There Were No Lights in Ft. Rox Anymore

Not bothering to look around for prying eyes because he didn’t give a shit, Junior Garland twisted the top off a tiny whiskey bottle with a small cracking sound and emptied it into his black coffee. He sat across from his only friend (stretching the definition) Bob Lincoln in the back booth of Rita’s Diner, the last stop on Bender Street before it turned into State Route 51 and headed out of what was left of town. They were two of the eight people in the joint, about average for the morning rush since the Bob Evans had opened next to Micky D’s less than four miles down 51.  He had parked his pickup in the back next to the dumpster and as out of sight as it could be. He had tied two tarps over the bed covering the cargo in the back which was adequate as long as no one was looking for it. And someone would certainly be soon. 

Mary Lou, the long time waitress and, with her husband Gary, owner of the Diner (There was no Rita) came by with the coffee pot. 

“Jesus Junior”, she said, seeing the empty beside his cup. “At least don’t advertise..” 

Without looking up, Junior covered the bottle with his wide paw and scooped it into his side pocket. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out another. He tipped it toward Mary Lou, “You want a pick me up? I have more.”

“No thanks”, she said, nodding toward the kitchen where Gary worked  “Enough booze in the family with that one. I’ll stay out of it.”

“Take him one, then,” said Junior, offering.

“You think he don’t have a bottle in there?”

Junior grinned humorlessly across the table, “See? I can’t even do a good deed.” He snapped the screw top  and dumped the liquor into his newly refilled cup. 

Bob watched her walk away, especially her slim calves and snugly fit skit. She had kept her figure, he’d give her that. He and “Lou” didn’t interact much though they’d known each other since grade school. There seemed to be a mutual concern that the hunger for each other that had driven their fling so many years before had not been completely sated. It was the summer after graduation when it seemed that everybody was going into the mill down in Brownsville or to Nam. Bob had done both. Two tours, then to the mill where he was a shift foreman. He and Lou’s thing  hadn’t lasted long, just a couple of weeks when Gary, her unofficial fiancee even then, was up in Pittsburgh training for a steel mill job that would have been sweet but he ultimately didn’t keep.

With his flat expression, Junior reached for and poured a third shot into his cup. 

“Did you sleep at all?”Bob asked him.

“Who has time?” the big guy grumbled, lighting a cigarette with hands that trembled slightly. 

“My question is how did you get those tanks into your truck?”

Junior shrugged, staring blankly into the black of his coffee where a tiny gray ash floated. “Just picked them up and pushed”, he said as if they weighed thirty pounds and not 300. 

All that Bobby knew for sure was that sometime overnight, Junior had stolen two welders and three acetylene tanks from the railroad. He didn’t need them; couldn’t use them, but they were there to be had. You’d have to be a mook not to take something that was there for you. At least that was the thought process of an over muscled hopped-up sometime thief. Thing was, Junior had a good job in Brownsville, but he also had a need to stay ahead of “them”. All them that were waiting for him to go broke, lose his job, be weak in any way. He had had enough weakness when one season of college ball ensured he’d never follow so many of his friends and teammates to the jungle. Months in a walker, then on crutches left him gimpy, angry, and vengeful.  Maybe overseas he could have proven himself to himself and wouldn’ have to pull off dangerous hair-brained schemes that always were just short of blowing up and taking him and everybody around him down. 

The central concern at the moment was that Junior’s latest haul had come from the railroad. How he’d managed to break into the storage car was a story that Bob didn’t even want to know. And most of the remaining populace of dwindling Fort Rocaceau-an over named coal patch town roughly twenty miles upstream from Pittsburgh-worked for or had some connection to the railroad. They had already had the uncomfortable conversation about why Bob couldn’t store them for him. 

Sometime during the caper, Junior had gotten it in his mind that since Bob wasn’t a townie, had fifty acres and a couple of outbuildings down Hanging Rock Parkway he could stash them there till the heat died down. Who would ever know? But Bob knew, once that stuff settled onto a spot at his place-his wife’s family’s actually-Junior, once down off his larcenous high, would forget about it. And once he was straight he’d never be able to move them.  Plus, Bob’s pain-in-the dick brother in law was retired railroad and could not be counted on not to be snooping around looking for old shit of his old man’s which was still in the outbuildings. 

