We’ll Write Our Own Story

He could see her down the alley, heading home. She was moving so slowly through the shadows that it occurred to him she wanted to be stopped, to be called back. In fact, as he watched, she slowed her pace to the point that she was hardly moving. She seemed to be not walking anymore, just languidly floating like algae in a light current. 

Then, in the darkest spot in her path, behind the hulking void of the American Legion hall, she turned and he saw a glint on her cheek. It struck him later as uncanny that he was able to see tears on his girl’s cheek from that far away in that darkness. The simple truth was had he not seen that tear-that simple trick of reflected light-he never would have called her back. 

He stepped away from the garage to be seen and raised his right arm and with a flap of the elbow and a flick of the wrist, beckoned her back. Seeing him she froze then, hurried no more, began to retrace her path, her pace quickening with every step. By the time she cleared the Legion’s shadow she was in full stride, long legs covering broken asphalt and her wet cheeks shining. He opened his arms ready to catch her. The slaps of her sneakers got louder before they stopped when she launched. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face where her neck should have been and squeezed his own chest hard, his hands wrapped around his own arms. 

Having braced for an impact that never came, he stumbled backward and spun to his right, dropping a hand to the ground to steady himself. Realizing that his eyes were closed he opened them and found himself alone in the middle of the alley. He looked around quickly. Nothing. His heart thumped. He started in the direction from where she’d come, scrambling, jogging and calling her name.  He saw her, didn’t he?  She saw him. She had been there. Hadn’t she? 

Spinning his head, he noticed a faint light in one of the bedrooms of the apartment above the garage. He raced between the buildings and thumped heavily up the wooden steps two and three at a time. The door was open. He burst into the space that he knew so well calling her name. He crossed the kitchen in two strides, Then down the hallway where the dull yellow light oozed from under the door. 

He grabbed the knob and tried to twist but it was frozen. Locked. The door yielded easily with a loud crack to a single thrust of his thick shoulder.and there she sat on the end of the stripped bed, elbows on knees, face in hands weeping. The ferocity that brought him crashing through the locked door vanished in the face of her sorrow. He slid to his knees between hers and gently and finally wrapped his arms around her. 

“What?” he asked.

“I know how this ends.” she said bleakly.

Enveloped by him, her sobbing ebbed somewhat.

“No you don’t”, he said. “WE say how it ends. Not you, not me but WE. It’s us, it’s always been us.”

“NO” she sad emphatically but without anger. “You won’t change. You may think you will, but you won’t. What you were is too strong, it will pull you back. And for that person, I am just a sidekick-the kid down the alley.”

“Not true.”

“True. Is true, Was true. Will be true.”

She was wrong, he thought. How could she be so wrong? He knew how he felt and everything he’d done had been for them. She didn’t believe him anymore. It wasn’t her fault. Without realizing, they had begun to speak different languages. His was the only one they’d heard for years. He had to learn to speak her’s.

He sat back on his haunches and untied her left shoe. He slipped it off and set it aside. Then rolled off her short ankle sock and placed it in the shoe. He repeated the steps with the other shoe. Straightening on his knees he grasped the bottom of her T-shirt and lifted it up over her head where she took over and pulled it all the way off shaking out her hair in a way that seemed triumphant. She never wore a bra and her small breasts, like orange halves, were at eye level. He again wrapped his arms around her bare back and snuggled his face between them. She shivered for the first of many times that evening.

She watched him, eyes clear and alert, as he unsnapped her jeans. Then  lifted so he could peel them down and off.  When he kissed the tops of her long thighs and moved his tongue inside of them, she moaned softly. Her panties were white with tiny red roses spattered over them. Little girl panties. She had others she would have worn if she knew this was going to happen. She yielded to his touch when he pushed her back onto the bed. She scootched backward to lay instead of sit. 

He put his mouth on her soft mound where it pushed against the cotten and breathed his hot breath onto her there. When he looked up, she was watching him wearing an expression he’d never seen before but having seen in, never wanted to do without it. 

“We say how this ends”, he said firmly.

“I might be starting to believe you”, she said, her hand touching his cheek.  

The Devil Finds Work for Idle Hands

Continued from Friday Night Lights

A month later and Kristin still hadn’t sorted out what to do with her Friday nights. What was that saying about the devil and idle hands? Everyone she knew was at the game where she could not show her face. Her Mom had gone into Pittsburgh for a work thing.  To think she would miss having her around! She was just hanging-moping actually. The football field was on a hill a mile out of town and when the air was right you could hear parts of the game from everywhere. And could see the bright glow from the  field on the horizon. And, critically, she was out of pot. Which she really needed right now.  Randy or Sheryll would both be holding but they were at the game. 

She had in mind a place to try.  Her ex-best friend Lynette Talbot usually had pot in their garage. They used to get high out there when they were friends. They had broken up over the summer. It was the usual: one boy, two girls thing; laid over that “other stuff” that Kristin didn’t want to think about right now. They’d each moved on to different crowds since then, and Kristin would have been happy to put whatever it was behind them-God knows she could use a friend or two now-but Lynette was beyond bitchy and seemed to enjoy keeping Kristin as an enemy. Being here in this garage made her a little sad and nostalgic for the times they had together. She had her new pack of tough girls though and was completely lost to her. . 

The two car garage was across the backyard from Lynette’s house. Kristin had been such a fixture at the Talbot house that she would have known her way around blindfolded. There were no trees or shrubs in the yard so the garage’s man-door faced the house in plain sight so that anyone in the kitchen would see her. Did her parents even know she and Lynette were on the outs? If she got caught skulking around could she just bluff her way through with a story about looking for Lynette? Maybe…but she was pretty sure everyone was at the game. The house was dark with the lone porch light glowing wanly. 

Still, she was as sneaky as she could be, playing it like a caper movie. She even flipped up the collar of her jean jacket. The garage was locked, of course. It was always locked but she knew where the key was hidden. She picked up the half brick beside the walkway and snatched the key from the dirt as she had often done. After wiping it on her jeans she slipped it into the knob and paused. She heard the pounding of the drums, then the marching band from the stadium. It must be halftime. She shook her head rapidly to avoid thinking about the routine that she wasn’t doing in front of a stadium full of people with all eyes on her. She would cry if she thought about it.

She went inside and closed the door gently behind her. The light switch was just to her right, but why chance it? There was enough street light filtering through the glass block windows to see by. On shelves above where the front of the car would be were oil cans behind which would typically be a small baggie with a couple of joints or some loose buds. That’s all she needed to get her through the night.  On tiptoes she felt around. There was something there…but… her heart almost stopped when she found the bag. It was not the small, fit in your fist baggie she had expected. When she pulled it from the shelf she needed both hands to cradle the gallon sized ziplock bag filled to bursting with what looked to be deep green buds. She was far from an expert but Kristin knew she was holding something special and probably valuable. This couldn’t be just Lynette’s.  Her first thought was to replace it and sneak out the way she came in. She was suddenly nervous and in over her head. 

Kristen was so focused and intent on what she was doing that she didn’t hear them until the overhead fluorescent flashed on. And by then most of them were inside.

“Kristin!” yelled Lynette, hand on the light switch and obviously startled  “What the fuck?”

Lynette’s pack this evening included Cassie Lawton, senior softball star who led the district in home runs for the last two years. Which meant little in the context of the garage that night, but what did matter was that she was as tall as Kristin and outweighed her by thirty pounds of muscle. Her arms were as thick as Kristin’s thighs.

“Get her, Cassie” growled Lynette. The big girl needed no direction, she had already circled to her left and grabbed Kristin by the arm in a  grip that virtually paralyzed the slim brunette. Kathy Lugar, another, but less fearsome,  softball player circled to the other side and grabbed Kristin by the other arm at the wrist, causing the bag to fall to the floor. It bounced softly, unharmed.

