A Beautiful Morning…

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She threw one long leg over the crossbar and stood astride the seat working her thick pony tail through the hole in her ball cap, liking the sun on the back of her legs.

“Where you going?” he asked coming onto the porch with a coffee.

“I told you I’m heading over to the cemetery to see if the dump gate is locked. I want to get rid of the cuttings.” They had taken a sumac down and trimmed a dogwood leaving the scraps in a pile behind the garage.

“I thought you’d be taking…the truck”, he said squinting into the sun behind her. She noticed his glance toward her ass.

Shit! She knew how his mind worked. Not that it was any kind of complex machinery. Last night over at The Gardens when he was figuring the tip he’d asked her what was eight plus six. He explained that he had eight n’ eight down, same as eight n’ seven-that was a favorite. But eight n’ six, especially eight n’ five? They were confusing. They both had a little buzz on and he might have been kidding…but really?

Now those gears in that pretty head of his were spinning that if she was OK to ride her bike, he hadn’t spanked her hard enough. Cripes! It hurt. He had a heavy hand and it hurt pretty good. And she yelped in all the right places, but what was she supposed to do? Sit on pillows all day like the women in his stories? Eat standin’ up?  Quickly, while he was watching, she settled onto the seat.

“Ooohhh”, she sighed giving him her best naughty smile. “Still a little tender back there…”

“Uh-huh”, he said returning the smile before turning back toward the house. “Maybe I’ll have to go out to the workshop. Find something that will make a better impression.”

“Really…?” Her smile faded.

“Have a nice ride,” he said, grinning evilly. “See you when you get back.”

Shit! She thought again coasting down the driveway. Would it have killed her to limp a little, or rub her butt when she knew he was watching? She wished she’d a’ taken the truck, but he’d a’ come up with some other excuse. Saturdays were tough around the house. She couldn’t keep up with him! He changed every week. Not changed, exactly, but wanted more, more, more… What would it be now-a paddle? A strap?  A wooden freakin’ spoon? He was wearin’ her out…

She stood on the pedals as the blacktop wound out and let the cool morning air wash over her face. He was so going to beat her ass when she got home, that was for sure. Twitching her backside she could almost feel the burning sting in the softness of her low bottom that he like to attend to so thoroughly. But that was then. Now, the trees opened above and the sunshine washed over her. It was a beautiful morning.

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“Come on Mom…Part 3”

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(Continued from “Come on Mom…” Part 2)

Eileen left the room with a purpose that evaporated quickly as she walked back toward her bedroom. She slowed as she passed the laundry room…then Cassie’s room…then stepped into the bathroom to glance in the mirror. The face looking back was calm and clear-eyed reflecting none of the turmoil that was roiling inside of her. She knew that she was stalling. She was stalling because she actually wanted Cassie to leave. Not forever, God knows, but now.

She was waiting to hear the door open and the car start. That would be good-if she drove off. She wouldn’t go far, down to Ivy’s for coffee and a cigarette probably, but it would give them a cool down period after which they both could declare victory. Cassie would say that indeed she was too old for that kind of punishment and even so, she had decided that her behavior had been reckless and appalling and she’d decided to mend her ways. On her side, Eileen would easily maintain that the mere threat of her hairbrush had convinced her to change her ways. Win-win.

Having made it to the bedroom, Eileen picked the hairbrush from her dresser and weighed it in a way she never did when brushing her hair. Then she waited, listening. Nothing. She looked up and saw herself in the mirror-Christ, there were a lot of mirrors in this house! But there she was, holding the brush looking formidable but she felt like she had to pee.

She took a breath and headed back down the hall. Just be gone, was her last thought before striding into the living room to find her daughter sitting on the sofa in her underwear, jeans folded neatly over the arm of the recliner. Her daughter’s long white thighs against the dark cushions didn’t surprise her as much as the folded jeans. Cassie never folded anything. Ever.

Seeing her daughter, downcast and submissive in a way she typically wasn’t, moved Eileen forward. Saying nothing, she walked to the sofa and slid the coffee table out of the way Then she sat next to Cassie, who still hadn’t looked up, and set the hairbrush on the floor. Silence never had a chance to root between the two of them but for the moment neither seemed to want to say anything. They were both nervous-Cassie more so-and neither was looking forward to making the next move.

“Cassie…” Eileen began.

“I know Mom…I know…Don’t, OK?” To emphasize that she wanted no lecture nor conversation, she turned toward her Mom and crawled over her lap planting herself face down into the sofa cushions and her black-pantied bottom positioned just so on her thigh. “Just do it, OK?” She thought she was ready or anything until she felt her mother’s fingers in the elastic of her panties.

“Come on Mom…Not like this”, she whined as Eileen pulled her underwear down. She reached back futilely, her bottom already bared, only to have her hand slapped.

“No, Cassie. This is the way I did it last time, this is the way I’m going to do it now. You gave up all your negotiating rights when you laid across my lap.” To emphasize, Eileen reached high and brought her open palm down solidly on Cassie’s right cheek.

“It’s not like I had a choice. OWWW!”

“Your car keys were here. The door right there. I gave you enough time to make your escape.” She punctuated her words with slaps.

“OWWW! And what would have happened when I came home? OWWW! Jesus!”

Eileen paused, her spanking hand across the back of Cassie’s legs. “I don’t know. Seriously, I don’t. Maybe this. Maybe worse. Maybe nothing. I don’t know.” She watched her hand prints bloom a pleasant pink on Cassie’s pale backside. “But you made a decision to be right here.”

“Can I have a do-over?” Cassie asked then winced as another slap landed before she could get ready for it.

“No do-overs, no tag-backs”, Eileen said a tight smile tracing itself unseen across her face. “Hand me the brush, would you?”

“Oh man…” said Cassie reaching for it and handing it back over her shoulder. “I remember this…”

“You must. The last one held you for ten years.” She felt her daughter tense as she lay the chill wood against her bottom.

