The Opioid Epidemic – Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not my buddy.”

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

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

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

“What gave you the first clue.”

“This was my fault. I’m sorry.”

“Stupid…”

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Felt that?” Rick asked.

“Yessss” came the answer.

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

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

“Uh huh…” David mumbled.

“This more than you thought it would be?”

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

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

“Only when I deserve it though, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not done!!?”

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

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

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

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

The Engagement

It had once been a storage room but now was empty and strangely well kept. As if someone came up every week to sweep and dust. She noticed such things. The ceiling was twice as high as downstairs in the bar and windows made up almost the whole wall opposite the door. Would have been impressive had they not looked directly across the alley to the blank brick wall of a building that reached three stories above. The late afternoon sun bounced off the brick and tumbled to the alley below. The only furnishings were a chair and a desk-really a long table with a drawer-against one wall and an old leather sofa under the windows.

Her bag and clothes were arranged neatly across the end of the sofa in the order she had taken them off, red panties on top, her short, scuffed boots parked neatly in front. He had discretely turned his back and stared at the door while she undressed. But he listened. He heard it all-the clump of the boots coming off first. The zipper, then the rustle of her jeans. There was no real sound as she pulled the black t-shirt over her head, but he heard it. He would have heard butterfly wings at that point. He heard her move-her muscles twinge and stretch as she bent and arranged, then finally the padding of her bare feet as she took position in the middle of the room.

“You can turn around now”, she said.

When he did his eyes were pulled first to the blonde page-boy wig. It was atrocious but served to round a face that would have been severe in someone larger. She was not tall; would easily fit under his chin with a thick book to spare. Slim without being skinny, lines of muscle and cords of tendons traced along her shoulders and down her arms. Her breasts were firm demitasse cups riding high above the soft ridges of ribs that tapered to a flat belly. The tiny manicured dark patch could easily be overlooked. But he didn’t.

“We never set a time limit did we?” she asked.

“No…no…whenever’s comfortable I guess. Are you thinking you’re done already?”

“No, no…it’s fine.”

She didn’t look at him, rather let her eyes float over his shoulders to the room, the walls. They could use a coat of paint she thought. Something natural-like sand-to offset the brick outside.

“Thank you for this. For doing this,” he said.

“You’re welcome. But the hundred bucks was a fine incentive.”

“There are probably easier ways to make a hundred dollars.”

Her first smile of the afternoon split her face like a razor.

“Not really.”

He went silent again and she could feel his eyes, a damp breeze over her thighs and feathering her middle.

“Do you like my wig?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not at all.”

She pulled a sad face and stroked the faux hair over her ear.

“It was very expensive”, she said.

“Then you got robbed. Plus I love your hair-the color.”

“Really?” she said, pleased. “Not too mousy?”

“You kidding?”

Hmmm, she thought. “Wait a minute”, she said. “Time out.”

She looked at him then. “Turn around. Don’t look.”

He turned his back and she slipped back to the couch. A quick flip and the wig flopped atop the pile of clothes. Shaking her head, she pulled a small hairbrush out of her bag. Squinting to see herself in the window she worked her matted hair as best she could to give it a little life.  There was a part, and it lay over her right ear and caressed the top of her neck. She padded back to her place in the middle of the room.

“You can look now.”

He turned and smiled. “Ah, that’s nice. Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me. It’s fine.”

He moved close and looked down where the hair was thickest. “There is a touch of auburn”, she said then let his gaze leak down over her shoulder to her nipple. Suddenly startled by her proximity he moved a step backward then slipped to his right, out of her sight line. She stayed still, letting air in through her mouth and out through her nose. That’s all she remembered from an old mediation lesson. His shoes must have been new because they squeaked as he shifted his weight behind her.

“Can I touch?”, he asked weakly-afraid of the answer.

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“Of course. I know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay”, she said quietly but firmly. She cocked her head only a little to the side. “What do you want to touch?”

He was behind her and she well knew what he wanted to touch.

“Your bottom.”

Of course. She grew up hating her bottom-she imagined it to be a boy’s backside: flat with none of the curves that her friends had. As she got older it filled out a bit, but still didn’t curve enough. The gym had made it firm and muscles gave it some shape, but she thought it rode up her back. He liked it though.

“OK”, she said. “But only the cheeks. Nothing funny.”

“No, of course not.”

As soon as his palm touched her, she pushed slightly backward trying to create a curve, or some kind of contour anyway. And she softened as best she could. He was thorough, palming the right cheek, sliding down to the thigh then across to the other side. She felt his hand lift away then touch her again, palming her fully. Then again.