“Watch that for chissakes!” Lynette ordered. She was a tall, lanky girl with hair the color and seeming consistency of straw bunched in a rough ponytail. 

Kathy bent and picked it up, hefted it. “It’s OK.”

“Better be.”

“You’re ripping us off? Lynette asked loudly, surprised.

Kristin went from startled and nervous to frightened pretty quickly. She hadn’t been in a fight since grade school and she was poorly equipped to be in one now. The six girls who followed Lynette into the garage weren’t all softball players but they were all tough girls who ran in a completely different circle. This wouldn’t be a fight, it would be a slaughter. She recognized Glenda Thomas who actually worked in her dad’s gas station nights and weekends. Kristen didn’t think she was better than any of these girls, but she was different. At least she had been once. She had no idea who she was now.  Her stomach gurgled as she tried to imagine what it would feel like to get punched in the face. She needn’t have worried. Lynette stepped close, balled her fist and punched her hard in the stomach.

Kristin gasped a loud “OOF!” and would have bent double but for the girls holding her right and left. She squeezed her eyes tightly and tried to pick up her knees to relieve the pain in her middle. One of the girls holding her yanked her hair hard, lifting her face. Lynette punched her again and she gagged. When she regained her breath and opened her eyes she saw a familiar and maybe friendly face walk through the door.. It was Ben Bodine who everyone called Benji. A cutesy name for a pretty badass all-district wrestler. He wasn’t a towering beast like Frank Orsatti, their heavyweight, but one of the middle weights-around one hundred fifty tightly muscled pounds. 

She and Benji had shared freshman homeroom and a couple of classes. There was a time when she had helped him in Chem Lab and had gone to a couple of wrestling matches. He kept to himself and despite her gentle flirts had never taken the bait. He kept his hair super short and except for the bent nose, had soft features.  What was he doing with these animals? Their eyes caught and she saw something; disappointment, disgust, disdain, one of the dis’s. She wanted to look away but dared not, hoping to message a distress signal. Would he care? Was he one of them?

Lynette motioned as if to punch her again and Kristin sucked up her legs trying to shrink. “Please Lynette. No more.”

“No more? I’m just getting started.” Eyes flashing, Lynette stepped nose to nose with her captive and yanked her hair while staring into her eyes. .“You’ll wish I kept punching you”, she said menacingly before striding  off to a corner of the room where she rummaged through a pile of what looked like debris and wood scraps against the near wall. Finding what she was after, she straightened and turned, holding a stout little board about two feet long and as wide as the palm of her hand. The way she brandished it moving toward Kristen left no doubt about her intentions. 

“Turn her around”, she ordered. Kristin was alarmed at how easily the two girls handled her. 

“What are you doing?” she asked unnecessarily over her shoulder, her hair cascading over her eyes. 

“I’m going to beat your ass for ripping us off.”

“NO! Whatever I took I was going to replace once I hooked up.”

“You’re not going to replace this stuff”.Cassie growled in her ear..  Nobody has it. I had to go all the way to Morgantown for it..Too much time and money went into this to allow some baton princess to walk off with it. 

Oh God! thought Kristin. They’re all in on it. They’re going to kill me. “I wasn’t! I swear, I just wanted to get a little. I remember how Lynette kept a stash here. I just wanted to catch a little buzz. I didn’t know it belonged to all of you or I never would have…” She desperately pulled her arms and rolled her shoulders trying to loosen their grip, but it was useless. 

“Stealing from me is fine, huh? Just not from all of us”

Lynette pointed the paddle at her menacingly. “This is breaking and entering…”

“I didn’t break in. EVERYBODY knows where your key is Lynette. 

“Enough of your shit. Bend her over the workbench.”

Again, Kristin could offer only token resistance as, feet barely touching the floor, she was moved to the workbench. The edge dug into her hips as they pushed her over and flattened her onto it. She heard someone say “Get the phone out of her pocket. Her jeans were tight so whoever was digging around had to struggle to pull it out. Then Cassie said, “We should take her pants down.” 

Kristin panicked and tried to kick backward. Someone dropped to the floor and grabbed her legs. With Cassie draped across her back and Kathy holding her wrists she was effectively immobilized. She had a vision of being mauled by dogs as what seemed like fifty hands clawed at her. Someone reached around her waist and yanked at her belt, unbuckling it. There was absolutely nothing she could do to stop them from pulling her pants off. From stripping her naked if they wanted. 

“NO! PLEASE LYNETTE, DON’T DO THIS”. Her voice was ragged and breathless. 

“I’m over here sweetie”, said Lynette slipping into Kristin’s sightline and waving the paddle. “It’s not me…I’m just watching the show.”

She screamed in frustration. Her zipper was down and she felt her waist loosen. Her  jacket and T-shirt had been pushed up so her lower back was exposed. Feeling the air on her  flesh-even her back-heightened the panic as she struggled. Whoever was on the floor reached up and began tugging at the beltline on one side while someone else was pulling on the other side.She would be bare ass in seconds. 

“O PLEASE DON’T!….”, she was crying now, something she had hoped to avoid. 

“Stop!” The only male voice in the garage cut through the rabble and all hands pawing at Kristin’s clothes froze in place. Kristin opened her eyes but couldn’t lift her head as there was a strong forearm across it pinning it to the bench. 

“Stop what Benji?” Lynette fairly snarled.”I AM going to beat her ass. 

“Leave her jeans up”, he said evenly. He hadn’t liked Lynette punching her while she was being held. He thinks he might have stopped it if he was inside when it happened. Whatever, there wouldn’t have been a third punch. 

Nobody spoke for a moment and Kristin could feel the tension in the room and hear feet shuffling.

Lynette said, “Tell me you don’t want to see this little thief’s bare ass.”

“Why don’t you describe it for us? I’m sure you have fond memories.” 

There were a smattering of “ooohs” and a giggle or two. Kathy Lugar scoffed. 

“You forget who’s holding the paddle.” Lynette said, trying to maintain control. 

“That can change in a fucking instant.” Again, his voice was devoid of emotion which chilled the garage further. Kristin held her breath.

“I don’t know what your game is Benji. You think she’s going to thank you for this?. Give you a friendly blow job or a little fuckey-fuck” She jabbed the paddle roughly up between Kristin’s legs. “This princess is too stuck up for you. And us. We’re ok to steal from….” 

“Her jeans stay up,” he said in a tone that ended the conversation. 

“Alright. Fine! I’ll just hit her harder. Pull her jeans up tight”. Kathy and Cassie pulled her jeans up higher than they’d been and held them there, the seam splitting her uncomfortably. Someone patted her cheek firmly “There you go,” Her jeans clung  to her butt like denim paint. 

Kristin didn’t have time to be relieved about not being stripped. .She was too conscious of her bottom being set up like a target. After an anxious moment,  the first swat landed with a ferocity that blew all breath out of her open mouth. She was too stunned to make a sound. The next was equally solid. She yelped a loud “OWWW” following the third. She had in the back of her mind thought that her mother’s hairbrush might have prepared her for this, but she was sorely mistaken. That had been a spanking from someone who loved her.. Sound, but still a spanking. This was a beating by someone who only wanted to hurt her, and struggle as she might, she couldn’t avoid or stop it. Cassie felt her rocking back and forth, struggling to lift herself off the bench. “Don’t fight”, she whispered into her ear. “Don’t tense-don’t clench your ass it will be worse.”

Kristin heard the words from far away. She howled pitifully. She tasted blood and knew she had bitten her lip but really couldn’t feel it. She could barely breathe and feared she might pass out. The pain had settled to an overall numbing burn, accented by the relentless impact of the board, swat after swat. She tried to gag hoping to puke which she saw as her only defense right now. Maybe if she could pee herself, they’d stop but she had no conscious control of anything. 

