Owls

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Sitting on the deck overlooking the river, he had to call this another Airbnb win. They’d been lucky finding spots in cities-New York, DC-but this was the first go at a more rural location. Cabin on the river for three days, eagles overhead, hiking, biking, river access-it was great!

True, Jenny had been on edge since they got here but it always took her longer to get into the swing of a vacation than him. He couldn’t wait to get here and jump into the canoe that was tied to the dock and head out onto the water. She had even joined him for a moonlight paddle-but still had been a little tight. Whatever, he had thought. He’d just wait for her to loosen up. He listened to the last calls of the whippoorwill that he’d heard all night and watched the fog rise.

He dumped the dregs of his cold coffee into the weeds and was about to head back into the cabin for another when he heard Jenny banging around in the well-appointed kitchen. ‘Banging’ was the only way to describe it: cabinet doors were being yanked open and banged shut-drawers were sliding open and banging closed. He sat back down on the deck chair deciding it might be best to wait a few before that next cup.

The crashing inside stopped after one last bang and he saw his wife step out onto the screened porch and stalk to their bedroom at the other end. “Morning, Jenny”, he called after her getting no response whatsoever as she disappeared into the bedroom. “What the hell did I do now?” he mumbled watching the spot where she had been.

The bed creaked as she flopped on it and he felt it safe to get up for that second coffee. Half way across the deck he was stopped by a sound coming from the bedroom. It was a light slap-not loud but unmistakable. Then there was another, then a third.  It was a sound he knew pretty well.

He actually tiptoed up the three steps onto the porch and over to the open bedroom door as the sounds increased in frequency and intensity. Soft little grunts and bedsprings squeaking kept time with the slapping sound. He peeked in. Jenny was face down into the pillows and, having pushed her blue panties down off of her rear, was slapping herself with a spatula that she had evidently found in the kitchen.

Her slim freckled bottom was reddening in the morning light. As she was right-handed, most of the blows fell on her right cheek but while he was standing there she did extend to deliver a couple of smacks to the left. She was breathing heavily with the effort.

“Jen?” he asked. “Hey, Jen. You OK, babe?”

She paused in her exertions.

“OK. OK?” am I OK?”

“Yeah…I…”

She rolled onto her left hip and up onto her elbow. When their eyes met, hers were fierce and glistening. “When we were packing yesterday, you were bitching about how much I was bringing-like you always do and you remember what I said?”

“Uh…” he stammered, not remembering.

“I told you, I said…’I should stop being so bad’. Do you remember that?”

His eyes cut from her face to her white hip shining in the sun that was creeping through the window. Her panties, which she had hurriedly pushed down off of her bottom, bound tightly across her slim thighs where she crooked her right knee slightly.

“Last night, when we were out in the canoe I referred to myself as naughty. ‘Naughty’ Jeffery! But you were too busy with your fucking owls.”

“But Jen, that was a great horned owl we heard! We don’t get those back home. We only have screech owls and barn owls. Did you hear that deep ‘HOOOOT’…”

“Jeffrey! Focus please. When a thirty two year old woman describes herself as naughty it has very little to do with behavior. I mean, Jesus!”

He did focus then, pulling his eyes to the thick blonde bush peeking out above the stretched blue cotton. It disappeared when Jenny, in a final huff, flopped back onto her belly pulling the pillows tight to her face. Her bum was well colored on the right with little o’s from the holes in the plastic kitchen tool.

He set the coffee cup on the dresser and sat on the bed beside her.

“So you’ve been bad have you…?”

“Oh, great. NOW you’re taking the hint. Now you…Ouch!”

He pinched the soft skin at the bottom of her bottom and wasn’t about to let go. “Sooner or later, bad girls get what they deserve.”

She pushed her bottom back into his pinching fingers and he released her. With both hands he pulled her panties all the way down and off-tossing them onto the floor then knelt and pressed his left hand into the small of her back. His first smack was firm covering most of her right cheek-the second swatted the left. There was a small strawberry blooming where he had pinched her and he slapped it. Then again. Jenny’s breathing was ragged and she pushed against the hand that pinned her to the bed-not to escape but to more completely offer her bottom to his punishing palm.

