Goofing About

He let his mind wander as he pushed the small cart through the aisles.It was his first trip to the market in weeks. With Bethany in Europe for a time on business, he had eaten in restaurants and cafes. Sometimes in bars like the old days but only if he had cash to pay so she couldn’t follow the card bills and know where he’d been. There would have been hell to pay! Still though, it was good to have her back and the shopping list she had emailed him was, as always, meticulous. She had always been very particular in what she ate and had him prepare for her. 

She knew that he had hoped for a warmer reunion when she got in yesterday, but the plane had been late and when the car finally dropped her off she was on the phone with Martin about the new contracts and continued to be for twenty minutes as he took her bags and made her the dirty martini-with three olives- just as she liked it. Then with a quick peck on the cheek and an apology, she took her drink to her office to finish something that couldn’t wait. He was sitting in the dimly lit side room nursing a club soda when her door opened. He took the offered empty glass and went to the kitchen. He knew better than to simply refill it. He took one of the three identical glasses from the freezer and began to build her next drink. Same base gin and olives, but clean this time. A splash of Lillet in lieu of vermouth. And achingly cold. 

“Thanks Love”, she said crisply. “Run me a bath would you? It’s been a fuckall of a day.” He noted that she followed him up the stairs after closing the office door behind. He went through her bedroom suite into the bath which was almost as large with a round freestanding tub in the center of the room, above it a wagon wheel sized rainfall showerhead. 

He put in the salts that she liked and set the water to tumbling to dissolve them. He was stirring the water with his arm when she stepped naked into the room. His disappointment at not being allowed to undress her was ameliorated by the vision that she was. He hurried to take her hand to help her into the tub. She folded languidly into the water and slipped forward to lay her head on a towel he had folded. She lifted an empty hand and he filled it with her drink. He kept a hand near it as she quaffed a healthy portion and returned it to him. He was about to set it aside when she said, “Go ahead. Finish it.” He did in a gulp then set it on the floor outside of harm’s way. Then, in well practiced movements, Bethany stood in the tub and raised her hands onto her head like a child so that he could take the well-soaped cloth and clean her underarms, then her arms frm shoulder to wrist. After resoaping he washed her breasts slowly, careful to lift up under them then between them and down her flat stomach to the thick tuft of walnut brown hair below her belly button. He dropped the cloth in the water and used his hands in its place, wiping and squeezing, raising suds in her bush.

Retrieving the cloth he turned her with a light touch to the elbow. She spread her legs carefully and bent, arching her back, opening all to him like a split peach. He soaped her backside then again eschewed the cloth to run his slippery fingers up and down her crevasse then between her legs. He paid particular attention to her asshole but was careful not to go too far. Insertion now would be for his pleasure, not hers. He shifted to give his groaning cock a clear route down his pants leg. 

She again sat in the tub, letting the water cover up to her eyes to rinse. Then she stood and stepped toward him, hands on the small of her back and pushed her breasts to him, offering. He leaned in and suckled then nibbled and licked them all over enjoying the bitter taste of the bath salts. He offered his hand, she took it and stepped out of the tub, dripping onto a bathmat he’d placed. He wrapped her in a thick towel and patted her damp if not dry then, taking a liberty he felt comfortable with, cupped a hand on her right butt cheek and pushed gently toward the bedroom door. She glided lightly before him allowing the towel to fall to the floor. 

Her path, like his, moved directly to the bed. Once there she turned and kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms around his neck, then releasing and falling backward onto the cool duvet. Leaving no room for misinterpretation she pulled her knees to her chest and wantonly offered her double damp pussy to him knowing he would do his best to reach her tongue with his from there. He licked and thrusted with his head, tasting soap and Bethany together in a heady mix. She moaned when his mouth settled on her hard clit then made a whimpering sound when he flicked it with his tongue. 

“Fuck me”, she said, giving the permission he was waiting for. Not willing to peel his mouth from her pussy, he lifted his hips and pushed his pants down

“Now, don’t come until I do”, she said in a voice that told him that wouldn’t be a problem. He slid in all the way then back out until only his swollen head remained inside of her, then thrust again, firmly and to the hilt. Again and again, their bodies slapping with the collisions. When her breath came in tiny gulps he decreased the depth of his thrusts while increasing the speed. 

Bethany wrapped her legs around him and bounced off the bed until a few quick gasps, a thin moan and a shudder finished her. She deflated backward with a loud, “AAAHHHH…” and continued to voice her pleasure at his deliberate piston-like hammering. “Now fill me up”, she said, and he changed cadence slightly until his cocked numbed and his body went rigid. Bethany moaned again and squeezed his clenched ass as his hot seed washed through her. 

Once he settled atop her she stroked his long blond hair pushing it behind his ears. . “Poor baby”, she cooed, “it’s been so long”.

He smiled behind the cart in the produce aisle, careful to keep his hardon concealed as he recounted the previous night. His wife’s schedule was what it was, and getting her attention-in a good way wasn’t easy, but when he did it was worth the wait. Of course it was never hard to get her attention in a not so good way. All he had to do was “goof”.

That is what she called it “a goof”. Such a silly, childish word to describe a transgression that had such, what some would view, as dire consequences. He of course didn’t view them as dire at all-certainly uncomfortable-but ultimately satisfying in that they helped Bethany mold him into the man she felt he could be. That he wanted to be. It was confusing in the beginning. Like when he had been given the dusting chores. He thought he was doing well and she even praised him as she did her white glove inspections. Then came the day when she shouldered the folding A-ladder into the entry hall and climbed up to run her  fingers over the blades of the ceiling fan. He didn’t even have to look at the gloves as clots of dust tumbled slowly onto his pristine hardwood. He was allowed to clean the fan, and every other one in the house, before she had him take down his pants and lay over her lap for a session with a ping pong paddle that he didn’t even know she had. 

Before then, the idea of men being ”punished” by women was always imagined as something prurient and unreal, staged fantasies existing in the back pages of magazines or the dark recesses of the internet for sordid entertainment. But being spanked by Bethany Brenton-Smythe seemed entirely natural and a culmination of something he didn’t try hard to figure out.. 

Even the time he came home having had one or many too many at the club. He was driving her red Cayenne which made it worse so he was sneaking through the back around the pool hoping she was in her office. She wasn’t. She met him on the patio with a breathalyzer (where did she get that?), and already confident in the test result, her old sorority paddle which she kept deep in her closet. It wasn’t easy to find a positive out of that experience, bent bare over the picnic table gritting his teeth. . Bethany had even apologized when dabbing at the little blood spot she’d coaxed out of a blister on the bottom of his right cheek. The upside was that all weekend she insisted on looking at it and dressing it with salve and a little bandaid. Her tenderness in his aftercare-even at one point kissing it to “make it better” almost entirely eclipsed the severity of his punishment.

Still, though, it had worked. His drinking was well under control, or at least well-controlled, and for what it was worth, their house had the cleanest ceiling fans in the township. For him there was contentment and a measure of peace in living with her enforced structure. As long as he could keep the sorority paddle in the closet. 

When he pulled into the courtyard he saw Charla Emerson’s blue BMW coupe backed into the spot closest to the door. He slipped in beside her; he didn’t have enough grocery bags to be annoyed. Charla was his wife’s closest friend. They had met two jobs ago and when Bethany had moved on to bigger jobs, Charla soon followed.Now she was on Bethany’s team at Lassiter International. Early on he had wondered if they were lovers on some level which bothered him not at all. In fact, the opposite was true, it turned him on but it was something he didn’t want to get into with his wife. There was no jealousy between them, even when the women would disappear for long weekends and he liked Charla-really enjoyed her company. No, the only thing about their relationship that annoyed him a bit was the assumption that Bethany kept few secrets from her. 

Charla looked up from her tablet as he crossed the living room juggling the market bags. 

“And a good day to you Prince William”, she called out.

“And to you, m’lady.” he teased back. ”But I wonder, should a man not be King in his own castle?” He noticed the empty wine glass at her elbow. 

“That my dear Prince, is entirely dependent upon the Queen.” Charla’s eyes were dancing, enjoying the banter and the feeling of free-flowing sexual energy she always felt when William was around. He wasn’t  a big guy, but well muscled and perfectly proportioned with wavy blond hair and a laid back demeanor that suited his surfer looks. At work Bethany was known, behind her back of course, as the “Ice Queen”: six feet tall with arresting blue eyes offsetting dyed jet black hair that she wore in a middle part. She was, and could look, severe. Charla was much more effervescent, with dancing brown eyes and straight brown locks that approximated a page boy cut framing her round dimpled face. Today she was wearing  a green and yellow top and cream colored skorts that accented her striking mahogany skin tone.

“Point taken”, said William moving into the kitchen. 

“Is that my sweet husband?” Bethany called down lightly

“Tis I”, he called up the back steps leaving the three market bags on the counter to return to the  living room. He took the open wine bottle with him.

Thank you, good sir” Charla smiled as he refilled, then set the bottle on the table. “Nothing for you?”

“A little early in the day…”

“Ahh…”she said as she raised the glass and sipped, eyes sparkling. All she knew was that he didn’t drink much. 

They heard Bethany in the kitchen but were surprised when she strode into the room in her plush purple bathrobe, towel around her neck still working on her damp hair.  

“No rush to get ready on my account.” Charla quipped.

“We’re not due at the salon for two hours. You came early.” 

“Billy”, she said turning her attention to her husband. “You got the wrong protein bars.”