Then suddenly, it stopped amid a shuffle of feet and a loud “Hey” from Lynette. What Kristin couldn’t  see was Benji stepping up and grabbing the paddle on the backswing. “Enough”, he said, wrenching it from her hand. “Owww”, she whined, grabbing her wrist.

“Enough. You made your point.” Reacting to the change in the room, Cassie, careful not to push on her, rose, giving Kristin the first full breath she’d had since she was pinned. Kathy Lugar released her wrists then strangely patted her head and slipped a lock of hair, damp with tears and sweat off Kristin’s face and behind her ear. “Sorry”, she said, a tiny puff in her ear. “That was efff’d up,”

She Lay where she was, crying softly as the drama played out behind her out of sight. 

Lynette was clearly enraged but not unhinged enough to make the mistake of getting up in Benji’s face. His glare put her back on her heels. His eyes never left hers as he reached out with his empty left hand and said, “Gimme”.

Shayla Brooks, a solid little girl in a leather jacket and biker boots handed him the pillow sized bag of dope. His eyes slowly surveyed the room, 

“We’re all  friends here, ” he said in a flat tone that indicated the opposite might be true. It was lost on no one that he was still holding the paddle and pointing it generally at everyone as he spoke, lingering on the softball players who had held Kristen down. Cassie, never one to back down, shrunk a little as her cohort Kathy shuffled a half step behind her. 

“We’re supposed to split that up!” Lynette complained, trying to keep the shrillness out of her voice. Benji looked at her as if trying to place a stranger who might have looked familiar. “I recall”, he said slowly. “Thank you. This pot belongs to all of us, but it was my cash that fronted it. I might be starting to doubt somebody’s judgment…or temperament to manage this deal.”

He pointed the board directly at Cassie and Kathy. “You remember what we talked about, yes?”

“I do”, said Cassie. 

“You’ll take care of it, right?”

“Yep.”

He tossed his head, indicating Lynette. Go with her, she has my scale. Do what we discussed.”

“You got it, Benji”, the big girl nodded. 

He was about to toss her the baggie but pulled back. “I’ma take a little off the top..if nobody minds.” he opened the baggie and stuck his nose in. “Ahhh, this is the shit.” He sighed, performing a little. “ I need a bag.”

Marie Quintana  petite, brown and beautiful green lipstick matching her eyes,stepped from the shadows and pulled a baggie holding a single joint, out of her back pocket. She tucked behind her ear where it disappeared behind a fall of tight black curls. She handed Benji the baggie. He smiled his sweetest thank you and reached into the big bag, pulled a small healthy pinch out, stuck it into the smaller bag.

“You realize you’re already getting your cut”, Lynette said, not being able to help herself. 

“Yep. This isn’t for me” Slipping the paddle, which all the girls at least glanced at, under his arm, he wrapped the bag tight, licked the top and folded it over. He closed the big pot pillow and tossed it to Cassie. “See you at my house sometime tomorrow.” She nodded. 

Lynette, frustrated and steaming, left first banging through the door followed by her doubting minions heads down except to nod at Benji. The softballers left last with a nod then a look toward Kristen who was standing uncomfortably in front of the workbench her back still to them. “Kris”, said Cassie, which some people called Kristin. The beaten girl raised a hand in acknowledgement of the gesture and the last two girls left. 

“All gone”, said Benji and she turned stiffly, taking tiny shuffling steps. Her face was a mottled ruin of tears, snot and blood below her lips. Benji handed her a bandana from his back pocket. “It’s clean”, he said. She wiped, dabbed and blew and went to hand it back.

“Keep it”, he said. 

“Thank you…I guess.” she said. 

“No worries.”

“No, really. If they would have gotten my pants off….” She shuddered. 

“Yah, that was a tough one. 

“Why?”

“Lynette was right. I REALLY wanted to see your bare ass.”

Kristin pulled a face that was equal parts grimace and grin. “You missed your chance. I’m sure you don’t want to see it now.”

“Now I have to see it. See what kind of damage she did back there.”

“There’s something for sure…burning and squishy” When she tied to straighten to her right, she winced and caught herself back on the workbench.

“Why did you let them do that to me?” she asked on the verge of crying again. 

“Took me a few minutes to get the lay of the land. My thought, ok? Walking in on this? Was some kind of lover’s spat.”

“We’re not…! she protested.

“….I know you guys are a thing-at least you WERE-I’m not up on the latest jib-jab. But you broke in. You were taking her shit.  You deserved something, you know? Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time…So she wanted to swat your ass, fine. But she was taking it way too far. But it only happened because you came here to steal from her. 

“I wasn’t…Then she caught herself and started sobbing raggedly. “My life is so fucked up right now Benji. I don’t know what I’m going to do. 

As smoothly as he would have on the mat,  he took a quick  slide step and was immediately in front of her. He underhooked her arms and gave her a firm hug-across the back and shoulder blades-all warmy friendly and not lusty pervy. “Your life is what you want it to be. Past is not prologue. You will write your own story starting tomorrow.” he said into her ear.

She sniffed. “I got snot on your shoulder.”

“Had worse.”

“Are all wrestlers philosophers?”

“Hell’s  yeah-we try to keep it a secret though”. When she looked into his face, beside the naughty glint in his eye she saw real concern. And that was the look she responded to.  

“Now”, he said stepping out of the hug, “lets have a look at your butt.” 

To Be Continued…

Jennie’s Over the Knee

Continued from Jennie’s Behind the Bar

It wasn’t long before Jennie found her way to me. She had been scrolling through her phone at the other end of the bar. She got close enough to smell the smoke. 

“You’re supposed to have a cigarette after…” she said slyly.

“I did…”

“That was just kissing…”, she said. “I mean the BIG after.”

Unaccustomed as I was to this sort of banter, I had enough game to reach into my top pocket and pull out the second purloined cigarette. “Covered” I said. 

At that her look, while still smiling and open, seemed to slip from simple flirting to something more intentional.

“Here let me show you something” She thumbed through her phone and found what she was looking for. “You should print this as a poster”, she said, shoving the phone close to my face. It was a photo of four young women facing a wall, pants down and bright red bottoms very much on display. The title lines read “Spankings will continue until morale improves.”

Now it was my turn to smile and lean into her game. Keeping my voice low, since she had folks at the other end of the bar, “You’re not going to call that little love tap back there a spanking are you?” I scoffed.

“No” she said.” I’m just showing you what real spankings look like.”

“I’m well aware”, I leaned back and gave her a squinty “older guy knowledge” look. 

“Oh yeah? Your place or mine?” She asked, tossing the line so easily it could have been a joke. She slipped the phone into her back pocket from where it winked at me as she purposely wiggled her backside as she walked to refill her friends.

It wasn’t a joke but a good and seemingly simple question. My big empty house was not too far away. I  had kept it when Timmie’s mother ran off  because she had taken the advice my old man had given and I’d ignored: ”It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich one as a poor one.” She had been a secretary for a builder that had done quite well on a few subdivisions upstream. Through him she met an architect who had done better than “quite well” and now she lived in a big new stone home with a pool quite a few zip codes from mine.

True, my place had that special rumpled quality that will happen when a guy lives alone for a couple of years. Even Timmie gave up trying to make sense of all of my habitual nonsense on her monthly visits. But for the general dishevelment, my place made the most sense, and I was going to tell Jennie that when her orbital trajectory next brought her around, but she beat me to it.

“Let’s do my place”, she whispered conspiratorially. 

“You live over in The Run, right?”

“Above Champion Plumbing.” 

I knew the place. Big shop with apartments above. Probably for the best. The last time Jennie was in my house was for a team pizza party when she was fourteen and those memories mashing up against this reality might have been more than I could bear. Might have. 

“Mike Champion is like my mother’s second cousin. So I got the place on a deal. I’m the only one there and nobody works at night, so it’s quiet.” The wink wasn’t necessary. I got the point.

