Chloe – The Finale

Continued from Chloe – Part 3

Chloe was sitting on the edge of her bed facing the door seemingly rubbing at her thigh. With the damn creaky floors, Chloe knew she was right outside the door, but wouldn’t look up. Just sat there fiddling with her leg. The shower brush was on the bed beside her.

Karen approached and looked down at her daughter’s leg. She was making what looked to be little tic tac toe scratches on her thigh with her fingernail. “Stop that”, Karen said, tenderly cupping her head in her hand. Then, sitting beside her, she wet her finger and wiped the dry, white marks away with her hand. Self-conscious, Chloe wiped at them too and pulled the skirt lower.

Karen felt the spine melting out of her. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I think we both know that”, Chloe mumbled through a mouthful of cotton without looking up.

“Look, Chloe. I…”

Chloe’s heart was racing and her eyes were burning. She could not bear to hear another lecture, another session of having her own words thrown back at her and having to listen to what a shit she was. She knew that. I’m sorry Mom, was all she was thinking but she couldn’t make herself say that. Not right now. Not that it wasn’t true, but if she said that now-just apologized-Karen would believe her. She would forgive her and not do what she came upstairs to do. What she needed her to do.

Chloe twisted on the bed and laid herself quickly over her mother’s lap. Once there she reached back and pulled her skirt up as best she could, exposing her panty-clad rear. She was wearing skimpy blue panties that Karen had never seen and she chose to ignore the fact that her daughter was matching her underwear to her skirt. She had an idea of where this evening had been headed.

“Be my Mom alright? You can be my friend later. Now you need to be my mom!”

Jarred, Karen swallowed her surprise and still-borne response, remembering what Deena had told her. Christ, had she had been so blind to what her daughter needed from her? It had always been about what she wanted, what she needed from her daughter. How had she missed the signals being sent her way?

“Alrighty then”, said Karen, tightening her grip around her daughter’s waist shrugging off the feeling that she was a player in someone else’s drama. When she brought the first swat down heavily on Chloe’s right cheek they both said “OW!” Karen silently with an-O-open mouth and Chole not so quietly. It had been awhile, but Karen knew the feel of wood on bottom-something her daughter was about to learn.

At the moment, Chole’s thoughts were more along the line of “be careful what you wish for” but by the third smack of the brush had degenerated into a mishmash of “OW-Ouch! She’s really beating my ass! Jesus! Jesus! This hurts-HURTS! Ow! OW!” She managed to bite her lip and not yell too much but couldn’t stop the wriggling.

Suddenly remembering her own sessions over Chef Tony’s lap Karen switched the paddle to her left hand and quickly grabbed her daughter’s panties and yanked them down. Something obviously unanticipated.

“NO MOM!” Chloe yelled and reached back. Too late to grab her underwear, she instead covered her bared bottom with her hand palm up. “Not on the bare, Mom! Please!”

“Take your hand away or I will swat it.” She swatted her moderately on the back of the leg.

“Ouch! OK….”

Chloe, having begun to cry despite herself, pulled a pillow down and buried her face in it. A thin sheath of cotton would not seem to offer much protection from a stout bath brush, but the first contact of wood on bare skin was electric. “Jesus! She’s spanking my bare ass!! My BARE ASS” echoed through Chloe’s brain as she yelped into the pillow. Karen delivered smack after smack to her reddening bottom. She kicked and swam not able to avoid the blows but neither could she register that every swat was a tad lighter than the one before.

Karen, even now determined to be more attentive to her daughter’s needs, watched her reactions and listened carefully to her cries. When Chloe stopped wriggling and instead pushed her legs straight back tightening her bum into two hard apples Karen decided the punishment was over. She dropped the brush back onto the bed as the girl relaxed, continuing to cry softly.

Karen grabbed the panties that were bunched at Chole’s knees and pulled them gently up, covering her bottom. She primly dropped the skirt back in place, only then patting Chloe’s aching back side.

“That should about do it”, she said. “Come on, get up”.

Chloe pushed herself up and sat on the bed where she had before eyes focused on the carpet.  Karen got up and snapped tissues from a box on the bedside table. “Here”, she said putting them in front of Chloe’s face. “Let’s see if we can get along for a while”, she said stroking the top of her head.

Chloe didn’t look up but seemed to nod.

“You’re done for the night,” Karen told her heading for the door.  Get ready for bed. No computer, no phone….”

“OK….” Came the tissue-muffled answer.

Downstairs Karen poured a thick glass of tooth achingly cold vodka over ice and headed for the front porch. The cool of the evening sliced hard into the heat running through her and she almost shivered. Tossing a few cushions aside she settled onto the wicker glider and finally, finally sighed deeply emptying her lungs then refilling-once, twice…sip. Repeat. She had thought about calling Deena but didn’t; wanting this time for herself and Chloe in case…

She heard the door opening behind her.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Can I come out?”

“Sure.” Karen tossed the cushions beside her onto the floor. Chloe had changed into pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved Carroll High cheerleader T-shirt. She flopped down beside her mother and let her head loll onto her shoulder.