Being slim, her freckled cheeks covered none of what was between her legs. Especially not now as she gyrated into his slaps. He could see her swollen lips glistening in the soft sunlight and a little trickle down the inside of her thigh.

“Oh, my”, he said stopping spanking long enough to touch her there. She reacted as to a shock when he massaged her shimmering cunt. “I know what my bad girl wants…”

But because he was Jeffery, he had to make sure and dropped his Daddy voice. “You want me to fuck you now, right?”

She sighed slipping out of the moment. “Jesus! Maybe’s there a school we could send you to….”

He slapped her on the back of the thigh and she jumped pulling her knees up slightly to bloom backward. “Sorry…sorry…” she gasped. He slipped his shorts off and knelt behind her. Her wet softness opened to him and he sluiced in to the hilt on first thrust. Then he pulled almost completely out and drove again hearing the bedsprings squeal.

His body covering hers, his hands pinning hers, he nibbled at her ear as he slid easily and deeply in and out of her sopping pussy. “This is what naughty girls get” he whispered into the ear he was nibbling.

She mewed softly and flowed into his rhythm.

Same Dance, Different Music

“I think I need a spanking”, she said.

I heard her but didn’t react right away. There are a few things I’d expect me wife to say before that. “Look, a unicorn in the garden”, is one. “I love your clutter in the garage, it’s so cute”, would be another. In our relationship, she does initiate at times but pert near never from the bottom.

The last couple of days had been rough-family in the hospital, then out, then back. Job pressures, one particular niggling mistake at work that had cost her time and the company money, there were hurt feelings from another quarter because of a forgotten party invitation. One thing after another. The pressure had been building for a bit and now, so when she decided this was to be the relief, I wondered if it might be too late.

She was almost in tears asking for it. The veins on her neck pulsed slightly and, as we talked, her eyes filled. She ran her hands through her hair pulling it straight back, the key being pulling. A tear broke free of her right eye and etched a path down her cheek. We were both in odd places-she asking and me trying to negotiate a way out for her. “Do you want to take a run?” I asked wondering if I was enjoying this-holding back a bit. Having her ask again. “No, I don’t want to run. I want you to spank me! Jesus-Of course I’d do it.

We went upstairs and steered clear of our bedroom as we both knew this wasn’t going to be one of those spankings that led to sex. Or at least, I didn’t think so. Hard to judge, though since I’m a guy who thinks anything from having your car fixed to making scrambled eggs leads to sex. At any rate we opted for the spare room overlooking the garden where the afternoon light was golden and soft coming through the tree.

I sat on the end of the bed where I would typically undress her as she stood before me running her hands through by hair. There was none of that, though. She undressed as she would at the gym-efficiently and quickly. Shorts first, then underpants dropped to the floor.

“Take off your shirt too”, I said wanting to add something to the proceedings. “I want you completely naked.” She did as she was told and, never losing that pulled, drawn look, lowered herself without any prompting over my lap. I let her settle in and gave her a pillow for under her belly and we began.

I began at a moderate pace and force watching pink handprints overlap and meld into splotches. As she gave no reaction other than a small gasps or hisses, I picked up the pace. “Smacks” became “whaps” and my hand started to tingle. I extended my palette down the top of her legs before getting any reaction. I paused and shook my hand out. Clenching and flexing.

“Is this helping?”

“Keep going”, she said in a clear voice.

I pulled her closer as she had squirmed and slid a little in the last few minutes. One can only be so stoic. With my left arm draped over the small of her back and circling her hip I let fly with another 20 smacks in succession-which is the number she expected and would take her over 100 for this spanking. I landed flush on both cheeks, on the sit spots left and right then five resounding slaps to the middle of her bottom which echoed up the valley of her cheeks and brought a little gasp.

“Now?”

She sighed and turned her head slightly toward me. “It’s nothing but a painful distraction. Maybe I should have gone for a run.”

I crossed my arms over her very warm rear. “You have to bring more than your bum to a spanking, kid. If you want it to work for you.”

