Fiction by Matt - March, 1999
Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
I got home before Jeff, though I would have preferred that he arrive first and be there when I showed up. I don’t really know why, it was just more how I’d pictured it. I flipped through the mail three times before realizing that I wasn’t even seeing it. In fact, I couldn’t remember the drive home. You know how it is after a thousand drives home from the office, the car knows the way.
I was, after all, a little preoccupied. I’d done what was probably a very foolish thing. Starting with the assumption that I could really use a true Cain-raising spanking, I’d sent Jeff some e-mails throughout the day to provoke just that. Over the course of four e-mails, I had told him “I’m afraid/ I’ve been caught shoplifting / cigarettes and condoms/ again.” Can you believe it? Yes, I wanted to be lectured like a teenager. And somewhere I’d gotten the idea that a few hot licks was just what I needed. But I’d overdone it as always. And now there was no way out of it.
I keep thinking of the Alanis Morissette song “Unsent.” “Dear Jeffery…”
I have to admit I was pretty turned-on. Even though I knew my excitement level would build, drop when the going got rough and build again, I was plenty steamy already. My imagination of what I was in for was plenty.
When I heard Jeff pull in I met him at the door, which was unusual in itself. He was more than ready for me. He had four sheets of paper in his hand.
“I got some interesting news today,” he began.
“Oh?” I asked, trying ridiculously to sound blasé and innocent.
“Here’s one from you that says, “I’m afraid.” I bet you are. Though not as afraid as you should be.” My knees turned to Jell-O. I love it when he talks strict. “And the last one. It has the word, “Again.” What have I told you about this word?”
He hasn’t really ever told me anything but I know where he’s going, so I play along.
“We don’t use it in this house?”
“Not ever.” Jeff takes my face in his hands. “And do you know why that is?”
Thinking furiously, I come up with, “Because the first time’s taken care of so, um…”
“Come on,” he prompts, “so painfully. You can say it. Because I make the first time so long and so incredibly painful that you can’t even imagine a second. Isn’t that right?”
“I guess so.”
“Until now,” he adds, with a voice of doom. His voice can play me like an instrument and right now it’s strumming me you know where, while clutching me behind. Really, I’m pretty scared, even though Jeff knows me so well and it’s all a game. “I’ll take care of this before bedtime,” he suddenly tells me, catching me completely off guard. “Get some dinner ready.”
“But...but...”
“No buts, buts,” Jeff says, passing up the obvious joke. “I want you on your best behavior and you’ll wait nicely till bedtime or I’ll make you wait until tomorrow night. And you don’t want that.” His voice, and eyes, are very, very convincing.
Dinner went kind of slowly, since I didn’t speak much and found that I couldn’t swallow, either. Jeff didn’t seem to mind. I had to wonder, I know he’s had to have been so horny all day, how can he wait so easily.
I cleaned up the kitchen and was a little thankful for the solitude, being nervous enough with him in the room. Instead of television, he chose to read a book for once, so the house was terribly quiet.
I was re-reading the newspaper when eight o’clock rolled around. Jeff came into the room and said, “Get your pajamas on.” I was surprised, even though I hurried to comply, because I don’t usually wear pajamas and he sounded more resigned that threatening. Could it be he really didn’t want to do this? Suddenly I realized that I hadn’t asked him about his day.
“Did everything go okay today?” I asked, compulsively.
“Young lady,” he began, “you are going to regret every moment from now until bedtime. I suggest you make those moments, and your transparent evasions, as few as possible. Go!”
I scurried, completely abashed. He was really getting into his role.
I returned as quickly as possible in my flannel pj’s, feeling very young. They’re awful tight in the seat, because they’re a few years old, if you know what I mean.
I didn’t wear anything underneath, even though I wanted to so badly but I was trying to do what I felt like he wanted. I think he approved. While I was changing, he had produced two belts, a narrow, light one I’d had before, which had really stung, and a wider, heavy one he wears with his jeans when he’s building something. I knew, I just knew, that the heavier one was going to hurt a lot more. He had me stand in the middle of the living room. I was going to get quite an earful before he got down to business.