Karen took her offered hand. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“My butt is SO sore…”

“I hope you’re not looking for an apology.”

“Nope.”

They sat just so for a few moments, Karen breathing the soft scent of Chloe’s hair.

“I know I still don’t have car privileges so you think you can take me to school in the morning?”

“Isn’t what’s his face picking you up?”

“Ah…I don’t think that would be right. I’m breaking up with him tomorrow.”

“Really?” Karen asked, happily surprised. “Why?”

She felt Chloe shrug and knew there would be no other explanation forthcoming right now. And she was fine with that. As they sat in silence, slowly rocking back and forth, Karen felt her eyes burning but was unwilling to let go of her daughter’s hand to rub them.

She let the tear slide softly down her cheek.

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Chloe – Part 3

(Continued from Chloe – Part 2)

Chloe was so relieved to be in the car and out of the Che’s office that she forgot to immediately sulk and Karen almost relaxed too. Almost. And only for a moment before the anger took back over.

“Did you pick Umberto’s because I used to work here?”

Chloe shrugged and looked out of the passenger window, closing up and pointedly ignoring her mother’s glances.

“Did you figure if you got caught at least you might not get busted? Again. Have you been in there before?” Again, just a shrug.

That growth spurt did complicate things Chloe was about as tall as she was, with coltish legs and quickly developing breasts. Karen would have been thrilled to put the kid stuff behind them and get on with the sisterly mother daughter time that Chef Tony talked about. But then there were things like this. When adulting ground to a halt and she would prove herself a willful seventeen-year-old not ready for the adult role that Karen wanted her to assume.

“You were grounded for three weeks, still don’t have car privileges back and the day after you’re allowed out of the house you are busted trying to…”

A blaring car horn jolted Karen back to the task at hand and she yanked the wheel back from where she had drifted.

“Jesus Mom! Would you watch what you’re doing? Christ!”

Almost unwilled, Karen’s hand lashed out and grabbed Chloe’s ear along with a thick lock of her blonde hair. “Bring it down a notch”, she growled. Chloe’s eyes widened with surprised fear as her mother twisted and yanked slowly, laying her hands on her daughter for the first time in anger in years.

“Alright! I’m sorry”, Chloe shrilled.

Karen released her ear as quickly as she’d grabbed it and the girl pulled away plastering herself against the passenger window and rubbing the side of her head. “I’m sorry”, she clipped at her. “You just push and push. Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m just stubborn that way.”

“How much of it is him?”

Chloe sniffed at that.

“Are you in love with him?”

“Please!”

“Really, what is it with him? I mean, he’s not what you’d call bright. Why are you even with him?”

Just like that, Chloe glanced her way and gave her a seemingly surreptitious look. A “how much should I tell her?” look that Karen recognized immediately. There it was! That quick look-that wink without a wink-a sister to sister acknowledgement of a carnal truth that would be hell to tell your mother.

Karen smiled inwardly if a little ruefully. She was her daughter, that couldn’t be denied. She stopped at a light. They weren’t far from home Karen cleared her throat to announce what she’d been thinking about since Chef Tony’s office.

“You know what’s going to happen when we get home, don’t you?”

“No idea” she answered.

“I’m going to spank you.”

“Yeah, right!” she sniffed.

“Yeah. Right.”

“Mom. You’re not.”

“No, I was thinking…you remember the last time I spanked you? When you pushed me to the edge and I didn’t know what else to do?”

“No”, she answered too quickly.

“Of course, you do. What were you twelve? You had stolen that boy’s paper when you didn’t do the assignment and lied about it? Said it was yours because you copied it into your own writing?”

“Thirteen”, she said out the window.

“Yeah…seventh grade. They were going to fail you for the class but I told them I would handle it at home. I almost had to tell them-I had to make it clear to them-what I was going to do and they were fine with it.”

“It was humiliating.”

“No doubt. For me too. But after that-you were fine. You were on the honor roll the last two quarters-we got along for the rest of that year it seemed.”

“THAT wasn’t why.”

“Probably not. But it’s impossible to ignore the personality transplant that my hand on your butt brought about.”

“But you can’t spank me…

“Why not?”

“I’m an adult…almost…”

“Almost. This is nothing I want to do, believe me. Sometimes I wish you would grow up and move out just like you say you want to almost every day. But you can’t. You’re too young. And sometimes I wish you were younger so you wouldn’t test me all the goddam time. I’m still responsible for you. And I have to do something to get through to you.”

“But you know I don’t mean half of what I say…”

“How would I know that?”

“You know I’m sorry when I really fuck up!”

“How do I know that? And watch your language. Do you ever say it? Don’t break your brain trying to remember. You never do!”

“I AM! I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Karen asked calmly as she pulled into the driveway. “For what, exactly?”

“For today-for trying to walk on that bill. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Is that it? You’re just sorry for today?”

“For all of it then!”

“All of which?”

“I don’t know…for being a bitch, I guess. I’m sorry!”