So no, this stuff had to go and go quick and given all the prying eyes around town, it was best to get rid of it a county or two away. So after a couple of calls from the pay phone outside of Rita’s,  the plan was to haul them as they set in Junior’s pickup down to Uniontown where an Army buddy of Bob’s would take them off their hands for a decent price. But now, the plan in motion, the big man seemed hesitant. 

“What?” asked Bob who was familiar with the ebbs and flows of Junior’s moods ranging as they did from gravel gray to asphalt black. 

“How well you know this guy?”, he asked his coffee.

“He’s solid”, Bob replied, trying to will his partner to meet his eyes.

“We get all the way down there and he tries to fuck me, I’ll burn him down”,  he rumbled, finally looking up. 

Bob made a show of sighing, demonstrating that there was no issue. Junior’s taste for violence was legendary but not many people had, like Bob, been close to it. Had seen it bloom from a small seed, like this short sentence silently nursed by constant brooding, into a conflagration that left people broken and questioning their decisions.

“Did you talk to him?” Bob asked, trying to pull him out of his darkness.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Did he give you a price?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you like the price?”

Junior shrugged, finding logic bothersome in his current mindset. 

“Did you like the price?” Bob repeated

“It’s OK”, he mumbled.

“Cause if you don’t like it, get back on the horn and save us the fucking drive. But you gotta figure out something. You hold onto that shit, the Staties will be knocking at your door within a week.”

“Fuck them too.”

“OK, good. Fuck the Staties.” Sometimes when he used his old Sergeant’s voice he could penetrate Junior’s black fogs. One day he was going to find out who sold this guy crank and would kick his ass. “What do you think, Sheila’s going to come back from Florida and take care of Denise when you go to prison?”

“Fuck her”, he grumbled.

“Who? Denise or Sheila”, asked Bob, confused but not.

“Sheila!”

“OK, but you go away, something’s gotta happen with Denise. You think about that?”

“Figured she’d live with you and Rose”, he said, back to staring into his cup. 

Bob looked at the man’s hands, scarred and broken, healed and rebroken, from a life of hard labor and fighting. Christ, he thought. He’s thought this out. He reached over and popped the big man on his beefy bicep with the side of his fist.

“You better leave behind a good wad of cash, cause two girls in the house will double Rose’s gin budget.”

Junior grinned at that. Bob never liked to talk about his wife’s drinking, something Junior used when he needed to needle a bit. “Girls coming?” he asked. 

Since they were toddlers Denise and Janie had been  tag-alongs on most of their father’s escapades. That was Bob’s word. What he had liked in the early days was the cover that little girls provided from the suspicions of cops or anyone else. What could these guys be doing with their daughters in tow?

“I brought them with me.” Bob answered. 

Where they at?, asked Junior. 

“Over the paper store playing the machine.”

“Best get ‘em, then,” said Junior, getting up. 

Bob tossed a few dollars on the table and waited to make sure Junior didn’t pocket them, then headed out. He crossed the street and opened the screen door at the paper store. 

He looked past the empty soda fountain and rows of comic books toward the back waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim inside. He heard the clack and bong of the machine before he was able to focus and see Denise leaning into the pinball machine. She was as lean and rangy as her old man was thick and stocky. 

“Time to go, girls!” he called. Denise spun away from the machine without a second thought about the game in play. She was wearing black jeans, cuffed over black boots and a flannel shirt open over a black jersey. She wore her black hair feathered over her ears and above her collar. Her face hadn’t yet grown into her overbite so she kept her mouth mostly shut giving her the look of the typical sullen teen, at least five years older than she was. Janie, Bob’s daughter was a full head shorter, looked more like a kid, honey colored and freckled like a dust storm with a thick mop of sandy brown hair parted in the middle that cascaded down to her shoulders. She wore bib jeans as so many kids did, and sneakers and bounced rather than walked.  

The problem with this caper was that Junior’s truck was a single cab with only a bench seat and a small storage area behind which even if the girls could squeeze into it the sideways sitting would result in double car sickness. It was Denise-the older of the two-who  suggested they ride in the bed with the “the goods” she called them. 

Bob realized immediately that the camouflage he hoped to gain with the girls would be offset by the riding in the bed of a pickup an hour down the highway. Junior even saw that. He opened the tailgate revealing the half of the bed not full of stolen equipment. 

“Crawl in here. There’s another tarp folded for yinz to lay on.”

