The Opioid Epidemic – Part 2

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(Takes place after the action in Understanding the Opioid Epidemic)

He left the bar behind and slipped behind the wheel of the city owned sedan. It was three years old and on the tail end of its lease. He wasn’t the least excited about a new one. It would be the same as this one. Fuck it. Whatever. As long as he had wheels. A few easy blocks and he slid almost past a spot in front of his building so that he could back in smoothly. It was tight, but city street parking was one of his few remaining superpowers. He turned the car off and pulled the key, holding it in his hand for a second. He’d be up there, no doubt and he wanted to put off the coming conversation for as long as he could.

“I’m sorry”, David said. “I didn’t know he was coming over. And-I didn’t know he was holding.”

“The hell’s the matter with you? You know what he his. He’s always holding something! You know that. You’re not an idiot.” David thought it better not to answer.  “I don’t want you hanging with drug dealers, but you’re and adult, you’ll do what you want. I can’t stop you. But I don’t want them in my apartment. Ever.”

“No! Never. My mistake. Plus, I didn’t know! Like I said. Maybe I’m an idiot then.  But I didn’t, alright?” David was silent for a moment. The fright had passed, the embarrassment was still there, but there was something else. “Were you having me watched?”

Rick held back. He had only gotten as far as the kitchen table-two paces inside the apartment-before he started in on the kid. This was important, damn it! He had a friend in narcotics, a good long-time always to be trusted friend the likes of which you get one or two of in your fucking life if you’re lucky, who let him know that David had a guy in the apartment that he shouldn’t have.

“No. Never occurred that I needed to. Your buddy…”

“Not my buddy.”

“Whatever. He’s being tailed. Came here. I got word. Coulda been bad. For both of us.”

Shit, thought David. This was a close fucking call. He didn’t know the guy was holding but of course he knew he could have been. Shit!

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” David asked.

“What gave you the first clue.”

“This was my fault. I’m sorry.”

“Stupid…”

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”

The air hung thickly between them. Rick hadn’t ventured further into the apartment and David stood back, leaning against the fridge able to just as easily move forward or slide back into the living room. He felt Rick’s eyes on him but feared meeting them. Feared that the resolve he had at that moment-for maybe only a moment- would puff away like a summer dandelion if he met his gaze. He spoke to the floor.

“Why don’t you…if you’re really mad…” the boy was stumbling for words. “I have a way you could punish me. If you’re really mad.”

Rick paused a moment before answering, as if trying to translate a message delivered in another language. “Not that again.”

David had been trying to get Rick to spank him for months, but it had never happened.  Some folks are wired for such things, others are just as surely not. David knew that, so he didn’t let it frustrate him, nor did it create any tension in their relationship such as it was, because everything else was smooth as soft serve.

Rick didn’t get it. He knew he didn’t get it-it was a daddy game that the kid wanted to play but he didn’t. Or hadn’t. He looked at him, downcast over by the hall. Christ, this had the potential to be a miserable day that he wasn’t in the mood for. What’s the harm in giving the kid what he wants? For a second, thinking about it, Rick thinks it might do him some good now. If nothing else, just close the book on this shitty episode.  He seemed to sigh without uttering a sound. It was little more than a light lifting of his shoulders then a dissipation. He shrunk a tad, as if he were the one submitting. Which of course he was. “Alright”, he said.

“Alright?” David’s voice broke a little higher than he’d intended.

“Yes, alright”, Rick answered finally sliding out of his leather jacket and hanging it over one of the kitchen chairs. He unclipped his sidearm and placed it on the table along with his badge. “You might not like it,” he said pulling another chair from the table into the center of the room, “but you’re getting it.” He sat. “Come here.”

Wait, thought David. Here? In the kitchen. Five feet from the hallway? This wasn’t his fantasy. Then, in his mind, he was always in the bedroom, naked laying face into a pillow biting the softness as Rick slapped his bottom. And Rick was naked too, sitting beside him, their bodies touching as his bottom heated and his hardon raged. That was the stuff of his fantasies. This…this…

Impatient, Rick rose and reached across the small room taking David hard by the arm right above the wrist. “Get over here!” he growled as he yanked, sitting again, the boy in front of him.

“Here? Don’t you want to go into the bedroom? Or the couch.”

“This is fine for what I’m going to do”, Rick said his jaw set, committed. A misunderstood key to being a good or even a passable detective is the ability to play a role. Good cop, bad cop was a real thing. Taking charge of situations where you felt nothing less than in charge could be a matter of life and death. And reading people-suspects, witnesses, the hapless and the feckless, was second nature. That David was excited was clear by the flush in his cheeks and his shallow breathing but there was also a fear-maybe less than fear-a concern that he had started something that he’s immediately lost control of. Rick was surprised that he enjoyed seeing that.

“Hold still,” said Rick. “Put your hands behind your back.”

David did as he was told and watched as the older man roughly undid his belt and opened his jeans. He sighed heavily as he felt his pants slide down exposing his legs then allowed himself to be moved to the side by Rick’s large hands on his hips. The hands didn’t leave his hips until they caught the elastic of his underwear and slipped them down to his knees to join his bundled jeans. Rick could hear his breath quicken and ignored his cock rising to look him in the eye.

“Over”, said Rick leading him again with his hand clamped to his bicep. David braced himself on his lover’s thigh before folding himself over his lap. He was tall enough to have both hands and feet on the floor but not by much. He had never felt as exposed as with the glare of the kitchen light shining off his backside and all that was hidden there.