“Ok, so I’m hearing that message, yes. But I’m not exactly getting it.”

“You are NOT going to spank me”, she said as firmly as she could though her eyes were tearing and her voice quavering.

“No way out of it now, I’m afraid. You’ve pushed me too far too many times and I have to figure out a way to stop it. I can’t fight you all the time.”

Chloe pushed her door open and slammed it behind her stalking to the house. Karen watched her go gripping the steering wheel to keep her hands from shaking. “One-one thousand, Two-one thousand, Three-one thousand….” She counted until Chloe reached the locked door and realized she’d left her purse-with her keys-in the car. She could do nothing but stand on the porch and fume until Karen got there. When her mother approached the door, Chloe kicked it. Hard. Then again.

“Chloe”, Karen said as calmly as possible. “That’s a kickplate. Get it? A brass kickplate on an oak door. The only thing you are going to hurt is your foot.”

When Karen opened the door, Chloe bolted past her mother quicker than a cat might trying to get out. She headed for the stairs.

“Go upstairs and wait for me in your room. “

“Mom!”

“First, go into the bathroom and get the shower brush out of the tub.”

“NO!”

“Go upstairs, get the brush and wait for me in your room.”

“The last time you just used your hand!”

“You were a girl then. Not so much anymore.”

Chole combined a primal grunt, sigh and growl in a way Karen had never heard before stomping up the steps. “And leave the door open”, Karen called after her.

Karen waited and listened-definitely heard her in the bathroom. Heard her crossing to her room. Waited for the door slam which…never…came. “Huh”, she thought.

She wandered into the kitchen and opened the freezer grabbing the bottle of Grey Goose thinking to take the edge off but knew instinctively that would be a bad move. She pushed it back in among the ice, Moose Tracks and frozen chicken breasts. Her phone pinged and she pulled it out of her purse. There were three texts from Deena all variations on the theme: Are you OK? Everything OK?

Karen texted back. “Peachy. Just got home-about to go upstairs and spank Chloe.”

She hit send, watched the message sent, watched it delivered, watched it read. And waited. “One-one thousand, Two-one thousand…” She didn’t even get the three before the piano tinkling ring-tone sounded and Deena’s beautiful smiling face filled her screen. “Hello”, she answered.

“Really girl?”

“Apparently so.”

“But, wow. Your idea?”

“Who else?”

Deena paused for a moment. “You up for this?”

“I don’t know. But I do know we can’t keep going like this.”

“Just remember sweetheart. You’re dealing with a full-grown woman now…”

“She’s seventeen, acts twenty, then acts fourteen…”

“Age is not the point. Point is, she’s a woman. And you’re not going to do anything to her that she won’t let you do. You get that don’t you?” Karen didn’t answer immediately. Heard her, but wasn’t sure that she got her. “Where is she now?”

“Upstairs in her room waiting.”

“Go then. Go do what you both need.”

“I wish you were here right now”, Karen said quietly. “I could use you.”

“You always got me kiddo. You’ll do fine. Just be you.”

Just be me, thought Karen when they disconnected. That’s part of what got them into this mess. If it were up to her, she would sit on the porch with a glass of vodka and wait for it to all blow over. No, she couldn’t be her exactly. She had to use that anger…maybe channel a little of Deena. She smiled and tossed back her shoulders imitating Deena’s cocky military posture and the rolling swagger when she walked with a purpose.  Karen strode across the room and up the stairs.

To be continued…upstairs

Chloe – Part 2

Continued from Chloe

Karen’s stomach flipped as she pulled at the large wooden door and stepped into the dim warmth of Umberto’s. Thank God that they were busy-Chef wouldn’t have much time to spend with her and she could get in, collect Chloe and get out. She was standing at the end of the bar blinking against the half-light when Marie appeared at her shoulder squeezing her arm.

“Hi honey”, she said gently kissing her on the cheek. Then with a shrug and eye-roll, “She’s back here.” Karen followed through the dining room and only hesitated for a quick breath before sliding through the swinging doors to the kitchen, embarrassed for a quick moment that all she cared about was how her hair looked.

She saw him before he saw her and the flip her stomach did when she walked into the place, returned. And spread to her chest. The salt and pepper goatee, the muscled arms swelling against his black T-shirt reminded her immediately of why she had to leave here.

It only took a second before he noticed her. “Hey-Beniamina. Come stai? How you doin’?”

“Hi Tony-great to see you”, she kept her smile tight and professional-not wanting to offer much. “Not under these conditions though.”

Tony gave her a quick-but not perfunctory-hug, coiling his thick arms around her for a moment. “Kids’ll kill you, you let them,” he said releasing her and taking her hands as if she were a long-lost friend. “You shoulda had a boy-they love their mothers.” Then he shrugged. “Want to kill their fathers, but hey, that’s the way. You had a boy, you’d be the queen mother instead of the wicked witch. Girl will fight a mother straight through till they’re both women-then it’s like they’re sisters. Trick is surviving till then. “

Karen wished she was listening but all she could do was watch his mouth, the straight porcelain white teeth, lush tongue rolling every vowel, Adam’s apple bouncing between the cords of his neck. Then there was the familiar whiff of cloves on his breath that he used to cover the occasional cached cigarette.  Jesus.