“Maybe you won’t want to wait so long for the next one”, Cassie mumbled into the sofa cushions.

“Maybe we’ll see what you think when I’m finished. I’m giving you forty.”

“FORTY! I can’t take forty swats.”

“Then you’re in deep trouble, cause you’re getting forty.”

“Mom! Come on…”

“I’m sure I gave you that many last time.”

“That was twenty-nine.”

“You counted?”

“Of course I counted!” She pushed herself up to look back over her shoulder. “First, I couldn’t believe you chased me to the pond in front of everyone. Then I couldn’t believe you were paddling my bare ass. I was so mad at you. I counted so I could tell the cops how many times you hit me!”

“I still can’t believe it was only twenty-nine.”

“It hurt enough believe me. I couldn’t sit right for three days! Miss Andrews in home room asked me why I was fidgeting so much.”

Eileen coughed a quick laugh. “I didn’t know that.”

“Like I would give you the satisfaction…”

“Must have worked though. As I recall you settled for the rest of the year-no more catfish pond and your grades got better.”

Cassie wasn’t going to answer that one and flopped back down.

“You ready?” Eileen asked.

Cassie squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, “Do what you have to do”, she whispered.

“That’s a good way to put it. Yeah, it’s what I have to do. And not just for me.”

Eileen, all hesitation and trepidation behind her, lifted the brush and brought it down hard. Not as hard as she could have, but hard. The loud CRACK! and the answering cry were satisfying, she’d have to admit. But not satisfying enough yet. She tightened her grip on her daughter’s back and went to work. Cassie was a trooper and stood the first ten with minimal grunting until giving over to yelping and kicking then crying, then sobbing. She lurched and jumped with every burning swat but never reached back nor tried to wriggle her bottom out of harm’s way.

When she was finished-and it was somehow important that she get to forty-Eileen stopped. She let Cassie lie crying across her lap for a few moments then patted her hot bottom. “Go. Go to your room.” The girl pushed herself up and stood wiping her eyes and allowing her panties to slip to the floor. She stepped out of them and went to her room.

Eileen sat not knowing how she felt. The room seemed smaller and her face was hot. She could hear Cassie crying softly in her room and was convinced it wasn’t from the spanking. Eileen left the brush on the sofa and went down the hallway, taking a detour into the bathroom. She dug around in the closet until she found what she wanted. Then she crossed the hall and knocked on her daughter’s open door.

“Come on Mom…” Part 2

(Continued from “Come on Mom…” Part 1)

“You’ll know soon enough. I’m getting my hairbrush.”

Wait. What? Cassie was stunned into silence for a moment. “Your…your…Mom. There is no way I’m going to let you…I don’t want…Just no way.” She paused, sputtering. “I’m twenty-three years old for Christ’s sake!”

Her daughter’s words resounded. ‘There is no way I’m going to let you…’ she’d said. Truth be told, she was a grown woman, a bit taller than she and probably stronger. Setting aside the ‘my house, my rules’ bullshit which neither of them ascribed to, Eileen didn’t kid herself that she’d be able to wrestle Cassie over her lap. So she stayed calm and spoke as clearly and logically as she could manage.

“I don’t know what age has to do with anything. This is about behavior, right? About you continually doing things that you know-that we both especially know”, she paused for effect, “can have ruinous consequences.” Cassie dropped her head, her eyes smarting a bit. Not that lecture, please, she thought. “Do you remember the last time I had to spank you?” Cassie’s heart fluttered; not at the memory so much though that was bad, but at the way her mother just said ‘The last time I HAD TO spank you’. Jesus! Was this really going to happen?

“Do you remember?” Eileen prodded wanting an answer.

“Yes”, she said softly, not looking up.

From the time she entered middle school, Cassie always looked older than she was. And that night, a decade before, back by the pavilion at the catfish pond, she was passing for sixteen with a motley collection of high-school ne’er do wells and footballers. Definitely forbidden territory. Eileen was only seventeen when she’d had Cassie and was not too far removed from the revolving gangs at catfish pond and what went on there. A half mile trail from any paved road, skirting fields and the golf course, it was a supposed safe haven from prying parents and bored cops.

So the dozen or so kids froze when Eileen had stalked off the path into the glow of the barrel fire that night. Everyone had backed away, out of the range of a mother’s hot rage. Poor Cassie had nowhere to back away to and was too late in dropping the beer can beside her feet.  She opted to stand quietly mortified as her mother seethed, “Get your butt home NOW!” They walked the trail home in the moonlight quickly, not because Cassie was in a hurry-far from it- but her mother six paces behind her matching her stride for stride prevented her from slowing. She had tried a quick “I’m sorry” over her shoulder but her mother’s “You’ll be plenty sorry when you get home”, shut her up.

DAMMIT! Eileen thought as she stormed at Cassie’s heels-pissed at the long white legs and the too short shorts she was wearing. Why couldn’t the girl just do as she was told? Eileen had lived through exactly what Cassie was going through. Hell, she knew what Cassie was going to do before she did it. She had good advice to pass on. Why didn’t the girl just follow it? Why did she have to push all the time like it was a contest?

Eileen was not a disciplinarian. Wasn’t interested in it. She’d rather sit around and chat-tell stories with points and morals-that Cassie listened to well enough when she was little, but not anymore. She knew she let Cassie get away with a little too much. Then she had to reign her in. With Cassie’s father out of the picture, out of the house, and out of their lives, all of Cassie, good and bad, was solely on her desk. Dammit girl!

Cassie took the porch stairs two at a time and slowed when she pushed the door open. “To your room”, he mother ordered shoving her firmly between the shoulder blades. “I’m getting my hairbrush!”

“No, Mom!” Cassie had cried.