“Really? You said mint, mocha and peanut butter.” 

Yes, but these peanut butter bars are milk chocolate. I get the dark chocolate ones. 

Oh, I’m sorry, I was just going down the line and saw peanut butter.

“When have you ever known me to eat milk chocolate?”

“I’m sorry love. I can take them right back. Exchange them”. 

“Sure you could, but That’s not the point is it?”They both, Charla and William noticed her change in tone.  

“It’s the details, Billy…”His heart sank a bit at her use of “Billy” instead of William or Bill. “Campaigns, empires rise and fall on details. Right Char?”

“Most certainly”, said Charla who had sat back watching and listening, not willing to add anything to the conversation. 

“You rushing about undoing your little goofs does not erase the fact that you made them, does it? And our goal has always been to get you to avoid making them. Is that not true?” 

He paused for a moment to understand her wording-wanting to get the answer right.  “That is true”, he said, his eyes drifting down to her feet. Was she really going to…? He wondered nervously. With Charla here? He’d never bucked her regime or challenged her authority over him. In fact, he depended upon it. Her strong hand kept him centered in his universe. Which was ultimately, hers.

There were times when he submitted to her grudgingly which usually resulted in a stiffer punishment. But sometimes she would hear his objections, but only after he was bare over her lap. Some of their longest and most heartfelt dialogs took place with him over her lap, talking to the floor or back over his shoulder, her hand resting on his bare bottom or top of his leg.. Only once did he recall her agreeing with him and relenting, patting him gently on the cheek and telling him to get up. That had turned into an interesting evening. 

“I’m sorry too. I was hoping the three of us could have a chill afternoon but now you know what I’m going to have to do”.

“You don’t have to.” 

“Oh I’m afraid I do”

“We could wait”

“And have this hanging over our whole evening? That’s not our way. “

It’s true, he thought. This had to happen. And it was going to happen In front of Charla. Would that make it better or worse?

“Hey,” said Charla, clearing her throat. I can head out for an hour or so-come back….”

“You’ll stay right where you are.” Bethany smiled in a way that belied the authority of her command.  “Isn’t that right Billy?”

“Sure. She should stay.” He glanced her way and she was heartened to see that his face was calm. Expectant maybe with a charming blush.

“Wait here”, said Bethany before she turned and walked down the hall to her office.

“You sure you’re OK with this? With me being here?”

“It’s what she wants. If it’s OK with you, I’m fine.” 

Bethany came back into the room, her robe cinched tighter a ping-pong paddle in her hand. He was relieved to see that paddle. It stung but overall was the least painful tool in what had become a large arsenal. 

“Charla”, she asked and nodded toward a straight backed chair against the wall. “Bring that over here please. Put it right there”, she indicated a spot in the middle of the room. Charla did as she was told and retreated to her seat which was well positioned to view the scene. 

Bethany sat and made a half-hearted attempt to pull her robe back over her legs when it fell open. Charla couldn’t help but to sneak a look at her long thighs. “Billy?” 

He moved over to stand in front of her, his back to Charla. Her blood was rising at what she knew was coming. William had to know that Bethany had told her about how she “kept him in line”, but she never thought she would actually be a witness to it. She didn’t know how to feel besides lustful, so she just went with that.

“Billy, Billy, Billy…Bethany sighed. He shrugged. “Details, right? You need to pay better attention.” With that she reached for his belt. He stepped closer so she wouldn’t have to reach as far. She unbuckled then opened his belt. 

Charla’s heart raced. Did she know his pants would come down? She was going to see this beautiful surfer dude’s ass?

WIlliam focused on Bethany’s hands  and raised his own to cup the side of her head then gently rub her cheekbone with his thumb.. She leaned lightly into his touch while unsnapping then unzipping his jeans. They came easily off of his slim hips. Bethany reached her hands around and cupped his butt while looking softly into his eyes. He returned her gaze as she pulled his underwear down.

Charla reached for her wine glass but didn’t trust her grip and let it be. William shuffled to his wife’s right side then lowered himself over her lap. Once there he pushed himself slightly backward into the  position she liked. In a final but critical adjustment,  he lifted so she could reach under him and lay his cock up against his stomach. 

He knew by her movements that her arm was raised. Charla’s heart flipped at the first crack of the paddle. She had no context, no way of knowing that compared to the sorority paddle, any of the hair brushes or the long handled bath brush, that the ping pong paddle might as well have been a feather. Not quite, but sort of. It delivered a pleasant sting-so he knew he was being paddled-but not the deep bruising impact that he would feel for a day or two.

It wasn’t a play spanking. Bethany gave those with her hand in the bedroom and they were usually both be naked. Then it came to him in a moment of clarity as the paddle glanced off the top of his thigh, that this was a demonstration. This was for Charla more than for him or Bethany. Of course! That had to be it. What did Bethany care about chocolate? All he did was give her an excuse! He yelped lightly and threw in a few “ouches” for his audience’s sake. 

And then, with two harder than average swats delivered right to the soft bottom of his bottom, it was over. “Alright you bad boy”, she said, patting him with her hand, “You can get up now.” He did, slowly, then for effect rubbed his ass with both hands. Charla loved the show and wondered if his butt was hot to the touch. It certainly looked like it. Her attention switched on his thick cock that was bobbing in front of him like a ship’s spar. 

“And now, look at this”, Bethany said, poking his engorged member. I think you better go stand in the corner until this goes down. 

“Where?” He asked

She pointed to the space beside the bookcase and he shuffled over.  

“I’m going up to finish getting ready.” she told Charla. “Might even need another shower. You OK down here?”

“Totally fine”, she said, purposefully not looking at her husband’s glowing bottom. She’s leaving us alone here? Like this?

Once she was gone Charla approached Bill. “That hurt?”, she asked in a low voice. 

“What do you think?”

“I think it hurt.”

“Stung. I’ve had worse, trust me.” 

“Wow…You’re OK with that?”

“Sure, It’s what she wants. You’ll find out.”

“Me? Why me?”

I’m thinking this was your introduction. You been screwing up at work?

No! I…” she stopped remembering the issue with the contracts when Bethany was in Europe. “No. Nothing big…”

“Not as big as mixing up milk and dark chocolate huh?” he snarked.

“This is your little thing. Not mine.” 

“It’s hers’. And wait until she gives you the choice….”

“Which choice?” 

“When you goof. You’ll get something bad. Or a spanking. “

“Psh! That’s your thing. I’d just tell her no”. She said in a voice that didn’t carry the weight of the words.I’m a grown woman.  What could she do?

You enjoy your life with her? She’s fun, right? The casino, dancing…Wherever you’re going tonight.”

“Mani-Pedi at Stoneybrook.”

“Oh fun. Her treat I’m guessing. No matter, you girls have fun right? All the weekend hangs, The week in London this spring. I know Lassiter didn’t cover your expenses. What did that trip to the Outer Banks cost you? I don’t know-I don’t have access to her accounts but I’m betting nothing”. 

Unseen to him, Charla had moved closer because he was speaking in a lowered voice directly into the corner. Her face clouded. “How about the down payment on the Beemer? I don’t know that for sure, but I did overhear you guys talking out by the pool right after you bought it.”

“I was having a bad time back then.”

“I’m sure you were. it’s not my place to say anything”. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “I’m literally  in no position, but you pay her back for that? I’m sure you did”, he said in a way that conveyed that he believed the opposite.

“We’re friends! That’s what friends do!” She had moved close enough to pinch his hot cheek. Firmly. He winced. 

“No doubt.” He answered.  “But just keep in mind that a lot of that stuff could go up in smoke with a simple two letter word. She how your life changes when you say no to her.”

Their whispering had gotten a little loud. 

“You okay down there”? Bethany’s voice called down. 

“Yeah, he’s a little feisty is all.”

They could almost hear Bethany shrug. “I’ve been away too long”. Then, “The paddle is still there if you need it. And there’s lotion on the side table, if you’re feeling charitable. Also, he likes a finger up his bum after he’s spanked.”

In the corner William’s hardon reignited even as his shoulders sagged.

Emboldened, Charla took him by the arm and walked him back to the couch having decided to lay him over her lap there. “Maybe you’re right Billy.” she said,’ Maybe this was a demonstration for my sake but not in the way you think”. She had taken a seat in the middle of the couch and was now face to face with his throbbing cock, which she addressed as Bethany had with a prodding finger. “Maybe this is a tryout for a babysitter for the next time she goes to Europe. She hates leaving you alone for so long.”

He moved to the side and put one knee on the couch readying to lower himself. 

“Wait, wait…” Charla said, patting the back of his thigh. 

He paused while she grabbed the towel that Bethany had discarded over the back of the couch. She spread it over her lap. 

“There”, she said. “These shorts are new. Come on over now.” she rubbed his warm backside until he settled, thoroughly enjoying the new touch.

Bus Stop

Last night’s chill had blanketed the subdivision in a thick soup of autumnal fog. Mary Lysle, out for her morning jog, was surprised to see her best friend Jules lingering at the intersection of Spruce and Vine as the school bus disappeared around the bend toward the state road. Mary knew that Jules’ kids, Tony and Kayla, were old enough to drive themselves, at least Kayla was, so they weren’t regular bus riders anymore.

“Hey Jules”, Mary said, having come close enough to startle her. “Oh, I’m sorry,”she patted her friend’s elbow. I thought you saw me coming.”

“No, uh…in a fog this morning”

“Aren’t we all? Car in the shop?” 

“What?”