“You look great”, she heard him say. “You still in the business?”

“No. Got my CPA-working in finance.”

“Ach-numbers”, Tony threw up a hand.

“Keeps me off my feet all day.”

“You ever want to dip your toe back in, call me.”

Karen shifted on her feet as the small talk wound down. “Here”, said Tony, reaching into a pocket on his apron. He handed her the check that Chloe’s group walked out on.

“Impressive”, she said frowning. “And wine too. I’m sure none of them are of age.”

“That’s another issue. One that I’m taking up with their server Lynette. She’s good. New, but not that new.”

“I’ll pay this, of course.”

“You of course will not. I’ll take care of it. You might tip Lynette though-she has enough to worry about right now.”

“Of course.”

Standing here in front of Tony was actually worse than she thought it would be. She had no idea what he was thinking right then but her mind, in spite of everything else going on right now, slid directly to his cock. She wondered if it was stiffening as he spoke to her. She was conscious of hoping that it was. She actually glanced at the tile floor feeling the cold ceramic on her knees as she imagined dropping and dipping her head under his apron to gnaw at it like a sausage in denim casing.

Karen knew-or assumed as everyone else did because there wasn’t a newsletter-that Chef and his wife had an “understanding” and as far as she knew, again assumed, it extended only to spanking the help. She’d heard also that his wife started that thing when she worked with him at their first place.

She’d heard he had a “special” relationship with this one or that one over the years but not as special as the one Karen wanted to have with him. He resisted her pretty well over the three years she was here but she knew she would wear him down over time-which is why she left Umberto’s. She obviously didn’t mind ruining her own marriages but didn’t want to ruin his. That was her story then anyway.

“So where is the master thief?”

Tony nodded. “Office.”

As she turned away she felt his hand on her bicep, “You know how they say that the sins of the father are visited on the sons right?”

“I’ve heard, yes.”

“The reverse can sometimes also be true”. He winked and squeezed her arm before turning back to his post. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Don’t blush, she repeated over and over like a mantra, as she blushed and swallowed a breath.

Chloe looked too big for the chair she was sitting in. She was wearing the blue and gold madras skirt she had appropriated from Karen for the cheerleaders Night at the Races fundraiser a few months before. Karen knew that she wouldn’t be seeing that skirt again except on Chloe but she was fine with it. Since last winter’s growth spurt she could wear her mother’s clothes and lord knows she had enough for both of them.

Sitting there she looked twenty-five to the casual observer but upon a mother’s closer inspection there was the defiant teenager in her sullen look. She studied the floor in front of her twisting a blonde lock between the fingers of her left hand, completely ignoring the fact that there was someone else in the room with her.

“So”, Karen asked evenly, “How was your day?”

“Don’t! I’m not in the mood”, she scowled back.

“Really Chloe? Really?”

Karen felt a stab in her throat and a tightness constricting her windpipe. If she spoke again, she would squeak. She looked away and started counting-something Deena had told her to do. “One, one-thousand, Two, one-thousand, Three…”

As she pulled her eyes from her daughter, she noticed the wooden spatula on top of the filing cabinet. Hanging in the kitchen with everything else it was an innocuous piece of cookware. But in here-sitting alone atop a filing cabinet-there was no mistaking it’s intent. Had he brought it in here waiting for the end of Lynette’s shift or had he, over the last few years, just abandoned all pretense and kept it in here.

Or maybe…was it possible he left it here for her. Did he bring it in here with Chloe as a suggestion to how to deal with her recalcitrant daughter? If he had, Karen didn’t know how she felt about that.  But still… she reached over her daughter and picked it up, held it-something she’d never done before. She knew what the flat end felt like in application of course, but never held it by the handle. She turned it in her wrist and studied the woodgrain darkened by years of stirring.

“Mom?” she heard Chloe say from far away.

It was lighter that Karen would have assumed as she waved it easily, gently, through the air subtly pantomiming a batter swatting a ball down the first base line. That wasn’t the motion Chloe was seeing of course and Karen was fine with that.

“Mom!” came that voice again. When Karen deigned to look her way, her daughter’s eyes were bright and wide-no hint of the hooded sullenness that took up her face minutes before. Her eyes weren’t leaving what Karen had in her hand. “Can we leave?”

“There’s a lock on this door”, Karen said calmly.

“No!” Chloe said quickly grabbing the sides of the chair as if to attach herself to it. “No, Mom!”

Karen made a show of trying to decide what to do. She glanced at the door, hefted the spatula then looked back at Chloe’s wide pleading face. She noticed the spattering of freckles across her nose and the dampness in her glistening eyes.

“Can’t we just leave? Please?”