“I kind of count on you to know exactly what I want and wen I want it.” There was a lightness in her voice that wasn’t there a while ago. Progress.

“OK, I’m supposed to be a mind reader-I get it.” I raised my right hand as high as I could and delivered the hardest swat of the session to the meat of her pink right cheek.

“Owwww!!!”

“I figured you were numb by now.”

“That one got through.”

Hand-spanking this woman reached a point of diminishing returns somewhere north of a hundred slaps. I had left my hand on her cheek where it landed and squeezed gently. “Come on, get up from there.”

She rose quickly; clear-eyed and flush. “Wow”, she said drawing it out as she gasped her butt with both hands. “That is some heat.”

“Nothing but a painful distraction, right?”

“Don’t worry about it. Some days you got it, some days you don’t.” There was a tease there-a little challenge. Another tone I wouldn’t have heard twenty minutes before. More progress.

She took my rising as a signal to get dressed and picked her shorts and underwear off the floor.

“Uh-uh”, I said. “You won’t need them just yet.”

“What? Why?” she asked frozen in mid stoop. I didn’t answer, just turned and headed out the door. “What do you have in mind?”

“Just some mind reading”, I answered as I turned and headed out the door. “Stay”, I ordered.

I smiled when I noticed not only had she stayed, but hadn’t moved in the few scant moments that it took me to go down to our bedroom closet. She was still watching the door holding her clothes when I came back into the room carrying the cane.

“Hey-I’m good. Really. This was fine…” She sputtered backing against the wall as if to shield her backside. She felt the need to repeat since I didn’t answer. “I’m fine now…”

“Get over here”, I said firmly tapping the empty desk top.

She dropped her shorts and moved grudgingly away from the wall toward me. “I hate the cane!” she pouted.

“I know”, that’s why I’m only giving you twelve.”

“TWELVE?” She was standing in front of me, one hand still absently cupping her warm bottom, unsure what direction to take.

“Sixteen”, I said. “Want to try for twenty?”

She made a show of clamping her lips closed and stepped into me close enough that when I next spoke she could feel my breath.  “These are really going to hurt, you know.”

“Promise?” she said huskily, grabbing my crotch with a firm hand.

“Promise.”

Turning sharply displaying her well-spanked pink cheeks she took a wide stance. She bent slowly and suggestively over the desk until her breasts flattened against the cool oak surface. A small arch of the back presented all of her to me. I laid the cane gently across her cheeks and patted, knowing her jaw was set and eye lids clenched tightly.

I swung hard.

 

Best Kitchen Shelf EVER!

Best Kitchen Shelf EVER!

From Woodenspoonguy’s Tumblr feed

A few weeks ago a very dear, very vanilla, friend stayed at our house to feed the cats and hide from her house for awhile when we were at the shore.

You know how it is when someone stays at your place? When you get back, everything looks about the same-nothing is really amiss-but there are things that are a little off. I was sitting at the end of the couch-my spot-and reached for the lighter to my right on the bottom tier of a multi-level table.

“The spoon’s gone”, I said. “Did you move it?”

“No”, she answered putting down her book.

“I know I left it here…”

“Of course you would”, she said rolling her eyes. (I have a habit of leaving things around the place for visiting vanillas to find. My wife insists on a final run through of the house on the days the cleaning lady is scheduled. Another story for another time.)

“Wait a minute”, she said and went into the kitchen. I heard the drawers opening and closing until she came in slapping the spoon against her open palm.

“She must have put it away…”

And she had. Somehow fitting the long handled wooden spoon into the cutlery drawer where it had never been. Which of course leads me to wonder what she had to think finding a wooden spoon in the living room next to the couch.

The thought even made her smile-a little one, but a smile.

Training Day

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From Google Images

She breathed heavily eyeing the line of barrels before her. Despite the cool of the morning a bead of sweat-not the first-broke free between her shoulder blades and traced down her back. Gripping the reins a little too tightly she nudged the horse forward briskly.

First barrel, second, third, they cleared them well enough but she was dirt-kicking choppy, not gliding-not smooth. Fuck! She pulled off the last barrel and away from them. “Come on Sandy…”she implored under her breath as she moved toward the fence line.

