The Sweet Shoppe

(Continued from Maria  and also continuing the Party Interruptus storyline).

Duke stood on the stoop of “Monello’s Decadent Delicacies” for a moment to gather himself. The front of the shop was dark and deserted but light from the bright kitchen leaked forward from the porthole in the swinging door and the service window. He shook his head hard twice and windmilled his arms gulping deep breaths. It was an exercise he’d learned in college theater to clear himself-to get in character. He was the angry client in Maria’s little drama.

The door was locked so he twisted the knob on the old-fashioned chime. Maria’s face instantly appeared in the service window then disappeared again. The door swung open as she hustled out front. He watched impatiently tapping his toe on the concrete as she clumsily unlocked the door with what looked to be shaking hands.  She kept her hair short on the sides and he focused on the soft white skin at the side of her neck, just below her ear. He imagined the touch of the soft downy hair and the whisper of citrus that she always wore underlying the fecund aroma of dough and yeast that had to be wafting up and out of her t-shirt. Jesus, he thought. This was why Beth had warned him not to diddle…er, dawdle too long.

She finally got the door open with a jerk and stepped back startled and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Barton…”

“Maria-you know this is unacceptable”, he said sternly stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“I know, sir…”

“There are two dozen guests at the house right now-everything is prepared except for the what you were supposed to bring!”

She backed toward the kitchen slowly with Duke keeping pace. “Yes sir, I’m sorry.”

“That’s bad enough, but then I have to leave my own party to come and help you make a delivery. Where is Shea?”

“She had other commitments, Mr. Barton, so I let her off early.”

“Other commitments?! This, today is a pretty important commitment!”

“Yes, I know. This is my fault. I misjudged. But look!” she pushed open the door behind her. “Everything is done. I finished up just as you got here.”

“I should be happy now that you’re only an hour late?”

“No sir. Of course not sir.”

“Help me to the car with these.”

She picked up a tray of bright red candied apples and fairly scurried through the shop. He took the caramel and nut. Two trips and all that was left was a tray of petite fours. He followed her back into the kitchen keeping his eyes on the perfect inverted heart of her backside wrapped tightly in stone washed denim. She had to be wiggling more than necessary, every hurried step in a perfect heel to toe line.

“The last one!”, she said waving her hand in a nervous flourish.

He bared glanced at it, choosing instead to catch her eyes in his angry glare. She coughed slightly and looked away as he deliberately unbuttoned the sleeve of his khaki shirt. He rolled it up his forearm. “I’m going to teach you a little lesson about punctuality Maria.”

“Awww, come on Mr. Barton.” she pleaded, again trying to back away from him. “Please don’t. Not here.”

“You turn around young lady…”

“Mr. Barton, I….”

“You turn around right now!”

She did so reluctantly-hiding her face with her hands.

“Stick your bottom out”, he ordered.

She pouted and pushed back slightly. He slapped her hard on the jeans finding the jarring contact of the firm yet giving mound very satisfying. She jumped with a high pitched “OUCH!”

“Do you like that, Maria?”

“No sir!”

“Stick it out a little further.  And put your hands on your thighs.”

“Oh sir…” but she did as she was told. He grabbed the beltline of her jeans and pulled them higher tightening even more the fabric that encased her bottom. Maria gasped as the pulled seam buried itself inside of her setting off wild alarms up her spine and down her legs. Her heart raced-did he know what he was doing to her? She wriggled as he slapped and lifted in perfect rhythm. Of course he knew what he was doing, she thought between gasps. She danced on her tiptoes, the swats on her bottom having a shadow of the effect to the rubbing in her crotch.

“Maria, I don’t feel I’m making a good enough impression on you.”

“Oh sir”, she said breathlessly. “You are….”

“No, I don’t think so…” He released her jeans and placed his hand around the back of her neck-not squeezing but definitely leading her forward to her work table, still dusted with flour, wisps of dough and dabs of strawberry jam.

“Bend over here…”

“Sir…I…”

“Bend!” he pushed her gently over until her hands, then her elbows then finally her breasts contacted the hard wood. Pressing on her back he reached around and unsnapped her jeans roughly pulling them down over one hip, then the other, exposing her wide firm bottom blooming slightly pink by his attentions.

Gently, but not too, he reached between her legs and peeled the damp seam from inside of her swollen lips. She gasped lightly and pushed back into his hand. Her clit could not have been harder had it been forged. Each light touch brought a tiny spasm from her mounded backside. He pulled his hand away and dipped three fingers in the bowl of strawberry preserves that she used for the pastries and jammed a dollop between her legs imagining steam rising from the cool jam spattering into her hot folds.

“Oh God, Oh God…Duke!” she reacted.

He slapped across her wide bum leaving red slashes of jam like talon scars. “What did you call me?”

“Mr. Barton! Mr. Barton! I’m sorry…I’m sorry. “

He pressed more heavily on her back lifting her milky bottom higher. He spanked her rounded cheeks and the tops of her thighs, splattering strawberry speckles and streaks to accent the softer pink handprints. He paused for more jam and reached lewdly between her legs careful to rub the inside of both thighs. She rose onto her toes trapping his hand in her pearly vice.

He flicked quickly, then rubbed, his finger slithering into her easily, her juices married with the preserves.  Her feet left the floor altogether as she gripped the edge drawing herself across the table. Duke’s hand was stuck fast, nothing but his fingers free to move, twiddle and rub. Her growl turned into a squeal as she opened herself to whatever happened back there.

She stiffened as she came, her legs drawn up and Duke’s relentless fingering turning her momentarily into quivering, squirting stone. His stroke slowed as she subsided; all the pert tension in her body dissipated revealing soft curves and sweet milky dimples. As her breath returned he slipped his hand back into the jam and spread her backside filling her crevasse and coating her tight little asshole with strawberry filling.

He playfully squeezed her cheeks together before dropping to his knees and spreading her again, licking from bottom to top as she kicked her toes. “Jesus Christ, Duke. I’m killed…” she sighed relaxing back onto her feet.

“You always had a sweet ass”, he said getting up.

“Will you give me a kiss?”

“Sure.” He bent and smooched her bottom cheek loudly.

“No, up here. On the mouth.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Too familiar”, her voice was sleepy, smiling.

“Exactly. Now, get yourself cleaned up and get over there. No later than nine. Many people are dying to show how disappointed they are with you.”

“You’re not are you?”

He bent and patted her butt once more, deigning to kiss the back of her neck.

“Never love. Never.”

He left her spread and sticky across the work table and carried the last tray of petite fours. As he was getting into his SUV his phone pinged a text.

 

(To be continued…)

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Scenes From An Italian Restaurant-Finale

(Continued from Scenes From An Italian Restaurant- Three)

Antonio lay the spatula across her back and held it with his left hand. With his right, he cupped her bottom gently. “This is going to be good one”, he said.