“Why the bus? I thought walking your kids to the bus was in your rear view”

No, Just Kayla. Tony has his permit, he’s driving himself later. Kayla’s being punished, She has to take the bus for a month…”

“A month?” Having no children, Mary often found herself empathetically exhausted by her friend’s strains of raising kids. “That’s getting up an hour earlier….”

“Sure is. It’s like I’m being punished too.”

“What she do?”

“You know she started smoking. I told you…”

“She’s still doing that? I thought it was a phase…”

“Teenagers”, Jules shrugged. “That wouldn’t be bad enough, but with band practice and majorettes, she had to quit her job. What’s a pack of cigarettes cost? She doesn’t have the money for that…So yesterday John gets a call at work from Mr. Rugg, down at the Village Market to tell him he caught Kayla stealing a pack of smokes.

“NO!”

Kayla gave the impression of being the well scrubbed girl next door. Her mother’s petite features and honey blond hair, her Dad’s rangy build. Nice enough-Started calling her “Mary” after the divorce when reverting to her maiden name had confused her. Or was it the transformation from a Missus, to a Miss, Maybe a MZ? Anyway, the girl was polite about it and usually only spoke when spoken to.  

“Oh yeah” So Mr. Rugg, being a vet knows John from all the VFW stuff and calls him instead of the cops.”

“Oh man” said Mary “Better for her he’d have called the cops.

John Fine was a retired Army gunnery sergeant who managed the service department at the Volvo dealership down in town. Forty-four years old, he looked ten years younger, his sandy hair kept short, his body still youthful from regular basketball games in the men’s league.

“Yeah, well…When I got home last night from Tennis, what time was that?” 

“We played till eight.”

“OK, so I got home, soon as I walked in the door I heard them…”

“Fighting?” 

Mary gave a short “tsk!” “Not hardly. Well maybe they had been, but by the time I got there, she was getting a serious spanking.”. 

“Spanking!?” Mary took a step backward and  raised a fist to her chest as if to quell the flips her heart was doing.  

“Apparently he came straight home from work and was waiting for her when she got home from practice.”

Mary was stunned but wanted details. How to prod her friend without being intrusive? 

“Did you see it?”

Mary shrugged. “They were in his office with the door open-so it wasn’t like I was spying.. He was sitting in his desk chair and Kayla was over his lap, pants and panties down to her knees.

“On the bare?”  she gasped, this time raising her fist to her open mouth.

“He had warned her before. I guess he thought it was time. Look-I’d appreciate you don’t tell anyone about this. In fact, I insist that you don’t. I shouldn’t have said anything. But, it’s a lot to hold on to.”

“I bet”. Jules was staring at the curb as Mary tried to read her silence. Mary had no kids, hell, at present she had no husband, but she remembered when she was a kid and she or one of her sisters did something to warrant a spanking or a paddling, it set the whole house askew for days. Longer for Mary. 

“DId he hurt her?” She asked gently

“He hurt her butt, I know that. He has a heavy hand.” She shrugged. “It was a spanking. A hard one.” 

“You didn’t interrupt or say anything?”

“No, he saw me, she, in her position, couldn’t. So I put my finger to my lips for him to not say anything and backed out. I didn’t want to embarrass her more than she already was plus I wanted to be able to comfort her later-be the good cop, you know? 

“Was she bruised?” 

“No,  just red and sore.  If he’d have used the hairbrush, well then she’d have been purple this morning.”

“Hairbrush?! He’s hit her with a hairbrush.”

“No! God no!”

“Tony?”

“God no, that kid is straighter than a yard stick. No trouble from him.”

“So, who gets spanked with a hairbrush?” Mary asked already knowing the answer.

“Nobody!” Snapped Jules, biting the word harder than she had meant to. 

The two friends stood in silence for a moment. Mary’s face felt hot-the warmth washing down through her chest. She tugged at the collar of her jersey and imagined steam rising from the opening.

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” said Jules, looking back toward where the bus disappeared as if hoping for some kind of intervention. 

Mary reached down and took her friend’s hand and was happy with the answering squeeze.

“How do I not know about this?”, she asked finally.

“It’s not something I want to talk about”, she repeated almost petulantly.

Mary slipped her arm playfully around her friend’s waist. “That’s too bad girlfriend. I felt weird pumping you about your daughter’s spanking-but I want all the details of your’s” 

“Oh, Jeez. I shouldn’t have said a word.”

“But you did. And I want more.”

Jules sighed. “OK, but not now. Go finish your run. Come over for lunch-I’ll order in from Minutello’s” 

OK-cool. Get me the chicken salad, no fries.

“12:30”

“Good. I’ll bring a bottle of Pinot Grigio.” Then pausing, “Will that be okay, you won’t get in trouble will you?” It was a casually curious question with no-or not much-underlying sarcasm.

“No, not as long as I’m with you. He likes you.”

“Really?” This was a revelation. Mary had no reason to think that John DIS-liked her but he was so rigid, she assumed that her flightiness somehow offended his military sensibilities. 

“He thinks you’re good for me. He thinks I’m too tight sometimes. You loosen me up.”

“That’s me, loosey goosey. OK, see you later then. And try to behave yourself-wouldn’t want you getting in trouble.”

“GRRRR-! I’m already regretting this.” She growled through a rueful smile. 

“Just teasing sweety. Toodles”, she called over her shoulder, surprised that her knees were a little weak. When her husband left her, one of his complaints was that she was too flighty. “Not a serious person” he had actually stated in the paperwork as if to codify it for all time. Now he’s remarried to a partner in a downtown law firm-and living out in Parks. Good for them, hope they are serious together working their crossword puzzles and listening to classical music. She is going to spend the afternoon drinking wine and talking spanking with her best friend. After she takes care of the tingling that gets stronger with every step. Is that flighty enough for you? Prick!

She jogged up her driveway having decided to cut her run short. The tremors and fibrillations coursing through her as she imagined Jules’ slim ass bare over her husband’s lap had to be dealt with. She hadn’t had any release in weeks. No wonder this set her off. She punched her four numbers into the key pad and the garage door rumbled open. She ducked inside before it was completely open, stepping over the light beam that would have stopped it. At the back of the garage she pressed the lighted button that dropped the door and pulled her hoodie and T-shirt over her head in one move, tossing them onto the hood of the RAV. In the kitchen she sat to remove her runners and short socks. She wanted to be naked before reaching the bedroom. 

She stood and untied her sweats, letting them fall then marching in place till she had left them a cotton puddle on the floor. Her underwear followed without ceremony, then her sports bra over her head. Liberated, she sighed deeply and stretched her arms over her head. She opened the fridge and grabbed a water and headed back toward the bedroom. 

When married, her buzzy little friend pretty much stayed on the top shelf of the bathroom closet, it so mortified her husband. Now it lay in a place of honor in the top drawer of her bedside table with her Xanax. Of course, her bed was unmade and it welcomed her as she flopped backwards, legs spread, loving the cool of the sheets and lumps of blankets rubbing her everywhere. Yes, she would wash the sheets, finally. She yanked the drawer open and took hold of the ribbed blue silicone vibrator. Now, naked in her bed, she slowed her movements from frantic to just frenzied. There was lube in the drawer as well, but a quick slippery touch confirmed it would not be necessary. 

She rolled onto her right side and pulled her knees up, the way she liked. Then, with a twitch of the knob at the end, Ol’ Blue came to buzzing life in her right hand. Her eyes closed and her mouth went slack as she slid the vibrator down her belly and between her legs while rubbing her bottom with her other hand. Her deep sigh morphed into a moan. This wouldn’t take long at all. 

The New Superintendent

Kinda Continued from The New Headmaster

Superintendent Madeline Jones stepped out of the cool shower and grabbed the thick towel that that Marla had set out on her dressing table.. She patted at the goosebumps up and down her arms and across her chest. Then, working quickly, her shoulders, back and backside finally her long legs. She would probably need another shower before going into the office. Forty five minutes on the elliptical worked up too much of a sweat to be stanched with one shower. Plus, she had left Marla to her own devices since her arrival this morning and she was no doubt feeling ignored. Never mind that she was technically on the clock and getting paid for doing her job in the Superintendent’s home office, but when she calls the night before to alert Madeline that she was “backed up” and would need to come to the residence in the morning to “catch up”, there was no need to read between the lines. 

Madeline picked the short green silken robe that Marla favored and fastened it loosely with the attached belt then hung the damp towel around her neck to catch the water still dripping from her long black hair. Stepping into the hall she immediately heard the tap-tap-tapping of her laptop coming from the office beyond the bedroom door. Her living quarters were essentially the entire third floor of what once had been the Mudge Woman’s Hall where female grad students had lived. 

Now, with fewer and fewer woman opting to live on-campus most of the building was being refitted as condos. Downstairs construction noises during the day-when she was typically in her office was a small price to pay for a rent-free three bedroom on-campus apartment. 

She lingered at the open doorway to watch Marla working. Whenever she could, she stole time to watch Marla do anything. She had found her Executive Assistant  alluring when she first got to campus. Given her role and the obvious age difference, Madeline had made it her business to keep her distance from the girl to the point that she had delegated the Assistant Head Master disciplinary responsibility the first time Marla as a student had merited a caning. But only the first time. 