“Nothing the matter with Sandy”, Braxton Taylor growled as she passed him. This guy heard everything! she thought. “Run them again”, he ordered, “and finish this time.” She yanked at the reins-digusted.

What a shit morning! Every drill-every run-had been off. She lifted her hat and wiped her sleeve across her forehead. Stalling, she stood in the stirrups and pushed her long, dark hair behind her ears then settled the hat back in place. Maybe bringing Braxton here was a mistake-she’d felt that when he first stepping into the ring. Then she relaxed and felt better. Now worse. The forested ridges of the Appalachian Range pushed skyward around her. Often shrouded in mists with fog tumbling down the hollows, today the sky was clear and the air crystal and piney. If only Lynette Holt’s mind were that clear.

Why had she pulled off the barrel? Braxton wondered. She hadn’t completed one course this morning. For a few moments she would look in control-the horse and she one-as she had during her six year reign as the state’s barrel racing queen. Then-for no reason-she would fall apart. Maybe not so badly that a layman could tell, but he knew, she knew and the judges would know.

At the top of the line of barrels, she took a breath and leaned a little forward. “Go”, she breathed and Nancy launched forward. One! Two! Three! Four! All clean then she leaned too far right and missed the last one again. “FUCK!” she barked aloud then slumped in the saddle.

Braxton hated swearing in the ring. He hated harsh words around horses. Everyone thought he was some kind of damn horse whisperer. He was good-she’d give him that. She hadn’t lost one championship in the years they were married. Of course, she hadn’t won one since they split. Didn’t place last year. Fuck it, she thought. I’m paying him. It’s my place now. I’ll swear if I want.

That was better, thought Braxton reading her body language right up until it wasn’t. The racer he knew was in there but was only showing up in spurts for quick peeks. They’d been out here for the better part of an hour and he’d cajoled her to this point-but it was like trying to wring water out of a dry towel. He sidled up closer to where she moped, Sandy pawing at the dust.

“Any chance at all you might get your head out of your ass so we could get some actual work done today?”

She could almost hear the blood rushing to her head. “You’re not exactly helping!” she barked.

“Only room in the saddle for one.”

Her chest tightened and a low keening sound-like a steam kettle-started in her ears. She white-knuckled the reigns and leaned over Sandy’s neck; her horse’s signal to “GO!” And Sandy went. They wheeled away from the barrels and in a flash were out of the circle, through the open fence and up along the edge of the field. They veered past the lone walnut tree and jumped lightly over a deadfall she had been meaning to move. With a tight turn she came back and jumped it again. There she is, Braxton thought watching her loose in the field. One with the horse, anticipating moves, initiating others…Finally, in the middle of her little tantrum, he caught a glimpse of the rider she had been in her twenties. Not so long ago in years-but decades in attitude and confidence.

She pulled Sandy up. What the hell was she doing? That hadn’t helped at all. The bands around her chest still constricted, her ears still rang and she was squeezing the reins like they were rattle snakes. Breathing in gulps, she settled into a soft lope back to where Braxton was watching her. His eyes were hidden deep in the shadow of his hat but she knew they would be slits-not so much against the sun-he squinted at night. No, he’d be trying to figure her out-overthinking as usual-trying to find a different answer to the question they both knew too well.

“Why did you hire me?” he asked as she pulled up beside him. “There are a slew of trainers in this valley would work for free for the chance to put you through your paces.” She jerked her head and met his lidded gaze with her own sharp glare.

“Already had them!” she snapped with more venom than she intended.

“And how did that work out?”

She opened her mouth to snap again but bit her tongue. She needed to look away and pulled her eyes over toward the cursed barrels.

“I think it’s time we take a walk to the tool shed”, Braxton said flatly.

Lynette looked away from the barrels and over to the small outbuilding-more workshop than toolshed-beside the barn.

“Not likely”, she said, avoiding his eyes.

“Pretty likely” he answered.

“No way.”

“Get off your horse.”

“No. Fucking. Way.” She spat every word like it was poison to be expelled.