“I know”, she peeped.

“But when you’re done-it will all be over.”

“Clean slate!” she said softly to the floor.

Marie saw the first swat coming and still jumped, startled by the sound at impact. She hadn’t settled when the second landed in the same place; fully on the right globe which after only two smacks was flushing pink. The third landed more in the middle of her butt resonating down her shallow crack and between her legs. Then the other cheek. Marie’s eyes wandered nowhere else but she kept her hand at her breast as if to keep her heart inside.

Connie, for her part, hung on gritting her teeth and trying to dig her fingertips into the hard floor tiles. She was surprised that her eyes were stinging already. Yes, his hand was heavy, yes his hand hurt, yes her ass was burning. But not enough to make her cry. She blinked when a smack landed low, where the bottom meets the leg, and a tear splashed delicately between her hands. Her mouth, already open, betrayed her with a small cough. Then another and finally a whispered “Ouch”.

“Well” said Tony, “I’d say that’s enough for the warmup.”

“Oh Dear…” thought Marie and, with no thought of sitting, slipped behind the bar table as if behind a battlement protecting her from what she was seeing. And what was she seeing-or feeling? It was strange how her own bottom was itching. Connie gave no outward sign of crying, just the drops that were sprinkling silently onto the floor. She felt his movement and the spatula was gone from her back.

“Are you ready for this Constance?”

“Yes, Chef. Please.”

She exhaled and relaxed, softening her clenched bottom.  At the first stroke of the spatula she allowed a wall to buckle and cried “Owww…” Then, after the third, began crying in earnest. The swats burned and she reacted to each with a yelp or a twist but all under the soft veil of tears that had seemingly come forth unbidden-on their own.

Chef Tony was nothing if not precise. The welts he was leaving on her bottom were adjoining but seldom overlapping. Connie was not a kicker but couldn’t stop her legs from scissoring nor her toes from dancing, bundling her jeans and panties at her ankles. As she cried beneath his hand, Antonio twisted his arm around her waist and increased the tattoo on her aching bottom to a loud fast “Rat-tat-tat”. Marie’s hands had moved from her breast to her face. When she told about it later she would swear later that Chef’s arm was a blur.

“Tony!” she called to him after another moment. “Tony?”

He stopped what he was doing and looked up as if surprised to find someone else in the room. Without the loud cracking, slapping and wailing, a silence colored only by Connie’s soft sobbing, settled over the room.

“Yes Marie?”

She was holding out a handkerchief toward Connie’s head. Antonio nodded. She approached and held the hanky down where her friend could see it. The floor between her hands was puddled.

“Thanks”, snuffled Connie taking it and drying her eyes as best she could. Marie stood a moment next to the furnace that was Connie’s backside. No longer pink, it was a mottled red and burgundy-the color of spilled wine. She retreated back to her spot behind the table but there was no need.

“Are you done sweetheart?” asked Tony softly, gently cupping her bottom.

She took a deep breath, thinking about it and wiped her nose. “Yes, Chef.”

He patted again. “Good. Come on….”

He helped her up and she stood shakily beside him patting her bottom. He stood and wrapped his strong arms around her squeezing. Her rear glowed like a brazier in the dim light and Marie eventually looked away. “Beautiful”, was all he said kissing Connie on top of the head.  “Now pull up your pants…”

“Can’t I leave them down?” she sniffled, patting her glowing butt.

“No you can’t”, he said lightly. “Not that kind of place.”

He turned his attention to Marie.

“Now, you….”

“What?” she asked in a gasp. He said nothing else. She felt a need to fan herself but didn’t move.

“What Chef?” she asked again having slid back behind the table.

“You’re never too old you know.”

“For what? For…no way Chef! I’m too…” she stopped herself.

“No you’re not.”

“Chef. Tony. I couldn’t…”

“Then why are you here?”

The truth nearly escaped when she opened her mouth, but instead she said, “For her!” and waved her hand toward Connie hoping for some support. Her friend was seemingly paying no attention, engrossed in gingerly pulling up her panties then her jeans, trying not to scrape unduly across her hot skin.

“Connie?” she asked.

“I think you should,” she said in a small voice not looking up.

“What?! I…Chef…”

“If not now, when?”, asked Connie finally looking up.

“O Jesus”, she said to herself. The room seemed to be moving around her.

“Take off your jacket Marie…” said Tony, feeling that she needed a direction.

Words died in her mouth. She desperately wanted to tell him that she did want this-that she’d wanted it for a long time but couldn’t imagine how to ask. She might have been able to live her whole life out without this if he and Connie hadn’t started playing like this. Was it their fault? Was it hers? Was it anyone’s? This is what she was thinking as she was saying nothing…and unbuttoning her jacket.

Chef Tony sat back down and beckoned her over. She slid out from behind the table dragging her hand across the top. It took an hour to cross the three strides. She waggled a finger and Connie who was now, fully clothed and watching. “You, you….”

Connie smiled through her tear streaked face and leaned against the bar.

Marie stood before her seated boss with her hands at her sides not resisting as Tony reached out and unsnapped her jeans. He unzipped them and worked them down over her hips.

“You might need a bigger spatula for me.”

Connie giggled…

“I think my hand will cover enough ground.”

He helped her into position. “I don’t fit as well as that one…”

“You fit fine. Now lift up”.

“Tony-Really?”

He patted the tight cotton encasing her bottom. “Really.”

She lifted up, and squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment as he slowly pulled down her underwear. She mouthed a nasally “Ooohhh…” to convince anyone listening including herself that she wasn’t giving into this easily. She breathed deeply as the cool air washed over her naked bottom. Then she felt his hot hand on the back of her thigh.

“Tell me again what I’ve done to deserve this.”

“Lived too long without it.”

She relaxed and felt her body form to his lap. He wasn’t in a hurry. “Yes…Too long…” she sighed just loudly enough to be heard by both.

Those are beautiful sandals she thought absently as she grabbed Antonio’s ankle and waited.

Scenes From An Italian Restaurant- Three

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Uncredited from Tumblr

(Continued from Scenes From An Italian Restaurant – Two)

At six sharp the staff was gone, the door locked, house lights out and the bar dimmed. Connie and Marie moved through the room staying busy-wiping the clean bar or counting cheese in the fridge for the fifth time. At 6:10 Connie looked at the clock and sighed, untying her apron.

“Jesus, Tony”, she whispered.

“Yeah, right…” Marie answered tightly peeling her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She couldn’t have been more nervous if she were the one awaiting a spanking.

Then, ten minutes later, they heard the kitchen door swing open and their eyes settled on Antonio striding into the room. He had changed into a white logo-T that clung to his chest and shoulders and carried a long wooden spatula with three holes drilled down the center. Every time Connie happened into the kitchen she would glance at that particular tool hanging innocently above the stove with all the other utensils at the ready to stir a deep pot of sauce or anything else the chef saw fit to do with it.

