The Red Ass Society


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 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?”


“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.”


“Thicker than Gram’s cream.”


“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.





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?”


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.


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.


“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.


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


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.

The Boarder


(Continued from The Landlady…)

He listened to her footfalls fade and cut his eyes to the duffel stowed in the corner. It still bulged with an extra pair of jeans and shorts so he’d have little to toss in. Only two of the four dresser drawers were sparsely occupied and there was his razor. He stood and took his jacket off the hook behind the door. Didn’t want to walk out without it even if it was torn at the shoulder and the inside lining was shot. It was the only one he had.

He pulled a drawer and picked up the only dress shirt he owned. It was freshly washed and folded; set in the drawer by her. Not since he left home had he had a woman doing his clothes. And he was leaving. Walking out the door. Where would he sleep tonight?

A red flicker in the tree outside caught his eye. There were a half dozen cardinals that spent the days there and he was given to watching them flit among the leaves. He pushed the shirt into the bag. He’d been here for a couple of months and had no other plans beyond the day-to-day. The only money that he had jingled and wouldn’t get him far. Certainly wouldn’t get him another room-especially around here where before he was down the street everyone would know he had walked owing board money.

Where would he sleep, he seemed to be asking the cardinal. Outside, beyond the tree and the woodpile the road ribboned off away from town and into the mountains. He’d be sleeping in the woods tonight-he knew that. Back to the woods, by-ways and haylofts that seemed to be his lot. This place-a bed, roof and two squares a day was not his natural state. The road was, dammit!

Unless…unless…He looked over at the bed. Imagined himself laying there like she told him to. Then he could stay. That’s what she said anyway. But how could he do that? Granted it would be easier-over and done with-than finding a place to stay in out of the weather tonight. Over and done with.

She had left the door open but that was no matter. There was nobody in the place but the two of them. He had been alone in this house most of the past two weeks with her. She hadn’t really registered with him as “a woman”, really. As she said-she was almost old enough to be…he left that one go. One thing he had not had any luck with was women. Not just here and now…but anytime. If you put aside the “whys” of it, there was a woman here wanting him to get undressed. That was the base of it.

He allowed his mind to wander down that road a moment and he felt…something. Not exactly butterflies-something deeper. Something lower. Something he would rather not think about but it did pull at him. Pushed actually. Pushed at his fly. Oh boy, he thought-nervously looking down at himself. The more he looked, the more he pushed. Oh boy, he thought again. He held his hands out in front of him surprised to see them shaking. He put them to work on his pants.

He lay on the bed just as she had instructed, his naked bottom pointing toward the door and pulled a pillow under his head. He heard her coming back down the hall. Did she really mean it? Or would she see him and laugh-tell him to pull his pants up and get the hell out.  Her steps grew louder and stopped right behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut as it hiding.

She froze in the open doorway and her heart fluttered. I’ll be damn, she thought. I’ll be good gawd damned. She moved inside and closed the door behind her. Conscious of the silence she had to say something.

“So, it looks like you’re stayin’…”

“If I can, yes….”

“We’ll need to work a few things out…”

“Yes, mam, I guess we will….”

He moved a little to arrange himself underneath. The rough chenille of the bedspread rubbed at him every time he moved. She put the belt on the bed and pushed his shirt-which was hanging down low-up to the middle of his back. He had pushed his pants to just below his bottom. “Lift up”, she said. He did, scraping the bed spread again, and she pulled his pants down to his knees. Despite the warmth of the room he felt a chill all over. His bottom was white as milk and smooth with just a peek of hair. Her husband had been as furry as a bear which she really had never cottoned to.

He was strong-you could tell that by looking at him. His muscles rippled across his back and shoulders as he squeezed the pillow, waiting. She had no idea what he did in the service-if he was even in the service- but the job he had lost down at the mill was loading boxcars. Hard, unforgiving work. She was looking down at the only fat on him-if you could call the taut bottom before her, fat.

She knew that if he decided to react physically against her there wasn’t a thing she could do about it but hope he let her survive. That he wasn’t doing anything but laying there to accept what she sent his way stoked a fire in her.

What was she waiting for? He kept tensing and releasing the muscles in his back and shoulders. He didn’t know how bad it would be but he’d rather get on with it. He could handle pain…he guessed he could. This was different though. There was something mixed in with the pain that was coming that was makin’ this a whole ‘nother deal. Something about this-laying like this and waiting-was somehow not new to him. He worked for the memory-dug down for it but was interrupted by the first lash of the belt across his cheeks. He jumped a little in surprise but that was it. That was all? That wasn’t so bad. He could take this.