Marla wore the same short blonde hair that she had as a student. Parted on the left and flipped at the collarline,  tucked behind her ears. She tended to be slim-and would look eighteen well into her twenties-but carried a light contour of muscle tone that was no doubt in some emulation of her boss’ maniacal workout habits . At present she was working in her underwear, a dark sports bra and matching boy panties, while her “uniform” of khaki slacks and a light blue long sleeved oxford button-down shirt hung neatly on the back of the closet door. Long sleeves were de rigueur for Marla whose left arm was a full sleeve tattoo that ran from her shoulder down to mid forearm. Eventhough the intricate work illustrated the tale of the Buendía clan from Gabrial Garcia Marquez’ “One Hundred Years of Solitude” (Marla had one time fancied herself a World Literature aficionado) Madeline decided  at the time that her ink be concealed from the board who had approved her hiring. The other, more recent,  ink she didn’t have to work to conceal. 

Marla  definitely had Superintendent Jones in mind when she chose her second tattoo. They were not yet lovers when Marla had accepted the EA  job a few weeks after graduating. Out of what she explained to her skeptical tattoo artist was a reverence for WIlliam  Faulkner and “his” South, she had a single lush flowering kudzu vine tattooed up the back of her right thigh. With a small tic toward the middle the vine slipped into the darkness between her legs and in a last run to daylight, emerged from her lower butt crack looking like nothing so much as she was growing a purple flowering kudzu out of her butt hole. As uncomfortable as the process was, she almost couldn’t wait for her first “after-hours” meeting with her cane-happy boss. 

It didn’t take long. Less than a month into her employment with the new Superintendent, Marla had distributed a report to the board in Madeline’s name, that included incorrect cost spreadsheets that were caught in an open ZOOM meeting by the board president. He was nice enough to shrug it off once the correct spreadsheets were provided all round. Marla absorbed the blame from the board good naturedly but finished the meeting with the familiar mixed feelings of dread, embarrassment, excitement and titillation.

Being a titular adult caned by a coworker (even a superior) entailed a different dynamic than being sent to the headmaster’s office at school, where all she had to do was report, bend, bare and hang on. Marla didn’t know how it was going to happen, just that it was. She kept to her task list following a schedule with hands that intermittently  shivered and breathing that caught now and then. Her belly roiled virtually non-stop. 

Finally late in the day, the inner office door opened and Madeline stepped out. She was wearing a brightly flowered skirt that rode the top of her knees. Her sleeveless blue blouse was tucked and belted accenting her flat stomach. Marla gulped wantonly at the vision her boss presented  even before she noted the cane in her right hand. Oh, no, she thought. Not out here in my office separated from the well trafficked hallway by only a door with a pane of frosted glass. 

“Marla,” ordered Madeline using the cane as a pointer, “lock the door please and step into my office”. Relieved, Marla did as she was told and then had to slide against Madeline as her boss she stayed in the doorway forcing Marla to squeeze past her into her office. 

Marla stood facing the large desk even though Madeline stood to her left and slightly behind, delivering her lecture to the side of her neck where she could watch the fetching thump-thump of her pulse. That part of Marla’s neck was close to her favorite part of the younger woman’s body and she wondered how long it would be before she could lay her open mouth over it. The lecture itself  was almost a word-for-word repetition of what she delivered after the meeting and Marla could do nothing but wait for the end. Which finally came with a poke of the cane to her khaki-clad bottom. ‘And this,”, she said, is to acknowledge your shoddy effort and punish you for it and at the same time remind you going forward of what’s expected from you. Understand?

“Yes Ma’am”. She had always been Ma’am” when it was headmistress/student but she wasn’t sure what it would be in an office context. Since Madeline didn’t correct her, it seemed that she had chosen correctly.

“Take these down”, Madeline ordered flicking the cane at the seat of Marla’s slacks. The girl unbuckled her belt, unsnapped the button, then opened the zipper pushing them to her knees where gravity took over and pulled them into a pile around her ankles. “Oh, this is new”, she said touching the leafy vine at the back of her leg with the cane and tracing it up to where it disappeared beneath her panties. 

“Can I look?” Madeline asked.

“I wish you would.” answered Marla leaning forward, her hands on the desk. She felt Madeline’s fingers in the waistband of her panties then the scrape along her skin as she pulled them down. As Headmistress, Madeline had been very careful to follow school policy and never touch a student, skin on skin. When punished, Marla would have to remove her own underwear-nothing but cane or paddle ever touched her bottom or her legs. And she had never gone over the Headmistress’ knees; it was as if they both knew there were limits to their self-restraint. 

Madeline lay her hand on Marla’s back and pushed her lower, forcing her bottom higher as the girl’s elbows dropped to the desk and her cheek lay on the cool wood. Her mouth fell open and a small hiss escaped her lips as she felt Madeline’s fingers, opening her behind and following the vine. 

“What possessed you to…” Madeline asked as she slid a finger up the inside of Marla’s divide, then left it pressing lightly against her small puckered opening. 

“I thought you would like it”, she said, her face still on the desk. 

“You did it for me?”

“I thought it would be fun. Nobody sees my bottom more than you do.”

“Is that true?”, Madeline asked, sliding her hand to rub the girl’s smooth right cheek. “That’s a shame, this is such a beautiful little bum.”

“I love you touching it,” Marla said in almost a whisper, moving her bottom into her boss’ smoothing hand.

“I finally can”, thought Madeline, then said, “I’m afraid you’re not going to love what happens next.”

Marla had a line she had been practicing. “I’m yours’ to do with as you please.”

Madeline smiled at that, knowing she had prepared and rehearsed it. Still, it tingled her in ways words didn’t usually.

“Come on then”, she said stepping back and patting the other cheek. Let’s get this over with.”

As was expected, Marla relaxed, keeping with Madeline’s long-standing “no clenching” rule. Still, she jumped when the cane tapped her gently twice, measuring. The girl inhaled and held her breath waiting. She didn’t have to wait long, the first stroke slashed fiercely across the bottom of her bottom, bisecting the vine where it emerged from between her cheeks. The searing pain rose her onto her toes and she didn’ have time to cry out before the second stroke landed in almost the exact same place. This time she did screech and raised even higher on her toes which tightened the muscles in her bottom but no matter, Madeline slashed her again across the middle. Marla squealed and fell to the flats of her feet, her knees buckling. 

“Maddie!” She squeaked, her voice failing. “I can’t…I want to…but..”, she coughed a little sob. “It hurts so much.” with that she broke and the tears flowed. Her school canings never really Hurt, hurt. They stung but this was something different. 

Madeline placed her left hand on the small of Marla’s back in a way that was meant to be comforting. “Yes, my dear, adult caning is a little different than what you received as a student. There are real consequences in the world.” This last she delivered while sliding her fingers over the welts on her girl’s behind.  He hadn’t seen nor made her cry before and it gave her pause knowing that Marla would subject herself to anything that Madeleine deemed necessary. 

“I’m sorry”, Marla sniffed looking back over her shoulder. “I was just..surprised. I’m ready now. Strike me again.”

The Superintendent delivered two strokes to the middle of Marla’s bottom that were reminiscent in severity to what she had gotten as a schoolgirl. They stung but no more than that. The girl was so grateful she thrust her bottom further back, making the cheeks bloom leaving nothing unrevealed.  “Oh, thank you Ma’am!”, she said undulating a bit, her bottom waving like a sunflower in a light breeze. “A few more please.”

Madeline was conscious of turning the punishment over to the punished but cared not. She knew in her loins that this was never going to be a true punishment as soon as she laid her hands on the girl’s bottom. The hard strokes were an attempt to pull back control which she abandoned in a panic when Marla broke. Now the Superintendent delivered two more stoke atop the welts then two at the very bottom where bum and thighs met, then announced ”You’re finished”.

Marla stood bolt upright, fetchingly clutching and rubbing her striped bottom. Laying the cane aside, Madeline took the girl’s shoulders and turned her around to face her tear streaked face. “Move your hands”, she said with a smile as she reached behind to cup her bottom. Again she bumped her fingers over the wriggling welts. “I’m sorry Marla, I didn’t mean to hurt you. “

“That’s fine”, the girl answered, her arms wrapped around her boss. “Those last few were very nice.”

“We’ll get it right the next time.”

Marla pulled back a little and asked, “Well, can I have a kiss this time?” Madeline paused looking deeply into Marla’s damp hazel eyes and knew that though she had followed carefully the prohibition against relations between students and staff, the similar prohibition as related to administration and staff did not stand a chance. 

Complicated

Continued from “Hit me!”

Now, two weeks later she was in his kitchen-and it was his when he was here alone who else’s would it be-turning her back to him and asking again for something that shouldn’t have been his to give.

“Really? Work this out with your husband.”

She turned back to face him fully. “No. There are some things I’ll never work out with Ben. Ever!” She seemed to choke and made a sound-a tsk or tiff-it was hard to tell with the mask, but was clear when she said, “This I need to work out with you.” 

Well, you made your choice, is what he said in his head. It was a phrase that was quite popular between them for awhile back then. He’d say it, he’d yell it, she’d cry about making a mistake, then he’d cry about…and that was how it had gone on, and on before they settled into this uneasy truce that gave each of them something which actually turned out to be nothing. He bit his tongue not wanting to revisit and rehash things that had been said before. This was different and he felt it. Like he was standing in a river and the current was too strong. He stepped forward into the circle of heat that radiated from her. 

“I’ve known you a long time…I know what you went through at home. With your mother…”

“Don’t!”, she said. “This is different. This is my choice. My…want…” The words were failing her and, thinking to clarify, she tore her mask off. But he knew. The mask wasn’t covering her eyes and they told the story of her need. 