Rick was in no hurry. Slowly unbuttoning then rolling up his sleeves, he allowed himself to enjoy his part in the tableau. He liked David well enough. He was a sweet kid but the one thing he had going for him apart from his sweetness, willingness, smarts and talents in the bedroom was that he was twenty-two. The last twenty-two-year-old Rick had been with of either sex was twenty years before when he was twenty-three himself. He did his best not to objectify and was pretty good except in the bedroom where David’s lithe, supple youth couldn’t be hidden or ignored. Or now, while his ripe, almost girlish bottom waited. He didn’t even notice that his hand was lingering there, kneading gently. Why had he not done this before?

Breathless with anticipation David noticed the wait and was almost-almost-going to ask for the first smack when the hand lifted. He held his breath. He gritted his teeth when a body shift told him to then the first blow knocked the air out of him and he coughed. The second swat, then the third landed hard on alternating cheeks too quickly for him to even cry out. He coughed a loud “OOF!” after the fourth.

“Felt that?” Rick asked.

“Yessss” came the answer.

“Good”. Then two more hard swats at the bottom of his bottom elicited a breathless, “Owww.” And the cries and yips continued as blow after blow, swat after swat landed, first on one cheek, then the other then echoing when he swatted the middle.

Rick paused, right hand cupping a hot pink cheek, conscious of his own growing excitement. “You alright?”, he asked.

“Uh huh…” David mumbled.

“This more than you thought it would be?”

Really nothing to do in this position but tell the truth. “Uh…yeah. A little harder than I thought…”

Rick raised his hand and smacked him again. Hard. Then he squeezed the tortured bottom gently. “That’s because your getting punished. What I think we’ll do, if we’re going to do this, is you’re going out and buy us a paddle. Maybe a hairbrush, maybe a bath brush, maybe a straight up paddle. Then, when you really fuck up and need to be punished, I’ll use it. Right?”

“Only when I deserve it though, right?”

His question was answered with another smack as hard as the others. David yelped and twisted.

“Yep, when you deserve it. Like when you bring known drug dealers into my house.” Another rained down.

“OWWW! OK!”, said David almost squealing.

“Then”, Rick continued, “when you need a spanking just because-or when you just want one-I’ll take you in the bedroom, lay you down and give you”, he lifted his hand and gave him two mild swats which elicited little more than mews, “something like this. Is that what you’re looking for?” He punctuated the question by allowing his finger to press gently on David’s upturned asshole.

“Yes!”, David said. “That’s what I want…that’s what I always want!”

“Okay…that’s what we’ll do. I’m sorry it took me so long to come around to this…but I’m here now.”

“I can tell”, David said rubbing his belly against Rick’s hardness which had swollen during the exchange.

“Now then”, Rick said, “We still have a punishment to finish.”

“You’re not done!!?”

“Be happy we don’t have the paddle yet boyo. Just behave and do what you’re supposed to and there will only be good-boy spankings in your future. But now…I figure another thirty or forty swats.”

David’s head dipped slightly but he said, “I’ll take them.”

“Good”, Rick said lifting his hand. “Hold on and push your butt back…”

Next door, in 206, Victoria House smiled at her shaking hand as she stirred her tea. The Amsterdam was a good building-old and solid-but still, tales could be told through the walls. And right now, that tale was of that pretty, young boy next door being soundly thrashed. With a warm flush, Victoria didn’t know who she envied-the boy, or the one doing the thrashing.

A Beautiful Morning…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really…?” Her smile faded.

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

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

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

“Come on Mom…Part 3”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cassie…” Eileen began.

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

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

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

“It’s not like I had a choice. OWWW!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FORTY! I can’t take forty swats.”

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

“Mom! Come on…”

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

“That was twenty-nine.”

“You counted?”

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

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

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

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

“Like I would give you the satisfaction…”

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

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

“You ready?” Eileen asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on Mom…” Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Mom!” Cassie had cried.

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

“Lay on the bed!” she ordered.

“No Mom, please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Off? Why do I have to take them…”

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

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

“I think we do.

(Continuing…)

“Come on Mom…” Part 1

“CASSIE!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“CASSIE!”

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

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

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

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

“Where were you last night?” she demanded.

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

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

“I wasn’t that bad…”

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

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

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

“I’m doing better.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Continuing...)

The Red Ass Society

101

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, finally got to him, eh?”

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

“That’s nasty.”

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

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

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

“What finally got to him?”

“Worms.”

“Worms?”

“Worms in the muffin tin.”

“Like fishin’ worms?”

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

“What kind?”

“Cheese.”

“Love ‘em!”

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

“What then?”

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

“I can just hear him…”

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

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

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

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

“Deaf as a post.”

“True.”

“Thicker than Gram’s cream.”

“Yes.”

“Awkward in particular social settings.”

“Don’t you mean peculiar social settings?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Chelsea – 5

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(Continued from Chelsea – 4)

 

Geneva knocked lightly on the door.

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

“You OK?”

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

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

“Thoughtful.”

Geneva rubbed her shoulder. “Sorry Chel…”

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

“When?”

“When he sent you up with this stuff.”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Smoking anywhere near the workshop.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Complicated”, Chelsea said.

“Truly…”

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

“Would you do something for me?”

“If I can.”

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

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

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

“But you know he and I are…”

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

“Not every night!”

“Sometimes twice a night!”

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

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

“Of course I like you well enough…”

“You don’t hate me do you?”

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

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

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

(Continuing…)