She looked down at his butt and saw nothing really. The first smack had been a dud. Whipping a bed and turning loose on a grown man’s backside were two different things, she guessed. She remembered the pain that was part of her whippings-how he had to have brought the belt coming from the ceiling to cause the searing burn that took her breath away and made her yell loud enough for all the boarders to hear. That was the worst of it.

She held the belt to her side swinging back and forth and then, with a wind milling motion brought it up and around-then raising on her toes-down as hard as she could. “AAHH!” he yelled into the pillow. A dark pink stripe outlined in red immediately appeared across his cheeks. That was better. He coughed into the pillow-Christ! he thought. That hurt like a bitch! She had the rhythm now and paused only to ready the next stroke. He took each one as silently as he could-tensing the muscles across his back and shoulders to absorb the pain.

Breathing into the pillow damp with his saliva he tried to conjure that memory that stayed just out of reach. Something about the way he was laying…Another lash of the belt burned across his buttock and bit high into the meaty part of his leg. He barked into the pillow and flexed his leg up-as if to crawl away-exposing himself in a new way. She didn’t look away-indeed she paused-then told him to lay flat and cover up.

He did, straightening his leg back but causing his cock, which had gone mostly soft under the withering barrage of the belt, to come to life again, dragged across the chenille. He almost moaned as he pulled his legs together then elevated his bottom slightly, giving her a better target but also affording more opportunity to rub against the spread.

He endured the next four strokes undulating his hips forward on the stroke then back and up into position on her back stroke. Forward and back, forward and back-suddenly what was happening behind him, as painful as it was, was less so. What was going on in front-between him and the mattress had his attention now. From behind she was concentrated on her aim and her force and didn’t really catch his movement until now.

“You shoot on that bedspread and you’re worshin’ it”, she said.

He could do no more than grunt, but stopped his waving-slowly thrusting his bottom back up into position. He waited. And waited. From behind, she studied her handiwork-the bright white globes were now crossed with pink and red weals extending from the top of his backside down to the top of his thigh. She touched his right cheek which was the sorer of the two as if assessing the damage. He jumped at her touch then relaxed back as her hand stayed in place. Then he felt both hands on him, rubbing and stroking his tortured flesh, then gently pulling his cheeks apart.

He quit breathing as her hands spread him back there. Frozen, he had no idea what was coming next, but no interest in anything but finding out. Gently she slid her right hand down between his legs. He opened slightly and she reached down under him, feeling the strength, the fullness and stiffness; a different heat rose from down there-a warmer, damper heat. Pulsing and more base-more elemental than anything she could do to him. He opened his legs a bit wider and the heat rose to her like a need. A desire so deep and strong that it changed the temperature in the room. She pulled away and he heard the buckle click as she set the belt on the dresser.

“Turn over”, she said huskily.

“Ahh…I shouldn’t”, he said.

“You want me to pick the belt back up?”

He slowly rolled over, away from her, freeing his cock to flip into the air like a mast. He looked at it and at her. His face was flushed and his eyes were glassy. She touched it at the top then gently cupped the head and circled her palm around it as if trying to see if the top would screw off. She wasn’t that experienced in the equipment of men but this one was a little more-a lot more actually- than she had dealt with for the past too many years.

He watched her pull away from his pole and reach up under her dress with both hands. With a gentle yank, her drawers slipped down and puddled to the floor. She stepped out of them and reached again for his swollen member. This time she came closer and held it. Slowly she put her mouth down on it-just on the tip, letting the head fill her mouth-and rubbed her saliva around, lubricating him. He moaned and closed his eyes.

The bed rolled as she kneeled beside him. He felt her throw a leg over and when he looked, she was squatting over him-her dress held at her waist as she measured where she would settle. Her thighs were thin but strong, topped by a wild bush of hair that was made to appear blacker by the gray that shot through it. He only saw if for a second because once he felt her womanhood open over his cock, she pushed the dress down as far as she could.

“You oughta take that off…” he said.

“You never mind what I oughtta do.”

He felt himself pushing slowly, almost grudgingly shouldering inward-every inch feeling as if it was opening new ground. She was concerned about the length of it as much as the thickness. She kept her legs under her as she lowered slowly, slowly and surprised that she opened-if not easily, comfortably-to him. There was none of the twisting and fitting that she had imagined to get it in. It was the wetness that did it, she knew. And not that little bit a spit she put on it either. It was the wetness she felt between her legs as soon as she started whippin’ his ass.