Antonio pulled an armless wooden chair into the open space behind the barstools. “Good day today, Ladies. For a Sunday. Everything turn out OK?”

“Yes, Chef”, they echoed.

“Money?”

“All good”, Connie answered with a wry smile. “Counted and in the safe.”

“No more broken glasses?” he looked at Marie and she almost jumped-she had forgotten that.

“No Chef.”

Antonio sat. “Good, good…One question Connie”, he said looking up, seemingly taller than she even when sitting. “Seriously. And the truth. Were you drinking last night?”

“No!” She said quickly. Then, “well no more than usual…a glass of wine at close. Same as always.”

“That’s no problem. You’re a forty year old woman, if you can ‘t have a drink what’s the world coming to?”

“I’m thirty seven”, she chirped knowing she was being teased.

“So I round up.”

“You could round down to thirty five, you know.”

“Thirty seven, thirty five-what’s it matter? You run rings around the twenty five year olds.” He nodded over to Marie, “Between you and Sophia Loren over there you’re the best I got. Best I ever had. Without you two, I close down and go back into retail.”

Marie nodded a small bow. “Thanks, Chef”, said Connie standing like a penitent before him, eyes downcast.

“But that’s why what happened last night is so wrong. You know better-you know what to do but you don’t do it!”

“I do most of the time”, she said almost whining with her head down. Marie, watching intently, almost expected her to kick at the floor.

“People don’t come here because we’re good ‘most of the time’ do they? This is not a forgiving business. We have to be on the razor’s edge all of the time, right?”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Sometimes I have to help you focus, right? To…help you keep your thoughts on the tasks at hand right?” Then, when she didn’t answer, “Right?”

“Yes Chef”, she said softly.

“You have to be…what is it? ‘In the moment?’ Don’t think of something else until the one thing is done. Right?”

“Hundred percent right Chef.”

“Oh, you agree then…”

“Yes, Chef.”

“You weren’t in the moment last night were you?”

“Jesus”, thought Marie. She might cry if she were ever scolded like this. Antonio might yell-but she never knew him to lecture. She glanced at Connie who looked for all the world like a chastened, naughty child and felt tremendously uncomfortable. She had slipped into a memory that she couldn’t exactly remember, but could feel.

“No Chef.”

“Why not?”

“I…don’t know, Chef”, she said miserably. “I’m sorry….”

“That’s OK. I’m going to make it right. See? I’m focused. I’m in the moment. The only thing I’m thinking about right now is paddling your bottom. Only thing on my mind.”

“Mine too, as it turns out.”

“Come on then.” He waved her over with the spatula that Connie was trying to avoid seeing. She moved to his right side and unsnapped her jeans. She would typically lay over his lap and he would pull them down when he was ready-usually well into the spanking. But now, “You might as well take them down”, he said.

“Oh, OK”, she said with nary a pause but a small gulp. She unzipped them and let them slide, with little prompting into a pile around her feet. He had put the spatula down and reached up to take her hand. Gently, as if leading her onto a pitching boat, he helped her settle across his lap.

“I don’t know Connie,” he said patting the back of her leg. “It seems like a long time since you’ve been here but you fit so well.”

She shrugged a rueful smile that no one could see, staring as she was at the ceramic tiles and Antonio’s leather sandals. It was true though-she had been with him for close to twelve years and two restaurants-started when she was twenty five. How many times had she had this view of his footwear?

But it had never gone beyond that. When she was married-which happily she hadn’t been for six years now-her husband never knew that her boss spanked her. He would have assumed what everybody assumed; that a good spanking was a prelude to a good fucking. It had never been like that for her. Or for Antonio.

“It’s probably been too long”, Connie said upside down.

“Probably. I’ve been neglectful…Forgive me. ”

She wriggled as he pulled her panties down easily over her slim bottom. “Oh, oh”, she thought. He had never started in on the bare-he always worked up to it. He pushed them all the way to her knees leaving her exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Oh, oh”, thought Marie from the pub table where she leaned. The generalized flutter in her chest grew into more of a drumbeat. Without realizing it she had lifted her hand to her breast like an old woman with the vapors. She had told herself that she was here to support Connie-maybe comfort her in her time of need. She had told herself that to make it seem like she was here for more than to watch her friend being spanked. But now, seeing her bare bottom just feet away, she wasn’t so sure her intentions were all that noble. She suddenly had trouble trying to figure out where to put her eyes.

To be continued…

Scenes From An Italian Restaurant – Two

(Continued from Scenes From An Italian Restaurant – One)

By the time Connie returned, most of the wait staff was in place and William, the regular bartender, had called off. So she, along with Marie would cover the bar which wouldn’t be a big deal on a Sunday PLUS her regular tables. When people asked how she stayed so thin she’d tell them, “Come watch me work!” But she was smooth and flowing; not herky-jerky the way some looked when they were rushing about.  She’d done this long enough to anticipate where she was needed and had an amazing memory for faces and particularly drinks.  Nobody was thirsty in her bar.

She caught Marie watching her once and raised her eyebrows in a “what’s up?”

“You OK?” Marie mouthed. She answered with a tight smile and a nod. But now that Marie had brought it up, thank you, she wasn’t completely OK. Being busy stopped her from thinking about last night-from trying to remember what caused her to leave the cash out…to forget the change this morning…whatever had scattered her. And she wasn’t crazy-she knew what was going to happen to her after close and every time she looked at the clock her chest felt a little lighter and her stomach gurgled. But really, what Chef was going to do to her paled in comparison with how she was beating herself up over last night.

She saw herself the way she was right now: handling tables and the bar-dancing and moving and making money for herself and Antonio. Not as the absent minded waitress who left cash out on the bar overnight. Or forgot to go to the bank this morning. She sidled over to Marie during a lull.

“We’re busier than I thought we’d be.”

“We’re moving them through…”

“Yeah…Well…some are comfortable. Uh…How late you think the staff will be here?” She was concerned about Antonio coming out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon while waitresses were still counting tips.

Marie shrugged, not even looking up. “I told them they had to be gone by six. That there was a private party coming in and we had to turn quick.”

“You did that?” asked Connie smiling.

“You really don’t want to get spanked in front of Dominic”, she said, waving to the pizza guy manning the oven across the room who had no idea what they were talking about.

She squeezed Marie’s arm. “I love you! You…you’re staying?”

“You want me to?”

“Yes.”

Why?

“I don’t know exactly….”

“Nervous?”

“I don’t know. A little, sure.” She leaned against Marie and whispered. “Hurts like hell, I’ll tell you that.”

“I imagine it does. I’ll stay.”