“So you’ve decided you’re all grown up now, have you?”
Only from past experience did I know he wanted an answer and would wait for one. So I said “No.”
“No? You’re not? But you go into a drugstore and head straight for the items that only the adults use, don’t you? What did you think you were doing, if you’re not all grown up? You did know these things are not for you didn’t you? I’ve made that very, very clear rather recently to you, haven’t I? Or didn’t I make that clear enough?”
“No…I mean, yes...I mean, you made it clear.”
“And just how did I make that clear?”
Oh, God. He’s asking me to pick my punishment. What do I do?
“You bent me over the couch?”
“And why would I do that?”
“So you could use your belt?”
“Use it to do what?”
“To spank my bottom?”
“And you promised to be good, do you remember? You promised to be good if I’d stop? You made me three promises and I stopped, didn’t I? Because I thought you’d be good. And when was that?”
Taking a deep breath I'm hit by more craziness. Somewhere a voice says, “Last week?”
Jeff stops. I think he’s a little taken aback. I can’t believe what I’ve just done. I can’t stop thinking about that belt, the one I haven’t felt yet. I try to remember, he said three promises. That’s a secret message to me, as long as I put them far enough apart.
He starts on a new tact. “Do you want to go to jail?” he demands.
“No,” I cry.
“You don’t want to go to jail and yet you steal. Does that make sense to you? Do you think jail’s fun? Do you think you’d like it there?”
“No,” a tiny voice says.
“What should I do to keep you out of there?”
“Spank me,” I admit.
“Oh, you can bet I’ll do plenty of that. I’ll take down those pj’s…”
Silly as it is, I have to say, “Oh, no, please don’t take them off. I don’t have anything on under them. They won’t keep me from…”
“Don’t take them off? “ he roars. Then, calmly, “Would you like me to march you down to Rite-Aid, call the pharmacist, the cashier, security guard, and Mrs. Johnson over and have them watch you get your bare bottom blistered? Because that’s what I should be doing right now. That’s embarrassment. Would you like to show them how you kick when I spank you with the hairbrush, or how you cry when you’re getting the belt, or how you drag your feet when you’re fetching the paddle? Because if you do, you just need to give me one more ounce of lip over getting your bare butt out here where I can do it some good.”
“Now, how many cigarettes did you steal?”
“Twenty.”
“And condoms?”
“A dozen.”
“Right. Thirty two in all.”
Inwardly, I wince. But my mouth says, “Good thing I didn’t go for the 36-pack.”
“What on earth,” he asks me, through clenched teeth, “would you do with thirty-six condoms?”
Inexplicably, I giggle. I’ve always had lousy timing. “I thought you knew what you do with them.”
Silence. Complete silence. This is the most worrisome of all. I have got to start behaving.
He makes me wait. He circles around behind me. “Bend over,” he insists.
A swath of fire explodes across the over-stretched seat of my pj’s. I open my mouth wide in a silent yell, trying to absorb the shock. My ribs and stomach clench in surprise.
“Stand. Thirty-two. That wasn’t one of them. Are we clear?”
I nod. I’m having a lot more trouble swallowing than I did even at dinner.
“Good. Go get me the hairbrush. And the big paddle.”
I look at him in surprise and my mouth drops open. Thankfully, nothing comes out.
“Yes, the big paddle. You wanted to smoke, well, believe me, you’ll smoke. Now get!”
As I headed off to get the hairbrush and the big paddle, I thought about how unwise it was to send irretrievable e-mails, especially ones with confessions in them, especially when I’m in a bratty mood. Now I was going to have to be punished like an errant teenager, for shoplifting, for a precocious interest in cigarettes and condoms and, probably worst of all, as a repeat offender. This was about the time I wished I had been a little more reticent in my requests.
I had never been sent for the big paddle before, mostly it was used just as a threat. With all I’d asked for, I knew I’d be in for more than ever before, but this! I’d gotten a swat here or there with it, as a warning, and it sizzled like a grill. Jeff had promised me smoke and I didn’t doubt it.