He moaned loudly as she sat all the way down fully encasing him. She lifted once then slipped back, then up then back-up and down then again up and down. She closed her eyes and tossed her head back trying to get into the right rhythm. She was breathing quickly and fell forward onto her knees-her hands on both sides of his head. She looked into his eyes. “If you shoot off before I come, I will whip you like a bad child…”

His breath came in shallow gulps. “I won’t”, he said…”I won’t”, but he didn’t know how he wouldn’t. He thought of work-of stacking cartons of nails on pallets in the boxcar. He thought of the foreman, with his unlit cigar and straw Stetson yelling at everyone simply because he could see them. He pictured himself running up Currahee Mountain in heavy boots and shorts back in basic…..his mind ran in circles like a mouse in a hot bucket trying to pull focus from his landlady who had by now stretched out atop of him and with her legs back, grinding hard into the ride she was on.

He took hold of her narrow bottom and pulled her into him while driving his hips up into her. He…didn’t….have…much-time-TIME-left here and was gritting his teeth when he felt her shudder and bite into his shirt collar mercifully missing his throat. Her high pitched keening let him know that he had crested the hill and that it was alright, finally, to come. He drove upward in one massive thrust that, with his back arching, lifted her high into the air. He came pulsing hard and strong. If not for her astride him, engulfing him, he would have been able to spatter is name across the ceiling.

They lay together-she on top of him as they regained some measure of regular respiration. His cock-now blown was still inside her-taking up less room than it had been-but still large enough not to fall out on its own. They both seemed to take pleasure in its twitches and starts. She allowed him to run his hands over her sweat-dampened dress and even under it so he could explore the hot wet spot where they were still attached. He moved slightly and winced, suddenly awakened to the raw burning of his whipped ass-a hot contrast to the smooth cool white cheeks he was feeling up under the dress.

“Such a thing as this”, he thought. It was something his auntie used to say. Didn’t know where it had come from nor what it meant. Nor why it came to mind just then. He let it be and just breathed.


Six Months and Counting…and Counting…

© HotBottoms

© HotBottoms

“But I wasn’t being bad…” She said peering intently outside where absolutely nothing was happening on the decrepit tennis courts…

“I know that honey” I said gently.

“Then why….?”

“Just come over here please…” I said from my seat at the bottom of the bed. My voice wasn’t menacing-certainly not threatening-it was soft, as I recall. Cajoling…

After a moment she turned reluctantly from the window and walked toward me. Backlit as she was, I couldn’t see her face but could clearly-or all I remember now- as she approached were her legs-long, strong and smooth.

It was our six month wedding anniversary and would be her first spanking.

Not long ago we were driving the back way to one of our favorite hiking spots in the mountains when we passed the Mountain Top Inn. It was freshly painted and the roof was new, but it looked about the same as it did those many years ago. It wouldn’t be at the top of anyone’s “go-to” lists but for a young couple with not much, it was 5-Star.

We talked about the walks we had taken that weekend, the antiques and some of the fall flowers we had picked and preserved. We were into that then. And of course we talked about the…

She said what she often said when reminded of the first time: “I thought it was a phase you would grow out of…” It would have been easier to grow out of being right-handed. It would have been easier for me to grow out of my stocky, swarthy body type into a sleeker Nordic model better suited to my taste in clothes. It would have been easier to… get the idea.

For me, the question always was-why had it taken so long for me to invite my beloved vanilla over my lap? We had been together four months-then married six. Ten months? Hell, my prom date ended up over my lap in the backseat of my buddy’s Catalina while everyone-including my date-laughed like hell. (God, how I wanted to lift her dress and pull her panties down. Wanted it so badly I think my hands were shaking. It might have eased the memory of never really having gotten past first base with her. Damn cheerleaders! Dick-teases all of them!…But I digress).

I blame our whirlwind courtship fraught with nasty family drama coming at us from all sides. Our rush to be married just two short months after deciding that we would, consumed us. We had a short time to get to know each other-plan some kind of wedding-juggle what seemed to be a tribe of supportive friends and, times being what they were, there was a seemingly endless parade of parties, drinking and general revelry. And the sex was what you would hope it to be in your twenties: fresh, new, mysterious and continuous. Maybe her first spanking had to wait for a routine to develop; for the first hint of “sameness” to poke its gray head into what we were doing.