With an audible sigh, Denise lifted a knee onto the open tailgate and crawled into the void under the tarp wanting to put the grownups literally behind her.  By the time Janie followed, she was already on her back, hands intertwined behind her head staring at the canvas. Janie lay beside her, mirroring. 

“Who thought this was a good idea?” said Denise.

“It’s fun. Gets me out of the house. I bet we can get them to buy us burgers in Uniontown.”

“Fries?”

“No doubt.”

They lay in silence while the truck bounced out of the parking lot then tried to guess where they were as they picked up speed then slowed at stop signs. There were no traffic lights in Fort Rox anymore. Dull sunlight leaked in around the edges of the tarp and before long they could see. Once the steady hum of the tires announced they were on the highway, Denise flipped onto her side, her hand braced by her elbow holding her head. Like her little shadow, Janie did the same, facing her. 

“You know this stuff’s all stolen right?” asked Denise. 

“No.” 

“Well, yes-he’s such a fucking asshole. When he didn’t come home last night I knew he was up to no good.” 

“Where’d he steal it?”

“Who knows, who cares?”

“Why?”

Same, same.

“Isn’t he afraid he’ll get caught?”

“He’s too dumb to be afraid.”

Dennie!” Janie had never heard a discouraging word from Denise about her father. 

“He is! He’s too dumb to be a criminal too. Just fearless and mean. What happens when he gets caught? He’ll be fine-a blockhead like him-but what will happen to me?”

Janie could see tears glinting in her friend’s eyes. She scooched a little closer. “I’ll take care of you,” she said quietly. 

Denise smiled down at her. “You’re a midget”, she said, an old taunt. “You can’t take care of yourself”.

With a huff, Janie pushed herself up and then, sitting as straight as the tarp cover would allow, slapped Denise hard on the butt.

“Ow!” the older girl barked. “What was that for?”

“I’m not a midget! You’re just a stringbean.” 

Denise was rubbing her backside. “That hurt!.

“Cause you got a skinny butt. A little slap like that wouldn’t  hurt my ass”. They were close enough that they could feel each other’s breath. Janie was watching Denise’s mouth closely and smelling the light whiff of the spearmint gum she chewed at the paper store. Then without warning and without even knowing she was going to do it though she’d often thought about the how and when of it, she stretched her neck and pressed her lips to Denise’s first lightly then harder so their teeth clicked. She pulled away testing the waters.

“Why’d you do that?” Asked Denise.

Janie shrugged, which didn’t translate laying down, “Wanted to. You mad?”

“No”, said Denise, which Janie took as permission to do it again. This time the older girl kissed back lightly and opened her mouth slightly to accommodate Janie’s prodding tongue. Denise then felt her friend’s hand trying to jam itself down the back of her jeans blocked by her wide belt. 

“What are you doing back there?”

“Just feeling around.”

Without a word, Denise flopped onto her back, undid her belt, and unsnapped her jeans. Then she came back up onto her side facing Janie. “Only my butt”, she directed “Nothing else.” The girl thrust her hand down inside her jeans and panties exploring the angles and contours of Denise’s slim backside. With her hand cupping the bottom of her bottom, Janie kissed her again, hard with an open mouth the way she’d seen in the movies. By the way Denise kissed back, she was pretty sure this wasn’t her first time. 

“You get enough?” Denise asked after the long kiss. 

“I got some, I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough.”

“Well, I like boys, you know.”

“Who?”

“Just in general.”

“Name one.” 

“James”

“Bracey? He’s a senior-you’re a child. Like me. Plus, He’s stuck up., Only dates cheerleaders.. “

“He’ll date me.”

“Only if you put out-and don’t waste yourself on him.”

“How do you know?”

We little people have our ways, she said squeezing her butt for the last time. .“You giants just wander around,  heads in the clouds having no clue” Janie said, slipping her hand out of Denise’s pants. 

“But boys, in general. 

“Name someone in our class.” 

“Paul Riley. He’s cute.”

“Peed his pants on the bus last week.”

“He did not!”

“Did. Pissy Paulie. He’s your beau now? Charming.” 

Denise flipped onto her back. “I give up!” she said laughing. 

Again, Janie mirrored and flipped onto her back. “Come over tonight?”

“So you can suck my face off?”

“We’ll listen to records too.”

I gotta see what the master criminal is up to. If he crashes for the night, maybe.”