I’ve been accused of dragging my feet at times like this but it didn’t take me long to get the hairbrush off my dresser or even take the big paddle down from the wall of our bedroom, where we displayed it as a constant reminder of my favorite activity. I thought longingly of the light paddle in my drawer but I didn’t dally. I was in enough trouble.
When I returned, Jeff was standing in the middle of the living room, holding the lighter of his two belts, the narrow one, folded, so I was very relieved. A few smacks with that was all I was really looking for when I got into all this. I’d gotten one with the big strap just over the seat of my pajamas and it was hard to face the idea of an extended treatment with it.
Jeff stood next to our one straight-backed chair, which we bought exclusively for my little escapades like this, though it fit in well in the corner of our living room. When it came out of its corner, I could count on taking its place.
A motion from Jeff showed me to put the paddle on the coffee table, with the hairbrush on top of it, within easy reach of the chair. As much as he can make the hairbrush hurt, that would be the easy part of this evening.
I would have to say that my excitement had already abandoned me, to be replaced only with a mixture of trepidation and downright dread. And yet, when Jeff called me to him, I felt young, carefree, and playful. It was almost as if I couldn’t believe what I’d gotten myself into.
Jeff sat down and, picking up the hairbrush, patted his lap invitingly. I moved to comply, usually I like this part, when suddenly I realized that my pj’s wouldn’t go over my hips if I didn’t unfasten them. I fumbled with the waistband. It would have been bad enough, in my hurry and confusion but my embarrassment over them being too tight in the hips didn‘t help. I took too long for Jeff’s liking.
“Come on, get over here,” he warned me.
I continued to fumble. He stood up. My steady stream of tears turned into sobs of frustration, humiliation, and outright terror.
“Bend over,” he ordered, not pleased.
“I can’t get these unfastened!” I whined, nearing hysteria. “They’re stuck or something. They won’t come down unless I unfasten them.”
Jeff moved around behind me. “Take your time,” he suggested, soothingly, calming me down. “We need them down, don’t we? Let’s have you hold them so your pretty little bottom is peeking out. But get bent over!”
I saw the tail of his big belt curl down by his shoes. In a second, it had found its place across the seat I was proffering to it, barely uncovered by my pajama bottoms. The tip of the belt was only an inch off center. My tears were not from frustration anymore.
Calmly, Jeff returned to his chair, picking up the hairbrush once again. “Now, do you think we could have you where I’ve asked you?” he intoned sarcastically. With my bottoms already down, I hurried into place. His lap was almost a refuge as I settled in.
I’d gotten the belt twice across my bottom already and it was a thick, heavy belt. Thank goodness Jeff didn’t have a big waist. Certain spots were already sore. Jeff clapped his hand on my far cheek in a firm but almost friendly way. A second clap on my left cheek reminded me how tender it was but he clearly wasn’t trying to make this hurt. He can make his hand hurt plenty when he wants.
“Now you know,” Jeff told me, as his hand worked back and forth, “that I only do this to take care of you, so you won’t put yourself in danger. You did some dangerous things today and I am going to see that you don’t do them again.”
He spanked me by hand, not even hard, until I settled down. It took a long, long time and I was limp by the time he had finished. He straightened his legs and let me roll off onto the floor. I laid there, burying my head in my arms. I guess my hips were still bouncing from left over reactions. Jeff waited and waited.
Finally I came to him, crawling up his legs. He let me and guided me under his arm. Between his legs, over one of them. He leaned over me and brought down the hairbrush, a surprise. It shocked me more than it hurt.
There were a lot that followed and very quickly the shock wore off. He was swatting in so that it would catch the insides of my cheeks, where I seldom get spanked. Even so, I knew I had this coming. It was a sort of relief to have something I was used to, even though it stung so badly.
It hurt and kept me from stopping crying but it didn’t go on that long. I almost wish it had, because his silence when he finished told me all I needed to know. I waited, terribly, for his order.