When her mother had stormed into her room, Cassie was backed into a corner hoping to protect herself, but Eileen never slowed, grabbing her arm roughly and pulling her toward the bed.

“Lay on the bed!” she ordered.

“No Mom, please!”

Her mother leaned in close to her face and, squeezing her arm, whispered hoarsely. “You lay down on that bed or I promise, I will lay you down.”

Acquiescing to her mother’s rage Cassie crawled reluctantly onto the bed and flattened out bottom up. She was almost ready for whatever was coming until her mother’s fingers snatched at the waistband of her shorts.

“NO!” she yelled and reached, but by the time she got her hands back her shorts, along with her panties, had already been yanked off her butt. She tried to roll onto her side and pull her legs up, but Eileen’s heavy hand in the small of her back foiled her. Plus any struggling and rolling would reveal more of herself to her mother’s eyes than she cared to reveal. She submitted and lay still, not struggling as Eileen pulled everything down to her knees and pushed her shirt up her back.

The spanking itself only lasted minutes, but left Cassie wailing on her bed in equal parts anger, frustration, humiliation and not a little pain. When Eileen finally stayed her hand and looked at her daughter’s well-colored bottom (Cassie would watch the bruises bloom and fade in her mirror for a week) she would admit to a little satisfaction at delivering a strong message, but it was colored with fear of what she’d been capable of. And overlaid with the fear of what would come next: tomorrow, then the next day then next week. Did she really have to do this?

Watching her daughter’s shoulders quiver as she sobbed, Eileen softened and patted her back then straightened her shirt. “You stay in here till I tell you to come out”, she said softly. Cassie nodded through her sniffles. Eileen didn’t exactly regret what she’d done but didn’t feel good about it. She thought that she might not want to do it again. And she hadn’t.

“Mom…I don’t want…” Cassie coughed and trailed off. Eileen stopped and turned-not content to leave anything unsaid.

“Don’t want what, dear?” she asked making her say the word.

“I don’t want a…spanking,” she said embarrassed just being made to say it. “I don’t.” She looked up then and their eyes met-Eileen saw fear and pleading there that she wanted to give in to. The kind of pleading and apologies that she’d accepted for years which had brought them to where they were.

“You don’t want one? Or you wish you hadn’t done anything to deserve one?”

Cassie had no answer to that. There was no answer to that question.

“Take your jeans off Cassie. I’m going to get my hairbrush.”

“Off? Why do I have to take them…”

“Because you’re not a kid and I’m not going to wrestle with you to take your pants down. Take them off.”

“Mom. Wait…you don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do this.”

“I think we do.

(Continuing…)

“Come on Mom…” Part 1

“CASSIE!”

Oh, Jesus, thought Cassie. She reached through the curtain and turned the shower on. The hissing stream echoed off the tub, so she could logically pretend she hadn’t heard her mother calling.

“CASSIE!!”, came the call, louder this time.

“IN THE SHOWER!” she yelled back standing in front of the sink dressed in the clothes she’d slept in. A quick glimpse at the matted hair, puffy face and red eyes in the mirror made her look away. Not smart, she thought-now I have to take a shower. She peeled her jeans down noticing dirt on her hip-she must have fallen.  Sure enough, there were faint scratches and a red bruise. “Shit…” she whispered running a finger over the marks trying hard to remember.

Then, she quickly, albeit a bit reluctantly, reached between her legs and felt around. Her bush was soft and dry; she reached further and felt around. Nope, nothing. With a relieved sigh, she found no evidence that anything untoward had happened down there. Where was her life headed if she had to inspect her snatch to see if she’d had any sex she didn’t remember?

She sighed and pushed her jeans all the way down. They went, along with underwear and t-shirt into the hamper. She stepped into the steam and let the water pound the back of her neck. “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck” was all she was interested in hearing from herself right now.

Her drinking was a problem-she knew that. Had been for a while and the last thing she needed was to give her mother another reason to remind her. She really was doing better-no drinking (much anyway) during the week and counting-actually paying attention to how much she was drinking; until, of course, she got too drunk to keep track. But the drinking and driving…”fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!”

She dried quickly and opened the bathroom door a crack. Nothing. She was alone in the house. Cassie took a dry towel and tip-toed to her room. She had to figure out what had gone wrong or what Eileen had found out-or thought she’d found out-before facing her.

She dried quickly in her room and pulled on clean panties and a pair of jeans. With her body, a bra was optional equipment, so she opted out and pulled a black Creed T-shirt over her head. Hearing something outside she peeked through the blinds and saw her mother in her weekend gardening uniform of khaki shorts and a light-blue sun shirt. She was at that moment ignoring her dahlia garden, her butterfly bushes, all the Shasta daisies and poking around the front of Cassie’s car which was parked quite squarely in the middle of Eileen’s Hosta bed. She’d only missed the driveway by a car width. “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck…”

What would be better? She wondered. Go out and help? Survey the damage and apologize profusely? Just wait till Eileen came in? She didn’t know. Things had been so pissy between them the last couple of months after a pretty good stretch she didn’t want to make things worse. Too late for that, she thought rubbing her temple.

Outside, Eileen circled around the front of the old Subaru then dropped to all fours to look under. The soil in the bed had been mulched, manured and carefully tilled for years so it was soft enough that the front tires had sunken to the axles. The rear still sat out on the grass. She stood and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear with a sigh. She stopped shaking her head; something she did for effect-like her studied eye roll-but there was no one to see it. What a mess.

She had to do something. This girl was going to kill herself or someone else. She looked through the open window and saw a red Solo cup in the holder on the console. “Don’t tell me…” she grumbled. She reached in. The cup wasn’t empty. One tentative sniff and her stomach lurched. Even when she drank, which she didn’t anymore save for the odd glass of Chardonnay when she joined Shannon at her club, tequila had never been her thing. “Christ!” she groused, unable to keep the words in her head, “Drinking and driving was one thing. Drinking WHILE driving?” That was her father all over. The bastard might be gone, but he’d never be gone. She had to do something. She couldn’t throw her out-that would make it worse. She tossed the Solo cup aside, disgusted and stepped onto the porch. Something. She thought.