For that first one we hadn’t yet instituted the practice of kissing when heads passed on the way over the lap so she settled herself hesitantly and cautiously on her belly. She thought I was going to swat her a few times on her panties and waited nervously. Instead I slipped my fingers into the elastic of her waistband and slipped them slowly and oh so s-l-o-w-l-y down: the first bottom reveal of our marriage. She lifted up to allow them to come down but said…”Oh man…” sort of breathlessly.

Me, as I recall, made that hissing sound that Hannibal Lecter made when he first smelled Clarice Starling. Can’t swear to it, but with the first swat I laid on her bare bottom, I’m sure my eyes rolled back in my head like a great white chomping a seal.

The spanking didn’t last too long. Probably no more than fifteen or sixteen smacks-mostly soft with ample cupping and rubbing and a lot of-no that is not a banana in my pants I am indeed happy to see you. Her bum was a sweet cotton-candy pink when I helped her back onto her feet and I wondered about the look in her eyes. Until she pushed me back on the bed with her panties still binding her at mid-thigh.

The chest thumping, sweat flying sex we had after the spanking left us so spent we dispensed with the planned afternoon hike and lounged instead in the green pool. Seriously. It was green. Come on, I said, it will be like swimming in a pond.

It took us a while to work out the complete ground rules of what we were doing when we realized this wasn’t going to be a once in a while type thing. A few weeks later we were playing racket ball and she missed a shot. Fierce competitor that she is, she slammed the ball off four walls sending me ducking then, to further impress anyone watching with how pissed off she really was, threw her racket.

I waited for her to regain composure before picking up the ball to serve. She picked up her racket, took a couple of breaths then popped me lightly in the chest with it. “See”, she said. “This is when you should spank me. When I deserve it, not just because.” Duly noted. But let the record show, I didn’t discard the “just because” option entirely.

Now as we were driving off into the mountains reflecting on a marriage of decades and literally countless spankings: birthday-spankings, punishment spankings, maintenance spankings, foreplay spankings (line blurs on that one) she, the converted vanilla, allows that it was probably spanking that saved our marriage. Or at least kept it from getting to a place where it would have needed saving.

Through up times, down times, jobs, no jobs, big money, no money, strong sex drive; no sex drive we have this thing, this one through-line to our marriage that grounds us as it binds us. Like a weird religion that we practice in private. No matter how distant we become from one another, which happens now and again, how often one of us might slip into that window staring ennui, we have something that will pull us back together.

As she explained to one of her vanilla friends who just didn’t get it “No matter how much we don’t like each other at times-there’s always this thing that we know we are going to do with each other that will break the ice and bring us close again. Plus it ends up with him rubbing lotion on my bare butt.”

And what could be wrong with that?

Janie’s Loan

From Tumbler no attribution

Continued from Sarah’s Plan

When Blue pulled up in front of Janie’s trailer the truck cab was thick with the aroma of the “Jeffy’s Supreme” pizza sitting on Sarah’s lap. They had swung through town on the way to pick it up. She opened the door gingerly and stepped out, balancing the pizza in one hand as Blue grabbed the twelve pack off of the back seat. “Leave that here for now”, Sarah said nodding at the bath brush that was also back there.

They didn’t quite reach the door before Janie opened it wide with a welcoming smile that wavered only a little. “Come in, come in…” Sarah could see the effort she had put into what had to be a whirlwind clean-up in a relatively short time. There were no clothes scattered about-there were actually chairs to sit on-and the couch was a couch, not a day bed. Sarah didn’t want to guess which closet everything had been thrown into and what would happen once that door was opened but more power to her.

Janie skittered about finding clean glasses and paper plates going on excitedly about the pizza and how she hadn’t eaten all day. Actually she was just going on…fast talking and covering. Sarah could see her eyes were red and the smile was a sweet artifice. But it was a good smile; had always been one of the best. She had done a good job with herself too. Dressed in Khaki capris which hugged her where she knew they would hug her and a green print blouse she was miles away from the gym shorts and torn T-shirt she had on earlier. Her hair was still a little shower damp which made the curls shine and, without any makeup, the tiny smattering of freckles danced across her cheeks.

The conversation around the coffee table was town-talk, high school-talk, who’s having babies-the kind of thing they always defaulted to. Finally, half way through the pizza-which Blue ate most of, Janie picked….Sarah told Blue to go look in the bedroom.

“Excuse me?”

“Go ahead….”

“Oh Sarah….” Janie shook her head.

Blue hesitated a moment but went. He opened the door and stuck his head in just as his wife had earlier that day. “Jesus Christ”, he said. “What’s this…?”