He also doffed his mask and tossed it onto the counter. “Shit”, he thought, “I might not survive the morning anyway…” He stepped closer and spoke slowly and quietly. 

“Do you know how hard it is for me to work here and keep my hands off of you?” She looked away. “Look at what you’re wearing! And don’t stop on my account. But Jesus, Dar.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I work through it. But you are asking for a helluva lot right now.” 

“I know. I’m sorry”, she repeated robotically. “But do you know how hard it is to really, really need something that you can’t get your hands on, that’s just out of reach. And the one person, the one single person…” he braced himself thinking from her voice that she was going to hit him, “…that maybe knew what you needed-could give you what you needed-was too thick to…”

He pressed his finger against her lips hard enough to silence her. “Not thick, Darla. I know what you’re doing. I know what you want. I. Know. You. You do not stop. This is not a one-off. And this will complicate things…”

“Things are already complicated”, she pouted. “They’ve always been complicated for me…” She sounded deflated, defeated, forlornly clutching the spoon like a kid not willing to give up a toy. She had put it out there and it had fallen flat to the floor. She was breathlessly wondering how she was going to get through the day when she felt his fingers against her belly. She gasped as they slid down her pants and grabbed her belt. He pulled firmly as she allowed herself to be inexorably drawn into his shadow then melted into him everywhere their bodies touched. 

She felt his breath on her shoulder as he loomed, then gasped again when his hands opened her belt and unsnapped her shorts. “I’ve already swatted your jeans”, he growled sliding his hands inside her pants and pushing them down as he slid his palms over her hips and panty-clad bottom. He gently nibbled the bottom of her neck as he slipped his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pushed them down as well, cupping her bottom cheeks as they fluttered to the floor. 

Suddenly, not content with fondling, he slipped all eight fingers into her crease and pulled, opening her roughly in a way that he didn’t think he could. Then he kneaded her backside until she choked out a small whimper. All pretense of being able to hold back-to deny what he had been feeling-to curb the welling lust within him was gone. His “rule” that he’d used before to fend her off, that he didn’t get involved with married women, had apparently been revoked. 

He raised one hand to her chin and lifted her face to peek once into her full and glowing eyes looking for something, anything, to give him pause. There was nothing. One kiss-soft and gentle-then, with both hands, he turned her and pushed on her shoulders, bending her over the stainless steel table. He kept pressing until she flattened pushing her bare bottom back into his hips. He leaned into her reaching for the spoon which she still held then he stood back to admire the view he’d only seen a few times and not for almost a decade. 

The way she dressed left few secrets but seeing her full bottom, bare and thus offered caused his breath to catch and, not surprisingly, his cock to stir. He put the spoon on the counter and pressed the small of her back with his left and cupped her backside, one cheek, then the other.  

When he pulled his hand away Darla flinched in anticipation and jumped when he touched her. When he finally delivered a tentative smack, she gasped then froze. Waiting. She didn’t have to wait long. Again and again he slapped her bottom as she mewled and undulated like a cobra to the charmer’s pipe. He spanked thoroughly, leaving no spot on her bottom untouched until he could feel the warmth of her skin when his hand lingered. 

She heard the small “snick” when he picked the wooden spoon off the counter and tightened her grip on the sides of the table. She hadn’t been hit with anything in years and her mind whirled as she tried to imagine what it was going to feel like. She wanted it, she wasn’t afraid of it, she trusted Jimmy…but she still-!*!

“YOW!” she yelped as the first swat landed on her right cheek short circuiting all attempts at thought. Then another landed on the opposite cheek. “OWW!” Jimmy rubbed the spoon along her bottom before delivering a third whack which bloomed into a third red egg dappling her all over pink bottom. She gasped and involuntarily kicked back when another blow stung her deeply where her left cheek met her leg. “GAHHH!”

“Too hard?” he asked.

“No!” she said, fairly panting, wishing for a moment that she had said yes and not knowing why she hadn’t. Then no, again. Not too hard. Then she felt his hand, Jimmy’s hand, on her bottom rubbing and kneading the aching flesh. Darla scooped her back and wantonly leaned her ass into his touch wanting more. More of the touch, more of the pain, more…Just freaking more! “Come on Jimmy”, she said. “More…”

He stepped closer and let fly again and again, standing out of the way as she kicked and bucked with every blow. After fifteen or sixteen swats she had passed through the place where she needed to wriggle, to dance, or to jump and kick in answer to her punishment. She released her grip on the table and stood upright, fingers tightly entwined behind her neck. Her whimpers offered a constant song of release as her tightly clenched red bottom ricocheted every swat backward. 

He would have long stopped had he not clearly seen how much she wanted this. How much she needed this. As he bent to deliver blow after blow, he wondered if he needed it too? As she continued to offer her bottom it occurred that he was giving her what she wanted, but she was giving him herself, in a way she hadn’t given herself to anyone before. 

As with many things in his life, the decision to stop her paddling was made by his cock, so engorged he feared for its, and his, safety. He tossed the spoon to the counter with a clatter. “Look at me”, he said huskily, turning her by the shoulders. Her tear streaked face-a kaleidoscope of pain, lust, and a sparkle of joy-pushed him over the edge. 

He tore at his own jeans as she attacked his mouth with her own. Her hands fumbled atop his in the struggle to get his pants down. Once unleashed, his cock jabbed forward like a lance punching Darla in the belly. Jimmy dropped his arms around her hot bottom and lifted her onto the steel table.

“Ooooh! Shit!”, Darla cried slipping up on one cheek then the other, her tortured skin sticking to the cold metal. “Hurts-hurts-hurts-hurts…” He reached for a dish towel as she hugged his neck lifting herself. He slipped the towel under her. “Man…”, she breathed, wincing. 

He pulled her roughly to the edge. His entry was quick and complete, buried to the hilt in a single, sopping thrust. Darla moaned loudly and lifted herself on his neck again, tearing at his face with her mouth in wild abandon, freeing every pent up desire and emotion from the last ten years. Jimmy pushed her back down and locked his arms around her holding on as best he could while they each matched the other’s pounding and thrusting until the slapping of their middles and the painful banging of her butt on the table filled the room.

“I’m…coming…”, she gasped. “I’m…going to…”

“Do it!” Jimmy bit. He was holding off as best he could but his resolve, unlike his staff, was wilting. He slipped his hands under her and lifted as she locked her legs around him. “Come!” he said. “Come for me…”

Her legs gripped him tightly as she hissed through clenched teeth until, unable to hold back, exploded with a coughing bark then “AAAHHHHH!” as she futilly tried to pull him deeper inside. He held her tighter than he’d held anyone as, in a final thrust, he released what felt to be a flood deep into his first and only love. “Oh my fucking…god…” was all he could say. 

They held as they were, him standing, arms squeezing and her sitting, legs wrapped tightly around his middle holding his pulsing cock inside for as long as she could. Then, resuming regular breathing, she released her legs and he allowed her to collapse backward onto the table, her outstretched arms knocking a stack of metal serving trays to the floor with a loud crash. He laughed lightly and withdrew in full, painting a little drizzle along the inside of her thighs and onto the towel below her. 

He bent and smiled into her face. “We are noisy fuckers…”

She grinned, squeezing more tears out of her eyes-not of pain this time, not even of release, but of relief. Of happiness.

“That’s it you know”, he said.

“Mmmm…?”

“I’m never giving you up again.” To make sure he wasn’t misunderstood, he repeated, “I’m never giving you up again.”

“I know.”

He lowered his face closer to hers but neither went for the kiss. Instead he looked deeply into her eyes.

“I love you”,  she said. He let his hand slide down her hip where he could still feel the heat radiating there.

“And your butt?”

Her wicked smile slashed her face like a watermelon slice. “My butt really loves you…”

He kissed her softly but quickly. “Come on”, he said, pulling away. “We have to clean up before your husband gets here.”

“He’s not coming…”

“What do you mean?”

“I might have told a teeny tiny lie. I told him more than I said…”

“So he’s not coming.”

“It’s you and me, babe”. She said. “Are you ready for me full time?”

He squinted down at her. “I think I just got played.”

“Not the first time, won’t be the last.”

He pulled up his pants feeling lighter, maybe even a little taller. He tossed her another towel which she caught still laying on her back. 

“Well, you gotta move. If it’s just the two of us, we have our hands full. Wipe down that table first…”

“I’ll clean the fuck off of it”, she laughed looking at the ceiling.

Jimmy, smiling to himself, turned up the heat under the pots. He was suddenly happy to try “complicated” for a while.

Another Stray Day

Claude Monet, The Gare Saint Lazare: Arrival of a Train

Continuing with the characters from The Stray

Robin slipped her shades on just as she turned the corner, knowing she’d be walking right into the early afternoon sun. A beautiful day to be off-at least as off as she ever was. She needed to check in at The Stray for a few to put together a liquor order then it was off to the museum for the traveling Impressionists show that was only here through the weekend. 

“Toddler! What’s up little man?” Todd shifted on his stool behind the bar where he was reading the paper. “Don’t get up on my account.” Todd was “little” like black was white, like square was round. Six five or so, three hundred if an ounce, he was the late night closer filling in for the afternoon. 

“Aw man”, he moaned. “I thought you were off today.”

She grinned at the big man’s gibe. “Ten minutes, that’s it. Then I’ll let you get back to…” she gestured to the nothing he was doing. “…your what have you.”