“Besides, I have something I want you to try.”

My curiosity,  on top of everything else, was piqued. Things seemed to take on a life of their own after that. A slow night got slower as Jennie chased off her crew with a few free drinks and we were able to close early. “I’m going to head over now, if that’s OK. I’ll leave the porch light on-door will be unlocked.”

Trying not to rush, it took me about fifteen minutes to close up. Her beat up little Subaru was parked beside the Champion Building where a set of wooden steps ascended to a small platform porch with a railing and enough room for two folding resin chairs. A faded awning was the roof. 

I turned the knob and stepped into a small, clean kitchen. On the counter, beside the sink was an unopened bottle of Blanton’s. For my money, the top of the bourbon line and definitely above Jennie’s pay grade. I was holding the bottle when she came out of the bedroom. She had changed from her jeans into what was normally her bartending uniform: black mid calf Yoga pants and a green “Oaks” T-shirt. She had brushed her hair out so it framed the smile that made my heart flip.She turned, modeling, “Since you’re always checking out my ass in these, I thought you might like if I wore them.”

I did indeed and told her so. “Is this what you wanted me to try?”

“Mmmmm”, one of the things. 

“Had to set you back.”

“I never thanked you properly for getting me in at The Oaks.”

I didn’t tell her that I should be thanking her. She had brought some new life to the place; business was up a bit not, a lot but some. Regulars responded to her smile and enthusiasm. Nothing against Jolene, but “chill” was her thing. She was very good but could be off putting over time.  And I’ll be damned if Diana didn’t start coming around more in the evenings. Sure, some of that was checking out the new bartender’s performance. But some of it was checking out the new bartender. 

I snapped the seal on the bottle and opened the cabinet above the sink. There were four short, square highball glasses, compliments of The Oaks. I gave Jennie the raised eyebrow and in return she winked and bit the tip of her tongue at me again. 

“Do you want one?” I asked.

“No, I’ll try yours.”

One ice cube, two fingers of bourbon and a couple of swirls to unlock the flavors. I nodded her over and tossed a “C’mere” her way. She slid in beside me and I raised the glass to her. 

“Not like that”, she said. “Take a drink.”

I did and she pulled my mouth down to hers and made sure to lick every droplet of the liquor off my lips as well as anything left in my mouth. “Yummy.” She said, “Bourbon’s good too.”

“You said you had something else for me to try.”

She smiled and put her finger to my lips and backed away, then turned and walked into the living room. Again, neat and relatively spartan, sofa, wall mounted flat screen, armless chair that drew my attention. As I was surveying, she went to the corner and retrieved something. She handed it to me handle first as if relinquishing a sword.. “Isn’t it a beauty?” It was a highly polished sorority paddle with Greek letters decorating one side. The other side bore the signatures of dozens of girls and dates. It was from the 1960’s. “I picked it up at an antique shop over in Larimer a couple of weeks ago. “It was in the window! I saw it and my heart started flipping and my face went all hot. Had to have it.”

“I must have been in a state because the woman in the shop asked me if I wanted to try it out. I almost had a heart attack! I didn’t know if I would try it out on her or she on me.”

“Why didn’t you ask?”

“I could barely talk as it was. All this…stuff that’s been in my head for years. I thought it was just me! Turns out they’re fetishes and a lotta people have them. Seeing there was someone else…” I remembered what I’d found in Diana’s office but said nothing. 

“You should take it back and tell her it doesn’t work.”

“Get her to demonstrate!”

“You’re liable to get a sore bum out of the deal.”

“That would be the hope.” With that, she turned round and bent, hands on knees and for the second time that evening offered her bottom for a smack. I hefted the paddle and pressed it into the stretched lycra covering her bottom enjoying the give.  Then pulled it back and flicked her backside with a wrist slap. She wriggled and said. “Thank you sir, may I please have another?”

“Yes you may. But not right now…” Taking her arm I stood her up and walked her over to the chair, where I took a seat. The paddle was a little impersonal for me. I wanted my hands on her. 

“Let’s start with a little spanking between friends.” Her face was flushed and she was alternating breaths between nose and mouth. I spread my knees and drew her in, grasping the top of her pants. Her eyes closed as I slipped the back of my hand against the velvety softness of her belly. I pulled further down in front unil I could feel the hair against my fingertips, then further to the dewey confluence of her legs. 

“We had better get these down”, I said, moving both hands to her sides and peeling.

“…Yes…” she said huskily as if awakening from a dream. Without panties the soft garment clung between her legs but for a moment before rolling to her feet where she stepped out of them. .

I would have thought after ogling her as thoroughly as I had over the weeks that she would have had few secrets. I would have been wrong. As she slowly offered herself over my lap she revealed a flawlessly rounded, deeply cleft bottom, in a  perfect shade of cream accented only by the light peach  blush the paddle had left.. I settled my right hand over her right cheek eliciting a charming little gasp and wriggle. “You’re ready for this…” I said.

“Mmmmm”, came her answer. “So ready.”

I slapped her lightly a few times, alternating cheeks. If she suffered at all it was in silence, her slow undulations as she lay over my lap the only reaction to what was happening. I was quite literally, feeling my way, switching from full on smacks to slaps with my fingers but never extending my arm, only turning my wrist which was turning Jennie’s bottom a beautiful mottled pink. I had settled into a rhythm that was working for me, but maybe not for her. She tried to speak but her voice caught. Clearing her throat, she said, “Harder, please.”

“Harder?”

She looked back over her shoulder, clear eyed with cheeks almost as pink as her bottom ones. With a devilish smile she said “Spank me like I was bad.” 

I had been afraid of hurting her. Now I was afraid I was boring her. 

“Alright young lady,” I growled and pulled her tightly into me, left arm circling her waist. I raised my right hand straight up and brought it down hard but not full force on the middle of her right cheek. I could feel the difference immediately. My palm tingled and the blow echoed not only through the room, but up to my shoulder. “Yessss…” was Jennie’s hissed response. So I continued, alternating sides, then settled for awhile on the soft thickness at the bottom of her bottom. She became more and more animated and gifted me with “Ouches” and mewls. We both enjoyed, she more than I, the swats that landed exactly between both cheeks and rang down her valley creating an avalanche of deep feeling that brought yelps. 

I took a pause to slip my hand tentatively between her legs. Where she had been damp was now in flood. 

“Good God, girl!”

 “I know, right?” she fairly giggled and spread her legs in a way I  couldn’t have imagined a few short days ago.. When she again settled, her outside foot was on the floor, bracing herself to push upward, raising her now deeply colored bum and her dripping sex upward. 

“May I have some more sir?” she giggled. 

A few more smacks to her tensed right cheek brought her foot back up off the floor and a resumption of her slithering movement distracted from my mission. 

After a swat I left my hand where it was for a moment and squeezed lightly. She froze attentively, then began to move in a most lewd way as my hand slipped from her solid right cheek, down to the top of her thigh, then between her legs. It wasn’t as if I was traveling uncharted territory down there, but it had been awhile since I’d walked this particular path. “Ahhhh”, she sighed loudly as my fingers finally found that spot within her.

I could have held my hand steady and let her do all the work but there is nothing like pleasing someone you wanted to please. So I caught her rhythm and rubbed until she cried out and shuddered, arching her back. She relaxed in phases, settling and twitching, then deflating completely hanging across my legs like laundry. All the while I was gently stroking her warm cheeks. 

When she finally, with my help,  pulled herself up she sat on my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. “I can’t believe you made me cum..”

“That was the point, no?”

“Hadn’t thought about it. Just wanted my ass beat. Anything else was in the hands of the universe…and you,” She grinned as I gazed down to where she was glistening-her bush looking frosted in the lamplight. 