Cassie was still stuck in her room trying to decide what to do when she heard the screen door clatter and her name, again, from the living room.

“CASSIE!”

“Coming Mom…” she called back trying to sound calm and for whatever reason, young. Eileen was standing, hands on hips, in the middle of the living room, when Cassie dragged her feet in. She endured what felt like a miserable hour of silence until she had to speak up.

“I’m…I’m sorry about the Hosta’s Mom…”

“I don’t give a fuck about the Hosta’s you idiot!” Eileen shot back.

Cassie bit her lip and her heart took a flip. Her mother NEVER used ‘fuck’ and NEVER-NEVER called her names. This was bad.

“Where were you last night?” she demanded.

“The Mill…” Cassie said naming a bar on the outskirts of the other side of town.

“You drove home in that condition all the way from The Mill?!”

“I wasn’t that bad…”

“That’s over 10 miles! You drove the river road-all the way through town-then out to here? So drunk that you couldn’t even hit a lighted driveway?” Cassie said nothing. “Drunk and still drinking on the way?” Is that you now?”

Cassie didn’t want to answer but the question hung like a smell. “No-that’s not me. You know it’s not me. Something happened last night…”

“Something that happens EVERY WEEKEND Cass. Every weekend now. Which could be bad enough but now Thursday is a part of your weekend and Monday too.”

“I’m doing better.”

“Last night was better?” She waved toward the yard. “This is better?”

Cassie lifted her hands as if to say something, then let them drop. What was the use? It was no good arguing with her when she got like this. She didn’t care, she WAS doing better. Last night was a slip-she’d figure it out. The last thing she needed was a lecture from her mother. Eileen wasn’t particularly enjoying it either. She had thought this shit was behind her. They had been more like peers up till recently. Physically they could pass for sisters and they got along well enough until Cassie had lost her job and had to move back in. It had been a tough summer though and was getting worse.

Again the silence tightened around them, but this time Eileen was going to be the one to break it. She had decided what she was going to do but it wouldn’t be easy.

“You know what I’m going to do, Cassie?”

“No mom, I’m dying to know.” The switch from contrition to sarcasm was jarring and Cassie wished she could take it back. Eileen, on the other hand, accepted it as fuel.

“You’ll know soon enough. I’m getting my hairbrush.”

(Continuing...)

The Red Ass Society

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Piper left the jeep at the end of the road and picked her way along the rocky shoreline between the mirror-flat lake on the left and the sheer cliff on the right. It wasn’t far along before the cliff fell back into more of a hill and she veered onto the cliff trail, they called it, up toward Miriam’s. It was less than a five-minute walk until she emerged from the maple thicket into Miriam Webb’s back yard-or front yard. They were all terribly inconsistent on whether lakeside was back or front.

Whichever yard she was in, there was no sign of her friend though both her cars and Geoff’s truck were there. The dock was deserted and there was no one on the deck. Piper cupped her hands to the glass and peeked in the windows. Nothing. She had walked in on Miriam and Geoff often enough in the throes of some passionate coupling to avoid just slipping in the never-locked door. Stumped, she resorted to the lakeside paging system and turned her head skyward.

“Miriam…” she called sing-songing the name. “Oh Miriam…!”

“Out here,” came the muffled reply. “In the workshop…”

Piper fairly skipped across the yard and the gravel road toward the shop. She was having a good day and the evening promised more of the same. Nothing like new people-not that there was anything wrong with the old, far from it. But new folks always brought an energy to the party.

“Hey! I…” she was stunned silent stepping through the door.

Miriam was a tall woman by any measure, and strongly built; in a country-farm way not so much in a gym-toned way as so many were today. As Piper was as a matter of fact. Her height was not in evidence however, bent in half as she was, backside facing the door.

Piper knew well the symbiology of the romantic heart; its rounded double top blooming lustfully on both sides of the deep cleft being nothing more than the inverted image of a woman’s bottom. She was seldom treated to the image given such perfect life. In the dim light her formidable bottom was not the color of billowing clouds or cotton. That would be a snowman’s bottom. Rather it was rich and golden, the color of a new peach dusted with a very agreeable-and soon to be augmented-pink hue.

Her husband was standing beside her his hand full of, not really a paddle (wink-wink), but a serving tray from the new craft brewery “Happy & Hoppy” that had opened across the lake. It was the right shape and size with six little dimples in the top that the waitresses could slip small taster glasses into.

Miriam had walked off with this one after closing time one night in the tipsy hope that it might earn her a paddling from the night manager-a stocky redhead who she rather fancied. No such luck though. In fact, so many people wandered off with the trays for whatever reason (wink-wink) that nobody said a word; just added twelve bucks to your bill and let you go unmolested on your way. Quite reasonable when you compare with similar pieces on Etsy or the leather workers down lake.

Miriam looked back at her husband. “Geoff, give us a minute, would you?”

He headed for the door raising the paddle on his way. “Play your cards wrong”, he told Piper with a leer, “You could be next.” She instinctively turned her bottom away from him as he passed.

Miriam didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get up nor did she reach for the shorts puddled at her feet. Instead she stretched languorously like a cat in morning sun. Not wanting to speak directly to her bottom (though in truth something along those lines would be directly up Piper’s alley, so to speak) she hopped up onto the workbench beside her friend.

“So, finally got to him, eh?”

“Jesus!” she answered exasperated. “It wasn’t easy.” She looked at the space on the workbench between her hands. “First, I let the milk go bad. Dint faze him. Ate sour milk with his oats. Then I put flower in the sugar bowl so his coffee went all red and clumpy.”

“That’s nasty.”