Karen wasn’t exactly proud of how good she felt eliciting this feeling of fear in her daughter but for the first time in a couple of weeks she felt she had the girl’s attention. She was inclined to not beat herself up too much over it and call if even for the countless missed curfews and various other things Chloe had done to drive her crazy. Yeah, she’d call it even for now but….

“Sure”, she said putting the spatula back on the filing cabinet. “We can leave, but this discussion is not over.”

“Sure…OK”, she said quickly, eschewing the snide “whatever….” she typically would have thrown in.

On the way out, Marie pointed them to Lynette-a small, bright athletic type with a thick shock of silver hair done in a boyish cut. Nothing boyish about her body though and impossibly young looking though Karen was learning that the older she got, the younger everyone else looked.

“How much you have in your wallet?” Karen asked her daughter.

“I don’t know…about thirty bucks.”

“Give it to her”, she nodded to Lynette. “Never stiff a waitress.”

Without a question, Chloe handed over the money with a quick apology-a nice touch that Karen hadn’t expected.

“I’m sorry”, Lynette told Karen, eyes bright. “…I should have carded them. It’s just that we were so busy….”

“It’s OK”, said Karen. “It happens…” The poor kid was probably apologizing to everyone thinking it might bank her something when she met with the boss later. Karen knew that it wouldn’t.

To be continued…

Cathy Cleans on Tuesday – An Evolutionary Tale

I don’t mean birds evolving from dinosaurs or we from apes-not that kind of evolution. I mean the evolution of thought-of ideas-that happens in a much shorter time span, hopefully, than physical evolution. Like, a few years, or a single lifespan instead of over a millennia. See, ten years ago, five even, I would not have known how to deal with this situation. But…OK, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Cathy hasn’t cleaned for us for very long. We knew her tangentially from church years ago and Karen, my wife, became nodding acquaintances when they were both training for a half-marathon a couple of years ago.  But we didn’t even know her last name-just nods and smiles-like so many people whose paths we cross. I stopped by my mother’s place unannounced a few months ago to find her not home-she should have her mail delivered to the casino-but Cathy was inside, cleaning.

Karen had been after me to hire someone to do our place since she went back to work. I always deflected it with the argument that since I work at home the distraction of having someone in the house…the noise. Whatever. I don’t know. We’d had cleaning people before and they had always been wanting.

“Cathy, huh”, Karen smirked when I told her I’d found someone for the house.  “You’ll enjoy that one”, she kidded. She was referring to Cathy’s “uniform”. For a woman well into her thirties she dressed twenty years younger. Cut-off jeans rolled high, T-shirt and sneakers. Never saw her in anything else.

She wasn’t doing the Daisy Duke showy thing-just kind of stuck at sixteen years old.  She had kept up with the running, so she could pull it off legs-wise and she got the house and pool from a short-lived marriage and a small estate from her parents, so this was her life. Clean houses, swim, lay in the sun and stay a teenager for life. Whatever.

The first few months were fine. She wasn’t a distraction-we were cordial-we’d speak here and there. I’d typically make an extra pot of coffee. I mean, it was fine. And I could feel her getting more comfortable too. Cathy doesn’t clean my office. I’m not super paranoid or anything-I just have a lot of things going on at the same time and folders, books and papers are strewn about on every flat surface. I find something in the confusion stimulating. Karen’s written me off as a hopeless mess, but it works for me. The sole concession was that I would have everything off the floor so she could vacuum in there when she did the upstairs.

So last Tuesday, Cathy lets herself in at about 9:00. I took a break to meet her in the kitchen where she was already moving chairs about. “Coffee?” I asked. “No. I’m good”, she said nodding to a big plastic cup with a straw in it that was no doubt energy spiked. A few more niceties then my, “I’ll get out of your hair”, and retreated back upstairs.

About an hour later she was vacuuming the steps and on her way up. That was fine-I had a 10:00 conference call that I usually took wandering through the house or on the back patio, but with Cathy here decided to take a drive. Ear buds firmly inserted, I pantomimed a wave and headed down to my car, hooked up the Bluetooth and drove around the subdivision for a while.

The call went on long enough that I got bored with the driving and pulled back into the driveway after about forty minutes. I wasn’t sneaking in; I was on a conference call-on mute-with earbuds. So I came into the house only half listening to the conversation going on and walked up the back steps. Hadn’t yelled to announce myself but assumed Cathy was upstairs. When I got to the top of the stairs she wasn’t to be seen in either of the front bedrooms but when I walked into my office, there she was-sitting at my desk, absorbed in the contents of a folder.

“Kathy, what the fuck are you doing?” I’m not coarse by nature but realize that there are words that cut through background noise and immediately grab attention. Through my buds I could hear things like “Thanks for joining” and “takeaways” and “action items” that signaled the end of another grinding status meeting.

She was so startled she almost dropped the folder. Her mouth was a perfect O and her eyes, wide and darting, registered surprise and fear in equal parts. I clicked off my phone without offering my own unintelligible “Thanks for joining today, gang”, and pulled my earbuds out.