Connie ran her hands back along her temples and patted the tight helmet of jet black hair that sprouted a tight pony tail in back. “Thank you…” she said before turning back to the bar where ‘Chianti in the leather jacket’ was almost empty.

Marie had seen Connie spanked once, years before. She had happened into the restaurant before opening on her day off and heard the two of them arguing in the dining room. By the time she made her way to the archway to see what the ruckus was, the sound of the first swat stopped her cold. Two more steps and she saw them. Connie, leaning against the wall with her butt pushed back and Tony, holding up her skirt smacking her hard on the panties with a wooden spoon, each loud “thwack!” answered with a small “Ow! Ow! Ow!” She had quietly backed out of the room, then the restaurant, feeling what she thought was embarrassment. Maybe fear. But she worried it might have been something else.

Over drinks a couple of weeks later Marie confessed to what she had seen. Connie smiled wistfully over her Negroni. “Yeah, he was pissed…I can’t even remember why…”

“But he….”

Connie reached over and patted her friend’s hand. “Chef and I have…an understanding. It’s OK.” She took another sip in silence then asked, “Did you ever…I mean, did he ever…?”

“Me? No.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Did you ever…at home…?”

“What? Charlie? He won’t even yell at the dog. “

They had giggled like schoolgirls and for the first time Marie began to feel that she was on the outside of something that she wasn’t sure she wanted to be inside of. Wasn’t sure but wasn’t sure she wanted to be on the outside either. Was she missing something? She had known other times when Connie was “going to get it”- that’s the way Connie put it. “I fucked up the wine order and William had to go pick some up-I’m going to get it later”. That was always Marie’s cue to make herself scarce.

But that was her call-she was the one who didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to know what really was going on. Or didn’t want to think about it. She was the matriarch here-the boss was fifteen years her junior. The rest were kids. Connie was closest…she sighed. She couldn’t imagine how that would work. Just couldn’t. But she wondered.

Lost in thought she picked the bottarga from the cooler and put it on the mandoline. Thin even slices. Thin even cuts. Breathe-slice-breathe-slice-thin strokes. “How the hell would that even work?” asked her mind refusing to be lulled.

To Be Continued…

 

The Appointment

The room didn’t look “sterile” by any means. That was what she had called it in preparation for his first visit months ago. She had warned him that it was “a rather sterile looking office”. It was as large as the conference room at work, a desk, more of a work table really, near the rear center-with enough room for a credenza behind it under the window that overlooked the street from three floors up. There were a couple of armchairs and a short couch all situated on a soft mauve carpet that took up most of the room but was offset to the left allowing a gleaming swath of polished hardwood floor exposed against the wall.

If there was anything sterile looking about the place it was this hardwood peninsula. A stout looking armless wooden chair and matching small oak table were situated next to an upright digital scale. Beside the scale was a full length mirror affixed to the wall and an oaken clothes tree-complete with three wooden hangers.

He knew his way around well enough by now but still couldn’t avoid a little flutter in his chest when looking at the spare furnishings on that side of the room. Still, he moved in that direction and watched himself in the mirror as he doffed his sport coat draping it over the highest hanger. Standing sideways to the mirror he slid his hand along his stomach, sucking in a small gut that he noticed more than anyone else. Truth is, he hadn’t lost too much of the body he’d had when he played college baseball a decade earlier, but he’d lost enough. Enough to bother him.

He absently loosened his tie but didn’t feel a need to take it off. Shoes? He glanced toward the door. He’d wait for her before taking off his shoes. She was in the habit recently of making him wait and he didn’t feel like standing around in his socks. He’d definitely have to take them off though.

He looked at the scale the way he might eyeball any adversary. The read-out screen was dark and he knew that it was turned off. There were few real rules of protocol in the office but the single immutable one was that Doc Bethel was the only one who could turn the scale on or off.

He walked over and sat in one of the armchairs. The waiting was part of her program he knew, but oddly it was the one that bothered him the most. He sat back and crossed his legs-right ankle over knee. Then uncrossed. Leaned forward with his elbows on the soft chair arms, then leaned further back again.  Lifting two fingers of his right hand to his mouth, he perfectly pantomimed taking a deep drag on a cigarette. He filled his lungs with air and, eyes closed, exhaled deeply relaxing into the breath. He sat still, breath coming in shallow swallows until he lifted his hand once more for a light drag. Then, with sense memory born of a habit he’d had longer than he wanted to remember, he swung his arm slightly out to the right and with his thumb flicked the imaginary ash off of the tip of the imaginary cigarette. He relaxed deeper into the leather.

Without looking he knew that the chrome pedestal ashtray that had been beside the chair during his first couple meetings was gone. Had been for a while. That was something anyway. He heard the door open and stiffened slightly. He shook out his right hand to erase any evidence of the illusory cigarette.

He turned his head and half rose to acknowledge Sidney Bethel’s entrance. “Hi Doc”, he said.

“Good morning Ben. Stay where you are. Don’t bother to get up.” In passing she pressed her hand onto his shoulder to push him back into the leather. “How are you today?”

“Good, good…beautiful morning.”

She lay a warm hand against his cheek and caught his eyes the way she did. He knew better than to look away. Her green eyes probed deeply as if looking for the lie in his simplest answer. Looking for anything below the surface. His most begnine answers were always questioned. She believed if you learned to be honest and completely open in the small things the larger things would take care of themselves. Her gaze was warm and searching-helpful, not accusing, and he relaxed into her without moving.

Then, satisfied, she straightened and moved to her desk. She didn’t move behind it to her chair, instead chose to pop herself up and sit on it. This put her closer to Ben but still above him, something sitting on the chair beside him wouldn’t have given her. That thought hadn’t necessarily occurred to him, but she knew it. She was a master of non-threatening informal authority. The “Doctor” title was a bit of a stretch. There were no framed diplomas or certificates on the walls-just some tasteful abstracts and one painting of an amusement park carosel. At one time medical school was in her plans but she happily had found her calling before that investment. Some called her Sidney, some Ms. Bethel, not many “Doc” but whatever worked for him.

Her “uniform” in her office was always a variation on what she wore today. Black slacks that rode low on her hips and flats. Even then she was a strong 5’ 10” and taller than most of her patients. She wore a tailored white oxford shirt that cupped her breasts and bloomed upward opening at the neck revealing a small silver chain. The sleeves were rolled precisely twice, crisply revealing tanned forearms.

When Ben had first met her he thought she was a “knockout”. That was the word that actually bounced around in his head. If he had told anyone about her he would have said his therapist was a “knockout”. But that wasn’t the phrase he had rumbling in his mind these days. Her looks hadn’t changed-she was still striking with the dark hair flowing to her shoulders, her perfectly pearly orthodontia, high cheekbones and deep inviting eyes.