In later years, after the after, given that they were schoolmates and playmates since preschool it might seem that they were paragons of restraint. But no, it just hadn’t occurred to them-the time wasn’t right. Later they would laugh about all their chaste childhood sleepovers as time wasted.

Girls

The kiosk to order custom cakes was all the way at the back of the store, which really was a warehouse. Enter through the garage doors and past the computers, televisions and other electronics, past outerwear (seasons change, hoodies gone), past books, furniture (again, seasons, so it’s patio tables and pergolas), batteries, then the produce, then the packaged cookies and bread, then finally, after a half mile of smooth concrete, the kiosk.

Typically deserted, today a young woman in an apron was bent slightly digging with a pair of scissors in the slot that should have held the order forms. Her round bottom challenged her jeans and threatened to squeeze her phone out of her pocket like a watermelon seed.

“That’s where all the pens go”, I said looking over her shoulder. She smelled of icing.

“They tear them off of this”, she indicated the squiggly cord that usually held a pen, “And toss them in here or walk off with them…I mean, really…then people come looking for me, I have to find a pen…” Through all this she kept digging.

I proudly held out my pen. “I bring one with me-just in case.”

Having fished out three pens and a quarter she paused and smiled. “Well done! You here a lot?”

“Every month.”

A little light went off. “Oh, you’re the five-cake guy.”

“Yep. That’s my mob name, ‘Tommy Five Cakes’ “.

She laughed, flashing a tiny dab of lipstick on her front tooth. “Let me know if you need anything”, she said walking away.

“I’m fine…”

Next stop was the liquor store two blocks down for a couple of bottles and a box. She liked box red as our “maintenance” wine-what we drank instead of killing all the good stuff too quickly. They never had my favorite bourbon so I substituted another that would do the trick. And a bottle of cold Chardonnay for the ride home.

Sliding carefully by, I tried to avoid the pretty girl at the near register. Purple lipstick, same color nails and upswept blonde hair. I imagined a nose stud but wouldn’t look. Nothing but trouble this one. She caught my eye.

“I’ll take you over here”, she said.  I stood in front of her register avoiding eye contact waiting for the total so I could insert my card.

“You want your box in a bag?” she asked.

“No”, I said looking up but only slightly. “Nor do I want my bag in a box.”

She froze a moment, then continued with a slight uptick to the corner of her mouth. “You had me for a second.”

“But only for a second”, I said. “You’re too quick for that.”

“Maybe.” It was a real smile when she slid the box and bag my way.

“Have a day”, she said.

“You too.”

This is me flirting now.

The Norwegians-Part 4

(Continued from The Norwegians – Part 3)

Standing, with her left pressing down on the small of Jessica’s back, Angie delivered smack after smack of varying force-some cupping and loving, some flat handed and loud. It seemed that Jessica’s writhing had very little to do with the severity of the smacks and indeed, when one wasn’t delivered the girl wriggled backward and upward-seeking the hand. Which always came back with a deliciously resounding “SWAT”, and the answering mewl.

Rolling against the pinioning hand, Jessica slid onto her hip and began answering the smacks with subtle-then less so-leg movements. Angie delighted in the sounds and the show that the girl’s cycling movements were giving her.

“You are wriggling a lot for just a hand spanking….

“I can’t help it….”

“When was the last time you were spanked?” In the pause for the conversation, Jessica still undulated her hips and moved her legs alluringly as if treading water while holding onto a dock.

“I…don’t know…I had to be 11 or so….”

“Your dad?”

“No my mom…”

“What was that like?”

“Nothing like this…”she blurted with half a giggle happily admitting to enjoying something she wasn’t looking forward to.

“That’s good, I guess.”

“Very…” she breathed into the bed. Every smack vibrated downward between her legs and settled there. She understood now the feeling she had when seeing Carrie the receptionist spread out over Dr. Greene’s knees. It wasn’t embarrassment, it wasn’t fear…it was this particular lust that she didn’t really understand until just now.

Angie sat on the bed facing Jessica’s feet and wrapped her arm tightly around her waist. And continued.

“OW! OW! OW!”

“Do you want more?”

“Yes! I want more. Jesus, yes!”

“Hairbrush time?”

“Yes!”

Angie reached across the girl’s heaving back for the brush. At the very touch of the cool wood to her warm bottom Jessica bucked forward.