“Seriously”, he said, folding the paper and laying it on the bar, “A beautiful day like this…why you here?”

“Forgot the liquor order yesterday…”

“Done.”

“What?”

“Saw it in the register…called it in.”

“Did you add the tequila? I had it on a note…”

“I can read. Even your scratches…”

“Well”, she smiled, “Our little boy is growing up…”

She was about ready to turn on her heel and head back out the door when Todd mentioned that he hadn’t seen Olive yet today. Which was unusual. She was an early riser and a restless little shit who was sometimes found sitting at the bar having a coffee when they opened the place. They exchanged a glance. Todd was concerned or he wouldn’t have brought it up but he wasn’t yet concerned enough to go check on her. Tag, you’re it, thought Robin. 

Robin made no effort to be quiet climbing the steps and walking the short hallway but hesitated when she got to the door. She had been in there before, usually just to drop off mail or something Olive had left at the bar. She knocked softly. “Olive?” she called. Nothing. Then louder, “Olive?” She tried the knob-of course it was unlocked-and stuck her head in cautiously. “Olive?” The door opened into a small living room furnished with cast-offs and discards, an old stained couch, a sun-bleached table with a chunk of wood under one leg, and an overstuffed chair that definitely looked like it had been picked off the curb. The table was as far into the place as Robin had ever been. She listened hard, trying to will a sound that would preclude her having to venture any farther. Nothing. Dead still. 

A growing sense of dread dragged at her feet as she crossed the room through the open archway into the spartan bedroom. Alley light filtered in through a grimy window that faced the gray block wall of the building next door. The bed headed opposite her and Robin could see Olive on her side, bare feet glowing white like bones out of the legs of her black jeans. As she got closer Robin realized that she was creeping almost on her toes, being as silent as she could. The girl’s dark shirt was riding up in the back revealing her backbone’s sharp knuckles. 

Most of Olive’s face was hidden, shrouded by her long, lank hair. Holding her breath, Robin leaned over, then closer looking, looking…then sighed with relief as she saw the girl’s hair where it covered her mouth, moving back and forth gently in tandem with her shallow breaths. “Thank god”, she whispered, straightening up. Then, once relieved, she slipped into a previous life, scanning the floor around the bed for foil, a pipe, a belt, lighters…anything that might tell a story of a fix, a shot, a smoke. Nothing. She opened the single drawer on the bed stand and under a towel there was…well… Robin smiled even as she felt the heat rise in her face.  What a woman did in her own bed was her business, she thought, covering it back with the towel.  But nothing else. 

She turned back to the bed and called the girl’s name quietly while poking her gently in the shoulder. “Hey, Olive…you OK?” Poke again. The girl’s blue eyes fluttered open behind under her hair, sleepy but clear. It took a second for her to focus and actually see what she was seeing. 

“Robin…” she said. “What’s up…?” She lay on her back blinking slowly as Robin told her that Todd was concerned, well, that they both were, having not seen her all day, and she’d just come up to check on her. 

“Did you have a rough night?” Robin asked, allowing a smile remembering what was in the drawer.

“No. I don’t think so…slept hard though. Wow. What time is it?”

“Almost one, girl…”

“Shit…” Olive brought her hands up to push her hair off her face and rub her eyes. “I was dead!” 

“Yep”, thought Robin, that was the concern. She reached down and, in the manner of a mother to her child, ran the backs of her fingers across her cheek.

“You are warm, Olive.”

“I…just woke up I guess.”

“No”, said Robin. “You’re running a fever…”

“Naw. I run hot…”

“Still…”

“There’s a thermometer in the bathroom. In the cabinet if you want to check.”

Robin straightened, patting Olive’s cheek. “Just a quick look…”

In the bathroom Robin opened the medicine cabinet and sure enough, there were two glass thermometers on the bottom shelf. She grabbed the one in the green plastic sheath and pulled it out. The thermometer had a little silver ball at the end. “Oops,” she thought. “Not this one…” She picked the other and opened it seeing the same little ball at the end of the tube. She grinned. “I guess not…” she thought.

She was still holding the thermometer when she went to the bathroom door.  “Hey Olive, all you have are rect…” she froze when she saw the girl lying on her stomach with her jeans and panties around her knees. 

Olive flipped her head toward Robin. “Yes, that’s it. Bring them both-I don’t think one works. Don’t forget the Vaseline.” Then, when Robin didn’t move, “You OK?”

Robin snapped out of it. “Oh sure…yeah. Right. Vaseline…” She went back to the medicine cabinet and retrieved the other thermometer and the small jar that was beside them on the shelf. She caught her reflection in the mirror and watched the blush sliding over her cheeks. “Oh, yeah”, she said to her reflection. “Totally normal.” 

She came out of the bathroom and approached the bed carefully, again dragging her feet but not out of dread this time. It was something else. The girl had to know that most people, adults anyway, didn’t take their temperatures this way. Didn’t she? Had to. Robin was about to say something-really, this felt so freaking…but she stopped herself. She wouldn’t say “weird”. Having been called that herself so many times as a young human trying to find her way through the cliquish private schools her mother overspent to send her to, she had vowed never to use it in relation to another person. Even when it really freaking applied. 

Olive scooched to one side giving Robin room to sit which she did, gingerly. The truth was, Robin’s deep dark secret, was that she wasn’t as sexual as she appeared. Not frigid by any means and years beyond virginal, she was just…uncomfortable. She was a late bloomer-maybe still a bud-who was constantly plagued by desires that in turn were shadowed by deeper doubts and fears. But she put up a great front. Life had taught her that.

Sitting on the bed she marveled at Olive’s comfort and ease in laying herself bare like this, for this. Never would she have thought to envy Olive anything, besides her obvious looks, but she certainly wouldn’t mind a little of her self assurance.

“Hey”, said Olive into her arm, having crossed them under her head, “You still here?”

“Oh, yeah…” said Robin embarrassed to have been caught..what? Staring? She cleared her throat and popped the cap from the Vaseline. “So”, she asked, making an effort to carry on as normal a conversation as possible, “How do you come to have only rectal thermometers?” 

“I had a friend once who gave me them. He liked to play doctor and brought these. I found out I didn’t hate it…”

Robin dipped the glass tube into the jar and swirled getting a full dollop of the jelly on the tip. 

“So, what happened with the guy”, she asked while gently using her left hand to pull Olive’s cheeks apart to expose her small pink button. She paused waiting for the answer before realizing that Olive wasn’t going to say anything until Robin completed her move. 

Squeezing the thermometer tightly to keep her hand from shaking she placed it on the puckered opening then pushed it in slowly as Olive hissed through her teeth. Nope, thought Robin, doesn’t hate it at all. She released Olive’s cheeks so they closed around the glass tube. “So? The guy?”

“Well, yeah. Like I said, I didn’t hate it. Don’t hate it. But how many times does a girl need her temperature taken? Fifteen? Twenty?”

Robin barely suppressed a giggle. “Seriously?”

“In one evening! I mean, that was his only move!  You do ANYTHING too much it gets boring…”

Robin regarded the girl’s small white bottom beside her on the bed and wondered about the truth of that statement. “You think this is done yet?” she asked, touching the thermometer. 

“I on’t know. Maybe. It’s not that long. Pull it out and see what it says.” She exhaled lightly as Robin withdrew the tube and held it up to the light.

“You’re reading normal”, she said.

“Huh. Maybe that’s the broke one. Try the other…”

Robin looked up toward Olive’s head now. She was up on her elbows, looking back over her shoulder, hair again crossing her face.

“Are you playing with me now?” Robin asked.  

“This was your idea…”

“But I thought…”

“What?”

“…Never mind”, she said wishing she could see the girl’s face more clearly.

She shook down the other thermometer, added the dollop of lube and saw Olive push upward opening herself a bit. She repeated her last steps, spreading then inserting. This time the girl’s hiss was more of a little moan. After releasing Olive’s cheeks she kept her hand on the side of her hip. “That feels nice”, Olive said. 

“Which?” asked Robin, moving her hand then, on impulse, dragging her nails lightly across Olive’s backside as she might a friend’s back. 

“That, definitely.” Without giving it much thought, Robin kept stroking with her nails drawing light pink stripes up and down both of Olive’s bottom cheeks. 

“Have you ever had your temperature taken this way?” Olive asked, her head back on the bed.

“No!” said Robin definitively, making the word sound like “Noah!”

“But you have had things in your butt, right?”

Without breaking rhythm, Robin lightly pinched the soft slack flesh at the very bottom of her bottom. “Don’t be fresh”, she said smiling.

Olive whispered an “ouch” and settled. Robin simply decided to not think for a moment and to continue running her fingers lightly up and down Olive’s backside, sometimes slipping down the back of her legs. She imagined how it must feel, being stroked like this and immediately again felt a twinge of envy along with another deeper twinge that she hadn’t felt in a long time. The girl had gone still, if not asleep then close enough her breathing soft and regular. It occurred to Robin that she was doing something here. Something she’d never done before. She was actually pleasing someone in a most unexpected way and that idea warmed her, just before it frightened her. 

She stopped her hand and tried to speak, squeaking instead. She coughed and waited for a bit of moisture to settle on her tongue. “OK Sweet Martini Olive”, she said using the nickname that she had never shared with her. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”

Again, a tiny gasp punctuated the withdrawal of the little glass tube. Robin held it up and read it. “All good”, she said. Then, feeling a little more open than she had earlier, she patted her bottom. “You can pull up your pants now.”