The word he might use to describe her now was “comfortable”. Which was odd when you considered the type of therapy she practiced. Her office small talk was never forced and always pulled him into a conversation. She talked about running with her dogs and training for one of those muddy-trail runs or whatever leaving enough holes to allow him to tell her that he had done some running too. “Oh? On the trail or road?” and she would listen and prod and want more detail.

When the conversation lulled finally she reached into a wooden in-box on her desk and pulled out a file. She opened it on her lap and snapped it closed again. “Today was supposed to be 183, right? That was the target.”

“Yep.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I should be fine” he said with a tiny cloud passing over his eyes that he thought he hid but she saw it as easily as she would a mannequin in a window.

“Really?” she said simply with only the slightest lift at the corner of her mouth.

“No”, he looked away quickly then back, “yes-it was tough over the weekend-did some traveling. It’s hard to watch on the road. But since has been good….I should be fine.” This last he told to the floor before finally looking up to allow her eyes to lock his again.

“Let’s have a look then”-she lifted her hand over toward the scale.

“Let’s lose these first”, he said bending to untie his shoes.

“By all means”.

Her patients could weigh in however they wanted as long as they were consistent. Some stayed fully dressed, shoes and coats. Some decidedly did not. If they missed their goals, then there were prescribed measures and penalties that sometimes dictated how “dressed” they remained. The key was making the weight and doing whatever had to be done to do that.

Ben had always weighed in “airline style” No belt, shoes wallet. He did that, placing his items on the table. Then, before stepping on the scale he nervously took off his shirt. He smiled sheepishly and said “what the hell”, as if in explanation.  Sidney had moved over beside the scale and turned it on. The screen winked to life then settled into a soft blue glow.

He paused-actually froze. He didn’t feel good about this. He really didn’t. She took a half-step back as if he needed more room. He looked up and gave a nervous half smile before exhaling (as if the breath in his lungs weighed anything) and stepped gently onto the rubber pad. The number on the read-out flashed at 189.

“What?” he said as if the machine had spoken.

“Ben, that’s more than last week.” She had given him a modest goal of four pounds for the week.

“I know, I know”, he flustered. He was rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Wait a minute”, he took off his T-shirt and lay it over the chair. Then he sat on the chair and rolled off his socks. He stood and stepped back to the scale. Again, he exhaled and tip-toed up. 188.

“Dammit”, he whispered watching the number as if waiting for it to change.

“Step off Ben.”

“Wait, I get one more chance.” That was the weigh-in rule. Three tries to make the weight.

“Do you think your trousers weigh five pounds?”

“Look…I get…I get another chance, right?” he was stammering. She was silent and he was avoiding looking at her. “I mean, do you mind?” He waited for her answer. “Is that OK?”

“You get a third chance”, she said flatly.

He stepped back from the scale and unbuttoned then unzipped his pants. He slid them down and stepped out of them, one leg then the other. He lay them over the back of the chair then paused as he was stepping toward the scale. Still not looking at Sidney he hooked his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers and slipped them down. Bending, he flipped them onto his shoes.

Looking up finally he gave a little shrug. “That’s it…”

She regarded him carefully as he cut his eyes away again. He hadn’t been nude in here before-pants down yes-but that was it. He wasn’t in bad shape-strong across the chest and shoulders-a little settling through the waist and hips but not bad for a guy his age. She could see clearly where he could lose the twenty pounds he had talked about when he first visited but the solid thickening in his cock as he stood before her made it clear that losing the weight was no better than a secondary goal of coming to Dr. Bethel. Which sort of ticked her off-though it shouldn’t.

“Scale”, she said.

He flowed slowly past her and paused before stepping gently back on the pad. She stepped beside him closely enough to catch his scent and feel the warmth radiating from his body. He in turn kept his eyes shut feeling the butterflies careening around in his stomach and his dick getting harder. She noticed it-couldn’t NOT notice it-as she looked down at the read-out.

“185”, she said with an impatient sigh. “Get off the scale Benjamin.”

He stepped back and stood before her eyes downcast. They stood a moment before Sidney broke the silence.

“What are you doing here Benjamin? Why do you come to my office?” He had nothing to say. “More to the point, what am I doing here? I’ve put time into you haven’t I? Haven’t I done my best for you in trying to help you lose the weight that YOU wanted to lose-that you ASKED ME to help you lose? Haven’t I held up my end of the bargain?”

“I’m trying,” he said miserably.

“Yes, I realize that. But eventually trying has to become doing, right?”

He said nothing. “Again, I ask you-have I held up my end of the bargain?”

“Yes”.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, you’ve held up your end of the bargain.”

“And you Benjamin. Have you held up yours? Have you?”

“No.”

“No, indeed.” She stepped a little closer but not by much to avoid his engorged cock thrusting itself forward like a jousting lance. “Look at me”, she commanded. He lifted his eyes to hers slowly.

“I’m so disappointed in you Benjamin. So disappointed. You’ve let me down. Let me down. And more importantly, you’ve let yourself down. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry”, he said quietly-almost breathlessly.

“You’re sorry.”

“I am. I’m sorry that I…let you down.”

She let that hang in the air for a moment.

“I’ll venture that you’re about to be a lot sorrier.”

“Yes, mam.”

She stepped to the side. “Go over to my desk, Benjamin. Stand in front of it.”

He did as he was told. Standing on the plush carpet and gazing at the scudding clouds out the window gave him a chance to take the first deep cleansing breaths he had attempted since she started scolding him. His chest felt light and the fluttering in his stomach had settled a little further down.

She stepped into his line of sight on the right and opened the door to a slim cabinet mounted on the wall. On the back of the door hung a wooden paddle he had never seen before. It was two feet long, about four inches wide and polished to a bright golden color. She regarded it carefully and gripped it tightly-slapping it gently into her open left palm. “I think this will do the trick.”

His heart began racing a bit again.

“What do you think, Benjamin? Do you think this will do the trick?”

“Yes, mam”.

“Indeed…”

She moved back out of sight behind him and he cut his eyes back to the clouds trying to recover that sense of calm he had just a moment ago. No dice. She was standing behind him now.

“Spread your legs a bit, Benjamin.”

He did as he was told.

“Now bend over. Put your hands on the edge of the desk.”

He did that, concentrating on the close tight grain of the wood below him.

She took advantage of the breathless anticipation to regard the smooth white bottom which he was offering up to her. She knew what he was expecting right now but her plan-as always-was to go beyond expectations. Regardless of what she told him in their session, Ben not reaching his goal twice in the last two months was almost as much on her as it was on him. She resolved this would be memorable for him but she was piecing together a plan….

She placed the paddle gently across his cheeks, patted once then reared back watching him tense. The first swat landed with a resounding SMACK fully across the center.

“Owwww”, Ben yelled and jumped up grabbing his bottom with both hands. “Ow-Jesus!” he said, rubbing and kneading. “That HURT!”