“Easy, girl”, Angie cooed and brought the paddle lightly down, the resounding “SWAT!” louder and firmer than anything previous. Answering, Jessica’s cries changed in timbre from light and girlish to something deeper and more guttural. What didn’t change was her bottom’s reaching-upward and upward seeking the blows, reveling in the heat and buzz they brought.

But as skillful and attentive as she was, Angie was not above getting lost in the moment. She wondered at the heaving buttocks blossoming from pale and smooth through pink and to a deeper red. She concentrated on the bottom of the cheeks and the confluence of bum and legs where she knew her charge was vibrating at every blow. She paused in her tattoo and lay her hand on the pulsing warmth that rivaled what she felt coming from between her own legs.

“Are you crying?”

“A little.”

“Are you OK?”

“Oh yes….I’m really, really ok.”

“More?”

“Some.”

Angie moved more quickly now-her movements, if not frenzied yet, certainly not calmly deliberate as they had been. Her spanks were lighter and lingered where they landed-riding the light waves the rising and falling of her cheeks.

Pulling her more closely to her, she slid  her hand up under Jess’ belly and through the dense patch that had seemed so parched and wiry just moments ago to find it wet and slippery. Boldly seeking the swelling flower between her legs Angie slipped a probing finger inside. Jessica yelped when touched there.

“Oh girl”, said Angie. “I’d say you are adequately punished….”

“Mmmmm…I’m not done, am I?”

“I think I have something to make your bottom feel better…would you like that?” Not waiting for an answer she uncoiled her arm and scampered into the en suite off the back of the room where she could watch in the mirror the as Jessica subtly ground her pelvis into the bed.

Angie undressed with the speed and carelessness of a child rushing to jump into a pool. She tossed her top over a chair and stepped on and out of her pants that were tied up with her blue silk underpants-carefully chosen and heedlessly discarded. Leaving her bra to fall with the rest of the pile she snatched a bottle of lotion from the makeup table and fairly skipped back to the bed. When she sat next to her this time Jessica could feel the cool bare skin against her own hot, heaving flesh. She imagined that blonde skin would always be cooling and dry.

“I almost came….” she whined into the duvet.

“Almost? I’m losing my touch…”

“I’m still buzzing…” She emphasized by pushing her hip hard into her-like a cat craving attention. “You have to do something….”

“More spanking?” Angie asked, lightly kneading lotion into her warm right buttock.

“That would be something….”

“Or…”she said allowing her fingers to wander off of her bum and rub her finger gently over her glistening labia, “I could put my head between your legs and put my tongue to you. Might that work?”

“Oh god…”

Angie gave her a quick slap on the bum. “Roll over!” When she did her tiny tormentor melted at the hungry, yearning glow of her eyes behind the tears and redness. She couldn’t resist falling onto her and opening her mouth for a kiss that was nowhere near the tentative reaching of a little while ago. Jessica opened her mouth and welcomed her tongue deeply, longingly as if to swallow it whole.

But Angie would not give it up-she had plans for it. She pulled back and opened Jessica’s knees. The girl’s most intimate spot opened like a peeled plumb glowing in the sunshine burning through the windows. Jess dropped her head and hissed between her teeth as Angie’s tongue slid slowly down the inside of her thigh then slowly inside of her.

(Continuing…)

The Norwegians – Part 3

(Continued from The Norwegians-Part 2)

Jessica had never exited an elevator directly into an apartment before and for a moment she thought they were on the roof. When the doors opened she blinked at the sun shining directly through the floor to ceiling windows that made up the west wall of the penthouse as she seemed to float above the rivers, bridges and stadiums of downtown. Angie veered directly to the right to step behind a bar and pull a bottle of the same imported water she was drinking at Dish out of the small refrigerator.

“Jesus, girl!”

“Yeah-something huh?” She poured two glasses as Jessica stepped down into a large area dotted with a couple of couches, scattered cushions and chairs that she sidestepped keeping her eyes on the city below. Angie handed her a glass and watched her sip it; both mesmerized by the views.

“This is your place?”

“Yep!”

“How….?”

“Shhh…later.” Angie said, floating close as they watched a tow boat push a barge of coal down the river looking like a toy in the stream from up here. They weren’t touching but Jessica could feel her heat.