“Round two”, she announced and stood. As she moved into her bedroom I did what I’d been doing for weeks; watched her bum walk away but never like this. I saw a soft light switch on and heard a rustling of bedclothes. 

“You coming?” she called

I stood, having to arrange myself to walk comfortably. We’d have to do something about that.

“Don’t forget the paddle”, she said.  I would have.  

Jennie’s Behind the Bar

I didn’t set the whole thing up. Parts of it, sure. Not the whole thing. Not the way it played out. Not in my wildest imagination could I have…well, that’s a lie. I could have imagined it. I spend much of my waking hours imagining just such things. But in the beginning, I had nothing but the best of intentions. 

It was close to ten on a slow Thursday night when the buzzer alerted me that the back door had been opened. The only keys out were mine and…Diana’s, who walked through the swinging doors from the back room. A six foot tall redhead who wore her hair short and was partial to leather jackets and tight jeans. Tonight the jacket was short and brown and the crew neck silk jersey under it inky black. Diana had owned The Oaks for a decade and had hired me to manage it eight years ago. Help being what it is these days, I’m also the night bartender during the week. 

Bars in the valley had a lifespan. We were well beyond being the new kids on the block but nowhere near being yesterday’s news. The clientele was mostly familiar, which was not bad exactly, but less than good. It was a good crowd, dependable and predictable but there was something to be said for new blood. Not necessarily for me, I’d gotten to where predicable and dependable were positives. But you could feel it in the folks around the bar. There was a sameness to the place and crowd. For every person who bellied up to our bar for the familiarity of it all, there were two who might be interested in something different. And who would go someplace that offered a change from routine.

“Welp”, said Diana, stepping behind the bar and helping herself to a heavy Tito’s rocks, “We need a bartender.”

“Tell me about it.” I said. 

“No, really now. Jolene is having ankle surgery in a couple of weeks and will be out of commision for a while.”

Jolene was our daytime bartender during the week and handled the heavy load of weekend nights. Which she didn’t mind because that’s where the money is. I jumped in to help if it got too busy. Diane would help out too. It was a secret-not a secret-that Diane and Jolene were a couple. 

“Jesus…”

“If he could make a decent Negroni, I’d hire him.”

Desperation made me ask, “You know Jennie Angelo?”

“Who?”

Jennie had played basketball with my daughter in junior high. Having played a bit in high school myself, I was roped in to help coach. We weren’t very good but we had fun. I had heard she was a bartender and had run into her a few months ago, behind the bar at a little roadside place across the lake. It was busy and she was handling the crowd well. As a kid, she was alway high energy and now at twenty nine or thirty, she hadn’t lost that. Plus she’d picked up a good six inches  which would have been helpful back in the day.

“Hey Coach!” she said when I squeezed in at the end of the bar. Still a great smile which she tossed at everyone. In this business, you need to be on the lookout for talent all the time, so I made a mental note. Drank two beers, caught up a little and left her a ten dollar tip.

“You think she’s happy there?” asked Diane after hearing my pitch. 

“Long hours, beer mostly, shots…crowd is coming and going: kids and old men.” Which meant shitty tips, even for someone who looked like Jennie. 

“Think you can bring her in?”

It wasn’t hard. A few days later Jennie was behind the bar sharing an audition shift with Jolene. Jo had a very chill persona which fit her ice queen good looks and flowed behind the bar in a way that never seemed rushed or hurried but always got her to where she needed to be. She heard and saw everything. Jennie was her polar opposite. It was fun watching her effervescent energy bouncing around back there.

My concerns that she might bowl over the waif-like Jolene were allayed as they worked well together, each complimenting the other.  At the end of the shift, even with splitting tips Jennie made more than any night at the other place. She was more than thrilled and gave me a hug and cheek kiss on her way out after closing. Jolene, used to working alone and possessive of her place, gave my girl (as she and Di referred to Jennie) a thumbs up and she was brought aboard. 

After that first shift, she was plug-and-play. I would be with her late in the evenings to help if needed which was seldom and act as her barback-filling ice, running for liquor, whatever. Basically, I enjoyed sipping a bourbon at the end of the bar and watching her work. When I say it like that , it doesn’t seem like I was checking her out. But I was, and as time went on, I felt less and less skeevy about it. She was a woman now, not a pre-teen. Since I’m as subtle as a sledgehammer, she’d catch me eyeing her and wink or smile or stick out her tongue between her teeth which made me feel a way that I didn’t know if I was comfortable with. I got used to it, though.

She was touchy-feely, would lay hands on me in passing and if we were side by side, I could count on a hand rubbing my back. “Hellos” and “Goodnights” usually came with a quick hug. “I’m glad you looked me up”, she told me once. “I am too”, I answered pretty sure we were talking about the bartending gig. Some of her crew from the other place had followed her to The Oaks and livened the place up a little, giving us all a quick shot of energy.

It was a couple of weeks later, in the back room near the ice machine, that she first gave me a kiss that wasn’t a peck on the cheek. Her lips, full and wet, opened to allow her tongue to slip into my mouth and explore. She tasted faintly of gin; a surprise as I hadn’t seen her nipping. I told myself it could have been peppermint. I wasn’t into doing a whole forensic analysis as her tongue seemed to be engaged in counting my teeth. My embrace was less reluctant than previous quick hugs we’d shared. I explored her back intending for all I was worth to stop at the beltline. Seems I wasn’t worth much. My resolve lasted as long as a snowflake on a windshield as my hands slipped over her hips and cupped her bottom. She was solid back there and did a little clenching as if I needed more stimulation. For a moment a matchbook couldn’t have slipped between us. Just as my arousal was becoming manifest, I released my hold and she withdrew her tongue with a finishing kiss on my closing mouth.

Her eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed and she gave me a happy smile that warmed me as much if not more than the embrace had. “Finally!” she said.

“I didn’t know this was a race”, I said, feeling both spent and energized. 

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

“I’m starting to get that…”

“You never were quick on the uptake”, she said, her smile turning sly and crooked. She either remembered or intuited that smart-assery in a woman is a desired feature and not a bug.

“Timmie knows I’m working here”,she said unbidden, referring to my daughter-her erstwhile teammate and school chum. 

“Uhh…” I stammered a bit, that skeeviness trying to bubble up again. “I didn’t know you guys were still in touch.” 

“Online” She shrugged, “I’m a bartender, I follow everybody. I posted that I was working here and she reached out.” She must have seen the cloud scud across my face. “Don’t worry, Coach, there will be no posting about you tonguing my tonsils.”

Her tone was so bright and her smile so wide that I couldn’t resist laughing. Neither could I resist grabbing her arm and turning her half way round. I telegraphed the smack to her bottom well enough that she could have easily blocked it or turned away. She did neither and in fact stuck her bum out a bit to provide a better target. It was a moderate slap, somewhere between a pat and a solid smack. 

I released her arm and she rubbed her targeted cheek, more for effect than anything. 

“Finally”, she said again. “Thought I was gonna have to draw you a map.”

“Go wait on some customers why dontcha…pushing her toward the swinging doors. She disappeared, trailing a laugh. I reached into the ice machine and pulled out a few little moons and held them to my eyes, then the back of my neck. I felt like I had just stuck my finger in a light socket and actually felt a little lightheaded. A cigarette would be good. It was a shame I’d quit. But I knew DIana slipped out back now and again to burn one, so maybe in her office?

Her office door was always locked but there was a trick-not much of one-but a trick. The molding around the door was poorly attached and could be pushed  aside. Then a finger, even one as fat as mine, could be slipped behind the strike plate and release the latch. The switch above the copy machine turned on the overhead fluorescent which was too much for the small room, There was a couch, an old refinished desk, steel locking cabinets a few well positioned lamps and a safe so big and old the it would have been there from the beginning. Place was neat enough to see no cigarettes on first scan. I went around the desk and sat in the chair-nothing in the middle drawer, nor in any of the three left ones. Stapler, broken stapler, old Blackberry, and how many paperclips does one woman need? I had almost given up when I pulled the bottom right drawer and there was the slightly crumpled green and white soft pack. I sntached it up and was relieved to see there was at least a half pack, so she wouldn’t miss one. Also a couple of lighters, one of which I borrowed.. I must have wanted that smoke pretty badly because I almost missed what else was in the drawer.