She crossed her arms sternly holding the paddle upright on display. “It absolutely hurt-it was supposed to. It’s a shame you couldn’t hold your position because it didn’t count and now you get sixteen more.”

“Sixteen? I never got more than six!”

He had turned slightly toward her still rubbing his backside. She could see that, while his cock wasn’t waving as proudly as it had been, it was still thick-still in the game.

“Do you really want to argue with me right now?” she asked grimly through tightened lips.

He deflated a bit and without another word turned back to the desk. He bent-putting both hands on the edge of the surface and arched his back slightly.

“No”, she said. “Elbows and palms on the desk.”

He did as she ordered without hesitation feeling the slight twinge at the top of his hamstrings as he bent a little further. She patted again the cheek that was a touch mottled from the first swat and swung again smacking the same spot. Ben was better prepared this time and not surprised by the intensity. He managed to keep his mouth closed and made no sound. After the third he rose on his toes and after the forth, slapped the desk with is hand. She was taking enough time with his punishment to allow the heat to rise from one swat before blistering him with the next.

He gritted his teeth and pressed his eyelids tightly enough that he saw flashed of red and gold. The shit I get myself into he thought.

Sidney Bethel paid close attention to what she was doing. Being right handed, most of the power of the paddle was landing on Ben’s tortured right cheek where a small plum colored bruise had just bloomed. She took a half step backward and delivered the next blow squarely on the barely pink left cheek. Then another quickly. Ben rose on his toes again and bounced on his heels trying to dissipate the burn which felt like a hot iron pressed against his backside. She swatted him twice more while he was hopping and he yipped behind his clenched teeth.

“Breathe, Ben”, she said pausing.  “Just breathe and relax…”

He did, dropping flat footed and allowing his knees to bend slightly relaxing his butt. Both cheeks were now balanced in color-deep reds and pinks with only the single bruise on the right. The skin looked dry and hot as he reached back gingerly to touch it. “You OK?” she asked?

“Yeah-fine” he said his voice hoarse and low. “Was he crying?” Sidney wondered suddenly nervous. She didn’t want that to happen. Maybe she had gone a little too far-God knows he wouldn’t ask her to stop. “How many was that?” she asked him.

“I’m not sure”, he said-his voice stronger. She relaxed a little. “I quit counting around eight or nine.”

“Thirteen. That was thirteen.”

“Jesus…” he stopped rubbing taking her count to be the order to resume. He bent slowly back over and arched his back offering his tight tortured bottom back to her. She stepped away and lay the paddle on the desk beside him.

“Stay where you are”, she ordered. Ben wasn’t sure what she had in store for the last three swats but was comfortable in thinking that anything would be preferable to the paddle.  Sidney picked a small bottle of lotion off the table and brought it over to where Ben’s ass was glowing like a hot brazier. He tensed feeling her behind him.

“Relax”, she said. “Just relax. We’re calling you done.”

“Really?” he said looking over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“See? I’m not so bad…”

She squeezed a dollop of the special mix aloe and vitamin E into her right hand and touched it to his bruised right cheek. He jumped as it she had stuck him with a needle.

“Shhh…” she said. “Just settle.”

He did as he was told enjoying the soft cooling of the lotion and her massaging hand first on his right cheek, then on his left. Up till this instant a handshake had been their only physical contact. He spread his legs a little further to give her further access to anything that she wanted. She saw the move, of course and slapped him lightly on the cheek.

“Don’t get any ideas, big boy.”

“No!” he said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it…” She rubbed the lotion deeply into the skin from the top of his legs across both cooling hemispheres. “Here is what I’m thinking…You come back in two weeks, right?”

“Yes-two weeks.”

“OK. I expect you to weigh 178 then, understand? That’s seven pounds in two weeks.”

“I can do that.”

“I know you can-and I know you will. Because we’re going to change this up a little for your next visit.”

Ben was listening as best he could but the blood rushing to his cock as Sidney rubbed his sore bottom was almost drowning everything out. He was wishing she would reach between his legs but afraid knowing that if she touched his rod at all, he would spew all over her desk like a thirteen year old.

“For you next visit, you will weigh in naked, just like today. If you don’t make the weight-if you are not 178 or less-you will get dressed and leave. We’ll try again for the following week.”

“No penalty?”

“Not like that-more like an incentive. If you DO make weight, I will sit on the couch over there put you over my lap and spank you with a hairbrush. Would you like that?”

“I think I would like that…” he said breathlessly.

“And…I’ll wear a skirt that day. A short one. Would you like that?”

He moaned almost inaudibly and dropped his head. “Yes.”

“Very well…” she stepped away from his glowing butt and but the cap on the lotion. “I have another appointment upstairs that I’m late for.” She moved a box of tissue to the front of the table. “Take as much time to…compose yourself…as you need and I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Thanks, Doc”, he said but by the time he stood and turned, she was gone, pulling the door closed behind her. “Oh man…”, he sighed rubbing is bottom absently.

That afternoon, his assistant Moliere stuck her head in the door of his corner office where he sat gingerly on one cheek watching the three screens in front of him. “I’m running down for a Danish and coffee”, she announced-ready to take his order for his three o’clock sugar fix.

“Not for me, Molly.”

“Really?”

“Have to lose a few pounds.”

“Sure-I know, but one Danish. A donut?”

“No-this time I really have to lose it…”

“OK-how about just a coffee then?”

“Black”.

“K!” and she was gone as he tried with a wince to settle onto both cheeks.

Seneca Breeze B & B

Diana could see the lake from the living room through the large French doors and beyond the wrap-around porch. The view had always made this her favorite room and-aside from the magnificent porch itself-one of the best places just to sit and just….be.

But that sort of R & R, the kind that they strived to provide their guests here at the Seneca Breeze Bed & Breakfast was not on her schedule for today. There were those damned towels in the dryer downstairs and she could gaze at the lake all she wanted as long as she kept up her dusting pace around all of the bric-a-brac and geegaws that Lisa felt gave the place a whimsical character. Clutter and character was in the eye of the beholder and Lisa, being the owner, was the eye that mattered.

Diana had first come to this house almost forty years ago, when it was her aunt’s home, and spent long stretches of the timeless childhood summers ensconced here-surround by the clear water and warm breezes. After her aunt, it went to her cousin, then to someone outside the family for a little while, but then back to one of her uncles. It was he who had turned it into a B&B and hired Diana to run it.

Of course, it had always been a daydream fantasy of Diana’s to buy the old place and run it as her own, but that didn’t make her unique in the village. No one who spent any time at the Seneca Breeze or walked past it, or saw it from the Lake didn’t want to own it. But when her uncle finally sold the Breeze five years ago to finance his move to Florida, her divorce was just finished and finances were tight-actually non-existent-so she had to stand by and watch Lisa Brennan buy the house that she loved so much. Lisa was a girl that got divorce right; split up after a year and ended up with enough of a chunk of cash to make the buy and with a handyman boyfriend available for the construction work.