“This way”, Angie motioned only-still not touching but seeming to create air flows that carried them to a glass walled room. Angie mentioned that it was a spare room but she could have said play room, Jess wasn’t sure. It was definitely a bedroom that shared the outside wall of windows. Glass block and bamboo screen panels separated it from the rest of the penthouse.

“Sometimes guests want to sleep with the city view…watching the lights come up, then go down…You can judge the time of night by the cars crossing the bridges…” Angie was close now-right behind-speaking softly near her ear. The remembered word “liaisons” floated through her head. Then she saw the hairbrush on the night stand and the tiny buzzing inside her popped up a notch. Angie’s eyes followed hers.

“Ah yes,” the little blonde said brightly. “The reason for the visit. You have to get undressed.”

“Undressed!? Why…”

“I’m going to spank you, silly.”

“Yes, but…I could just lift my skirt. You know…bend over and…”

“I was undressed when you were groping me this morning.”

“I wasn’t groping…”

“Google groping-see what it says…”

“You had a robe on!”

“You want a robe? I can get you a robe.”

Jessica pursed her mouth to answer then stopped and sighed. Not a resigned sigh…more anxious. Reflexively she lifted her hand to her temple and rubbed.

“Here now”, said Angie softly taking her hand away from her head. “Stop that would you?” She held her face in her hands and rubbed at the dark furrows between Jessica’s eyes as if they were smudges to be rubbed away. “Your face is going to stay like that.” She was rewarded with a sad little smile.

“I’m sorry…I think…”

“Bad idea.”

“Yeah-but I think I gave you the wrong…maybe the wrong…”

“The wrong ‘wrong’ or just the wrong…?” Angie teased.

“Look…I’m not…”

The little blonde cocked her head aside again with the curious puppy look. Her blue eyes twinkled. “Not what?” she asked brightly.

Jessica bit her lip frustrated that she, who spent a fair amount of time touching naked people in the most intimate ways, could be so embarrassed by words. How she had massaged this particular person’s bottom not five hours earlier and would have kissed it had they not been interrupted and now couldn’t speak to her. She didn’t realize that she was backing toward the bed until she felt it against her legs and sat.

”I’m not….” She stumbled again and swallowed.

“Norwegian?” asked Angie helpfully.

Jessica’s pained smile widened slightly. “God you’re so weird.”

“Guilty!” Angie stepped closer and unbuttoned the top of Jessica’s jersey and grabbed it by the hem. Jess gave the face of a child finally giving in to the adult who was bound and determined to get her into the bath and lifted her arms allowing the top to be pulled over her head. She met the warm smile in Angie’s eyes and reached back to unsnap her bra. A quick shrug and a roll and her small firm breasts popped free. “Very nice”, Angie said appreciatively noticing the taut pink nipples standing at attention.

“You are, aren’t you?” asked Jessica.

“German-Swede. People think because of the eyes and hair…”

“No you weirdo…”

With a finger to her lips Angie said, “I’ll accept weirdo and give you German-Swede but those are the only labels I’m really interested in, kay?”

“Okay.”

Then, without being prodded or prompted-and maybe a teensie bit worried that she’d upset this beautiful girl who happened to be undressing her- Jessica unbuttoned the side of her denim skirt and slipped it down. Angie took it and set it aside. She cleared her mind and relaxed-Angie was right, thinking was a bad idea right now. Given today, getting undressed for this mesmerizing woman, Norwegian or not, felt fine. Felt right. Was it warm in the room?  She felt warm.

Keeping what had been the embarrassed smile but was now something else, she lifted her butt and slid her panties down and over her thighs handing them over as well. Then, naked, she sat, hands at her sides curled on the bed.

“See?” said Angie. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

“No actually, it wasn’t”, she whispered hoarsely. Looking around she reached over and picked up the paddle and patted it against her palm. “Yow. This is going to hurt.”

“Definitely going to hurt.”

“You’ve felt this, haven’t you?” She slapped her thigh with it harder than she had meant to and her eyes widened-her mouth a silent “O”.

“Definitely going to hurt.”

Jessica lay the nasty implement in her lap as they both watched the skin on her thigh mottle then rise to an overall pleasant pink. As if on a signal their eyes rose and found each other’s. Angie reached up and loosened the side pony that still rode above Jess’s ear. She gently pulled her dark tresses free and slid her fingers through them before stroking them into place around her head and over her ears. She leaned closely enough that their breaths mingled in gentle, sweet puffs. When Angie spoke Jessica could feel the words better than she could hear them.

