Showing posts with label light/ humorous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label light/ humorous. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Friday, July 03, 2009
A Short Trip at the Mall
by Matt Anglen
T'was the night before Christmas and all through the mall,
Not a store was left open, not one store at all.
The gates are down and some of the stores have their lights off; here and there I can hear a vacuum cleaner from the poor souls who still can't head home to their families on Christmas Eve – souls I would beg to open back up and let me buy something, by now anything, before I give up and face having to explain this Christmas as an unmitigated failure. I would beg them, but I only speak English and none of them seem to and they can't hear me anyway though their headphones. If I could just reach through the bars and unplug a vacuum or two...
Not truly unmitigated, of course – that was most likely my downfall. For once my husband expressed an interest in a specific gift between the months of October and December that wasn't crotchless (for me, not him), and once I had his rechargeable screwdriver (yes, honestly, a power screwdriver) in the bag I was lured into a false sense of completeness, since every year finally choosing something to give him has marked my seasonal shopping surrender. Oh, I was the grasshopper in summer, playing and partying, relaxed and laughing – possibly laughing at my friends as much as with them as I bragged, "Oh me? I've already bought Kevin's present." Meanwhile they scurried about like ants, heads down, frantically hoarding gift after gift for the coming winter. They settled for Wii's while I waited for the second wave of PS3 shipments, only to have the now-sold-out Wii's be revealed as the hot gift. They had aunts who camped out or nephews with hi-speed internet connections to jump on fads you couldn't find at the counter. They ordered at Thanksgiving to get super-saver shipping and still have it arrive in time. And me? I've spent my Christmas Eve racing from one end of this place to the other, chasing a rumor of a Tickle-Me-Elmo (didn't we do that one already?) mis-shelved in Macy's small appliances or comparing one scarf for my sister against a dozen others until all of them mysteriously disappeared. After twelve straight hours I stopped for a McMeal and when I came out of the Ladies Room the whole place was empty, locked and bolted. What was I going to do? I clumped over to the now-empty Santa chair and plopped myself down, burying my face in my hands.
When I looked up a large man was standing not two feet in front of me. "Aaahhhh!" I screamed, and I believe I set a new record for the sitting high jump. When my heart started again I felt pretty foolish. It was the mall Santa, some wino trying to winterize himself with the Christmas gig, being photographed with a parade of cranky, crying children while wearing a bad wig and beard. And I thought I hated my job. The thought of sitting here day after day in a red suit that makes me look fat, actually encouraging already spoiled kids to indulge their wildest fantasies of Nero-esque excesses... and now he wants to go home and some psycho-lady is sitting on the display he needs to pack up.
"Sorry," I tell him. "I'll get out of your way. I'm sure you're in a hurry."
"Well, I do have a lot to do tonight," he allows, "but there's always time enough at Christmas." Where he gets that idea, I would really like to know. "Maybe I should be sitting there."
As Santas go, this guy's a pretty good one. The Galleria must've sprung for a really high-quality costume, because it's velvet and faux-fur, not cotton, and those boots and belt are pretty well-worn but nicely polished black leather. And it fits, possibly because Mr. Santa has not been doing too many crunches up there at the North Pole, if you know what I mean. In fact, he's surprisingly light on his feet for a big man and settles into the chair practically before I'm out of it, I nearly end up in his lap.
"That's what it's here for," he reminds me, and while I'm thinking well there's a line if I ever heard one, I'm really no more ready to face the world than I was when I first sat down. So I take him up on his offer, albeit a little gingerly. "I won't break," he says, encouraging me to actually sit down, and somehow I believe he's right. He smells of leather and pipe tobacco like my grandfather and this suit is really soft. He's got an arm around my waist and a hand on my knee but it doesn't bother me at all. His hands are big, fingers strong, callused in places but soft palms, skin so pale you can almost see through it. So okay, I notice a guy's hands, yes, I do.
"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here," I tell him.
"No, I'm not wondering at all," he says with the voice of a man who's seen this every Christmas since the Nativity. A deep voice, a cold-clear-air voice. "Young ladies sit on my lap to tell me what they want for Christmas," he says with a twinkle in his eye. "Why don't you do the same?"
"All I want... ha! All I want – is a trunkful of presents for my family, my family's families, everyone I work with, and oh! a little something for anyone else I've encountered all year. Think you can whip that up for me?" I half-snarl at him.
"That doesn't sound like the Christmas spirit," he rebukes gently. "What about you? There must be something you want for yourself."
Myself. Myself, I can't complain. I have a wonderful family and a loving husband who can take a hint if I'm obvious enough and this year I was plenty obvious. A loving husband who is getting me...
"A pair of earring," I inform him with a little smile. "Champagne diamonds with little diamond accents all around them."
"Santa" looks into my face. "Yes," he says, "I see." He looks me then focuses on my light brown eyes. "They would be lovely."
"They certainly will be," I giggle.
"Oh? You sound very sure of yourself."
"Well," I think I'm actually blushing, "I might have peeked. Just a little." Giggle.
"Careful," he warns, "It's a short trip from Santa's lap to over Santa's knee. I just hope you're not on the naughty list."
My heart does about a dozen flips and winds up in my throat. "I'm nice," I protest a bit too much.
"Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?"
"No, I don't," I tell him a bit defensively, "I told you, I've already seen them."
"Christmas has a way of making things happen that you don't expect," he professes, "You never thought you'd get them, did you?"