“Lean against the wall,” he said, quietly and firmly. I jumped to comply even though I hated the thought. So I just didn’t think. Again I buried my head in my arms, again I offered my poor abused target. He made me wait.
I think he was waiting for me to realize how little I’d had across my poor little cheeks, because when I did I gave out a few more sobs and started to wriggle.
“Hold still,” he immediately commanded and my seat exploded with the crushing blow of the paddle. The second raised me up on my toes and with a few words he made me stay there. Now I had nowhere to go.
Four, Five, Six. This could kill me, it was impossible, no one could take this much, it had been a joke, for Christ’s sake! At seven, I said “Jeff.”
It’s like a safe word, he always pays attention. He stopped immediately. “I can’t,” I squeezed out, trying to sound as reasonable and factual as possible.
His lips found my neck below and behind my ear. “There’s only one more,” he whispered. Shame overwhelmed me, my legs, shaking, started to buckle. If I had just held on!
He waited. I got back in position, on my toes. I swallowed hard, twice. “Jeff,” my voice said again, “Two?”
My mouth will never open far enough to release the power of those swats. As soon as they had connected, his arm was around my waist and in an instant the couch was under my tummy. His hip bones connected with my tortured buns as I tried to squeeze him between my legs. But he was too strong for me, he continued to pull away, I couldn’t hold him. Pull away and plunge back to me. It couldn’t have been too good for him, I was a limp rag flopping around whichever way he pushed me. Even so, he came and came, collapsing and covering me, pulling me backward onto the floor to cover him.
It was his turn to wait and he did. We laid there a long time. All of that for a little joke, for asking for it. The longer we lay there, the more I needed him. I finally kicked off the tangle of flannel pj’s and climbed on top of his open jeans, making him rise to greet me.
Ah, my lover - always there for me. With whatever I ask for. I had to tell him.
“Oh” I breathed. “That was too much. It was just too much.”
And before I could stop myself, I continued, “And I haven’t gotten my thirty-two.”
Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
I got home before Jeff, though I would have preferred that he arrive first and be there when I showed up. I don’t really know why, it was just more how I’d pictured it. I flipped through the mail three times before realizing that I wasn’t even seeing it. In fact, I couldn’t remember the drive home. You know how it is after a thousand drives home from the office, the car knows the way.
I was, after all, a little preoccupied. I’d done what was probably a very foolish thing. Starting with the assumption that I could really use a true Cain-raising spanking, I’d sent Jeff some e-mails throughout the day to provoke just that. Over the course of four e-mails, I had told him “I’m afraid/ I’ve been caught shoplifting / cigarettes and condoms/ again.” Can you believe it? Yes, I wanted to be lectured like a teenager. And somewhere I’d gotten the idea that a few hot licks was just what I needed. But I’d overdone it as always. And now there was no way out of it.
I keep thinking of the Alanis Morissette song “Unsent.” “Dear Jeffery…”
I have to admit I was pretty turned-on. Even though I knew my excitement level would build, drop when the going got rough and build again, I was plenty steamy already. My imagination of what I was in for was plenty.
When I heard Jeff pull in I met him at the door, which was unusual in itself. He was more than ready for me. He had four sheets of paper in his hand.
“I got some interesting news today,” he began.
“Oh?” I asked, trying ridiculously to sound blasé and innocent.
“Here’s one from you that says, “I’m afraid.” I bet you are. Though not as afraid as you should be.” My knees turned to Jell-O. I love it when he talks strict. “And the last one. It has the word, “Again.” What have I told you about this word?”
He hasn’t really ever told me anything but I know where he’s going, so I play along.
“We don’t use it in this house?”
“Not ever.” Jeff takes my face in his hands. “And do you know why that is?”
Thinking furiously, I come up with, “Because the first time’s taken care of so, um…”
“Come on,” he prompts, “so painfully. You can say it. Because I make the first time so long and so incredibly painful that you can’t even imagine a second. Isn’t that right?”