“Do you mind…?” she asked. “No” Jessica answered more a squeak than a word. They kissed gently, their lips melding together in a lush secret. Jessica opened her lips to welcome the warmth that poured in and through her. Angie gently explored her lips, her teeth then her tongue before pulling back and opening her eyes to meet Jessica’s glimmering gaze.

“Well then…” she said and leaned further away coming back to the task at hand. She reached for the paddle and, inadvertently or not, brushed her hand lightly across Jessica’s lap and her thick, dark bush. They both started as if shocked and paused to stare at the wild hair as if touching it might have caused it to burst into flame.

“You’re going to take care of me, right?” asked Jessica in a small voice.

“Relax…Five minutes and you’ll be done.”

Jessica gave her a look that, were she wearing glasses, would have peered out over the lens.

“Hurt your bum-not you.”

“Some distinction”, Jessica said with a wry smile. “So…am I going to go over your lap?”

“Thought you could just lie on the bed…”

“You’re the boss…”

Angie pushed her lightly on the shoulder. “Over you go.”

It was a move that Jessica knew well. Over onto her hip, then flat onto her belly. When she settled Angie rubbed her left hand gently up and down her spine touching and massaging as she went.

“You feel tense. Would you feel more comfortable if I went to find a thermometer?”

“Hah” Jessica laughed looking back over her shoulder. “You know I never had it. Back there.”

“What? Never?”

“Nope.”

“I thought that would be a requirement for everyone on the staff…”

“Please don’t blab it….”

The exchange pulled Angie’s attention southward. Placing the paddle aside for now, she ran her ministering hand down the girl’s bumpy spine slowly, stopping at the rise of her pert bottom. Angie’s heart was fluttering like a bird in a shoe box as she cupped one round unblemished cheek, then the other.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes”, came the muted reply.

Leaning slightly on her left hand where it held her down, Angie delivered a light smack.

“Oooo”, Jessica wriggled at the touch.

To be continued….

 

The Norwegians – Part 1

pexels-photo-248462

(Continued from A Visit to the Clinic)

Jessica’s phone buzzed with a text. It was about 3:15. She had avoided Dr. Greene for the day which wasn’t hard to do. She was a competent hustler and other staff were happy to make use of her when they were busy.

She read the text “Meet me at Dish at 4.”

Jessica didn’t recognize the number.

“Who?” she texted back.

“Most spankable ass in the state,” came the reply.

Jessica actually let out a low moan. She had almost…..no, forget that. She hadn’t almost put it out of her mind. Her little escapade in the exam room this morning had roiled her brain all day.

“Don’t know if I can get free.” She texted back with a frowny face emoji that was definitely for effect only.

“You’re shift is over at 330”, came the quick reply. “Steph told me.”

Jessica sighed long and deep, rubbing her temple which should have been worn raw by now. Before she could type anything, came the message: “No choice. Dish 4.”

Finished with her patients at 3:15 and still trying to make herself scarce, Jessica ducked into the locker room. She normally came and went in her scrubs but something about meeting somebody-anybody-at Dish, a high-end Italian fusion restaurant, called for something more than work clothes.

She quickly stripped and jumped in the shower careful not to wet her hair. Within 20 minutes she was in a short, denim skirt, bright floral top and sandals. She checked out with Selena in front and was on the street heading a short four blocks uptown.

The small dark bar was full even at four with sleek young men and women wearing shades of blacks and blues. Grey was the new white with this crowd and she suddenly felt like a Christmas tree light with her red and yellow top. She scanned the side tables and there she was-golden hair glowing in the sun peeking through the front window. Jessica was half-way to the table when Angie looked up and flashed her bright smile zapping her with the eyes. Jesus! Jessica thought and almost stopped walking. But didn’t.

Angie was writing in a small hard backed notebook with a slender golden pen. How long had it been since she’d seen someone writing in a notebook and not picking at a phone? A bottle of imported mineral water stood open at the table with a small glass-no ice-floating a lemon wedge. “You made it.” she radiated.

“I had no choice did I?”

“Nope. None.” She closed the notebook and lay the pen atop it.

“What are you writing?”

“Documenting my day-if it’s not written down, it didn’t happen.”