“Right?” Miriam looked over at her. “Nothin’! He thought he’d confused it himself and tossed it down the sink.”

“You know”, Piper offered, “Most women would be pleased to have such a forgivin’ partner.”

“Bullocks! Then I run us out a’ eggs. Put grasshoppers in the salad…I began to think what’s a girl gotta do to get her arse beat around here?” Not being able to shrug properly bent over as she was, she flopped her hands on the workbench.

“What finally got to him?”

“Worms.”

“Worms?”

“Worms in the muffin tin.”

“Like fishin’ worms?”

“Zactly. I watched him take the top off the tin, reach in whilst readin’ the paper, felt a worm on top of a biscuit.”

“What kind?”

“Cheese.”

“Love ‘em!”

“I kept a few aside for you. Unwormed.”

“What then?”

“He stopped, looked in the tin, closed the top and folded his paper. Real dramatic-like. Takes off his readers and clears his throat…”

“I can just hear him…”

“He announces, ’This house has gone a bit slipshod. Methinks we need a trip to the workshop.’”

“YES! I thinks, but don’t say it. And here we are.”

“I’m happy for you love, but you know you needn’t go through all that. When you are in a drought, I’d be happy to…”

“I know, I know. I did think of you…but Geoff is…”

“Deaf as a post.”

“True.”

“Thicker than Gram’s cream.”

“Yes.”

“Awkward in particular social settings.”

“Don’t you mean peculiar social settings?”

They giggled like school girls. Piper hopped off the bench. “I’ll let you have at it girl.” Then, maybe against her better judgement (which she rarely if ever followed) she patted Miriam’s bottom-far out on the cheek-away from the good parts. “Have a good time”, she said.

“I will, thanks.” Then, looking back over her shoulder. “Oh, was there something you wanted?”

“Oh, yes. I’m having two new couples over tonight. They might end up being clients, don’t know. But we’ll be out on the lake and thought we’d stop by the dock-you feel like grilling something? Or we can just sit around and have wine.”

“That will be fine-excellent. Text me the time later. Hopefully I won’t be sittin’ too easily…but…”

“I’ll have cushions.” Piper called on her way out the shop door.

Geoff was waiting patiently, sitting one leg crossed at the knee, bouncing the paddle off the toe of his sneaker.

“All yours”, she said bowing and motioning toward the open door and what waited for him within.

“How’s about we give you a little taste,” Geoff said standing and moving toward her brandishing the wooden board as a sword. “It’ll help me stroke.”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Piper, smiling, dropped into a crouch, pushing her backside out and away. For good measure, she stretched her arms out to her sides to keep him from slipping behind, though Geoff wasn’t the slipping kind. “Get away from me you old reprobate. You’ll wear my skinny ass out with that.” (For the record, Piper’s ass was not skinny but, as size goes, was an aisle or two over from Miriam’s.) Never one to pursue, Geoff raised the paddle to his forehead in salute and, with a wink, disappeared through the door into the dimly lit workshop.

Piper cut across the yard then paused before disappearing herself into the copse of trees onto the trail. Cocking her head like a jay on a wire she listened until the crackling report of hard wood on soft skin rang out across the yard. There was a sharp answering yelp that devolved directly into throaty laughter then a light hum. Piper, feeling a little buzzy down under, slipped quietly and smiling down the path.

 

 

The Colonel Comes Home – 2

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(Continued from The Colonel Comes Home)

Sylvia Palacios had obviously spent the morning preparing for her audience with the Colonel. The daughter’s hair and cheekbones must have been her father’s but the black eyes came from the one standing across from him. He hadn’t asked her to sit. She was his height, wide shouldered and rounded of hip. Her breasts, no doubt she thought her best feature, were bound up, pressing proudly against her bodice. She was not striking or beautiful as Laurencia was becoming but pretty enough in her own right.

“Did you ride the burro up?”

“No Colonel. I have a pony-left me by my husband. It’s old but knows the trails.” She had walked the pony slowly, so as not to sweat in the oppressive heat of the day. And even if she did, she had powdered and oiled enough not to offend. The breezy deference that she showed upon entering the veranda began to wither as she wasn’t offered a seat. Nor was there a glass for her as the Colonel drank what looked to be wine. She expected a work table full of maps, plans and papers but it was clear and spotless. Just the Colonel’s glass and a pitcher and the wine. She was thirsty and growing nervous.

He looked at her from the side-as if cocking his head from the smoke of a cigar.  “That is some daughter you have there, Senora.”

“Oh yes, Excellency. She is my pride.” So, she thought, this IS about Laurencia. The girl had told her they’d just talked-that the Colonel was too busy to do anything else. Had she lied? She had better not have lied to her.

Muffled shouts from the river below and the buzzing murmur of estate chatter joining the cicadas, birds and monkeys in a blanket of sound made the silence settling between them that much more uncomfortable. “Are you alright Senora? You look to be sweating”, he asked as he poured himself another cup of water. Her upper lip glistened in the sun and a tiny drop slid from her armpit as she watched him drink. “Here”, he said rising. “Let’s walk over to the railing-look out over the river. There’s a breeze.”

He stood aside as she passed but leaned in toward her hair. “Whatever is that scent you are wearing?”

“Guava”, she said surprised and a little confused. Given the cool reception she hadn’t expected a compliment. “I make it…”

“Very nice.”

He led her gently to the railing where the valley and the river from eastern bend to western bend opened to her. “Beautiful, is it not?”

“Yesh”, she slurred slightly, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Should I ask for water? she wondered.

“Here, here”, said the colonel taking her arms from behind and placing them on the railing, leaning her a little forward. “Breathe”, he told her helpfully. “Take deep breaths.” He sucked air puffing his chest to show her and she followed suit hesitatingly. “Still not enough!” he fussed. “Here”.