“I guess so.”
“Until now,” he adds, with a voice of doom. His voice can play me like an instrument and right now it’s strumming me you know where, while clutching me behind. Really, I’m pretty scared, even though Jeff knows me so well and it’s all a game. “I’ll take care of this before bedtime,” he suddenly tells me, catching me completely off guard. “Get some dinner ready.”
“But...but...”
“No buts, buts,” Jeff says, passing up the obvious joke. “I want you on your best behavior and you’ll wait nicely till bedtime or I’ll make you wait until tomorrow night. And you don’t want that.” His voice, and eyes, are very, very convincing.
Dinner went kind of slowly, since I didn’t speak much and found that I couldn’t swallow, either. Jeff didn’t seem to mind. I had to wonder, I know he’s had to have been so horny all day, how can he wait so easily.
I cleaned up the kitchen and was a little thankful for the solitude, being nervous enough with him in the room. Instead of television, he chose to read a book for once, so the house was terribly quiet.
I was re-reading the newspaper when eight o’clock rolled around. Jeff came into the room and said, “Get your pajamas on.” I was surprised, even though I hurried to comply, because I don’t usually wear pajamas and he sounded more resigned that threatening. Could it be he really didn’t want to do this? Suddenly I realized that I hadn’t asked him about his day.
“Did everything go okay today?” I asked, compulsively.
“Young lady,” he began, “you are going to regret every moment from now until bedtime. I suggest you make those moments, and your transparent evasions, as few as possible. Go!”
I scurried, completely abashed. He was really getting into his role.
I returned as quickly as possible in my flannel pj’s, feeling very young. They’re awful tight in the seat, because they’re a few years old, if you know what I mean.
I didn’t wear anything underneath, even though I wanted to so badly but I was trying to do what I felt like he wanted. I think he approved. While I was changing, he had produced two belts, a narrow, light one I’d had before, which had really stung, and a wider, heavy one he wears with his jeans when he’s building something. I knew, I just knew, that the heavier one was going to hurt a lot more. He had me stand in the middle of the living room. I was going to get quite an earful before he got down to business.
“So you’ve decided you’re all grown up now, have you?”
Only from past experience did I know he wanted an answer and would wait for one. So I said “No.”
“No? You’re not? But you go into a drugstore and head straight for the items that only the adults use, don’t you? What did you think you were doing, if you’re not all grown up? You did know these things are not for you didn’t you? I’ve made that very, very clear rather recently to you, haven’t I? Or didn’t I make that clear enough?”
“No…I mean, yes...I mean, you made it clear.”
“And just how did I make that clear?”
Oh, God. He’s asking me to pick my punishment. What do I do?
“You bent me over the couch?”
“And why would I do that?”
“So you could use your belt?”
“Use it to do what?”
“To spank my bottom?”
“And you promised to be good, do you remember? You promised to be good if I’d stop? You made me three promises and I stopped, didn’t I? Because I thought you’d be good. And when was that?”
Taking a deep breath I'm hit by more craziness. Somewhere a voice says, “Last week?”
Jeff stops. I think he’s a little taken aback. I can’t believe what I’ve just done. I can’t stop thinking about that belt, the one I haven’t felt yet. I try to remember, he said three promises. That’s a secret message to me, as long as I put them far enough apart.
He starts on a new tact. “Do you want to go to jail?” he demands.
“No,” I cry.
“You don’t want to go to jail and yet you steal. Does that make sense to you? Do you think jail’s fun? Do you think you’d like it there?”
“No,” a tiny voice says.
“What should I do to keep you out of there?”
“Spank me,” I admit.
“Oh, you can bet I’ll do plenty of that. I’ll take down those pj’s…”
Silly as it is, I have to say, “Oh, no, please don’t take them off. I don’t have anything on under them. They won’t keep me from…”
“Don’t take them off? “ he roars. Then, calmly, “Would you like me to march you down to Rite-Aid, call the pharmacist, the cashier, security guard, and Mrs. Johnson over and have them watch you get your bare bottom blistered? Because that’s what I should be doing right now. That’s embarrassment. Would you like to show them how you kick when I spank you with the hairbrush, or how you cry when you’re getting the belt, or how you drag your feet when you’re fetching the paddle? Because if you do, you just need to give me one more ounce of lip over getting your bare butt out here where I can do it some good.”