“I wasn’t…I…” she looked at the folder which she had dropped back onto my desk as if it should explain itself.  She took a deep breath and continued. “I was curious…about retirement and stocks and stuff like that. I only have a few things-mostly left from my Dad and I thought I should be thinking about it for a while…so when I saw the folder, I…”

“Opened it and started snooping.” I said. Her eyes sparkled, filling with tears. “You couldn’t ask me about it? You couldn’t ask me questions. General questions? Did you learn anything going through those papers?’

“No.” She stood before me chastened and embarrassed. This is what I mean about evolution. Ten, five, hell even two years ago she would have been fired and out the door already and I’d have gone on from there.

Karen is super quiet about our D/D relationship and is careful to make sure there aren’t any toys or implements about on the days when Cathy comes over. She, of course, doesn’t know that after she leaves for work I might stage some hints around. Like a hairbrush on the futon in my office. Or a cane discarded and seemingly forgotten on the couch.  A fraternity paddle that we bought at an antique shop hanging on the back of the bedroom door in full view of anyone who might be vacuuming. Nothing overt, but definitely-noticeable and pregnant with meaning for those with a particular bent. And I was never planning anything-just amusing myself.

Cathy had once taken a wooden spoon from the living room coffee table to the crock on the kitchen counter where it “belonged”. Even Karen had laughed at that one since we had legitimately forgotten it. That had convinced Karen about Cathy’s obliviousness to what went on under our roof. Me? I wasn’t so sure.

From where I stood, looking over her shoulder and out the window, she had a view of the driveway. She had to be immensely engrossed in things she didn’t really understand not to have seen me pull up. So I was not tremendously surprised when Cathy, dabbing at her eyes, didn’t say ‘don’t fire me’ or ‘I don’t want to lose you as a client’, but instead, softly, “I don’t want to get spanked.”

I managed my breathing and answered slowly and calmly. “Don’t blame you”, I said. “It hurts.”

“I wasn’t spying”, she sniffed.

“What would you call it?”

“It wasn’t like I was going to tell anyone.”

I wasn’t going to get into the finer points of what “spying” might mean.

“What do you want to have happen?” I asked her.

She seemed to mull over the answer then said, “I don’t want to get spanked”, again.

“I know. You said that. I heard you say it twice. What do you expect to happen?” She said nothing, content to stare holes in the desk before her.

“What would you like me to do?” I asked again, perfectly modulated.

She sniffed, giving a small shrug. I pitied her in her timid confusion but would not step into it. She would have to sort this out herself. I’d live with the silence for as long as it took for her to finally say, “I think you should do whatever you…need to do to make this go away.”

“Then I’m going to spank you.”

She shrugged again, but I heard a sharp breath before she said softly, “OK. I understand. I deserve it.”

I admit that I got a little fluttery here myself. When did this idea start to take shape with her? When she saw the plastic cutting board sticking out from under the bed? (She had slid it all the way under when I checked later-something that could not have been accidental.) The time she found the same ping pong paddle I was reaching for under a throw pillow on the couch? I know she had seen it because she had switched the pillows while cleaning. Which I thought was weird. Was she letting me know she had seen it?

I confess I didn’t care just then about her motivations as I grabbed the paddle off the top of the book shelf. When I turned toward her, instrument in hand, her eyes widened with the reality of what was about to happen. She flicked her hands as if drying them, pushing off nervous energy. Summoned, she came out from behind the desk toward me.

Without being told, she turned away and bent slightly sticking her bottom toward me. “Like this?” she asked pushing back with her hands on her freckled thighs.

I held her by the arm and she jumped when I cupped her bottom.

“We could do it this way”, I said. “But I have a better idea.”

She allowed herself to be led over to the futon where I sat. I was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t resist when I reached up and unsnapped her shorts. “I knew you were going to do this”, she said.

“Yeah”, I told her. “I don’t spank jeans.”

They fell to the floor and she stepped out of them. Her light green cotton panties clung to her flat belly perfectly outlining her mound of honey hued hair. She was motionless, hands at her side. I watched her face as my thumbs caught in the elastic and pulled her panties slowly down. Her eyes were closed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and a pink blush spread across her cheeks. With no prodding from me, she settled over my lap in complete and total submission.

I knew this dance.  My kink brings with it an utter and total fascination with woman’s bottoms. That being said, Cathy’s bottom-its ivory color offset by tan lines above and below-was so…normal-as was the rest of her-that what we were doing seemed less carnal than it probably should have.

She and I were engaged in a call-and-response ritual where I would slap her bottom with my open hand and she would yelp, I would slap-she would yelp. We were two adults agreeably intertwined in a dance that wasn’t exactly sexual, but was all about sex. The heat rose and the pink handprints melded into an overall crimson quilt.

When I stopped to take a breath and admire my handiwork, she relaxed and asked back over her shoulder, “Are you going to use the paddle at all?”

“Oh yeah. Just wanted to make sure you’re ready for it. And don’t worry, Karen says my hand hurts worse than this paddle.”