His implacable gaze didn’t waver and his stance betrayed none of the roilings starting to rise in him. He looked up at her, into her and through her, watching the veins in her neck redden, twist and climb like pulsing vines. “Suit yourself” he said breaking the look and turning away.  “Let’s run it from the top”, striding toward the barrels.

Her hands-squeezing and releasing the reins-sweated and the tightness hardened in her breast. She sucked air in quick swallows and watched a red film cover her eyes from her temples in.  Sandy was calm-but attentive-awaiting any signal.

Walking away Braxton heard her grumble “God Damn It!” then a leather creak, then the sound of boots hitting dirt. He turned to see her stalking away from him toward the tool shed. He absently stroked his jawline with his knuckles watching the perfect inverted heart of her taut backside stomp off then disappear through the open door into the dim interior. Which then disappeared itself when she slammed the door. At that he grinned-he didn’t even know that door shut. “Come on Sandy”, he led the horse into the ring, taking his time. He closed the gate and headed to the shed.

Inside, dust motes rose and whirled in the slashes of sunlight burning between the roughly hewn barn siding. She had a corner of the shed where she kept her tack and some odds and ends but didn’t spend much time in here where the memories lay thick like coats of old milk paint. The old saddle shone on the stall rail where she kept clean and oiled after swearing to get rid of it. The low bench was in the same place it always was but she stayed clear of it.

She took off her hat off and hung it on a peg, shaking her hair back to hang loosely around her shoulders. Her breath was coming easier – still shallow and quick-but easier. The bands she felt in her chest were loosening but replaced by cold flutters low in her gut. She knew these feelings well having many times gotten herself into something that there was no way out of.

Outside the open widow she watched a small flock of chickadees swarming the thistle bushes along the back fence. Further down the line a few wild canaries flashed and lit and beyond them the dark green of the foothills rolled. She was finally seeing the beauty of the morning when the door scraped open behind her. Her heart quickened.

Because she had closed it, he pushed it shut behind him and stood waiting for his eyes to adjust. Lynette was a silhouette backlit by the window until she eventually clarified and materialized out of the gloaming. She kept her eyes averted-not down-but not looking at him. He ran his hand over the smooth leather of the old saddle-not really surprised that she kept it so well.

She thought she wanted to say something but decided to let it be. She could manage her words well enough but was afraid her voice might betray her. Did she want this or not? Was she wrong to want this? Why couldn’t she just ask-just take what she wanted? Why, why, why? The badgering questions were tightening her chest again.  Still watching out the window she listened and knew what he was doing. She heard him lift the old saddle then place it on the bench. Waiting for Braxton to speak first would be a fool’s errand. But she engaged in the game…listening to the birds and waiting. Truth was, she was weak in the legs and suddenly concerned that she might stumble.

Ready in time, she turned slowly and walked carefully, almost weightlessly, as she might wade through a deep hole down in the creek.  Gone were the sharp angles and precise stomping of a few short minutes ago. Her head swam slightly as she walked up on the saddle for the first time in close to three years. She glanced over at Braxton who was also hatless and spending an inordinate amount of attention on rolling up his sleeves.

The window was still her focus as she loosed her belt from the buckle then unsnapped her jeans. With a deep breath she pushed the zipper down then pushed the pants down off of her hips squatting slightly to send them all the way down to her boots. Then, linking her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, pushed them down as well. The cool air on her naked parts excited her.

Braxton watched as she rubbed her butt up under her shirt tail as if trying to smooth the creases. He really hadn’t expected his day to wind up here but had prepared for it. Had set it in his mind as a possibility. But nothing could prepare him for the sight of Lynette Holt lowering herself over the saddle and pulling her shirt up her back.

The woman he had loved and lusted after for years before was splayed before him-backside high and luscious-hands flat on the dirt floor in front of her, boot toes dug in behind. The sight hadn’t changed much in three years. He knew the contours of her body better than his own. Maybe a little thicker, maybe a little rounder, maybe the dividing crease between the two milky moons a little deeper, but only something he would notice.

Finally it was Braxton who, stepping close, spoke first.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked.