Instead, Olive sat up and flopped her legs over the side of the bed beside her. Robin made no move to rise nor move even as Olive’s leg rubbed against her. Olive took Robin’s hand and entwined their fingers then settled the back of the woman’s hand on her bare thigh as if they were sitting together on a park bench. Again, Robin was surprised that she felt as comfortable as she did. At least until she looked down and saw that Olive’s lap was as clean and hairless as ivory and her heart flipped. 

“Thank you for doing that”, Olive said.

“You were playing with me.”

“Did you hate it?”

Robin smiled. “Didn’t hate it.”

“I’d like to play with you more.” 

“What?”

“You take care of me. I know you do…everyone here does. I like to show I appreciate it, you know?” When Robin didn’t answer… “And I know I could make you feel good”, she said laying her head against her shoulder. 

Robin accepted the weight of the girl’s head and savored the warmth radiating from her body. “I have someplace to be…” she said not really believing she was saying it. 

“That’s OK”, Olive said, releasing her hand and standing slowly making sure that Robin got a good long look at anything she wanted before turning to face her then pushing herself between her knees. “I need to take a shower anyway…” She pulled her shirt up over her head and tossed it aside. Her small round breasts seemingly defied gravity pushing themselves forward serving, if nothing else, to pry Robin’s eyes from her hairless cleft. 

“Give me a kiss”, Olive breathed leaning closer.

“No. Come on…You’re naked.”

“I’m getting ready to take a shower!” she protested but there was a glint in her eye that Robin saw and Olive knew that she saw.

“You’re still playing with me.”

“You hating it?”

“Not hating it.”

“Then give me a kiss.”

Afterward, Robin descended the stairs carefully like a much older person, leaning on the railing for support. Todd looked up when she entered the bar. There were a couple of customers that hadn’t been there when she went up.

“Finally! I was going to send for help. You OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“Olive?”

“Fine”, she said heading toward the door. “You?”

“Fuck, I’m good”, he answered. “Another Stray day. Hey! What’s so funny?”

She took her laughter with her into the sun washed afternoon.

The Springhouse

It was an old springhouse on a farm long forgotten, set into the center of what had been a foundation wall, now a roost for lichen, ferns and whatever slippery plant could gain purchase along the cool damp stone where the sun rarely touched. But she did, running her hands along the rough face as she slipped through the opening into the musky dim, rusted nubs of hinges the only hint of the thick doors which once hung there. 

Inside, the cistern was empty as it had been the first time she’d visited save for the skittering daddy long-legs that enjoyed whatever moisture she couldn’t see. She remembered the feel of the low stone shelf which, with no cheese, cream or jugs to store, could serve as a crude bench. As it had.

They were young then and spry. It had taken no more than a single shared glance to melt the clothes from her body which glowed like a pearl in the stoney dusk. A momentary gentle man, he took the rough seat and had her mount facing him which she did easily being constantly dewy in her memory. She was first, mewling, keening and scraping her toes against the stone feeling gooseflesh wash across her back as mouth over mouth he stole her breath.  

Then, sated and spent, but still feeling his pulsing strength inside her she allowed him to bend her over the cistern where he took her hard, pushing into the place she dreaded. But she took it, knowing it would take but a few minutes then be over and their lives would continue. But for that lesson, learned by every woman since the dawn of time, the species would have mercifully flickered out eons ago. 

Shitbird

“Yummy!” was the first thing that came to mind. He didn’t say it except maybe under his breath, but it was there, frontmost in his head. Then he was embarrassed. 

She was younger than he was-as was everyone it seemed-but way younger. Not as young as his daughter gratefully, but young. And well put together. A girl in a woman’s body.

She had come to him after the reading and asked about the mystical reverence that the Appalachian peoples, predominantly Cherokee she thought, had for turtles. He was a turtle guy and could happily spend an evening in that conversation, plus she was wearing a washed out university v-neck that put up a valiant struggle but was ultimately no match for her cleavage. 

Others came and went, he signed some books, stood for pictures and as the lights dimmed, she remained. It wasn’t until she was helping him gather his stuff that he allowed that she was interested in more than turtles and Cherokees. They went to a bar she knew and sat in the back. He bummed a smoke and wished he could draw to capture the way her lips pursed as she inhaled then popped perfect smoke rings into the air between them. Ultimately it was to his hotel room since she had roommates. 

Not until morning, when the rising sun washed through the gauzy curtains and ignited a bright blaze of reflection across the downy blonde fur on her bottom, presented to him as she faced away snoring lightly, top leg slightly bent, offering herself in a dream, and he thought, “Yummy!” did he feel the least bit embarrassed. 

“I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas”, he thought, looking away from her bum, but Eliot had beaten him to it. Instead he remembered his Grammy Nubs calling him a “shitbird” when he did something she considered off in any way. 

He slipped out of bed and pulled a sheet up covering her, grabbed her cigarettes and headed for the balcony.

Endeavoring



He found himself at sea;
alone, misfiled, misplaced:
a spoon among the forks trying
To understand where he fit. 

What did he know about menopause?
About what years did down there 
Turning wetlands into deserts;
Lush marshes into 
Craggy rocky places.
One adapts, he was told.
She had a plan.

Will you take off your pants
At least? he asked.
She played tennis and
knew her legs drove him wild. 
Of course, she said.
But strip now.

He did as he was told and she,
Like a mom with a recalcitrant toddler,
Took him by the ear and patted his bum
Toward the bedroom.

Am I going to regret this 
In the morning? he asked.
Of course darling, she purred.
That’s what mornings are for. 

“Hit me!”

Continued from Too Many Cooks…

His mind slipped back a couple of weeks when he was helping Darla set up for a wake in the main hall. It was just the two of them, so he was enjoying himself even if she was jittery and more than a little frazzled though everything was under control. He had known her since high school-sometimes very well-so he knew when to give her a wide berth. Easy to do-it was a big hall. Jimmy was setting up the serving line of sternos and chafing dishes when he heard a crash followed by a loud “MotherFUCKer!” out of the mouth of a woman who rarely said “Damn” without feeling guilty. 

He rushed into the bar area to check the carnage but it wasn’t that bad. A tray of silverware and a few plates which they had close to a million of anyway. He was helping her pick up when she fumbled one of the surviving plates which crashed again to the floor this time it’s fate sealed. “Goddammit!” she said and actually kicked the shards scattering them.

“Yo!” He raised his voice. “What the hell’s the matter with you today?” 

She sighed and straightened, her mouth a tight slash and her cheeks flushed. She stepped toward Jimmy kicking more tableware out of the way. 

“Jeeze!”, he said, at a loss.

By virtue of last names they had been in home rooms together for five years, sometimes at adjoining or back to back desks. That allowed for a virtually endless stream of consciousness conversations that teenagers are incapable of censoring. They were both popular in school and ran with their own crowds-he the jock, she the majorette-but always found themselves paired off when hubbub settled. 

Regardless of what everyone thought about them, sex, with a few notable exceptions, was not a part of their thing. Not to say they never did anything-it just never seemed to take. There was the time in her parent’s basement they were watching TV together on the couch. Darla’s folks were out to a movie and Darla felt relaxed in her own house that in a way she normally did not. 

Darla’s mother was a bit of a martinet angrily jealous of a daughter who was taller, prettier and smarter than she was. She could see that the girl would do well by herself and soon be out of the house leaving her alone with the drunken bad choice she’d made twenty years before. Her mother’s free flowing anger and frustration manifested as frequent over the knee spankings when Darla was small and graduated to bare-bottom paddlings and strappings through high school. 

It was no doubt a scandal and could very well have broken up the household had Darla not been so committed to keeping her home treatment a deep, dark secret. The idea that the head majorette regularly got her butt paddled at home was more mortification than she thought she could stand. The very secret, and her need to keep it, of course made her vulnerable when she balked at her mother’s orders and was told in no uncertain terms that she’d tell her friends that she still got spanked “if you don’t bend over right now!” Even now, ten years after leaving that house for good she still felt a pull when she saw a couch in the middle of a room like the one at home to kneel on it and bend over the back ready for her weekly thrashing. 

Anyway, it was one of those relaxed times when Darla was feeling kind of hot and was trying to goad Jimmy. Which never worked when he didn’t want it to. She sat on his lap and kissed his neck. He answered every kiss but never served one up. His hands were around her waist but wouldn’t move up nor down. 

She slid off his lap and sat at the end of the couch flopping her long majorette legs over his thighs hoping he’d be interested in running his hands up and down her blue-jeaned thighs. He was, but only for a minute until the zombie mayhem on the TV pulled his attention. With a huff, she unsnapped her jeans and slid them down almost kicking him in the face as she pulled them off her feet then flopped her bare legs over his lap. She had his attention then. 

As she did now, standing in the splatter of the tray she had dropped to the floor. She ground her teeth hard for a moment then pushed the heel of her hand into her forehead exhaling. Trying to empty herself or at least defuse the bomb she felt inside. Jimmy watched her come back thinking this little tempest had passed. Then, her eyes snapped open and she stepped toward him, almost chest bumping him.

“Hit me.” she ordered, biting the words.

“What?”

“Hit me!” she leaned closer and pushed him in the chest. Startled, he almost stumbled backwards. He’d given her a hug and kiss on the cheek at New Years and that had been the sum total of their physical contact this year. He wasn’t sure where this was coming from but from the look on her face he was pretty sure it didn’t have much to do with him. 

“No.” 