Janie sighed and, dropping her eyes, explained the situation with Danny and the exploded Harley. She wasn’t even finished before Blue had his cell phone out and was calling a friend of a hunting buddy who lived on the next ridge. Even hearing just one side of the conversation it was clear the guy was a motorcycle nut and probably dealer. Two texted photos and a little negotiation that Jamie just watched and the price-which she agreed to with a thumbs up-was settled. The guy was even going to send someone over later in the week to pick it up.

“You know what?” Blue said into the phone “This is a situation. Can if happen tomorrow afternoon?” There was a short pause then, “Fine. Good. Thanks, Billy. She’ll be here all afternoon.”

He clicked off the phone.  “Done and done.”

“What if Danny….”

“Tell him to talk to me if he has an issue.”

That would end it. Janie breathed out long and slowly. “Thanks, Blue….I didn’t really know how I was gonna…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She shrugged palms up with a goofy, embarrassed smile…”I have my bedroom back.”

“That was the easy part. This is a little tougher”


“I need to see your checkbook.”

“My checkbook?…”

“And the last couple of bank statements…”

Standing there while the girls were sitting made him even more in command of the situation. Sarah, though sated and sexed raw from their session earlier, felt a buzzing in her stomach as he gently but firmly told Janie what he needed. She recognized the tone. Apparently Janie had too because she didn’t so much as ask why he wanted to see the things that most people would consider their private business. She just got them and handed them over.

The shadows were lengthening in the room and Blue flicked on a lamp to leaf through the statements and the checkbook.

“Dare I ask when you last balanced your checkbook?”

“I’m not so good at that…” she shook her head lightly and looked away. Sarah averted her eyes from her friend’s embarrassment. That was a major deal in their house.

“Ok, so no problem…” he flicked from page to page.

“Girl, you have more going out monthly than you have coming in…”

“That SOB Danny….”

“Are you going to tell us this started with Danny?” She shut up.  “Like we haven’t known you forever?” Spoken by someone else his words could have sounded harsh but his tone was almost bantering; serious, but understanding. “Sarah told me you might be a tight spot, but honestly, I didn’t know how tight”.

She sagged. “I know. I know…I swear, I don’t know what I’m going to do…” her voice trailed off.

“You’re going to shut up and let us help you.”

“How can you help? I can always use more hours….”

“Girl, there ain’t enough hours in the day for you to make this right. We’ll help you fix it…”

He told her that they had brought their checkbook and he, Sarah actually, was going to write her a check for $5000 so she could go to the bank and get her truck tomorrow. She sat stunned and as if not knowing how to deal with her friend’s largesse stumbled over the simplest thing.

“I have to work tomorrow…” she said in a small voice.

“Naw, I think you’re calling in sick tomorrow. Remember you have to be here in the afternoon so Billy’s peckerhead buddy can come get that mess out of your bedroom. Then”, he went on, “she going to write you another check for $2000 for credit cards…”

“What?” said Sarah and Janie almost simultaneously.

“Yeah, that was a surprise to me too. But if we don’t get rid of them, the truck payment won’t matter. So, Miss Janie, you’re into us for seven grand.”

Janie sat back as if dazed. “You can’t Blue….Sarah….you can’t do this…”

Blue squatted down on his haunches as if he was going to draw in the dirt. He explained that this wasn’t a gift. She already owed the money, so that would be nothing new. He would just owe it to them instead of the bank and credit card companies. He explained the payment terms and how she would be able to hit them and how much he expected from her every month. Sarah hadn’t thought it this far down the line and was surprised at how easily Blue could put these numbers together in his head.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked in a small voice.

“Because we can”, Sarah said. “Look honey-we love you. We been friends for so long and to see you in the state you were in earlier today….It tore me up. Remember you said you wanted someone to watch your back? To help keeping you from fucking up….”

“At least too bad…” Blue chimed in and they all laughed.

“That’s what we want to do. If you’ll let us.”

Tears welled in Janie’s eyes. “If I let you? I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say anything….this will be a process.”

Janie nodded quickly and dabbed at her eyes…”Thank you…”

“Blue” said Sarah as she went through her bag for the checkbook, “Go out to the truck.” As Janie looked at her questioningly, “He’s got something else for you.”

When he reentered the trailer he was holding the bath brush in his right hand. As soon as Janie saw it she collapsed back into the chair as if pushed. A cloud passed over her eyes and her cheeks flushed slightly. She reached out for the cigarettes then put them down again, her hand shaking slightly.