“Yes”, she hissed but he couldn’t tell if it was still in anger or something else.

She heard the dry rasp of his belt being pulled through the loops. She had noticed the belt he wore as soon as he had walked into the ring that morning. It was an old one-one she had bought for him when they were married. One she had felt before. He eyed her bottom goose-bumped in the cool shade of the shed and took measure with the strap swinging in his right hand.

She expected the pain-but pain in memory against reality. She gasped when the first lash fell hard and squeezed at the dusty floor. The second cracked across the middle of her backside and she opened her mouth wide but made no sound determined to take it stoically. She tensed as the third slash whistled and gasped when it landed. He slapped the fourth swat above the others-below the tan line but high enough to burn anew.

Yes, she expected the pain but what she hadn’t expected were the burning eyes. She didn’t cry. She once finished a ride with a separated shoulder and no one was the wiser. She remembered that now as she squeezed her eyes tight in a futile attempt to hold back the tears that would not be denied. She coughed a sob, then another-tiny cracks and trickles in the face of a dam that finally broke with one more brilliantly placed slash dead center on her bottom.

Her wail chased the chickadees and finches into the woods. The next slash angled lower to kiss the top of her right leg and she screamed afresh. This was new-she had been stoic under his strap before. But this time she cried and kicked her boot toes into the dust.

She spread her legs as wide as her confining jeans would allow-wide enough for Braxton to see her womanhood open to him. He pulled his eyes toward the floor looking up only to bring another lash down on her heaving bottom. It was like looking at a favorite place from the seat on a train-he’d been there, would love to be there again-but right now couldn’t reach it.

And it was harder to avoid knowing how wet she would be in there now. How thickly welcoming would be her embrace of him. He could feel the warm pull of her, sucking him in-gripping him tightly as he thrust deeply into her the heat of her strapped bottom rubbing against him. He felt his own surge lifting from inside and…Jesus! He blinked and shook his head. He cleared his throat and swung-hitting high again leaving a strawberry ribbon across the deep dimples just below her belt line that he oddly, suddenly remembered the taste of.

But he was with Vera now. And she had been less than thrilled as it was that he was going back to training his ex-wife but the money was good and she relented. Obviously not knowing what all training Lynette Holt entailed. He couldn’t very well go home with his ex-wife’s scents and juices drying over him. But there it was.

Braxton paused and gulped air almost as raggedly as she did. Lynette’s bottom glowed red like the coals of a banked cooking fire.

“I’m done if you’re done”, he said huskily.

The wave of tears ceasing, she caught her breath and looked back over her shoulder. The hair stuck to her face and he couldn’t see her well. “Six more”, she said. “Across the bottom.” That second direction could seem redundant but he knew her “bottom” meant the bottom of her bottom-the sit spots-where her legs met the swell of her cheeks.

After the sixth and final lash she collapsed like a pricked balloon over the saddle. The tension and hard muscles deflated as she lay limply breathing. Braxton glanced at the work bench seeing-and secretly happy-that there wasn’t the jar of aloe unguent that they used to keep there. He felt he would have been somehow duty bound to rub some on her hot and tortured bum and that might be more than a man could stand.

She heard him stride across the floor and saw the light spread across the room as he opened the door. Not a word. Not a touch. She was fine with that, she thought pushing herself upward and standing slowly. She bent in the knees slightly and cupped her cheeks feeling the heat. “Damn, Braxton”, she whispered squeezing and rubbing lightly-gingerly. “Damn…”

Outside Braxton leaned against a fence post and lit a cigarette with a shaking match. He pushed himself down his left leg to make standing more comfortable. Sandy came over and nudged at him. He was careful to blow the smoke away from Sandy’s muzzle. He stroked the horse gently and scratched at her ears. “Sandy, you are about the only woman I understand”.

He heard her walking up on them. Her face was blotched and red-eyed and her hair was pulled back severely into a pony tail. She stood beside him and breathed deeply, gazing at the ridgeline.

“Sorry about that Brax. I shouldn’t have…”

He cut her off. “Never a problem Nettie.” She smiled for the first time that morning at the nickname she hadn’t heard in three years.