“Oh, well about today…”

“Some things I don’t have to write down to remember…”

Jessica felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I know…but I feel I should apologize.”

“For what? Not to me. Don’t be silly-sit.” She nodded to the seat across from her. She seemed taller in her short skirt than she did in her scrubs. Her long coltish legs showed well as they slid beneath the table. She was no sooner seated when a waiter appeared at her elbow with a matching glass and lemon wedge.

“Thank you Bobby…” Angie said pleasantly. “Do you want a drink?”

“I can have what you’re having,” she said nodding at the water.

“Sure-that’s fine. But you should have a drink. A cocktail-something.” When Jessica hesitated, “I will if you will.” Angie watched her trying to decide. The girl seemed to be in a constant, if varying by degree, state of fluster. “Bombay and tonic”, said Angie prodding.

“OK. Same.” Said Jessica. “Sorry…I’m just…it’s early. I wasn’t sure…”

“It’s never the right time, sweetie. Always too late or too early. Best follow your own clock. And a drink would be good for you right now.”

“Why? What do you know?” Angie sipped lightly at her water without answering. “Am I getting fired? Dammit!-I knew it, all day I had a feeling…”

Angie poured water into the fresh glass and slid it across the table. Jessica took it.

“You’re not getting fired…”

“Do you know that? I…I love that job…and Dr. Greene. It was just a…..”

“Would you stop? You’re not getting fired.”

They went silent and leaned away as the waiter set the drinks down in front of them. “Thanks, Bobby”, said Angie as Jessica grabbed hers and swallowed thickly.

“Was Dr. Greene mad?”

“Hmmmmm….I’d say extremely pissed would be more accurate.”

“Ohhh…” She rubbed her temple again. “How am I not getting fired…?”

“Come on! You’re great at your job-they love you there. You just had a lapse. That’s all. I’m sure firing you never came up.” She paused and sipped at her drink. “Besides, there are other ways to punish naughty nurses.”

It took a beat or two before Jessica actually registered the words and her eyes widened. “What? What? No…”

Angie moved her head almost imperceptibly to the side-what passed for a shrug. Spankings around the clinic were few and far between. But they did happen. During her first week she had seen a nurse in the locker room with a bruised bottom. She had almost panicked and looked away quickly but could never settle in her mind how the sight had made her feel. Frightened maybe? Apprehensive? She did know that even now she could recall the dark spots and marks in perfect detail and she never saw that nurse again without imagining…

Then there was the time she almost died, when she barged into Dr. Greene’s office to find the receptionist-the one before Selena-laid out across the Doctor’s lap with her pants and panties bunched at her knees. Carrie, the receptionist, was a big redhead-not fat but substantial-with beautiful alabaster skin much of it on display just then. Dr. Greene looked up with flashing eyes and pointed a wicked hairbrush in her direction. “A knock might be nice, Nurse Raymond!”

“Yes, Ma’am-I’m sorry…”

“Doctor.” She hissed. “I’m not your home room teacher.”

“No Ma’am. DOCTOR, I mean….” She stopped speaking, her eyes pulled to the freckled white hip where it bent across the doctor’s knee. From where she was standing Jennie could see the edge of a bright pink smudge on the side of the unfortunate’s bottom and, despite her embarrassment, suddenly wished she could see more of it. Carrie’s hair hung as a thick curtain hiding her face but Jennie saw the woman’s fingers clawing and squeezing the carpet under her hands.

“Can I help you Nurse Raymond?”

“Uh…no Doctor. It…can wait. I’ll be back later…”

“Good idea…”

She slipped quickly back out into the hallway realizing that she’d been staring and that she’d been noticed staring. Standing outside the door she heard a muffled word or two then the unmistakable SWAT! of paddle on skin. She jumped then heard it again, then again, each time answered with a small grunt.

The hallway was oddly empty for the time of day and anyone passing by would hear what was happening. And, with the receptionist desk untended, it would be no great stretch to understand who it was happening to.

After the fifth or sixth smack from inside, Jessica heard a whimper then a soft coughing cry. She suddenly felt conspicuous outside the door and couldn’t decide if she were spying or standing sentry. Either way, she didn’t want to be noticed out here and skedaddled down the hall to hide in the locker room for fifteen minutes.

That’s where her mind was when Angie reached across the table and touched her hand. “Are you still here?” she asked.

Continued here The Norwegians-Part 2