The pack had been sitting atop a ping-pong paddle. An older one, with the sandpaper on one side and hard green rubber nubs on the other.. My buddy had a table when we were kids and we played a lot. There wasn’t and never had been a ping pong table at The Oaks. My chest lightened as I held the paddle and thought of Diana, then of Jolene, then of Jolene and Diana and tried to remember if I’d ever heard or seen anything….My mind reeled and my hand wanted to shake  as I replaced the paddle and took a second cigarette. I did my best to put everything exactly as I found it, shut the lights, locked the door and left the office.

Outside on the loading dock I leaned against the cool block wall, filled my lungs with the sweet menthol smoke and felt the nicotine firing synapses in my brain that had been long asleep. Things suddenly looked brighter and the traffic sounds wafting from up the hill were sharper. I looked at the burning end of the cigarette and took a second drag. Maybe it wasn’t the nicotine…I tossed the butt into the parking lot where it landed in a shower of red sparks. Damn! Even that looked pretty. I let myself back in and took my seat at the end of the bar.

Continued….Jennie’s Over the Knee.

Sylvie

I learned Sylvie had died from her niece Naomi who felt obligated to make the call though we’d been estranged for years. She knew the old woman had loved me and thought I should know though she didn’t call until Sylvie was in the ground.

It was the latest volley in an imaginary battle for a woman’s limitless affections. Sylvie had enough for everyone, something truly limited people could not fathom. She had hired me back in the day-when the neighborhood turned and she wanted someone more substantial than her niece behind the bar. A sin I didn’t commit but was never forgiven.

I graduated from the bar to the kitchen, where Sylie taught me everything I needed to know, which was nowhere near everything she knew. Her chicken cacciatore became my specialty and her sauce was indistinguishable from mine. Naomi stayed jealous though she had no real interest in cooking. 

She stayed as a waitress and in the beginning our battles were waged sotto voce in hisses and snarls and stares. Then grabs and pushes, unseen slaps, until our area of operations moved out of sight into the storage room after hours where an old couch had been reclaimed for late night crashing. Actual  fighting would have been less damning and damaging. That came later, after Naomi had heard that I was selling coke across the bar and threatened to tell her aunt. It was an old story and a one-time mistake borne of poverty and the need of a quick score, but my embarrassment at being found out and fear of the loss of Sylvie’s trust brought a collapsing wave of desperation that sucked all reason out of my head. . 

Later I would remember hitting her. It would come to me in flashes like one of those old timey crank kinetoscope viewers they had in arcades back then. First she is standing there with her arms straight down at her sides, fists clenched, defiant and perhaps a little afraid. Then my right fist lashes out and connects with her jaw. At the last moment, realizing what was happening, I pulled the punch hitting her just hard enough to drop her solidly on her bottom. She sat on the floor blinking and wagging her head from side to side like a confused puppy. 

Almost as stunned as Naomi, I quickly extended my now open right hand. She took it and rose unsteadily to her feet. A cursory glance showed no blood nor outward evidence of damage. Pulling the punch had saved us both. Assuming, of course, that our regular angry coupling was off for the evening I tried to fashion some words of apology and mortification. Before I could open my mouth she said, “I’m sorry”, her eyes dulled and full. 

She withdrew her threat to expose me to Sylvie-such a breach of confidence, that a punch to the jaw was not just warranted but desired. The tears overfilled and ran down her cheeks in two glistening streams, one of which I thumbed, leaving the other to drip off her chin before she wiped at it with the back of her hand. 

I was moving toward the door when she said, “You can’t just leave.” I didn’t know what was left to do until she turned and lowered her jeans and rolled her panties after them. She bent over a stack of  beer cases. “I don’t want the last touch from you today to be a punch.” It was the only sex in our roughly six month tryst that could be even remotely described as tender. Or as tender as banging one out in a storeroom over a stack of beer cases can be.  

The next day she showed up wearing more makeup than usual to cover the bruise that had bloomed on her jaw overnight. She leaned in. “Never hit me again where others can see”, she said firmly, writing the script for our time together. 

When Sylvie stepped away in her eighties, she rightly sold the place to Naomi, who seemed well suited to be an owner; maybe only because she was no more than marginal at most other things. I stayed on, cooking, refining the dishes, tweaking  the menu, tending bar, doing the necessary things to keep Sylvie’s Bar and Lounge moving forward. Our affair, such as it was, cooled, then over a short time, disappeared. Burned out, more likely. 

Not too long after I stepped into the kitchen on a Thursday morning ready to make my orders for the weekend and prep for the lunch trade. The lights were on and coffee was brewing. A woman was standing, her back to the door. She was slender and rangy wearing snug black jeans and a white T-shirt. Her red hair was thick and short, brushed straight back and as she turned revealed a full sleeve tattoo on her left arm. She extended her right hand and went to introduce herself. 

“I know who you are”, I said, taking her hand firmly. Monica Perez was a chef at Tim’s Hideout, a steak joint out on the highway. She was until very recently it seemed. I looked around the kitchen where I’d spent so much time and it suddenly looked foreign to me. That’s how I knew I’d been replaced. I had splurged on my own set of knives which I gathered and wrapped in their canvas. 

“Chef…” She began. 

“Tony”, I answered. “You’re a chef. I’m a cook.”

“I’ve eaten here.” She said, trying. 

“The food?” I asked, having none of it. She winced slightly leaving me surprised and embarrassed, And surprised that i was embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry. My bad. Getting fucked before coffee makes me grumpy.” I said, heading for the door. 

“Wait” She said. “You know Katie’s Corner uptown? “They need a che…”she stopped herself. “A cook of your experience. Talk to Kate. Katie Sole. If you’re going I’ll call her.”

To be continued…

Bus Stop Part 2

© HotBottoms

Continued from Bus Stop

A short hour later, Mary awoke from her post coital nap and blinked at the sun streaming through the blinds. She stretched and grinned sleepily as she rolled over onto the dildo which, having served her well, slept soundly beside her hip. She sat on the side of the bed for a moment before rising, then turned and stripped her sheets off the bed and made a pile on top of the mattress. Then, still feeling slightly buzzy from her session with the vibrator, opted not to dress or cover herself, she took the bundle down the hall, deposited it in the laundry room, then headed for the shower. 

She’d been experimenting with cold showers, but this morning after a mile run and two orgasms, she defaulted to hot and steamy. Since the haircut she washed her hair more often and this morning lay a heavy glop of shampoo and rubbed hard into her scalp as the water drummed onto her breasts. She lathered the washcloth and worked her underarms, then her legs and before she realized completely what she was doing, raised her arms to shave. It was odd-she was going to shave her legs as well. Did they need it? She was reverting back to her single days of leaving nothing to chance before heading out for the evening because you never knew, right? But she wasn’t heading out for a night on the town; she knew nothing but wine and sexy chit-chat-for her anyway, was on the docket but she was doing what she was doing. A righteous session of self-love always upset her equilibrium.  She detached the shower head and directed the stream to her smooth legs then, eyes closed, up between them. She wanted to, of course, but didn’t, opting for a complete southerly rinse then turned off the stream. 

Back in the bedroom she flipped through her closet and dresser. Her daily uniform was pretty routine: workout clothes of some description. Today It would be black sweats more loose fitting than yoga pants which she typically wore without underwear. Her first decision had been the new lilac hipster panties-the least sexy ones she owned. Tight black T-shirt instead of a bra and a silky V neck that covered her butt. It was just past noon. She slipped on sandals, grabbed the wine from the small fridge below the counter and headed for the garage for the half mile drive to Jules’.