“I guess you know what will happen if you miss a payment, don’t you?” Sarah asked.

Janie crossed her legs, left over right and pushed herself up in the chair. “I guess I do”, she said not taking her eyes off the brush. She shifted, uncrossing then re-crossing her legs right over left. She looked at Sarah first, then up at Blue. “You….you won’t be sorry”, she stammered. “You can…you can… Jesus! I’m sorry…” she attempted a laugh, “You sort of threw me off there. You can count on me. I won’t let you down…”

“We know you won’t”, Sarah said.

Blue stood over her-not close enough to be looming, but certainly close enough to be imposing and laid out the ground rules. She would call him-not Sarah-for any large purchase. Anything over fifty bucks to start. She would take any overtime he could push her way….as he ticked the items off he emphasized the points with a tiny wave or stab in the air with the brush. It appeared off-hand but Sarah knew his lecturing style.

“You will hang this in the bathroom or in the kitchen, anywhere you can see it every day as a reminder of what will happen if you don’t get yourself under control. You understand?” She nodded and he set the brush on the table and headed toward the kitchen for another beer. Janie looked at him then back at the brush. Then back at him…

“Is that it…?” she asked her eyes back on the brush.

“That’s it.”

“I thought…” she paused and steadied herself with a hand to her bosom. “I thought you were going to…spank me….”

“I certainly am. I you miss…” said Blue.

“I mean…now. That’s what I thought.”

He paused and regarded her carefully. She tried to keep his gaze but had to look away. She caught Sarah’s eye and looked down.

“There’s no doubt you deserve it,” he said sternly. “You’ve deserved it for years. I don’t doubt if you would have had someone who would fan your ass when you needed it, you wouldn’t be in the situation you are in now.”

She didn’t trust her words-only nodded.

“You know, that might not be a bad idea. Sort of clear the air-put you in the right place.”

“Blue, you…” Sarah started to say but his look stopped her.

“No, it’s OK. I want him to”, she was almost pleading with Sarah. “I need this. I do…” She looked at Blue. “I’m sorry Blue, I’m sorry….I just think I need this.”

“Up to you…” he said.

“God”, she whispered almost to herself. “This is embarrassing.”

Blue had sat on the couch and motioned her over.

“Don’t worry about it-this is between us…if you don’t want to do it….”

“OK. No, I’ll do it. I want to do it.” She stood in front of him fiddling nervously with the button on her pants. “These come off right…?”

“Here, let me help with that.” He slipped the button and opened her zipper sliding the snug capris down her legs. She put a hand on his shoulder for balance as Blue leaned down to slip them over her feet. Sarah noticed how close he was to her sex, swaddled only in a tiny shard of white cotton.

“Panties too?” she asked in a small voice.

“I’ll take those off once you’re over my lap. No reason showing more than you have to.”

She knelt on the couch and stretched out over his lap holding her weight on her elbows. Her hands were folded, fingers tightly entwined at her chin. Her mouth was a slip and her eyes were clenched shut though a tiny tear had squeezed out and was hanging, like an ornament, on her lash.

“Lift up” he said slipping his fingers under the elastic waist band. She did as she was told and he peeled the panties slowly down revealing the creamy white globes of her bottom. He tugged gently to pull the cotton from between her legs and slid them down to her knees.

Sarah sat bolt upright in her chair as alert as a prairie dog. Except for in the movies she had never seen another woman-person for that matter-spanked. And now, seeing Janie bare-assed over her husband’s lap tickled her hard top and bottom. She knew what Sarah was feeling, the awkward anticipation; the fear of the first swat-not knowing how she would be able to take it.

And she would never admit it but, seeing Jamie like this brought back the memory of the ‘flat-ass’ comment from eleventh grade that she had never forgotten.  There was the teensiest bit of revenge satisfaction in seeing her in this position. But she had to admit, even the spread of the years and a few extra pounds did little to diminish the lush curves of her backside. She lay there stiff as a board, cheeks tense enough that you couldn’t slip a quarter between them…

Sarah’s reverie was interrupted by the first swat landing hard on Jamie’s right cheek. She took it in silence and her thick bottom didn’t seem to move. The second fell in the same spot and met the same stoic response but a rosy blush began to break up the creamy color palette. After the third swat she said “OW” calmly if breathlessly. She continued to narrate her spanking as if to control it. “Ow”, she said again. “That hurt.” Then, “Ouch…that one stung…” Every time she spoke, the words were shakier-more guttural-finally almost breathless.