“I know what you’re doing”, she said.

“Mmm?”

“You’re spanking me, aren’t you? That’s what you’re imagining. Isn’t it?”

“Maybe you’ve been bad…”

She bent imperceptibly and arched her back giving him a truer target for his pantomime.

“Bend me over and spank my ass. That’s what you really want to do, isn’t it?”

“I…” His mind, having been somewhere else, struggled to answer.  His hand cupped her bottom and squeezed gently in lieu of words. She was still offering out.

“I mean, more than fuck me, right? You’d rather spank me than fuck me…”

He didn’t answer as his palm grazed across her backside.

“Well you can’t.”

He drew away, at the first negative she’d uttered.

“No…” he said.

“At least not now… What time is it?”

He coughed lightly and looked at his watch. Told her.

“My shift starts in twenty minutes. I gotta get down there.”

“Oh, sure. I know. That’s time then.”

“Yeah, time.”

“OK”, he said while haltingly heading for the door. “Again, thank you…”

“Wait. Don’t run off.”

He paused and turned, surprised and at a loss. She beckoned to the couch as he watched her move to her clothes.

“Sit….”

He did, not expecting to watch her dress. He crossed a leg.

She stepped delicately into her panties. “Why’d you stop asking me out?”

“You kept saying no.”

“You weren’t very persistent.”

“I asked a thousand times.”

She pulled her panties up and slipped her arms through a red silk undershirt-all the bra she needed.

“You give up too easy.”

Her jeans went on smoothly and he lost himself in the workings of her fingers zipping, snapping and buckling. The t-shirt followed and hung loose. She held the wig and glanced at him.

“No. If you’re asking.”

She left the wig on the couch and picked up her bag. “Are you coming down for a drink?”

“Absolutely.”

She smiled, opened the door and slipped through.

“See you down there”, she said over her shoulder.

He sat stiffly listening to the clippity-clop of her boots fading down the stairs.

© TDR-2019

Ridge Runner

Ridge Runner

Trees, stumps and boulders that he knew well enough to find in the dark appeared as apparitions then faded behind as he stormed up the slim hollow away from the cabin down on the flat river bend. Boiling clouds of wet morning fog clutched at his feet and pulled at his arms as he worked to climb above them.

Halfway to the ridge he slipped around an outcropping and paused to breathe near the copse of stunted torch pine that seemed to grow right out of the rocks. Later in the day, with the sun high overhead, this was a favorite sunning spot for copperheads but now only golden tendrils of sunlight had begun to tear at the gauzy curtain around him. Through an opening shard of green, the cabin looked like a small car from here. From up top it would be a matchbox.

Flight was more an instinct than a planned strategy. No doubt when she said “GO!” she meant out of the room but by the time he yanked his jeans up and cinched his belt, “OUT!” was all he was thinking.

He heard his name, clear as a crow’s call across the valley. Once. Then again. His heart, settling back into its rhythm, pumped the blood that coursed through the welts that he knew crossed his backside. He felt the burn that had been dulled by the run up the mountain. The searing pain that had forced him to bite the pillow.

But worse than that, he felt the wet spot in the front of his pants, that small drip that came when he was hard in spite of-or because of-his humiliation and pain. How could that be right? The first time she’d laid hands on him he felt it.  Did she know that? Could she tell? Is that why she stopped taking him over her lap and made him lie across the bed?

He wasn’t hard just then, thinking about it. But he wasn’t altogether soft either. With none but the trees to see, he rubbed his hand along the back of his jeans feeling a slight charge from massaging a spot at the top of his leg. Just as he was about to loosen his belt to slip his hand inside, he heard his name again. Sharper this time. Jabbing. Then, “It’ll be twice as bad if you don’t get back here right now!”

His heart beginning to race again, he turned his back downhill and continued to climb.

Hideaway

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(Continued from Shadows)

More often than not Lori would walk or bike to up to Hideaway, where she worked as a massage therapist. It was a job she had gotten almost by default. Melon, her best friend from high school, managed the spa and recommended the classes and certifications when Lori was struggling with Uncle Red late in his metamorphosis.  Which was how she took to viewing it at the time; he wasn’t dying-but changing. His rugged good looks softening-his strong arms and hands melting away…

The massage studio became her refuge. Warm stone walls, subtle sounds of tumbling water, classical music or white noise of her choosing. She took to the unencumbered physicality of massage; the intimacy with consequence. Windowless and perpetually dusk or dawn, the timelessness of the space gave her a measure of peace – the feeling that she could control the uncontrollable.  In the studio the clatter and clutter in her brain could be dulled. At least for a while.