Lisa did not want to live in the house, she had her own place across the lake, so allowed Diana to keep her room on the second floor-overlooking the street, not the more valuable lakefront-as a part of her employment package. She knew it was a fine setup and had worked hard to keep herself indispensable to the new owner. And that had been easy for the first couple of years. Lisa was impossibly young and didn’t know the business. Everything she learned about running the B&B she learned from Diana and the two became quite close actually in a “mentor-mentee” kind of way.

Diana tried to think about when the relationship changed or really if it had changed or if they were just changing as people. Lisa was still young, but she was smart, had her own ideas and could be stubborn in the way of a young person with means. The days when Diana was the acknowledged expert in all things Seneca Breeze were behind them. Her de-evolution from expert to equal to employee had seemed swift. Things started to happen around the place without her input or were discussed with her after the fact. She wanted to have a say, to be a partner in the Seneca Breeze, but that wasn’t her place right now. And it left her a little frustrated-sometimes more than a little. When she became too put-out she would just clam up-keep her tongue and do the job-only occasionally thinking of Lisa as BRAT-ton instead of Brennan.

But Diana couldn’t deny that there were some things amiss at the Breeze that shouldn’t have been. Things that she should have been taking care of, were slipping a little. It was her responsibility to ensure that the food was on hand to prepare the dishes that were on the menu. Twice in the last week, things had been overlooked-substitutions had to be made to the menu which wasn’t a big deal except for that horrid couple who had “Come all the way here for the sweet potato pie.” Yes, how could she have forgotten sweet potatoes? That was Lisa’s question.  But she had. How had she let the account at the market slip for more than three weeks causing Mr. Fletcher to speak to Lisa about it when he saw her after church one Sunday.

That was what had occasioned the “Big Talking-To” right here in this room. Lisa had sat her down like a child and lectured her on what she needed to change. How she needed to improve. Diana almost panicked sitting in the chair being chided when she thought she might be fired. She had lived most of her adult life in or around The Breeze, and couldn’t bear the thought of being on the outside of the venerable old place looking in. This was a small town-if she was fired really from the only job she’d ever had everyone would know. She’d have to move!

Her fear of being fired was so real that when Lisa told her what she had in mind for her if she didn’t improve per performance she laughed. A little nervously, but laughed. Lisa had laughed too but with her mouth more than her eyes. Her eyes were serious enough that Diana had looked away. Not to worry, she had told her. You won’t need to do anything like that. I’ll keep things under control here.

That had been less than a week ago, now-this morning-the damned towels. How could she not have had the fresh towels in The Brown’s room when they got up? And worse, why did it happen on the one morning this week when Brat-on herself was over here. Now she was downstairs doing the towels and Diana was left to dust which she considered child’s work anyway.

Dust! Dust! DUST! She scowled as she swiped the rag over the mantle a little too hard and the edge caught the crystal bud vase at the end. She lunged to catch it, but fumbled and it shattered on the stone hearth. “Dammit!” she barked. She was still staring at the shards of glass when Lisa came up the stairs from the basement.

“What happened?”

“I knocked over the bud vase-couldn’t catch it.”

“Oh…” Lisa looked at the pieces. “You OK?”

“Yes, sure…” she was talking too fast. “Just butterfingered.”

“Well, be careful cleaning it up.”

“Of course, sure.”

They stood across the room from each other and their eyes locked for a moment. An understanding passed between the two of them in a flash. Diana looked away quickly toward the kitchen and went for the broom. Lisa turned and headed upstairs.

The dustpan was shaking in her hand as Diana knelt and swept the glass into it. She kept her ear tuned to the upstairs listening for Lisa. She was hoping to give her a wide berth for the rest of the day and keep everything ship shape and tightened for the next couple of days. They will be at maximum capacity this weekend and would have to be running on all cylinders. She dumped the remains of the bud vase into the waste can.

She heard her boss’ footsteps on the stairs behind her as she straightened up and resumed dusting. She was very careful now, moving methodically, not chancing another accident. The footsteps came into the living room and stopped.

“Diana,” Lisa said evenly.

“I got it all Lisa. It’s taken care of.”

“Diana”, she repeated.

Diana stopped dusting and let her eyes wander to the glistening lake that looked so close. She watched a boat cut a wake along the far shore and wished she was on it-with the wind blowing through her hair and all the air in the world instead of in this room which had started to feel so constricted that even drawing breath was a challenge.

“We have to do this Diana.”

When Diana turned, the first thing she saw was the hairbrush in Lisa’s hand. She somehow knew it would be that brush-it sat on the dresser in the Queens’ Suite as part of the décor. It looked painfully out of place here in the living room.

“We talked about this, Diana.”

“I thought we were joking!”

“No you didn’t.”

“What about the Browns?” Diana chirped. Where were the guests?

“Off to the wineries. They’ll be gone all day.”

“Come on Lisa-please. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“But you’re not.”

Trying another tack, “Do you know how much a brush like that hurts?” Diana almost squeaked a tiny quaver in her voice.

“Happily I do not-but I guess I’ll be getting a demonstration in a moment here.”

“Here? Right here?” She looked around the living room.

Lisa crossed to the large overstuffed chair and pushed the ottoman against it. She sat.

“I’ll sit here and you’ll lay across my lap.”

“Not across your lap. Please, Lisa. Come on. It’s so embarrassing. Can’t I just stand and bend over?”

“Nope. We’re doing it the way we’re doing it.”

Diana had her arms folded across her chest and almost stomped her foot at that.

“This is a small town, Di, so I know this isn’t something completely foreign to you…”

“OK”, she sputtered, “but it’s different, like this. The age thing…”

“Just a number”, Lisa said. “Come over here now.”

Diana stood next to her boss and unsnapped her slacks. “I assume these are coming down, right?” she asked with a slight edge in her voice.

“Yep-we are going on the bare for this. And you better ease up on the attitude. You’re in no position.”

“You’re right”, Diana said exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry.” She pushed her pants and they slid off her slim hips into a bundle on the floor. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her black briefs. “Do you want me to….” Diana paused giving Lisa the chance to realize if she pushed down her own panties her boss would be staring straight into her crotch. That’s fine if she wanted that but giving her the chance to realize.

“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll handle those. Just get across here.”

The older woman lowered herself onto the ottoman then onto Lisa’s lap. With the hairbrush on the chair she had Diana lift so that she could pull the panties down. She moved her backwards a little so that her bottom was positioned right over the rise of her thigh. Diana’s heart was not the only one beating fast.