The sound of wood on tender skin was different as was her reaction. If it was possible to settle into a comfort zone during a spanking, she had. The paddle brought her out of it. Wriggles became more of a hip roll as she absorbed swat after swat. After about ten, she blurted out, “Karen’s lying to you!” and fairly howled when I gave her what would be the last full-on swat on her right cheek.

“You’re done…” I said quietly allowing my hand to rest on her very hot bottom.

“Wow…” she said in something approaching wonder.

“Wow, indeed.” I rubbed her backside gently as she softened and fell into slow breathing. I stroked her cheeks, then down her thighs, then back up, sliding between her legs almost to the top where they met. But not quite.

“I don’t want to do anything else.”

“That’s fine. Me neither really.”

“That was enough.”

“That was plenty.”

“Do you want to get up?”

“Not yet. Is that OK?”

“That’s fine.”

“Thanks”, she said turning her head away and settling it onto the pillow.

The Norwegians – Part 6

(Continued from The Norwegians – Part 5)

When she heard the click of a door closing behind them Jessica sat bolt upright. “Does she live here?” she asked wide-eyed.

Angie was distracted by the girl’s round breasts jumping as the breathed the words. Her nipples had softened from the tiny bullets they were earlier which made them even more succulent. All she wanted to do was put one of them in her mouth and Angie usually got exactly what she wanted. But, with some effort, she held back in a rare display of self-control.

“No-she stays here from time to time.” Her blonde locks flicked lightly as she nodded in the direction Toni had left. “In the guest room. One of them anyway.”

Jessica relaxed a little. “Are you guys….” She stuck on the word and shuffled the cards looking for the right one. Angie moved imperceptibly closer drawn at the moment by the soft skin between Jess’ firm round girls. She could almost feel the cleavage with her mind’s tongue.

“Lovers?”

“I was gonna say ‘together’….”

“That’s a nothing word-what’s that even mean?”

Impulsively Jessica reached over and poked Angie in the arm. “You know what I mean.”

“Poking now, are we?” Angie in turn reached out and poked her in the arm. Then Jessica, then Angie again-but before Jessica could reach across again, she saw the fire in the blonde’s eyes and the direction of her gaze. She dropped her defenses, if that’s what you can call the threat of an aggravated poke in the arm, and leaned backward slightly-offering.

Angie gently touched her left breast and softly nudged the nipple with her thumb. It stiffened immediately. Jess let the hand loll there and closed her eyes enjoying the touch.

“So you guys….” Jess began.

“Jesus” Angie sighed, feigning aggravation. “I’ve known her since I was six”, she answered without answering the question.

“Huh” said Jessica. “At least she grew since then”.

“Oh-a short joke!”

Angie released her breast and poked her in the arm again, an attack that was answered in kind. They were giggling like schoolgirls in a pillow fight until Angie snatched Jessica’s nipple again-this time with a twinkle in her eyes that foretold something more than a fondle.

“You rat!”

“Rat? Who says Rat?”

“Don’t. You. Do. It”, Jessica said looking down at the fingers pinching her nipple.

“Or what?”

“You have a bottom made for spanking, girl.”

Their eyes met and in an instant settled into an understanding that there was no need to rush. What had begun this afternoon would continue.

“Ahhh…” Angie released the nipple. “Ok for now, then. Are you hungry?”

“I can tell you are.”

“For FOOD.”

“Starved.”

“Go jump in the shower-or at least wipe my cum off your face.” Jessica’s hand leapt to her face. “Just kidding-leave it. Or I’ll lick it off.”

Jessica unwound her legs and stood. “Give me ten minutes”, she said before impulsively reaching down to kiss Angie on the cheek. She watched her go seeing no evidence of the spanking but a thin wrinkle across her butt from the seam of the couch. She imagined running her tongue over it.

 

(To Be Continued…)

 

Scenes From An Italian Restaurant-Finale

(Continued from Scenes From An Italian Restaurant- Three)

Antonio lay the spatula across her back and held it with his left hand. With his right, he cupped her bottom gently. “This is going to be good one”, he said.

“I know”, she peeped.

“But when you’re done-it will all be over.”

“Clean slate!” she said softly to the floor.

Marie saw the first swat coming and still jumped, startled by the sound at impact. She hadn’t settled when the second landed in the same place; fully on the right globe which after only two smacks was flushing pink. The third landed more in the middle of her butt resonating down her shallow crack and between her legs. Then the other cheek. Marie’s eyes wandered nowhere else but she kept her hand at her breast as if to keep her heart inside.

Connie, for her part, hung on gritting her teeth and trying to dig her fingertips into the hard floor tiles. She was surprised that her eyes were stinging already. Yes, his hand was heavy, yes his hand hurt, yes her ass was burning. But not enough to make her cry. She blinked when a smack landed low, where the bottom meets the leg, and a tear splashed delicately between her hands. Her mouth, already open, betrayed her with a small cough. Then another and finally a whispered “Ouch”.

“Well” said Tony, “I’d say that’s enough for the warmup.”