“Now, how many cigarettes did you steal?”
“Twenty.”
“And condoms?”
“A dozen.”
“Right. Thirty two in all.”
Inwardly, I wince. But my mouth says, “Good thing I didn’t go for the 36-pack.”
“What on earth,” he asks me, through clenched teeth, “would you do with thirty-six condoms?”
Inexplicably, I giggle. I’ve always had lousy timing. “I thought you knew what you do with them.”
Silence. Complete silence. This is the most worrisome of all. I have got to start behaving.
He makes me wait. He circles around behind me. “Bend over,” he insists.
A swath of fire explodes across the over-stretched seat of my pj’s. I open my mouth wide in a silent yell, trying to absorb the shock. My ribs and stomach clench in surprise.
“Stand. Thirty-two. That wasn’t one of them. Are we clear?”
I nod. I’m having a lot more trouble swallowing than I did even at dinner.
“Good. Go get me the hairbrush. And the big paddle.”
I look at him in surprise and my mouth drops open. Thankfully, nothing comes out.
“Yes, the big paddle. You wanted to smoke, well, believe me, you’ll smoke. Now get!”
As I headed off to get the hairbrush and the big paddle, I thought about how unwise it was to send irretrievable e-mails, especially ones with confessions in them, especially when I’m in a bratty mood. Now I was going to have to be punished like an errant teenager, for shoplifting, for a precocious interest in cigarettes and condoms and, probably worst of all, as a repeat offender. This was about the time I wished I had been a little more reticent in my requests.
I had never been sent for the big paddle before, mostly it was used just as a threat. With all I’d asked for, I knew I’d be in for more than ever before, but this! I’d gotten a swat here or there with it, as a warning, and it sizzled like a grill. Jeff had promised me smoke and I didn’t doubt it.
I’ve been accused of dragging my feet at times like this but it didn’t take me long to get the hairbrush off my dresser or even take the big paddle down from the wall of our bedroom, where we displayed it as a constant reminder of my favorite activity. I thought longingly of the light paddle in my drawer but I didn’t dally. I was in enough trouble.
When I returned, Jeff was standing in the middle of the living room, holding the lighter of his two belts, the narrow one, folded, so I was very relieved. A few smacks with that was all I was really looking for when I got into all this. I’d gotten one with the big strap just over the seat of my pajamas and it was hard to face the idea of an extended treatment with it.
Jeff stood next to our one straight-backed chair, which we bought exclusively for my little escapades like this, though it fit in well in the corner of our living room. When it came out of its corner, I could count on taking its place.
A motion from Jeff showed me to put the paddle on the coffee table, with the hairbrush on top of it, within easy reach of the chair. As much as he can make the hairbrush hurt, that would be the easy part of this evening.
I would have to say that my excitement had already abandoned me, to be replaced only with a mixture of trepidation and downright dread. And yet, when Jeff called me to him, I felt young, carefree, and playful. It was almost as if I couldn’t believe what I’d gotten myself into.
Jeff sat down and, picking up the hairbrush, patted his lap invitingly. I moved to comply, usually I like this part, when suddenly I realized that my pj’s wouldn’t go over my hips if I didn’t unfasten them. I fumbled with the waistband. It would have been bad enough, in my hurry and confusion but my embarrassment over them being too tight in the hips didn‘t help. I took too long for Jeff’s liking.
“Come on, get over here,” he warned me.
I continued to fumble. He stood up. My steady stream of tears turned into sobs of frustration, humiliation, and outright terror.
“Bend over,” he ordered, not pleased.
“I can’t get these unfastened!” I whined, nearing hysteria. “They’re stuck or something. They won’t come down unless I unfasten them.”
