollow husk, completely drained by the cold fear that had filled her totally.

“But what…what will happen?”

“I can’t let you off Ellie. Can’t do it.”

“No! No! You shouldn’t. As I said-I fully expect to…

“I will cane you right here and now.”

“Oh Roger, never will anyone so happily accept a caning as I will today.”

“Best save your gratitude. This will be…more than last time.”

“Yes Roger, I understand. What must I do?”

“Go. Behind the screen”, he pointed to the standing divider in the corner.  “Disrobe to give me access to your bottom. Bare from waist down…cover the rest as you will.”

“Yes, Roger”, she gasped, hurrying lest he change his mind.

She quickly doffed the beret and the veil hanging them on a hook. The dress came off simply enough and she at least had the good sense not to have worn a corset. She pulled at her slip, then her knickers. It was endless! Which is why the serving class was not allowed underclothes when they worked. Their chastisements were so regular that the time expended undressing and dressing again would be too great.

Bare on the bottom, she rubbed her hands along her thighs and backside feeling strangely chilled. Since Olivia, her topography had changed a bit and she suddenly wondered what he would think. It was vain, she knew, given all the women he has seen in this room. She thought of taking her top off over her head but decided to leave it-not wanting to seem too wanton. She doubted that Roger expected to see her walking nude from behind the screen. So, with a deep breath, she stepped from behind the barrier.

Roger was a man of discipline in more ways than one. He locked eyes with Eleanor as she stepped toward him, having no need-or apparently desire-to see what was below her waist. Her heart swelled at his gallantry.

“This way Missus”, he said, being more comfortable in the formality of his office for the time being. She took his hand and allowed herself to be led to the bench. He showed her how to kneel on the platform which placed her legs a little wider than her shoulders and helped her to bend forward across the bench.

“Would you prefer to be bound, Missus?”

She feared that the pain might make her a coward. “The legs, yes. And across the back. Leave my hands free if you would.”

“As you will”, he said formally.

She was conscious of him behind her affixing the straps around her thighs. She could feel his warm breath on her bare bottom as he reached between her legs for the buckles. The thick belt cinched her waist to the bench and she was set.  Once bared and bound she had naught to do but wait. Her insides roiled as she lay her cheek on the leather padding. Her last caning had been a simple ‘bend over and lift your skirts’ affair; almost a lark between old friends. This was more like…

(Continuing…)

A Whipping

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“A whipping Roger?”, she asked surprised. “Are you sure she said a whipping?”

“Yes, Missus”, the big man replied. “She was very specific.”

“Well…” Eleanor cleared her throat. Her hands shook a little and she paused to try to cover the quiver in her voice. This certainly was a deviation from plan.

“I’ve never been whipped Roger.”

“No missus. Not many of those anymore.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I expected some chastisement. Perhaps a caning-six of the best maybe-I had gotten that a couple of years ago, remember?”

“I do missus. Four years ago. Before you were Mrs. Plumm.”

“Yes! Yes…and that was a tight caning, if you’ll recall. You laid it on well.”

“I do remember. Didn’t really enjoy that, you know.”

“Oh, I know that, Roger. You made that clear at the time and I appreciate it. I did deserve it, I’ll admit. Still hurt like the devil.”

“The cane-especially applied wet- is wicked…”

For months she had feared her needs growing slowly from a tiny worm that tickled her belly to a fearsome serpent that constricted her from the inside stealing her breath and clouding all good thoughts. She glimpsed it once in the looking glass, flickering its cold, red tongue from behind her eyes. The vision so roiled that she’d smashed the glass with a pot later explaining that she’d dropped it in her own clumsiness.

Her weakling efforts to assuage her own urges were akin to bailing a sinking vessel with a teacup. With little Olivia at the maiden’s quarters she was alone to subject herself to whatever she thought might relieve the pressure that rang in her ears.

Their manner of dress made it easy to cover the marks she left on herself. Her natural reticence made the time alone in her home seem less conspicuous to anyone who might care, but she knew in a warm recess of her consciousness that standing naked in the cold woodshed, face pressed to the rough wall, swatting her bare thigh with a wooden spoon or coming perilously close to touching herself with a hot poker from the fire was leading her down a path she might not want to travel. Thus her plot to land in the Punisher’s chambers, which seemed to have worked too well.

“We’ve know each other a long time.”