Of course, this morning being late again added to her noise. A walk would feel good, maybe clear her head, but there was no time for that.  Melon was always there at six to open and prep for the day. Lori was supposed to be there at six thirty to set up for early appointments, but here is was, six thirty-five and she we still standing in her kitchen. Had she been on time at all this week? She headed for the car.

Melanie Patterson let her green tea sit-cooling enough that she’d have to heat it before drinking it. She was small, her hair a strawberry halo of tight ringlets surrounding a face smattered with freckles and a wide smile. To all the clients who came through the spa, Melanie’s personality was like merry go rounds and bubble gum-all fun and laughter. Those who knew her well enough to call her by her nickname, “Melon” knew there were other sides to the charming sprite.

This morning, one of those other sides was bubbling to the surface. She fairly seethed looking at the clock move languidly toward seven. It was the sixth day IN A ROW that Lori had been late. Melanie had worked hard to cover her anger in their day-to-day contacts but away from work, especially at night when she journaled and set up her checklist for the next day, the thought that Lori-one of her best friends-would be late to her job upset her. She covered for her, moved appointments, never let on that her tardiness-as well as her growing lackadaisical attitude-was becoming a chronic problem.

It was six fifty-five when the heavy stained-glass door swung open and Lori strode into the lobby to find Melanie standing in front of the reception desk.

“Finally!” Melanie spat, unable to maintain her cool façade but stopped short when seeing her friend’s face. “Holy shit girl. You OK?” She had dropped her well-lacquered spa voice and sounded like the girl from Rake Ridge Road that she was.

“Do I look that bad?” Lori asked bringing the backs of her fingers to her cheek as if feeling for a fever.

“Not if you made up your eyes to look like a racoon on purpose. If that was your intention, I gotta tell you, it works.” The anger was gone, replaced by concern. Melanie stepped toward her friend and took her hands, pausing to look at her nails. “Girl, you gnawed these down to nubs!”

“I haven’t been sleeping too well”, Lori shrugged.

“I guess not”, Melanie answered and reached up to stroke Lori’s head. “You need to tighten up the pony tail. Looks all like a squirrel’s nest.” Lori face split into a wan smile that Melanie took as a bit of a victory. She wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. “You OK to work today? I can call Shelley in…”

“No, I’m fine”, Lori said just shy of a sniffle. She returned the hug, happy for the contact. “Just let me get back into the studio-I’ll work this out.”

Melanie stepped back slightly and grasped Lori’s arms at the biceps. “Sometimes you make me just want to shake you.”  She yanked her gently once, then back again, until pulling her close, Melanie leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Maybe I’ll try the Uncle Red method on you”, she said quietly.

Lori recoiled slightly and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Of course, Melon knew about Uncle Red; they’d been friends for a decade and had talked about a lot of things. She didn’t know everything of course. Lori kept some secrets-but she knew enough. Still, hearing his name coming out of Melon’s mouth set her back. And Melanie saw it-saw her friend’s eyes widen then narrow as she took a sliding step backward. Melanie settled back herself saying nothing, letting her last words echo.

On her heels, cheeks flushed a hot pink, Lori peeled the tongue from the roof of her mouth and croaked almost under her breath, “Maybe you should.”

Now it was Melon’s turn to let the silence bloom between them. But Lori wouldn’t make eye contact. They were interrupted by the phone, humming softly on the desk between them. “Duty calls”, said Melon clearing her throat. “Go, check your schedule for the morning. I moved your seven to seven-thirty.  You’re welcome. Go start the day.”

Still not making eye contact, Lori turned and walked out of her friend’s office shaken by the exchange but somehow slightly relieved. If the weight pressing her down was not completely lifted it seemed to have lessened-a bit. As she watched Lori leave the room Melanie felt a slight quiver in her chest. She picked up the phone, “Good Morning-River’s Spa…” her voice sang.

To be continued…

Danny – Part 2

(Continued from Danny)

We spent the day as we had the one before; fishing, swimming, canoeing and ignoring what had happened. Had someone joined us that day, they wouldn’t have noticed anything in the way we acted toward each other. At least that’s how I remember that day. At the end of it, after dinner and a late swim I was sun-groggy, playing solitaire in the main room and Danny was, I thought, reading in his. I thought nothing of it when he called, “Come here a minute”. When I got to his door, the lamp was dimmed by a red bandana over the shade and he was laying on the bed, naked on his belly, ass pointed right at the door. Right at me.

I thickened immediately-to be eighteen again-and noticed a rubber and a small bottle on the tiny square of table beside the lamp. I picked up the bottle of lube. It was brand new-unopened-bought for the weekend.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had this yesterday?”