Without warning the girl raised her hand and smacked Diana’s right cheek as hard as she could. “Ouch!” the woman jumped, surprised. Then another hard smack in the same place raised Diana onto her toes. “Ow, that stings.”

“I bet it does. Wait until we get to the brush.”

But Lisa was testing. Since she first got it into her head that she would spank Diana, she had made an informal-and very limited-study of the bottoms she knew. Her own was hard, maybe a little chubby but solid. She grabbed her boyfriend’s in bed and it was hard. She was amazed at how soft Diana’s slim bottom was. She guessed that Diana was right, this brush was going to hurt.

“We might as well get on with it.”

Lisa raised the brush and brought it down strongly. Diana had braced herself on her toes with her hands flat on the floor. She was as ready as she could be and managed to hold off crying out until the fifth swat landed with a loudly in the middle of her left cheek. She bucked and choked back a sob. “Lisa-Christ, that hurts so much!” Another landed with a SWAT! “Ahhh…please Lisa….OW!!!”

Lisa’s only answer was a group of rapid smacks alternating cheeks and splitting them dead in the middle. Diana writhed on her lap and grabbed Lisa’s ankle just looking for something to hold onto. Her cries had become more general and subdued as she tried to muscle through. Lisa, for her part, could not get over how red Diana’s bottom was-almost feeling the heat rising from it. But, truth be told, she was amazed at how Diana had submitted to her. How she had agreed to this punishment-but now actually taking it. She would be lying if she said that the older woman’s submission didn’t…excite her a little.

“Diana?” Lisa had paused and was holding the brush in her left hand.

“Yes Lisa?”

“Who’s the boss here at the Seneca Breeze?” It was a ridiculous question given the posture and position of the two women. Diana looked straight down at the floor and watched the stitches of the carpeting swim through the tears in her eyes. “You are Lisa. You are.”

“Yes I’m the owner-You work for me…but more importantly you work for the Seneca Breeze. You are as much a part of this place as I am. Do you understand?”

“I like to think so….” Said Diana, sniffling.

“You are. But I need you on the top of your game, you understand? I need you doing your job flawlessly and not fighting me by going silent when you don’t like something that I do, or refusing to give me the input when I want it. I need you to act like more of a partner.”

Diana watch a tear drop and spread out on the carpet below her-more a tear of relief than pain right now. “I thought you were going to fire me…”

“Don’t be silly”, she said patting the woman’s rump. “I have to admit I was at a loss for a while about what to do with you….but I think we’ve figured this out. Agreed?”

“Yes…mam.”

“THAT is not necessary. Unless it works for you.” She switched the brush back into her right hand. “Alright now-prepare yourself-we have to finish this business here.”

She dug her fingernails into the carpet and gritted her teeth. Two more swats landed firmly on her tortured bottom and she yelped a little on the third-made enough of a sound that neither woman heard the front door open. The Browns, coming back for a forgotten cell phone, found themselves face to cheek with Diana’s glowing bottom.

“Oh, excuse us”, Mr. Brown coughed. “We didn’t mean to…..”

Lisa looked up to the couple and pressed her left arm more heavily across Diana’s back to prevent her from getting up. “No problem”, Lisa sputtered back. “Thought you were gone for the day. Just some….workplace discipline…”

“What did she do?” Mrs. Brown asked. “This isn’t about the towels is it? That wasn’t such a big…”

“No”, said Lisa, “Not just that…it was a number of things that built up…”

“Oh…I see…” Mrs. Brown said.

Diana held her breath and listened for movement, for the Browns to excuse themselves and head up the stairs. Lisa was waiting for pretty much the same thing.

“Don’t let us stop you…” Mrs. Brown said. “We just stopped back for my phone.”

Lisa was a little put-off by having and audience, but lifted the brush and smacked Diana again. The older woman gritted her teeth, determined not to cry out in front of the guests but it was exceedingly difficult and ultimately impossible.

Mrs. Brown turned to her husband and he bent so she could whisper in his ear. “Not much padding back there.” She jumped as another swat landed and Diana cried out. “Not much at all,” he whispered back as he let his hand wander over the rear expanse of his wife’s blue jeans.

“How many will you give her?” asked Mrs. Brown.

Saying the first thing that came to mind, Lisa said, “In truth, that’s up to her. She has to tell me when she feels she’s been adequately punished. Diana? What do you think?”

She turned her head a little to speak back over her shoulder and worked hard to come up with whatever she thought Lisa wanted to hear. “It’s really up to you, Lisa. I’ve learned my lesson here and my bottom really, really hurts. But it’s up to you.”

Before Lisa could respond, Mrs. Brown spoke up. “That didn’t sound so sincere-You should give her six more.”

“Karen!” said Mr. Brown.

You bitch, thought Diana.

“Not really hard ones, I guess…but six more.”

“You heard the lady Diana.”

She steadied herself determined to not give Karen Brown any satisfaction. After the sixth swat Lisa said, “I think that’s enough…”

“I agree”, said Karen Brown. “Well played.” She took her husband by arm and led him upstairs.

Lisa helped Diana up from her lap. Fifteen minutes of wriggling, writhing and kicking made the modesty of looking away pointless. She even bent and pulled up her friend’s underwear while Diana rubbed her bottom.

“You OK?” asked Lisa.

“Jesus, that hurt.”

“It looked like it…”

“But yes, I’m fine. Message delivered. Message received.” She buttoned her slacks and rubbed again. “I have to tell you though, that was the worst spanking I’ve had in a while.”

“My first,” chirped Lisa.

“Yeah-and I get the feeling it won’t be your last.”

The young woman smiled slyly and jumped up off the chair. “Time will tell. I have errands to run-and I don’t want to run into the Browns just now. I assume you have everything in hand here, right?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve sitting.”

With a glance up the stairs to make sure the coast was clear of Browns, Lisa was out the door.

Diana killed time in the kitchen-which was off limits to guests-until she heard the Browns on the steps and the front door open and close. She stepped into the kitchen face to face with Mr. Brown.

“I’m sorry…”, he said. Then, as Diana looked around him, “She’s out in the car-I told her I forgot something-I..we didn’t mean to step into the middle of anything before.”

“Not to worry”, said Diana carefully. “Seems like your wife had a good time….”

“Yeah, her…she can enjoy that kind of thing….”

“Not you?”

“Oh yeah-not as much as her though.”

“You’re here through the weekend. We have a small group that gets together monthly. We meet above the bookstore. Right on the corner. So happens we meet there tomorrow night. If you and your wife are interested, stop by. Around eight. Drop my name at the door.”

“Will there be more of what we walked in on today?”

“You can pretty much count on it.”

“Maybe we’ll stop by…”

“Just know this, first time attendees have to participate. On some level…”

Mr. Brown smiled and headed to the door. “Maybe we’ll stop by…”