She had nothing to say-only kicked her feet against the couch-when Blue smacked the crevasse at the bottom of her- catching both cheeks at once and echoing across the room. One swat later, which landed hard on her left cheek, opened the floodgates.

Janie’s shoulders began quaking before she sobbed out loud. The tension in her butt released and the brush landed solidly but with a different, softer SPLACK! bringing a loud coughing rasp of a cry. Sarah left her chair and knelt at her husband’s feet. Jamie’s sobbed pitifully, her face buried in her hands.

“That’s OK honey, let it out…”

“I’m such a fucking loser…”

“No you are not. Blue-“

He reached higher and hit her harder than he had yet. She jumped and Sarah wrapped an arm over her shoulders. “Do not say that! You are not a loser….”

Janie was not to be reasoned with. She sobbed pitifully and loudly as if, having started to cry, she was going to get it all out. Sarah kept whispering in her friend’s ear rubbing her shoulders and neck as Blue continued to spank a loud tattoo on her bottom which shaded from a blushing pink to an angry red. He regarded the reds the speckles of purples on the lower cheeks, the think dark line down the lip of her split and knew his work was done. He lay the brush aside and added his own voice to Sarah’s quiet compassion.

“That’s okay Janie…I’m done now….shhhh…you’re fine….” He said, underscoring his words by softly rubbing her dry, burning bottom. At home he would have lotion to soothe her backside but there wasn’t any here and he wasn’t about to send his wife off looking for any. He settled off of her tortured bum and softly massaged the top of her thighs. His rubbing and patting didn’t escape Sarah’s notice but-as conflicted as she suddenly became about it-she thought better than to say anything. She did wonder though if Blue was poking at her belly from below, the way he would be when she was in this position.

Happily though, Janie’s tears began to subside soon enough and Sarah slipped her a handkerchief to pat at her ruined face. Blue unwound her underwear from near her knees and slipped them back up her legs. Sarah, alert for it, saw Jamie rise fetchingly, spreading her cheeks just enough to allow him to pull her panties up into place while also giving a glance of all she had to show underneath. Sarah paid attention to Janie’s other end, not wanting to catch her husband looking.

Then, panties in place she rose awkwardly to a seat on the couch. She wriggled at the rough pile of the couch. “Oww..”, she couldn’t help smiling…”That hurts…”

“Here”, Blue said handing her one of the soft flat throw pillows. “This’ll help.”

Janie slipped it under her bottom and sat gingerly. “That’s better…” she said. “Wow, that was…something. It hurt…It was good-I feel better actually. I appreciate it, I mean, don’t get me wrong…but it HURT.”

“I imagine it did…” Blue said.

“I know it did”, said Sarah from her seat back on the chair.

“So I guess I can count on you having the money every month then, right?” Blue asked.

“Oh yes-oh yes…you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’ll appreciate it. And Sarah will too. Because every paddling you get for late payment, she will get too.”

“What?! Me too? Why?”

“You are the co-signer on this loan honey. If Janie defaults….”

Sarah was about to protest but her eye caught the bath brush laying on the floor beside the couch igniting the tiny twinge in her belly. Best to let it ride for now.

“Don’t worry Sarah-I’ll be on time…we’ll be fine…” Sarah saw a glint of mischief in her friend’s eye and the twinge grew.

Down the Road

Sarah’s Plan


Continued from “Meanwhile-Out in the Country…

Afterward they lay in bed, spent but still tingling. Sarah curled beside him, her head on his chest and told him about Janie’s predicaments. Blue, stroking his fingers along her ribcage, half listened. He rolled slowly toward Sarah and pushed her gently onto her back. The woman wouldn’t stop talking and Blue smiled that all he was hearing about was Janie as he took one of his wife’s small breasts entirely into his mouth. He flicked her nipple with his tongue and gently closed his teeth around it as he pulled back sucking. That stopped her in midsentence with a light “hisssss….” He moved to the other breast then tongue painted between them hearing only her breathing.

“Blue”, she whispered as he slipped his mouth along her belly….

She hummed lightly and stroked his hair as he kissed her belly button and suckled at her sharp hip bones. She winced contentedly as he slipped his hard hands under her still tender bottom to lift her toward his face.

He pinched lightly at the skin where her bottom met her legs. “How’s that?”

“Still sore…..”

“You’re a little baby…” He kissed the inside of her thighs.

”Blue, what are you doing….?”

“Going for number five….”

“Honey…I’m kind of raw….”

“You could roll over.”