He took her hand and placed it along the bracing board below the rail causing her to bend completely over, the rail digging at her waist. “Let your head hang…” She dropped the other hand to the board but uncomfortable, tried to stand. The Colonel lay his hand-as firm as a locust post-across her back.

“You do not move Senora”, he said sternly all cordial pretense gone.

“Colonel…?” she asked trying to look back over her shoulder. She was startled to feel her dress and slip pushed up over her head and the air of the veranda play against her underneath.

“Excellency!” she cried.

He slapped her rump firmly as he might a recalcitrant donkey and she yelped.

“Silence!” he barked rubbing her ass, his calluses catching on the silken undergarments. They were not cheap. Nor too tight. With a yank he loosened them, then worked them down over her bottom. Below her knees, her legs were slender-like a girl’s-but thickened at the top. She whimpered lightly as he ran his hand over the deep dimples on her backside and thighs. Her skin, the color of clam shells, mottled pink with his handprint.

She had clenched her cheeks together so he forced the flat of his hand between her legs pushing and slapping at the inside of her thighs. She reluctantly shuffled her feet apart releasing the soft scent of eucalyptus.

“Colonel”, she begged. “Everyone will see.”

“Yet, you would send your daughter up here for me to use? Would you be so modest if it was she bent over the rail here?”

She flinched at his rough touch between her legs; he squeezed the thickness of them then pressed the side of his hand against her dry slit. “Is this how you would have had me use her? Here? Like this?” He prodded with his finger.

“No Excellency! You are mistaken! I never….”

“Maybe here?” He slipped his thumb into her deep crevice and pushed firmly at her anus.

“NO!! Please…”

“Which of your daughter’s holes would you have had me enter first?” He slapped her again, the loud report echoing. The second handprint-like a discarded glove-appeared over the first as he unbuckled his belt.

She began to blubber when she heard the slithering snap of the leather being pulled from his trousers. It was a sound she remembered too well from childhood. “I’m sorry Colonel” she cried.

“No doubt you are. You will learn from this.” He kneaded her with his left hand. “Do not clench-it will be worse, trust me.”

The first cut of the belt stole her breath-she couldn’t scream as the soft leather stroked equally across both globes with enough left over to snap at the side of her hip. Her lungs filled as the burn spread and she cried out at the second stroke startling a screaming macaw into flight. The third stroke was better aimed, snapping at the center of her right cheek leaving a bright strawberry kiss.

After the sixth stroke she settled into the reality of her thrashing, biting her lip and grunting at each blow. Through her tears she saw peasants across the river pausing to watch the Colonel whip a white woman. Behind her most of the staff had scattered. The women never wanted to be around when the Colonel was in a whipping mood lest some forgotten transgression be remembered. The men nearby might pretend they weren’t watching but would see what they could until their hardness became unbearable and they retreated to the darkest corner of the barn or a willing maid for relief.

Buenila, on the other hand, stood contentedly beside the stone fireplace, bony arms crossing her flat chest. She wouldn’t miss a stroke. If it were up to her, he would whip more of them. If she were capable, it was a job she would be happy to undertake.

While Sylvia Palacios sobbed silently through her thrashing, tasting the copper of blood from her bitten lip, holding still was impossible. She jerked at each stroke, raised on one toe, then the other. Squatted-straightened, balanced on the rail spreading and thrusting-all modesty gone as she revealed herself openly to anyone with eyes. The Colonel, his rage dampened, aimed well, raising new welts and crossing old. The tops of her legs were not forgotten. The senora was bucking like a heifer in a branding cage when he stayed his arm to take stock. Her backend was crossed with pink and red stripes decorated with starbursts of purple. She bent, spent and sobbing, over the rail this time welcoming the respite of his rough hand surveying his handiwork.

“I think my work here is done”, he said rubbing and closely inspecting. He hadn’t broken the skin which was good. This was the jungle after all and any wound was an invitation to infection. The Colonel gently took her slip, then her dress and dropped them over her naked behind.  “Come, Senora,” he reached out a hand. “Arise. Come on. Up, Up…”

She stood on shaky legs and accepted the clean, silk handkerchief the Colonel offered. Her face, as red as her bottom, was smeared with tears, powder and snot. She worked at it, sniffling as he led her to a chair.

“Here”, he said. “Sit.”

She snorted lightly into the handkerchief. “Now you offer me a seat?”

The Colonel’s mouth twitched; the ghost of a smile below his mustache. “It’s canvas”, he said. “Look-it will be fine.”

She smiled ruefully with her eyes at least and sat, lowering herself lightly, gripping the chair arms. It took a few wriggles and adjustments before she could sit, listing to one side.

“There” he said.

Then she noticed the fresh pitcher of chilled water and a cup in front of her. She reached, then stopped. “May I?”

“By all means” He poured himself a glass of Port, also new to the table, and without much prodding heard the story of Sylvia Palacios. At least the rehearsed, well-told story. About how her father had given her for use to her uncle, then when he grew tired of her she was offered to a provisional reagent whose name escaped the Colonel. As she droned on his attention was pulled to her white underpants lying on the dark wood like a dead gull. It was curious that the sight of the discarded silk aroused him more than her naked bottom had.

He had tired of her story-and tired of trying to fathom how much truth was in it.

“Your father”, he asked. “Is he still alive?”

“No Excellency.”

“Your uncle?”

“No. They both died in the last war.”

“Pity. I would have liked to kill at least one of them for you.” Then, after a pause “What do you think about what happened to you today?”

She looked at her hands and tried to fashion words that would have the ring of truth. It took but a few moments. “I was wrong, Excellency. And deserved everything you gave me. I insulted you…”

“Your daughter…”

“My daughter. And should have been whipped. I apologize.”

“Not to me. Go now. Prepare a meal for your daughter and apologize for being such and awful mother.”

“I will Excellency. I will tell her….”