She walked around to Sandy. “Let’s go to work”, she said pulling herself up into the stirrups and settling-very gently-down into the saddle.

“What’s the matter with me?”

Barbara sat in the driveway and rubbed the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Christ”, she said aloud looking at herself in the rear-view. “Bobby’s here…could I just straighten up a little?” She picked the summons off of the passenger seat and jammed it into the glove box. What the hell was the matter with her? She slammed the car door and walked past her brother’s beat-up Jeep and in the side door.

“Bobby?” she called from the kitchen.

“In here”, from the living room.

He was sprawled on the couch with a thick textbook balanced on his chest. Bobby was her “little” brother in years only. He set his book face down carefully on the coffee table and pulled his six foot two inch frame to full height to give her a quick hug. “How are you Babsy?” he asked calling her by one of the names he used to tease her with as kids.

“I’m good, I’m good…”

He looked at her shining eyes and mottled face.

“I’m not sure that’s true…”

She waved him off and asked about their mother. Barbara hadn’t been to the hospital in a couple of days but was planning to go later. Bobby, living at home now that he was finishing community college, obviously saw her much more often. Eileen was doing fine and would be home within the week.

“So you?” He asked. “What’s your problem…And don’t wave it off.”

She told him the story-she had been hanging around with some sketchy friends-one of whom was sipping from a can of beer. He handed her the beer to slip inside to use the bathroom and, quick as that, a cop had driven up. No amount of pleading would convince him that it wasn’t her beer and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She was holding it. Her “friend” who had handed her the beer saw what was happening and never came back. That would be a $200 fine that she didn’t have.

Bobby shook his head. “What are you, sixteen?”

“I know, I know…”

“It’s a good thing Mom isn’t here. She’d give you the brush.”

“No doubt,” she answered with a smirk. “Then I’d be grounded. Which might not be a bad idea-the grounding I mean. Keep me away from the assholes.”

“She should have grounded you when you turned twenty one. Would have kept you from marrying the dick-head.”

“Ex-Dickhead.”

“No, ex-husband. Probably still a dickhead.”

She laughed and relaxed a little. She didn’t know how it was in other families but this was a “no judgment haven”-no matter how often she got over here. Since the divorce she had been spiraling a little-keeping a waitressing job, just getting by- but made it a point to come over here every couple of weeks or so just to kind of reconnect with herself.

Sometimes Bobby was here, sometimes not. She’d visit with her mom, then go up to her room which had remained almost untouched for the last five years-and sit. Reflect. Plot her next move or rue her last one. Actually more of the latter these days. Bobby went to the kitchen to make coffee and they continued the conversation-with louder voices-across the rooms.

“So where did your latest ‘crime of the century’ happen?”

“Wilkins Mall.”

“The mall?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Real cop or mall cop?”

“Mall cop. Why?”

Bobby came back into the room, looked at the clock and grabbed his cell phone. “Chubby guy? One of those strawberry patches here, on his neck…?” he asked dialing.

“Yeah…you know him?”

He held up his hand.

“Hey Rick”, he said into the phone.

Barbara sat back and listened to one side of the conversation. Apparently mall-cop was only a part time gig for this guy who was in some classes with her brother. They seemed to be friends and exchanged pleasantries about school until Bobby got down to it.

“So Rick…you busted a girl today? Yeah…Open container….What? She was hot, huh?” He winked and listened for a few moments then smiled…”Yeah-yeah-I know.” Barb raised her eyebrows, mouthing “What?” Bobby held the phone away from his face-“You have nice tits”, he mouthed back. She covered her eyes and shook her head. Then, just like that, it was over. The cop couldn’t have known she was Bobby’s sister because she still was going by her married name. There was some laughter, it was a misunderstanding. “Sure”, said Bobby. “I get it…and we really appreciate it.” He hung up and that was that. The summons was history.

“So there-I got you out of a spanking when Mom gets home”, he teased.

“Oh Christ, don’t tell her about this cause I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“I can’t believe you brought that up. You know…I used to get so embarrassed with you here in the house when I was getting spanked. We were in my room I know-you couldn’t see anything-but you hearing that? It was mortifying.”