Her friend came to the door in her usual worn jeans, sneakers and a faded coral long sleeved crewneck-. She looked better than she had at the bus stop, clear-eyed and pink-cheeked. Mary was pleased that she wasn’t the only one to have put some care into her appearance.  A thin headband that kept her hair behind her hair and off her face completed the picture of suburban chill

They exchanged a quick peck on the cheek as Jules took the wine. “Come on”, she said, nodding to the table in the sunroom. “Food just got here-I’ll open this.” They ate leisurely and too patiently for Mary who wanted to steer the conversation away from how nice the mums were this year and who had the best corn stalks. The wine was sharp and tangy, complementing the slight buzz in Mary’s head after the first glass. 

Lunch finished, they retired to the living room, Mary to the sofa and Jules across a coffee table, curled in a large leather recliner-obviously John’s preferred seat. 

“So”, said Mary, opening her hands. “Spanking.”

“What about it?” Jules asked coyly.

Oh, this is the way its going to be, thought Mary. Gonna have to pull teeth. Before she could restate the question, there was a rumble of the garage door below them. that startled Mary-she looked toward the kitchen and  the stairs from the garage.  Jules had  not reacted, as if she hadn’t heard anything. She maintained eye contact and her teasing smile. Then there were  clearly footsteps on the basement stairs. 

“Someone’s here?” Mary leaned forward as if to flee, when she saw the door open and Jule’s husband nonchalantly step out of the stairway. She collapsed back into the cushion, then deeper as if a weight had been placed on her lap. “John”, she breathed, the tight smile on her lips not reflecting the confusion of emotions in her eyes.  She took comfort in Jules’ warm and relaxed smile. John strode into the room and kissed his wife on the cheek, then moved over and stepped  behind the couch. Mary stiffened slightly when he lay a hand on each of her shoulders. Okay, they’d established this morning that John liked her, but he’d never been handsy with her.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary”, he recited leaning down, “how does your garden grow today?” the last words popped breathily into her ear.

“F-fine, John.” she stuttered and looked wide-eyed at her friend who sat peacefully, smiling beatifically. “Just fine.”

“Sorry for the surprise, sweetie, but we really can’t talk spanking without John. This is our thing, but he’s the boss. In the beginning, all I did was supply a sometimes willing bottom.” Mary started to feel that familiar fluttering in her stomach just hearing about a “willing bottom.”

“Babe?” said John, moving toward her and Jules popped up out of the chair and moved over to the couch.. Jules did not sit at the other end of the couch which might be expected but beside her friend, close enough to take her hand. 

Once they had all settled, John asked, “What do you want to know?”

Mary hesitated, then asked meekly “ How’d it all start?”

“The first time?” John mused, settling into his chair. He and Jules shared a look and she nodded a go ahead. 

“We had been married six months…

“Too long for me to easily get out of it,” Jules teased.

‘Shush! It was this time of year-late September’

“Early  October actually.

John gave his wife a look that Mary couldn’t place-not exactly threatening but enough for Jules to pantomime locking her closed lips and tossing the key over her shoulder. 

We had gone down to The Highlands to see the leaves.”

It’s so beautiful down there”, Mary piped up.

“Yes, and it was a beautiful weekend, were were at the Lodge on old route 40. It was their last weekend of the season, place was pretty much deserted.

“The first day was bright and clear, colors were fantastic,. We hiked a little,…gathered acorns, buckeyes, walnuts everywhere…

“You had a bottle of brandy..”, said Jules. 

“We had packed a lunch…

“We laid a blanket out in a field of dead wildflowers…It was a perfect day.

“Then it rained. 

“Not till that night. We had the whole day. Then over night we heard a couple of rumbles of thunder and the wind kicked up, by morning it was gray and rainy-the leaves were plastered in puddles and against the windows. Good morning for snuggling.

“I love rainy mornings”, said Mary.

“Except this one”, John nodded toward Jules, “wanted to play tennis. All she did was look out the window at the rain falling on the courts and whine.”

“I wasn’t whining!”

He shook his head, “Whining…”

When he called me over, he was sitting on the end of the bed-I was in my undies-so what did I think? A little rainy morning nooky. I figured, OK, can’t play, might as well..”

When he pulled me down over his lap, really ddn’t know what was going on.  I just went with it.

You should have that printed on a T-shirt, “I just went with it.”

“Like I said, I didn’t get it right away. There I am, bottom up, looking at the floor then he pulls down my panties and the first slap gets me. 

“Did you yell?”

“No, I didn’t know what I should be doing so I didn’t make a sound. Took it…”

“Hurt, I bet..”

See Honey,” John spoke up, “In all my years in any learning or training situation, you’re told “don’t tell-Show. That’s how people learn, by being shown…not by telling…” Mary squeezed Jules’ hand lightly to keep her own from quivering. This is what she had hoped for, to see her friend spanked over her husband’s knees. Whatever she was feeling in her stomach, surged lower. 

“Sorry sweetie”, Mary said, patting her friend’s leg.

“For what?”

“ I didn’t mean to get you spanked…”

“Oh Honey, I’M not getting spanked…”

Mary’s eyes were saucers as her mouth fell open. If watching Jules being spanked was her hope, herself being spanked was her dream. She had assumed it could happen…eventually. It would be a long term dream-that maybe after weeks of talk and daring back and forth, something might happen. But no. It was here and now and she was conscious of her blushing with all four eyes on her.She opened her mouth to speak but could only croak, 

“What?” John and Jules laughed, enjoying her discomfort.

“Johnny, I think this is a bit much for Mary. She just wants to talk about spanking…”

Well that’s boring”, said John leaning toward his flustered quarry. More than flustered, Mary was almost paralyzed now that something she’d fantasized about most of her adult life was here to be had. If she wanted it.

“It’s up to you,” he said, If you wanna talk, we’ll talk. But if there’s anything else you want to do, that’s on you.”

“Why me?” she asked, finding her voice. 

“I can’t do any of this myself.” John went on “Here’s what you have to know about spanking. It’s a two person job. A cooperative effort. No adult can spank another without their agreeing to it. Explicitly or implicitly. The act of submission, giving yourself up to receive a spanking is the most important-and intimate part of the thing.”

John just thought he was giving information. What Mary heard were instructions on what was expected of her. 

“I want it”, Mary squeaked, then turning to Jules, “I’m just nervous.”

“I know, Sweetie.” Jules said and squeezed her hand again. “We’re all friends here.” She put her hand on Mary’s back and lightly pushed. “Go, go to John.”

Mary stopped thinking and stood on weak knees.. John’s chair was wide and deep but the arms were short and plush. If he sat forward, which he did once Mary rose, his wide lap was accessible. She crossed in front of Jules, still sitting on the couch and was surprised to feel her friend pat her butt as it passed. She liked the feel of it. She looked back and answered Jules’ smile with a pouty grin that was the best she could offer through the whirls of emotions that were coursing through her. How could something that she wanted so badly confuse her so? 

When she reached the chair, John put his hand on her hip and positioned her in front of him, then pulled at the hem of her jersey. “Take this off”, he said. “It’s going to be much too warm for this.” She crossed her arms and grabbed the jersey at the bottom and carelessly pulled it up over her head realizing too late that her T-shirt had rolled up in it. John watched her flat belly appear then her ribs then her small breasts rising and falling with every breath.

“Oh my God”, Mary gasped and made a move to pull her jersey back over her head. He stopped her with his hand on her upper arm. “That’s fine”, he said gently. “It’s good like this.”