She pinched his ear….

“I was only joking…” he said.

“Sure you were…unless I rolled over…”

She pulled him up toward her by the head. “Get up here….”

She wasn’t going to let it go. He flopped beside her and listened. To him it was a matter of money-which was no matter at all. He’d write a check if that’s what Sarah wanted him to do. Janie could be a royal pain in the ass and the decisions she made would make you want to bang your head-if not hers-against the wall, but the three of them went back quite a ways.  It would be impossible not to help if they could.

Janie hadn’t been a virgin when they first got together in eleventh grade but he was. Even now Blue could remember every crease in her body as he had pulled her jeans down in the back of his Daddy’s Impala. Her panties were white with tiny roses on them and when he pulled them low enough to see her lush mound of hair begin to reveal itself he had almost frozen. She wouldn’t let him stop though and he remembered every smell and every squishing sound that two seventeen year olds could make.

Sometimes Blue wondered if he remembered them too well but he knew that remembering a first Love wasn’t really about them. History bore out that he and Janie could never have been a match and he never pined for her that way. No, remembering your first love was remembering yourself back then. He was remembering seventeen year old football playing hard-body Blue Dawson with the world seemingly at his fingertips and it so happened that those memories also brought the sweet memories of Janie Driscoll lying naked on his basement couch. That particular vision never failed him and Sarah noticed his growing cock prodding at her leg as he lay there on his side snuggling.

“What are you growing there, Blue?”

“Talking about Janie always makes me hard”, he said telling her the truth. She laughed and swatted him on the ass figuring he was kidding.

“Come on”, she said. “Let’s get going then…”

“What? Where….” He tried to recall what she had been saying back when he was moving from the Impala’s back seat to Homecoming to his basement couch, but it was hopeless. Sarah had gotten out of bed and was looking at her still-glowing bottom in the floor length mirror. Apparently he had agreed to go down to Janie’s and help her get herself sorted out.

“The girl needs direction”, Sarah said.

“She’s too old to adopt.”

“Look, I know you two have a history. Who doesn’t know that? And I know she thinks the world of you and I know what you say to her-directly to her-will carry a lot of weight. She will never fail to disappoint herself and everyone that cares for her but you, she’ll try to do right by.”

“Come on Sarah. Her father’s still alive. Not my job.”

“I showed her my butt today.”

“You what?” he said sitting up.

“I showed her what you did.” He raised his finger to interrupt. “I know-never mind-but I showed her. And she was…..I don’t know….she seemed to envy me my bruises. When I say she wants direction, I’m saying she wants parameters, boundaries. She wants someone to keep her inside the lines.”

The light finally went off for Blue as he lay on his back lazily-but thoughtfully-flopping his only semi-hard cock to one side, then the other. “You know”, he said, “Not every woman feels the way you do about getting their ass beat.”

“I know. Can you figure? Don’t know what’s wrong with the world…Seriously, though. I might be wrong. I might be full of shit and deserve another paddling if I am. But I think we have to put this on the table with her.”

“So you want me to go down there…”

“We. We are going down there…”

“Right, and…”

She laid it out to him again-the way she just had when he obviously had been listening not at fucking all. So he would need the checkbook, that was sure…but as to the rest of it….he wasn’t sure at all. His mind was awash with all the complications that could come down the line. Over the last few years Sarah and Janie spent more time together than he and Janie so he would defer to his wife…at least for a while.

“Here”, Sarah gave him the phone. “Call her, tell her we’re coming…”

“Why don’t you….”

“Just call her.”

He hit her number on the speed dial.  How hard could it be to tell her they were coming down to visit?  “Hi Janie-no it’s me. Sarah’s here though….” He told her they had been talking and wanted to see if they could help her out on the “truck and all”. He listened into the receiver and rolled his eyes. “Don’t cry Janie….Don’t cry. It’ll be fine. Cause I said it will.” Sarah knew he didn’t want to carry this conversation much further. “Hey, Janie…Shuush a minute. What you got to drink down there?” he asked slipping into the hill patois that she only heard when he was drunk or playing. “Oh, I ain’t drinking that mess. I got something I’ll bring… yes, I’m bringing it. We’re coming down. Don’t worry. Don’t worry about that-we ain’t hungry.” He put his hand over the receiver and mouthed to Sarah “I’m fucking starving!”…but she just waved him off. “Okay-in a bit, see you in a bit…”

He hung up.

“Come on”, said Sarah, “Let’s hit the shower. We can’t go down there smelling like this….”

To be continued….