Jeff moved around behind me. “Take your time,” he suggested, soothingly, calming me down. “We need them down, don’t we? Let’s have you hold them so your pretty little bottom is peeking out. But get bent over!”
I saw the tail of his big belt curl down by his shoes. In a second, it had found its place across the seat I was proffering to it, barely uncovered by my pajama bottoms. The tip of the belt was only an inch off center. My tears were not from frustration anymore.
Calmly, Jeff returned to his chair, picking up the hairbrush once again. “Now, do you think we could have you where I’ve asked you?” he intoned sarcastically. With my bottoms already down, I hurried into place. His lap was almost a refuge as I settled in.
I’d gotten the belt twice across my bottom already and it was a thick, heavy belt. Thank goodness Jeff didn’t have a big waist. Certain spots were already sore. Jeff clapped his hand on my far cheek in a firm but almost friendly way. A second clap on my left cheek reminded me how tender it was but he clearly wasn’t trying to make this hurt. He can make his hand hurt plenty when he wants.
“Now you know,” Jeff told me, as his hand worked back and forth, “that I only do this to take care of you, so you won’t put yourself in danger. You did some dangerous things today and I am going to see that you don’t do them again.”
He spanked me by hand, not even hard, until I settled down. It took a long, long time and I was limp by the time he had finished. He straightened his legs and let me roll off onto the floor. I laid there, burying my head in my arms. I guess my hips were still bouncing from left over reactions. Jeff waited and waited.
Finally I came to him, crawling up his legs. He let me and guided me under his arm. Between his legs, over one of them. He leaned over me and brought down the hairbrush, a surprise. It shocked me more than it hurt.
There were a lot that followed and very quickly the shock wore off. He was swatting in so that it would catch the insides of my cheeks, where I seldom get spanked. Even so, I knew I had this coming. It was a sort of relief to have something I was used to, even though it stung so badly.
It hurt and kept me from stopping crying but it didn’t go on that long. I almost wish it had, because his silence when he finished told me all I needed to know. I waited, terribly, for his order.
“Lean against the wall,” he said, quietly and firmly. I jumped to comply even though I hated the thought. So I just didn’t think. Again I buried my head in my arms, again I offered my poor abused target. He made me wait.
I think he was waiting for me to realize how little I’d had across my poor little cheeks, because when I did I gave out a few more sobs and started to wriggle.
“Hold still,” he immediately commanded and my seat exploded with the crushing blow of the paddle. The second raised me up on my toes and with a few words he made me stay there. Now I had nowhere to go.
Four, Five, Six. This could kill me, it was impossible, no one could take this much, it had been a joke, for Christ’s sake! At seven, I said “Jeff.”
It’s like a safe word, he always pays attention. He stopped immediately. “I can’t,” I squeezed out, trying to sound as reasonable and factual as possible.
His lips found my neck below and behind my ear. “There’s only one more,” he whispered. Shame overwhelmed me, my legs, shaking, started to buckle. If I had just held on!
He waited. I got back in position, on my toes. I swallowed hard, twice. “Jeff,” my voice said again, “Two?”
My mouth will never open far enough to release the power of those swats. As soon as they had connected, his arm was around my waist and in an instant the couch was under my tummy. His hip bones connected with my tortured buns as I tried to squeeze him between my legs. But he was too strong for me, he continued to pull away, I couldn’t hold him. Pull away and plunge back to me. It couldn’t have been too good for him, I was a limp rag flopping around whichever way he pushed me. Even so, he came and came, collapsing and covering me, pulling me backward onto the floor to cover him.
It was his turn to wait and he did. We laid there a long time. All of that for a little joke, for asking for it. The longer we lay there, the more I needed him. I finally kicked off the tangle of flannel pj’s and climbed on top of his open jeans, making him rise to greet me.
Ah, my lover - always there for me. With whatever I ask for. I had to tell him.
“Oh” I breathed. “That was too much. It was just too much.”
And before I could stop myself, I continued, “And I haven’t gotten my thirty-two.”
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