“You were loud, that’s for sure…”

“It hurt like hell! I couldn’t help myself from crying…She was tough. And the frustration of knowing there was nothing I could do about it! That was the worst! When she said it was going to happen, it happened. Sometimes the waiting was the worst. She would call from work about something I did-like the time she found out that Jim was over here when she was over at grandma’s when he wasn’t supposed to be. She told me I better be ready because when she got home….Jesus, I cried waiting for her. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? She wouldn’t spank the baby.”

“Maybe I was just a good kid!”

“You weren’t that good-just had her fooled. But I think it was a boy/girl thing-she figured you were a guy, you’d make it on your own and figure your own shit out. Me? She figured I needed some…guidance.” Barb shrugged. “Maybe she wasn’t wrong.”

“When was the last time? That she spanked you. Weren’t you like a senior?”

“Yes”, she remembered. “I was still 17 though. She made a thing of saying I wasn’t an adult yet.”

“That one was special.”

“Special?”

“That one was different.”

“How do you mean?”

Bobby thought about it for a second…then another. He was trying to weigh how much to tell and how much to keep.

She leaned toward him. “Bobby? How was it special?”

Oh, the hell with it, he thought. “When Mom spanked you, usually, she would make you lay on the bed and she’d stand beside you with the hairbrush…”

“Yeah…Wait. How do you know….? Did she tell you?”

“No, God no…”

“Then how…” She froze. “Did you spy on me?”

“Not really spying…Spying infers extraordinary measures. All I did was look through the keyhole.”

“The keyhole?!”

“Sure, it was easy to see-but the way your bed is, I never could see much. Could hear everything but all I could see were your feet. Sometimes your calves-kicking with every swat…Sometimes Mom’s leg where she was standing…”

“I can’t believe you spied on me!”

“Like I said-I didn’t see much. Heard a lot-and I have a great imagination.”

He laughed gently as she held a pillow over her face.

“But that one time…when you were a senior…”

She looked up from the pillow, in wide-eyed horror. “Mom sat on the end of the bed…”

“And made you lay across her lap-you were perfectly facing-well, not facing-exactly the opposite of facing-actually…”

“My ass was pointing directly at the door.”

“Directly.”

“Oh my God…” her cheeks flushed.

Her brother’s smile cracked his face wide open and his eyes danced with the memory.

“That was the most amazing….It was probably the highlight of my boyhood.” He pointed to his head-“All locked up here for a lifetime of viewing pleasure….”

“Oh, maaaaan…”

“That’s why I don’t drink”, he teased. “I can’t chance losing the brain cells that might rob me of that vision.”

She kept her eyes tightly closed for a moment then…”Wait. Do not tell me you beat off to the memory of me getting spanked.”

“OK. I won’t tell you.”

She threw a pillow at him. “What a little pervert you were!”

“I was a fourteen year old boy! All fourteen year old boys are perverts!”

“Perverted boys grow up to be perverted men.”

Setting the pillow aside, he cracked “I’ll give you that.”

She scrunched her eyes afraid of the answer to her next question. “You didn’t tell anyone about it did you?”

“Come on! Nobody beats off to my sister’s bare butt but me!”

She roared with laughter and attacked him with another pillow. He covered his head and laughed under the onslaught. After a few whacks she rubbed the pillow on his face and collapsed onto the couch beside him as the laughter subsided replaced over the next few moments with a warm smile.

“Haven’t laughed like that in a while…”

“Glad I could provide the service.”

She nodded at the book. “You have a test tomorrow? “

“Later this week. Just trying to stay on top of it.”

“Well”, she said getting up. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to go upstairs for a bit.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks for that-getting me out of that. Even if you’re a perverted spanking spy. I’m not going to have to date that cop or anything am I?”

“I’m thinking you’re in the clear…”

He stretched out back on the couch with his book and Barbara headed for the stairs.

Rollin Hand.docx

Lifted from Rollin Hand

By Ebsen Bog Jensen

by Ebsen Bog Jensen

Not to be confused with the Faerie Keyhole, which is another thing altogether

To be continued