“You will tell her nothing. You will show her-by attention, by doing everything moving forward to show her how important she is to you.”

“Yes Excellency.”

“Now go. I’ve spent enough time this week with Palacios women.”

She rose gingerly and looked toward the rail spotting her underwear. She went to retrieve them.

“Leave them”, said the Colonel, not sure why.

“Yes sir.” She looked away from them like they didn’t exist and with a slight curtsey, disappeared from the veranda, across the patio and was gone. The voices of the house, stilled for a while, began to buzz again.

At the gate Sylvia Palacios wondered about the hard, worn leather of the saddle. She had no choice, it was too far to walk. Placing one foot in the stirrup she put the other one over and sat. No, she thought, wincing, as the pony started to walk. Her bottom felt burned and shrunken. She stood in the stirrups trying to look regal as she passed everyone who knew why she wasn’t sitting astride her little pony.

That little bitch will pay for this, she thought darkly. My shame will be her pain.

 

(Continuing…)

Apartment 604

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Sharon froze after raising her hand to rap on the door to 604. She stood, as if waving to a passing train, then closed her fist bringing her knuckles to bear. Holding her breath, she pulled back, ready to knock, about to knock, then dropped her hand. For the third time. Jesus, she thought sighing, I’m pitiful.

Leave it. She should just leave it, she knew that. It wasn’t worth that much; cost her a few bucks and she could get another easily at any hobby store. It was just a kitschy piece of home décor to be painted. They had dozens in different sizes. She should just leave it. Not like she needed it. Well actually she did, it seemed. That was the problem. But it wasn’t like she…

Her self-flagellating reverie was interrupted by the door opening suddenly. Sharon jumped and squealed-pulling an answering gasp out of Tina who covered her mouth with the hand not on her doorknob.

“Jesus girl!”, she said when she composed herself.

“I know, I know…I’m sorry”, Sharon composed herself. “I was just gonna knock.”

Tina’s hand moved from her mouth to her chest as her breathing settled. “Ok…I’ll live…whew.”

“Yeah…”

“Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

“Right…” Sharon said not wanting to make eye contact. “I’ve been keeping a low profile.”

“Hitting the books?”

“Trying.”

“Ah. Well, I was just running down to the shop for a coffee. Join me?”

Sharon grinned and shrugged. “That’s where this all started, right?”

It was less than a month ago that Tina had introduced herself down at the coffee shop. Sharon had noticed the older woman in the building and, new in town, was happy to sit and have a coffee with her. Truth was, Sharon had seriously underestimated the value of her circle of friends and family back home and, never having lived alone, the strange city had left her more than a bit unsettled. Likewise, she had overestimated her ability to make new friends. It was not something she’d had to do a lot of, coming from a small town where everyone knew one another.

Tina wasn’t quite old enough to be her mother, but certainly at least ten years, if not fifteen, her senior. Of course she would join her. She was anxious to spend time with any smiling face that wasn’t a waitress or barista or someone that was paid to be nice to her.

Over that month, that first coffee had turned into another, then another. Then a lunch, then a visit to a museum to see the Monet that was touring the country. Then a dinner. Tina, a too-young widow, was unhappily used to living alone but had a large circle of friends some left from her marriage, some from work, so she was easily able to absorb the girl into her retinue.

“Yes, I guess it did. You were coming by to…”

“Oh, yes. I left my…” her voice trailed as if she was out of air.

“You bolted in a bit of a huff. Let me a half glass of wine to drink.”

“I’m sorry about that…”

“No, I’m sorry. About how I reacted.”

“It’s OK”, said Sharon, her eyes still scanning the floor.

“When you said you wanted me to…”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not really”, Tina said apologizing with different words.

“You laughed at me.”

Tina said nothing, hearing the hurt still in the younger girl’s voice. She regretted laughing of course. Was sorry as soon as she did it. She didn’t find the request funny exactly. She was startled and laughed to cover her surprise, not realizing how unintendingly harsh it seemed until later. She had been contemplating plans to make it up to her somehow.

“I was going to return it”, Tina said retreating into the apartment. “Come in, come in…” Sharon closed the door softly behind her. She came fluttering out of the living room holding the paddle by the flat end instead of the handle, meaning to hand it off. “I just couldn’t see how I’d look walking down the hall to your apartment carrying a paddle. Would seem obvious, don’t you think?”

Sharon took the board and shrugged. “It’s not really a paddle until it is, you know? It’s just a decoration. Like any piece of wood hanging on a wall.”

“You think I could have passed it off as a cutting board? I don’t think so. I might have been unfamiliar with the idea of…giving a paddling, but I do know what they are.”

“Yes, sure.  Anyway, I’m sorry to have put you in that position. I don’t know anyone-my Mom’s not here, my sisters, my roommate who used to help keep me in line….” Her voice was rising and seemed on the verge of cracking.

“Quit apologizing. It was not your fault. Here,” she guided her to the end of the couch with a soft touch on her arm. “Sit. Just sit.” She took her own seat at the other end, an expanse of gray cambric between them. Sharon’s eyes stayed downcast toward and beyond the paddle which lay across her bare thighs. When she looked up, Tina could see that her eyes were full and could imagine them itching. Then the girl blinked and a single tear, released, rolled down her cheek.

“I’m…I’m just at the end of my rope”, she said wiping at it and pushing her hands through her mousy blond hair. She took a couple of deep breaths.

“Thing about the internet, you can research anything”, said Tina. “I certainly know a lot more about, what-corporal punishment? paddlings, spankings, than I knew when you brought it up.” Sharon was average height, and lanky. When Tina first saw her in the shop she was put in mind of a young colt, trying to settle into it’s body. From across the shop she had looked confident that day, bending to inspect the sweets in the case caring nothing about anyone who might be ogling her backside that was cupped by the short shorts that she always seemed to wear, even now.