He turned his head toward me and without looking up said, “I didn’t want to scare you off…” His face was obscured by a thick sash of dirty blonde hair, but he was smiling.

I undressed quickly and lay beside him, my stiff cock bumping and rubbing against his leg. He smelled like salt, like the river, like the Ivory soap we kept down the on the dock because it floated. There was no question what to do next-this was not the first time I’d been in bed with someone-but certainly the first time with a guy. Also, the first time with someone who reacted as warmly and lively, to every touch-to every caress. Up on my elbow I traced my hand across the wide shoulders and down the smooth muscles of his back bumping along his spine to the dimples where the deep brown of his tan faded into the soft white mounds of his ass. Below, his hamstrings were tight and practically hairless.

I paused my hand on his rear and squeezed gently, loving the feel of it.  He reached back and covered my hand with his. “Smack me”, he said. “On the butt…”

I did, not hard but hard enough to generate a nice jolt against in my shoulder. He moaned and pushed his bottom toward me. “Again.” I did, and he gasped and lifted his bottom for more cocking his leg slightly to accommodate his hardening. The air left the room as I slapped and slapped turning his bottom an all over pink.

“Use my belt”, he croaked lifting his hips.

“What?” I asked, not sure.

“My belt. Use it!” The thick leather was still in his jeans hanging on the back of the door. I pulled it out and doubled it, snapping it once.

“Right across my ass!” he was breathless, on his knees like a charmed cobra, his face in his pillow. The first lash was limp and met with a “come on…” the second better, sound cracking off the walls. By the fifth he was yipping like a coyote with every blow and my cock was bouncing like a conductor’s baton. He signaled he was finished by sliding his legs backward and collapsing on the bed. I whipped him once more as he squeezed his cheeks together like two hard red apples. I dropped the belt and rubbed his hot, dry bottom.

“This has to hurt”, I whispered.

“It burns”, he said. “Burns good…”

I pulled his legs apart and kneeled between them, back by his feet so I could lean forward and continue rubbing his tortured cheeks lightly. He couldn’t have jumped higher had I touched him with a lit cigarette when I kissed his bottom. “Jumpy?”, I said pinching lightly and rubbing my three days stubble over the heat. His movements spoke eloquently without words.

He wriggled at the sound when I tore open the rubber and gasped when I drizzled the cool liquid onto my fingers and rubbed them over and into his tight asshole. Guided by my right hand, my cock leaned against his opening for a moment. Then I pushed slowly, relentlessly until I was deep inside and lying flat atop him filling my lungs with the smell of him. I nibbled lightly and underhooked both arms trying to catch a rhythm with the old bed springs.

Danny tried to free his right arm-to pull it down. I knew what he was going for and grunted, “Here, let me.” We rolled onto our sides spooning and I took his pulsing cock in my right hand. I didn’t think the bed-the same one I was sleeping on now- would survive our thrusting what with him pushing back as I rammed forward-never slowing pumping his cock. We came close enough to the same time to call it even. He growled, and I growled, squeezing him a little harder than I’d meant to. But he took it and pushed back as we went limp together.

The next day, after washing his sleeping bag in the river, we decided to leave. Maybe we feared what might happen that night, maybe we were out of beer. But we left. The ride home was the same as the ride down: cassettes playing loud and talking about people at school. After a silence about an hour into the ride he said without looking at me. “I enjoyed you fucking me. I really liked that.”

“I did too”, I said.

“And I don’t feel weird about it.” I didn’t answer. “I don’t. Doesn’t mean anything except that it’s just something we did.”

“What about the belt?”

“I REALLY liked that…”

I smiled and tried to affect a rakish grin over the steering wheel but when I glanced in the mirror it was more of a Dr. Sardonicus rictus. But that was it-that was our conversation about the weekend. We spoke no more of it. We didn’t see much of each other too much over the summer and it seemed to be by design. Then fall came and I went to school up north and he went to work. As I understand it, he hated the job and after he got laid off Danny surprised everyone and joined the service. It was a gray September day a couple of years later when word came that he’d been blown-up in Afghanistan.

 

A Beautiful Morning…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really…?” Her smile faded.

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

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

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

“Come on Mom…Part 3”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cassie…” Eileen began.

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

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

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

“It’s not like I had a choice. OWWW!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FORTY! I can’t take forty swats.”

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

“Mom! Come on…”

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

“That was twenty-nine.”

“You counted?”

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

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

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

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

“Like I would give you the satisfaction…”

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

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

“You ready?” Eileen asked.

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

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

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

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

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