“Since we were toddlers, Missus.”

“We played together!”

“Simpler times, Missus.”

“Please Roger, call me Ellie, as you used to.”

“Yes Missus.”

“In all that time have you ever known me to do anything that would warrant a…”

“Please Missus, leave me out of that part of it. Only one person decides the punishment for ladies of your class and it’s certainly not me. I just carry out the sentence.”

“But a whipping…” she gasped, realizing. “…Roger-is it to be public? In the square?” She held her hands to her breast, eyes like saucers.

“No…not in the square, per se.”

“Per se?”

“In the courtyard. Right up the steps there to the crossbar beneath the oak tree.”

“Whipped in the courtyard?” her voice carried an edge of desperation.

“They’ll be no announcement made! Nothing to draw a crowd. We’ll just go up.”

“When?!”

“Well…now, I suppose.”

“It’s midday Roger. The courtyard will be full of workers taking their ease!”

“What am I to do?” his voice too carried an edge. “The time is the time!”

“I’m a wife and mother! Have lived inside these walls all my life! Everyone knows me!  To be stripped naked and whipped in the courtyard is unacceptable!”

“With cause Missus! There is cause.”

“I know that! Cause for punishment-a caning, a strapping, even the birch-but not for that!” The tears that she was holding, only letting one at a time slide down her cheeks, began to flow freely.

Eleanor slid closer and hissed, “You know a whipping isn’t right. You know what she’s doing, don’t you? She wants to get even for…”

“Again, Missus, I don’t want to get into that!”

“Call me Ellie, please! It’s me. Ellie, Roger. Please…”

“What would you have me do?”

“Anything…nothing…something other than a whipping in the courtyard.”

She knew that by reputation the Punisher was incorruptible. That he had been plied with all manner of wanton offer over the years was assumed-that he had accepted any of them was universally and vociferously denied.  But he was also Roger Peterman, her childhood playmate who had stolen a kiss or two before they knew what class meant in the kingdom.

He was leaning against the bench she had only heard of. Padded on top and on two kneeling platforms attached to the legs. Higher on one end than the other, it canted ever so slightly downward so once positioned upon it, the unfortunate’s bottom was the highest point of her anatomy. Straps hanging from the legs and left no doubt about the forbidding furniture’s usage.

The gossiping whispers over tea of this one or that one having to visit the Punisher’s chambers became less titillating when faced with the hard reality of a spanking bench and the man leaning against it truly contemplating her fate. That she had been a part of those leering gaggles was undeniable. Knowing that she would be the subject of them was unimaginable. “Naked in the courtyard”, was all she could think of. As her cold serpent coiled, she felt she might puke.

The oppressive silence of the big man’s contemplation pressed down on her until she-without planning to-dropped to her knees onto the cold stone floor. “Anything Roger, you know that, I will do anything to avoid walking naked up those stairs. Please, sir. I am begging you.”

(Continued…)

Chloe – The Finale

Continued from Chloe – Part 3

Chloe was sitting on the edge of her bed facing the door seemingly rubbing at her thigh. With the damn creaky floors, Chloe knew she was right outside the door, but wouldn’t look up. Just sat there fiddling with her leg. The shower brush was on the bed beside her.

Karen approached and looked down at her daughter’s leg. She was making what looked to be little tic tac toe scratches on her thigh with her fingernail. “Stop that”, Karen said, tenderly cupping her head in her hand. Then, sitting beside her, she wet her finger and wiped the dry, white marks away with her hand. Self-conscious, Chloe wiped at them too and pulled the skirt lower.

Karen felt the spine melting out of her. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I think we both know that”, Chloe mumbled through a mouthful of cotton without looking up.

“Look, Chloe. I…”

Chloe’s heart was racing and her eyes were burning. She could not bear to hear another lecture, another session of having her own words thrown back at her and having to listen to what a shit she was. She knew that. I’m sorry Mom, was all she was thinking but she couldn’t make herself say that. Not right now. Not that it wasn’t true, but if she said that now-just apologized-Karen would believe her. She would forgive her and not do what she came upstairs to do. What she needed her to do.

Chloe twisted on the bed and laid herself quickly over her mother’s lap. Once there she reached back and pulled her skirt up as best she could, exposing her panty-clad rear. She was wearing skimpy blue panties that Karen had never seen and she chose to ignore the fact that her daughter was matching her underwear to her skirt. She had an idea of where this evening had been headed.