From the couch, all Jules  could see was Mary’s back but her heart flipped, knowing what John was seeing.  What they were doing here clarified in the clear view of Mary’s s naked back. She had never felt jealous or feared the influence of other women on her husband. She had always thought that her submission to him and ‘their thing’ bought them an extra level of intimacy, a sort of force field, that would keep others out. But now she, herself, had opened the gates.

What was she thinking? Mary was a few years younger, not many, but younger. And that mattered to men, didn’t it? With no kids or husband she had more time and energy for the gym and tennis. Jules had seen enough of her body to know how she was put together. 

She heard John talking but was too distracted to follow. ‘Sit here’, he was saying, pulling her between his legs and turning her. Like a child she obediently sat on his knee. Jules watched his hand  press on her chest between her breasts as if watching a movie. “Your heart is beating like a bird’, he said. 

“I’m so nervous.”

“Why?” he smiled warmly as he pressed his hand firmly against her breastplate.  ‘Jules put this together for you.’ 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m not ready.”

“That’s up to you, but if we waited until we thought we were ready we’d be waiting the rest of our lives.’

Jules’ ears perked up at that old chestnut. She remembered the first time she heard it and wondered now how many women might have been cajoled by it. Stop it! She chided herself, don’t put this on him, this is your own doing!” She thought she had been doing a good thing for a friend and for her husband but now, viewing the action before her, she wondered how much of it was for herself. Knowing what was coming excited her in a way she hadn’t expected. 

Mary was calming, his warm hand on her heart serving as a weighted blanket to slow the tumbled jumbles rolling through her. Watching his lips, Mary’s breathing settled into his slow relaxed rhythm. His hand slipped up to her neck where his fingers caressed her pulse there. 

“There, there,” he said lightly, “That’s much better.”

“I feel better.”

“Ready then?”

She nodded once.

“Words, please”, he said

“I’m ready”

“Ready for what , Dear?” he coached.

She looked into his eyes for the first time. 

“Ready for my spanking.”

“Ahh, very good. Stand please.”

Back on the couch Mary was giving into her wanton thoughts as she watched her husband’s hands slide gently from Mary’s waist, up to her ribs and back down again as his eyes, unseen from where she was sitting, drank in Mary’s breasts and flat stomach. She realized that she envied him his view, and Mary, her closeness to him just then and how close she would feel when she offered her bottom. The only evidence of Jules’ surrender to lasciviousness was the rising heat in her face. It was warm in here! She settled back into the cushion.

Mary wriggled slightly as the waistband of her pants loosened and she knew John was untying the drawstring on the front. As was his torturous wont, he did it slowly and deliberately. Then Jules watched her husband’s fingers on both sides as he slipped his thumbs into the waistband and pulled her sweats slowly down. He did it gently, saving the panties for a different unveiling. 

The purple panties snugly held the woman’s firm round bottom. His hands ran over them and down the backs of her thighs which, Mary knew from many hours on the tennis court were clean and tight with nary a dimple, deposit or wrinkle.

She watched John shift her to the side and guide her over his lap. For balance, she reached first for his knee, then for the coffee table.. Small enough that she didn’t reach the floor on both ends Mary felt extremely exposed and she balanced bottom up, head down, her hands finally flat on the floor, almost upside down. She allowed herself to be handled and pulled so that her hips broke over his legs pushing her bottom subtly backward. 

“Comfy?” he asked, his strong left hand splayed on the small of her back while his right, between her legs, pulled them slightly open. “Oh, my. Jules, come look at this,” he said gazing down at the wide wet spot darkening the crotch of Mary’s lilac panties.

“You ARE ready, aren’t you.”

I’m sorry”, she squeaked.

“ Don’t apologize. And, don’t be embarrassed. You feel the way you feel. The body reveals all, in time. Doesn’t it honey?”

“Yes sir”, said Jules weakly looking down at her friend’s upturned bottom. She felt a little queasy with her own desires, wanting to reach and peel the panties down herself.

“We better get on with this,” said John, raising his hand and bringing down what Jules thought to be a rather light swat on Mary’s right cheek.

“Ouch”, she peeped. 

Not much of an ‘ouch’ said John. 

“Not much of a smack”, Jules said. . 

John, hand still on the bottom where it had landed, said “Jules thinks I should spank you harder”. He squeezed lightly. “What do you think?”

Mary lifted her head slightly to look back over her shoulder. “Whatever you guys think is fine with me.”

Jules thought that Mary could have no idea what she was thinking. 

“Alrighty then’, said John raising his hand. Jules was sitting back on the couch when the second swat landed, then the third and the fourth right after. He was alternating cheeks with more force than before but much less than he was capable of. 

Mary finally began to answer the swats with grunts, small “mmm-mmm’s” and John raised the intensity slightly until he got a nice yelp. He stopped then and rubbed her bottom. Is that warming up a little?”

“Yes, she said breathlessly. “It’s fine…”

“Fine, huh? Maybe it’s best we move along”. And with no further warning of preamble he snatched the top of Mary’s panties and pulled them off her bottom, slowing when they stuck in her moist folds.  He slipped his hand between her legs to free them, allowing his fingers to gently caress her sopping crotch. Jules clenched her fists but didn’t move or say a word, even when her husband’s finger elicited a louder cry than any of his smacks had. 

His first two swats on her bare bottom were hollow sounding thuds as he aimed at the void where Mary’s cheeks met her legs at the bottom of her bottom. Jules clapped her legs together knowing the vibrations that such attentions sent down between the legs. Then there were more loud cracks as he spanked thoroughly, spreading the pink evenly from side to side, top to bottom. Jules was so deeply curating her own fantasies and desires that she didn’t immediately hear Mary’s moans that had very little to do with pain or discomfort. 

“I think that should about do it”, John said cupping her glowing bottom with his big warm hand.He helped her up with his left hand and patted her bum with his right as he guided her toward the stairs. “Go upstairs. Wait for us in our room.”

Jules moved toward her husband as she watched her friend’s red bottom move quickly up the stairs.

“Our room?” she asked.

“That’s where the hairbrush is.”

“You’re giving her the brush?

“Not her. That would be rather severe on her first time, don’t you think?”

“Yes it would”, Jules breathed, straddling her husband’s knee.

“She’s a girl,” he spoke into her face as she leaned closer, rubbing herself on his thigh “It’s best she sees how a woman handles the brush.”

“Whatever you say love”, she said as she covered his mouth with her own.

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, bare, bend 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 stayed in the doorway forcing her to squeeze by.

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. She didn’t 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.  She 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 strokes 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.

Separation

It doesn’t take many words to end a thing. Sometimes one. One measly word. Maybe two or four if they’re the right ones or many times, none at all. He sat on the edge of the bed thinking about putting on pants. There was plenty of time for that. The morning sun-somehow different here in the city-sliced through the rheumy window spotlighting his feet which he always hated-short and square and now with bright purple starfish bursting spidery on his ankles. She has them too! Don’t for a moment think he was the only one getting old. Had she ever seen the backs of her own knees? She’s not special-time marches on for everyone regardless of what anyone thinks. Standing, he gazed at the rooftops around him. He’d done business in this part of town back when. Just couldn’t remember with who. And it wasn’t because he was old! People forget things, that’s all. They had to-there was too much new stuff every minute of every hour of every day. Things had to be jettisoned to make room, that’s all. Were the water towers on the buildings new? Couldn’t be, they looked older than fuck, he just had never seen them that he could remember. He wished he had a cigarette. He’d given them up years ago but they would at least give him something to do with his hands. His old man wielded a cigarette as a maestro did a baton-directing, punctuating, prompting: allegro, lento-the smoke leaving whirling white trails drifting to the ceiling. He wondered if he could smoke in here. These rooms weren’t bad by the week, considering. He’d have to think about it. For now though, checkout was at ten. It would be no problem. He could leave earlier if he had anywhere to go.