“Come on goddammit!” She stepped closer and pushed again, but Jimmy had dropped his right foot back a step and didn’t move this time. 

She was in his face closely enough that he could feel the heat rising from her cheeks. He did want to get some room between them but hadn’t seen her this wound in years and really didn’t want to lay hands on her. “Remember that time you told me how you couldn’t really get into a football game until you took the first hit? That’s what settled you down, cleared your head and got you into the flow of things?” 

“No”, he said, remembering the feeling well enough but not seeing what good it would do to agree with her. He’d always been that way. Hell, he hadn’t paid close attention to Darla today until she shoved him twice. Apparently his attention had waned again because she, without warning, leaned back and swung her open right right hand, slapping him sharply across the cheek. Completely surprised, he absorbed the blow then did step back.

“Whoa!” he fairly yelled. “That was new.”

“I told you to hit…” She swallowed her words as Jimmy slip-stepped to her side and threw his left arm roughly over her back. With a quick hip check he had her bent in half facing away and tightened his arm around her waist. “HEY!”, she cried knowing what was coming before Jimmy did. 

He was just reacting. His cheek was still numb from the slap and his quick flash of anger had passed given that it was Darla who slapped him and in his heart of hearts he knew she could do anything to him that she pleased. But in that flash, in the heat of the moment he’d grabbed her and bent her over. Now her blue jean clad bottom was pointing his way and not only was Darla not making any moves to cover up, she had grabbed his leg to brace herself. 

“Hit me!” she said harshly. 

He extended his arm fully and brought a slap down hard in the center of her right cheek. “YO!” she cried. And “WHOA!” as the second smack landed just as hard in the same place. He tightened his grip around her waist and paused to notice that she still wasn’t doing anything to avoid the blows and let fly with another to christen her untouched left cheek. She flinched with another yelp and cried out his name when another hit her squarely in the meetup spot between her legs and bottom, the deep swat sound echoing loudly through the bar. 

She was concentrating on the floor and trying unsuccessfully not to cry out at every swat. They just hurt so damn much! Finally he paused and she was trying to catch her breath, gasping as much from the hot pain in her bottom as the constricting arm around her waist. She held his leg below the knee, squeezing not knowing if it was over. And really not knowing if she wanted it to be. 

“You done?” he asked. She paused a moment too long and got another hard smack. Then one more.

“Ouch!” she said. “Done!…done!” though she wasn’t sure. 

“Good”, he said, releasing his grip and allowing her to stand. “Cause your butt was wearing out my hand.”

She had stood bolt-upright and worked hard to regain her breath-as if she’d been running. “Poor baby”, she said pulling a pouty face while she rubbed her bottom. “Don’t expect any apologies from me.” As he watched her rub her backside he saw that the fire was gone from her cheeks and the tension around her eyes and mouth had melted away. She gave him one of those smiles that his mother would have called a “shit-eating grin.”

“Is that what you had in mind?” he asked.

“I guess it was.”

Taking advantage of their sudden intimacy he did something that was always on his mind but never acted upon. He slid his hand over her bottom moving hers aside so he could rub her a bit as well.

“Good”, he said, the rub turning into a dismissive pat. “Clean up your mess and get a move on. We’ll have fifty people here in a couple of hours.

“Aye, aye Cap’n” she joked, straightening up and flashing a three-finger boy scout salute off her right eyebrow. He saw her clear eyes glistening behind the loose bangs that had fallen over her forehead and his heart caught for an instant. This can’t be good, he thought watching her walk off looking for a broom.

To be continued…

Too Many Cooks…

She made the right at the light, then the left onto Peach running along the railroad tracks. Two blocks then a left up Sixth and a right into the Club’s parking lot, then around the back to the kitchen entrance. It was her third circuit of the building in the last thirty minutes. She didn’t know what time he’d get there, only that it would be early. She was glad actually to have had the time to drive around to stop crying. Jimmy didn’t need that-her crying always freaked him out-but she thought she had it under control now. Poor guy, she thought, squeezing off a sad smile which looked kind of twisted in the rear view, he didn’t know what was coming. 

Who was she kidding? Even she didn’t know what was coming. No matter how many scenarios, plans, schemes ran through her head they rarely played out as she hoped in the light of day. All she did know was that she had to pull herself back from the edge, cause that’s where she felt she was-tiptoeing along the roofline. In her dreams the last couple of weeks she was always sliding away. One night she couldn’t stop sliding down the icy hill at first street, her fingernails failing to grasp anything. Another night she was sliding down the dusty hill path above the high wall up at the dump where they’d played as kids, or down the sloped floor in the funhouse at old Rainbow Gardens. The common thread in all those dreamscapes was that the end of the slide was a fall, a fall into a void that she felt was waiting for her.  And in the dreams, the slopes kept getting steeper and slicker-the void darker.

Apparently the third time was the charm. Jimmy’s truck was parked in back, to the right of the door where Ben usually parked. She grinned knowing that Jimmy had planned to be gone by the time they got there but still, he liked to jab even when he didn’t know he was doing it. She turned off the car and sat, listening to the engine tick. “Gotta breathe”, she said aloud and did that, deep ins and outs until she thought she was ready. 

Inside, Jimmy checked the clock above the warmers. Not yet eight. He was ahead of his schedule which was well ahead of everyone else’s. This would be the second monthly dinner at the Club since the pandemic. It was takeout only but they were all surprised by the turnout last month. They had sold almost as many dinners as BC (Before Covid) when they were doing sit-down as well as takeout. So Ben and Darla expected today to be big. 

Jimmy’s job was to pre-cook fifty pounds of spaghetti; ten trays of five pounds each. Boil, drain, rinse, ice and put them in the walkin cooler. They would then finish the pasta to order throughout the day. They would. Jimmy wouldn’t be there. He would do the prep cook and be out by 10:30 when Ben and Darla showed up. He wouldn’t mind working with Darla, never minded working with Darla and would frankly like to work with her. Alone. But not with her husband.  Ben was a micromanaging complete pain in the ass and Jimmy had given up trying to work with him a few months ago. He communicated with his business partner only through Darla and was frankly still here only through his loyalty to her. If he wasn’t doing the precook, she would have to. 

The three huge pots were almost boiling and Jimmy’s Vicodin was starting to bubble a pleasant fuzziness up into his head. Cooking fifty pounds of pasta by yourself was less a culinary feat than an athletic one and all old athletes needed help now and again. The rising steam said it was time to throw down some spaghetti. He emptied a five pound package into the nearest pot and stirred hard with the long handled wooden spoon to keep it from sticking. 

The door alarm buzzed and he looked up to check the clock again. “Shit”, he thought. “I don’t want them here yet.” By them, he meant Ben. He kept stirring and looked up when he heard someone rustle in behind him. 

“What are you guys doing here this early?” he asked without turning. Darla moved swiftly through the kitchen waving him off with her right hand and headed out the other door into the dining room. “It’s just me”, she said quickly on the way through. What? , he thought. Had there been something in her voice? He looked after her noticing she was still wearing her summer attire-short shorts that she might have been just on the cusp of being too old for, but her legs didn’t follow any calendar. Nobody complained when she was waiting tables or helping in the kitchen with her apron flying behind her. 

“Whatever,” thought Jimmy. The first batch was al dente-just right. He hefted the sloshing forty pound pot over to the sink and dumped it  through the large colander allowing the water to fill another pot beneath. Then he put that pot on the stove to keep the hot water and, banging pots back and forth, proceeded to rinse the spaghetti with cold water over and over to keep it from sticking.. Again, he used the spoon to stir through the rinsing. It wasn’t until he finished rinsing that he noticed Darla was back in the kitchen. Her eyes were red but her cheeks were dry. 

He chose to let it ride for a moment and asked her for one of the aluminum pans behind her. She handed it over and he dumped the spaghetti. “Ice?” she asked. He nodded and she was off to the ice machine rustling back with a pitcher that he spread over the top of the pasta.

“One down”, he said, then turning back to Darla, “What’s up with you?”

She waved him off again but made no move to leave. She was leaning against the stainless steel prep table in the middle of the room, arms folded, face down. He wanted to see her eyes. 

“Where’s Ben?” he asked.

She didn’t change her posture except to shrug. Once. 

“Jesus Dar! What are you? Fourteen? Talk to me-we got a busy day here.”

She looked up and the tears had started to run but crying registered nowhere else on her face. She wiped her cheeks with the flat of her hand and shrugged again.

“I said some things.”

“Things…”

“About the dinner. About the club. About him…Things!”

Jimmy cut his eyes to the clock. Now he was behind schedule. “You had to say things this morning? Couldn’t wait until tomorrow…?” 

“It’ll be fine. He just won’t talk to me most of the day which will be a relief. I don’t know…”She huffed with the shrug this time. “You think this is easy for me?” Then she looked up and met his eyes and he knew exactly what she meant. “You think?”

“No”, he said, catching her eyes knowing pretty much what she was talking about. “Not for me either. But hey-if it was easy everyone would be doing it and that would be an awful shitteree”

She grinned. “It would be messy”, she said. She sighed a little too loudly for it to have been spontaneous. “You know what I need?” 

“I think I’m going to find out.”

“I could use that”, she said dryly. 

Jimmy saw she was looking at the wooden spoon. “Here”, he said absently reaching it toward her.

“No dummy”, she sniffed and half turned, cocking her hip his way almost presenting her backside.

Oh for the love of Mike, thought Jimmy. 

His mind slipped back a couple of weeks…

Continuing…