It wasn’t until later, after Tina had asked her to her table, that she noticed the fine cracks in her cocksure façade. Up close, Sharon was younger than she appeared and more delicate than she had put on. That perceived vulnerability was what attracted Tina to her, but in a different way than Sharon might have thought.

“Look, I’m not going to apologize any more, but if you ask me again, I’ll be better. I’m more relaxed about it.” More, yes, but not completely. Truth was, saying it made her nervous somehow-or maybe excited. But there was something tickling the pit of her stomach.

Sharon’s dewy eyes focused. “Really? You’ll do it?”

“Yes”, Tina said definitively as if trying to convince herself. “If that’s what you want.”

Sharon, becoming more animated, stood. “Yes. Yes I do.” She looked around as if planning the next move but already knew what it was. “I’ll kneel on the couch here”, Sharon said, “and lean over the back.” She handed the paddle over, handle first. “Let me get my shorts off.”

Tina’s heart skipped at that. She wasn’t a gym person and except for movies and obviously her spanking research on-line recently, she hadn’t seen another woman’s bare anything since university. Seeing Sharon so eagerly unsnapping her shorts unnerved her and she rose quickly to get behind her. Better just to see her bottom, she thought in some strange logic.

“And you can decide which side is best for you…” Sharon said eagerly, choreographing her scene.

“Well, I’m right handed so…” Tina said holding the paddle in that hand and patting her other palm. The feel of the wood stung her hand. This could hurt!

“OK then, you’ll be on that side…” The girl unsnapped her shorts and carelessly rolled them down wrapping her panties together in the same bundle. She bent to step out of them, first one leg, then the other. And as suddenly as that, there was a half-naked woman in Tina’s apartment. She watched her kneel on the couch and bend slightly forward, arching her back. She crossed her arms and lay her head on them.

Like the rest of her, Sharon’s bottom was thin and angular but the cheeks were well rounded and firm as she presented herself. The room was suddenly small and warm. Tina, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, reached out tentatively and lay a hand on the girl’s hip. The velvety smooth skin was cool to the touch. She pressed slightly and Sharon, reacting, repositioned her backside slightly. The girl kept her legs chastely together revealing nothing but Tina couldn’t help gazing at the confluence of lines and curves, knowing what was concealed there.

“How many smacks?” Tina asked.

“Fifteen, I think”, Sharon said lifting her head and looking back over her shoulder. “I’ll count them off.”

Tina had thought five or six. “You ready?”

“I better be, huh?”

The paddle seemed oversized as Tina pulled back but, keeping her eye on the target, she swung firmly and connected soundly across both cheeks with a loud “CRACK!” Sharon gasped and choked “One!” At the second, she straightened slightly so that her bottom seemed to retreat from the paddle. “Two!”. Tina swung while the girl was upright connecting hard with the soft, slack flesh. “OW!”, cried Sharon. “Three!”

Sharon was breathless from the pain. Any thought she had of stoically taking her punishment was shattered. She tried to remember the last time her roommate had spanked her-it was with a paint stick as she bent over the desk in their apartment. It stung for sure but nothing like…”OWW! FOUR!”…and she wasn’t giving her a break-no pauses, not…”OW! FIVE!”. Sharon suffered through the middle swats waving at each blow, sticking her bottom back then straightening, as if driven by each swat. Sometimes Tina allowed her to reposition sometimes not. Should she ask her to stop? How could she do that after…”OWW! TEN!”

Sharon shifted onto her left knee and turned slightly as if trying to shield her bottom from the next blow. Tina paused and leaned forward with her free hand, again touching her hip-the opposite one this time. She patted her back into position. “Come on”, she said. “Only five more…” The girls bottom was mottled with a heavy blush on both cheeks and heat radiated as from a brazier. There was a red line traveling bottom to top along her crease. “This has to hurt”, she said soothingly.

“Oh, it does…It does…”

“Good then. Hopefully this will be what it takes to get you to crack the books and pay better attention to your studies”, she said affecting a stern voice with a slight smile that the girl couldn’t see.

Sharon righted herself and pushed her butt backward. “I need this”, she said snuffling slightly.

“I know you do…”

The next five swats were only light in the context of the previous ten-not to strictly punish, but to drive the point home. They smacked loudly; Sharon jumping and counting each. At “FIFTEEN!!” she crumpled to the side and sat on her hip, taking her bottom out of range.

“Jesus!” she sighed rubbing what she could reach. Her face was wet and she wasn’t shy about what she was showing as she sat there. It took Tina a moment before she allowed herself to see what the girl was presenting below her flat belly.

She placed the paddle on the side table and sat beside Sharon on the couch. “Here”, she said taking her shoulder. It didn’t take much pulling or coaxing before her young friend was stretched across her knees. She snapped a few tissues out of a box on the table and handed them up to her.

“Go ahead”, she said. “Cry. I know you’re not done.”

“But…”

Tina cupped her bottom and pantomimed a spank that just touched Sharon’s behind. The girl jumped as if shocked.

“You want more?” Tina asked.

“No…I…”

Tina spanked her again, this time harder. The thick softness of the girl’s bottom was pleasing. She was ready to spank again but noticed the Sharon’s shoulders silently quivering. In a moment she was sobbing.

“There, there”, said Tina softly patting her hot bottom.

“Next time, if there is a next time, I can spank you this way if you’d like.”

“The paddle wouldn’t work like this.”

“I’ll buy a proper hairbrush. Or I can use my hand. Would you like that?”

“Yes”, she said softly. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

“Shhh… Cry now.”

Tina kept her hand on Sharon’s bottom. It wasn’t a lewd gesture as far as she was concerned. Not very different from rubbing a friend’s back to comfort them. Well, maybe a little different. She rubbed and patted and ran her thumb along the ridge of her divide as the girl’s sobs waned and she lay still, sniffling, her bottom soft, relaxed and pink. Very pink.