“Be my Mom alright? You can be my friend later. Now you need to be my mom!”

Jarred, Karen swallowed her surprise and still-borne response, remembering what Deena had told her. Christ, had she had been so blind to what her daughter needed from her? It had always been about what she wanted, what she needed from her daughter. How had she missed the signals being sent her way?

“Alrighty then”, said Karen, tightening her grip around her daughter’s waist shrugging off the feeling that she was a player in someone else’s drama. When she brought the first swat down heavily on Chloe’s right cheek they both said “OW!” Karen silently with an-O-open mouth and Chole not so quietly. It had been awhile, but Karen knew the feel of wood on bottom-something her daughter was about to learn.

At the moment, Chole’s thoughts were more along the line of “be careful what you wish for” but by the third smack of the brush had degenerated into a mishmash of “OW-Ouch! She’s really beating my ass! Jesus! Jesus! This hurts-HURTS! Ow! OW!” She managed to bite her lip and not yell too much but couldn’t stop the wriggling.

Suddenly remembering her own sessions over Chef Tony’s lap Karen switched the paddle to her left hand and quickly grabbed her daughter’s panties and yanked them down. Something obviously unanticipated.

“NO MOM!” Chloe yelled and reached back. Too late to grab her underwear, she instead covered her bared bottom with her hand palm up. “Not on the bare, Mom! Please!”

“Take your hand away or I will swat it.” She swatted her moderately on the back of the leg.

“Ouch! OK….”

Chloe, having begun to cry despite herself, pulled a pillow down and buried her face in it. A thin sheath of cotton would not seem to offer much protection from a stout bath brush, but the first contact of wood on bare skin was electric. “Jesus! She’s spanking my bare ass!! My BARE ASS” echoed through Chloe’s brain as she yelped into the pillow. Karen delivered smack after smack to her reddening bottom. She kicked and swam not able to avoid the blows but neither could she register that every swat was a tad lighter than the one before.

Karen, even now determined to be more attentive to her daughter’s needs, watched her reactions and listened carefully to her cries. When Chloe stopped wriggling and instead pushed her legs straight back tightening her bum into two hard apples Karen decided the punishment was over. She dropped the brush back onto the bed as the girl relaxed, continuing to cry softly.

Karen grabbed the panties that were bunched at Chole’s knees and pulled them gently up, covering her bottom. She primly dropped the skirt back in place, only then patting Chloe’s aching back side.

“That should about do it”, she said. “Come on, get up”.

Chloe pushed herself up and sat on the bed where she had before eyes focused on the carpet.  Karen got up and snapped tissues from a box on the bedside table. “Here”, she said putting them in front of Chloe’s face. “Let’s see if we can get along for a while”, she said stroking the top of her head.

Chloe didn’t look up but seemed to nod.

“You’re done for the night,” Karen told her heading for the door.  Get ready for bed. No computer, no phone….”

“OK….” Came the tissue-muffled answer.

Downstairs Karen poured a thick glass of tooth achingly cold vodka over ice and headed for the front porch. The cool of the evening sliced hard into the heat running through her and she almost shivered. Tossing a few cushions aside she settled onto the wicker glider and finally, finally sighed deeply emptying her lungs then refilling-once, twice…sip. Repeat. She had thought about calling Deena but didn’t; wanting this time for herself and Chloe in case…

She heard the door opening behind her.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Can I come out?”

“Sure.” Karen tossed the cushions beside her onto the floor. Chloe had changed into pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved Carroll High cheerleader T-shirt. She flopped down beside her mother and let her head loll onto her shoulder.

Karen took her offered hand. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“My butt is SO sore…”

“I hope you’re not looking for an apology.”

“Nope.”

They sat just so for a few moments, Karen breathing the soft scent of Chloe’s hair.

“I know I still don’t have car privileges so you think you can take me to school in the morning?”

“Isn’t what’s his face picking you up?”

“Ah…I don’t think that would be right. I’m breaking up with him tomorrow.”

“Really?” Karen asked, happily surprised. “Why?”

She felt Chloe shrug and knew there would be no other explanation forthcoming right now. And she was fine with that. As they sat in silence, slowly rocking back and forth, Karen felt her eyes burning but was unwilling to let go of her daughter’s hand to rub them.

She let the tear slide softly down her cheek.