“Oh Dear…” thought Marie and, with no thought of sitting, slipped behind the bar table as if behind a battlement protecting her from what she was seeing. And what was she seeing-or feeling? It was strange how her own bottom was itching. Connie gave no outward sign of crying, just the drops that were sprinkling silently onto the floor. She felt his movement and the spatula was gone from her back.

“Are you ready for this Constance?”

“Yes, Chef. Please.”

She exhaled and relaxed, softening her clenched bottom.  At the first stroke of the spatula she allowed a wall to buckle and cried “Owww…” Then, after the third, began crying in earnest. The swats burned and she reacted to each with a yelp or a twist but all under the soft veil of tears that had seemingly come forth unbidden-on their own.

Chef Tony was nothing if not precise. The welts he was leaving on her bottom were adjoining but seldom overlapping. Connie was not a kicker but couldn’t stop her legs from scissoring nor her toes from dancing, bundling her jeans and panties at her ankles. As she cried beneath his hand, Antonio twisted his arm around her waist and increased the tattoo on her aching bottom to a loud fast “Rat-tat-tat”. Marie’s hands had moved from her breast to her face. When she told about it later she would swear later that Chef’s arm was a blur.

“Tony!” she called to him after another moment. “Tony?”

He stopped what he was doing and looked up as if surprised to find someone else in the room. Without the loud cracking, slapping and wailing, a silence colored only by Connie’s soft sobbing, settled over the room.

“Yes Marie?”

She was holding out a handkerchief toward Connie’s head. Antonio nodded. She approached and held the hanky down where her friend could see it. The floor between her hands was puddled.

“Thanks”, snuffled Connie taking it and drying her eyes as best she could. Marie stood a moment next to the furnace that was Connie’s backside. No longer pink, it was a mottled red and burgundy-the color of spilled wine. She retreated back to her spot behind the table but there was no need.

“Are you done sweetheart?” asked Tony softly, gently cupping her bottom.

She took a deep breath, thinking about it and wiped her nose. “Yes, Chef.”

He patted again. “Good. Come on….”

He helped her up and she stood shakily beside him patting her bottom. He stood and wrapped his strong arms around her squeezing. Her rear glowed like a brazier in the dim light and Marie eventually looked away. “Beautiful”, was all he said kissing Connie on top of the head.  “Now pull up your pants…”

“Can’t I leave them down?” she sniffled, patting her glowing butt.

“No you can’t”, he said lightly. “Not that kind of place.”

He turned his attention to Marie.

“Now, you….”

“What?” she asked in a gasp. He said nothing else. She felt a need to fan herself but didn’t move.

“What Chef?” she asked again having slid back behind the table.

“You’re never too old you know.”

“For what? For…no way Chef! I’m too…” she stopped herself.

“No you’re not.”

“Chef. Tony. I couldn’t…”

“Then why are you here?”

The truth nearly escaped when she opened her mouth, but instead she said, “For her!” and waved her hand toward Connie hoping for some support. Her friend was seemingly paying no attention, engrossed in gingerly pulling up her panties then her jeans, trying not to scrape unduly across her hot skin.

“Connie?” she asked.

“I think you should,” she said in a small voice not looking up.

“What?! I…Chef…”

“If not now, when?”, asked Connie finally looking up.

“O Jesus”, she said to herself. The room seemed to be moving around her.

“Take off your jacket Marie…” said Tony, feeling that she needed a direction.

Words died in her mouth. She desperately wanted to tell him that she did want this-that she’d wanted it for a long time but couldn’t imagine how to ask. She might have been able to live her whole life out without this if he and Connie hadn’t started playing like this. Was it their fault? Was it hers? Was it anyone’s? This is what she was thinking as she was saying nothing…and unbuttoning her jacket.

Chef Tony sat back down and beckoned her over. She slid out from behind the table dragging her hand across the top. It took an hour to cross the three strides. She waggled a finger and Connie who was now, fully clothed and watching. “You, you….”

Connie smiled through her tear streaked face and leaned against the bar.

Marie stood before her seated boss with her hands at her sides not resisting as Tony reached out and unsnapped her jeans. He unzipped them and worked them down over her hips.

“You might need a bigger spatula for me.”

Connie giggled…

“I think my hand will cover enough ground.”

He helped her into position. “I don’t fit as well as that one…”

“You fit fine. Now lift up”.

“Tony-Really?”

He patted the tight cotton encasing her bottom. “Really.”

She lifted up, and squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment as he slowly pulled down her underwear. She mouthed a nasally “Ooohhh…” to convince anyone listening including herself that she wasn’t giving into this easily. She breathed deeply as the cool air washed over her naked bottom. Then she felt his hot hand on the back of her thigh.

“Tell me again what I’ve done to deserve this.”

“Lived too long without it.”

She relaxed and felt her body form to his lap. He wasn’t in a hurry. “Yes…Too long…” she sighed just loudly enough to be heard by both.

Those are beautiful sandals she thought absently as she grabbed Antonio’s ankle and waited.