"Well, no, not really..." I admit. They were awfully expensive, and we did say we'd go easy on presents this year. "What do you mean?"
"It just proves that good girls get what they want after all."
"Good. Because I'm good. One little peek doesn't make me naughty."
"No, no, not at all. So tell me, what are you doing here at this hour?"
Okay, fair enough. Not a good place for this question in this conversation. "What are you?" I challenge back. "Doesn't 'Santa' have places to be?" I try to sound brave but my heart is pounding and butterflies are doing advanced aerial acrobatics in my stomach.
"Santa will be there, don't you worry about that."
Okay, so I fell a little behind in my shopping. Okay, I've been rushing around snapping at people, edging them out at counters, challenging overworked clerks who claim they don't have any more in the back without even checking. Maybe for one day not exactly nice. "You probably think I need a spanking," I whisper into his trimmed white beard.
"Santa knows these things. He keeps an eye on all good little boys and girls." He motions for me to get up. "Perhaps you should see my workshop."
I look around and behind the chair stands a "workshop" about the size of a phone booth. He climbs down the steps and takes my hand, swallowed in his grasp, leading me that way. For my trip to his wintertime woodshed. I think I'll pull back, I think I'll stumble, but I don't.
I duck through the low door and it's much bigger inside than it looks. There's a big wooden table with a bridle being mended and a large pewter tankard of what better be O'Doul's. It's chilly by the door but there's actually a fireplace with a fire burning, a hearthrug and an oversized leather chair with a footstool. Santa comes in behind me and closes the door and the ubiquitous sound of vacuum cleaners disappears into a hush.
"I need to be getting home," I suddenly remember.
"This won't take very long at all," he promises, "and everyone at home is already asleep." He crosses past me and seats himself on the footstool, waiting. I know what to do and for some reason I am drawn through the motions of doing it, soon enough I am standing next to him.
Then he reaches for the waist of my black wool slacks and I jump backward, slapping at his hands. I nearly end up in the fire and jump forward again, counterbalancing over his lap. But his hand on my shoulder stops me.
"Here," I stammer, reaching for the buttons myself, "Let me. Please?" A short nod allows me to continue. These slacks have gotten tighter since last winter and I have to shimmy them down very carefully to avoid taking my panties with them. As Santa takes his hand off of my shoulder I lean forward across his waiting thighs, which are surprisingly not-soft. His hand rests on my hip.
"Kathleen," he begins, and I jump at the sound of my name. "Why are you here?" For a split second I seriously think about explaining but I just can't.
"Because I've been naughty," I confess, "and I want to be good." My mouth flies open again to protest his movement to lower my panties but no words come to mind. "Please," is all I can think to say. My panties are already down and my bottom is warming up fast, I'm not that far from the fire in more ways than one.
"Please what, young lady?" he asks in my grandfather's voice.
"Please not too hard. I'm mostly good – really I am!"
Despite this very reasonable and well-supported request, the first smack sort of takes my breath away. Low and – well, firm. Not angry, but hard anyway. A big hand with a big man behind it, a hand alternatingly smooth and rough with a lifetime of experience. A hand that is making my bottom hot and hurt with low solid spanks. He's holding me so I don't squirm much though I kick a little – the fireplace isn't dangerously close, it just feels that way. I sort of gasp and hiss and try to get through this until I realize that this spanking hasn't even started. He has the rhythm and the pace of a man who has all night at his disposal. And I also realize that it's okay to cry – first over my blazing bottom, then over my disappointment in myself, then just as a release of all the pressure and frustration that isn't supposed to be Christmas but is.
Okay maybe fourth is for my bottom again, because I am really getting spanked. Not a "naughty little girl" spanking but a woman-who-needs-it spanking. I mean, they hurt when they land – every single one, quite definitely – and they hurt afterward and they hurt when another one lands on them and other ones do, frequently, repeatedly, and with a sting all their own. I know I'll feel the lowest ones longest but the higher spanks have a sting that makes my ears ring. Okay I don't have the smallest bottom in the world and I'm not exactly a Stairmaster junkie so I just know that it's shaking like a bowlful of jelly. Strawberry jelly, maybe, but Santa wants cherry. In the firelight his red pantleg looks all the brighter and that's where I figure I'm headed.
"You want a good Christmas, don't you, Kathleen?" he asks.
"Yes, Santa," I sob.
"And you'll be good for Christmas?" Again I agree. "Are you going to help me?" he asks as I nod uselessly. "Do you promise to help me?"
"I promise," I promise sincerely.
"No more naughtiness?"
"No..." I wail.
"No more rudeness?"
"I'm sorry!" I tell him, and his lecture stops for awhile while he deals with that. Owwww.
"No barging, no snapping, no 'my hurry is more important than your hurry?'"
"I'm sorry," I repeat, despite knowing what that leads to. When he's done with all that, he pauses.
"And..." he says ominously, "not just for a pair of earrings, Kathleen. Not even diamond ones."
"No," I swear. "No. I want to be good," I avow with all sincerity. And then, with a bottom blazing like a Yule log and tears that have grown from streams to rivers, I am hit by an inexplicable insanity and beg, "Please make me good." So he does.
Afterward I trickle from his lap, slither my panties back into place and compose my attire a bit, soon finding myself back on his lap. No, really, by perching on one of his thighs with the backs of my own I can sort-of sit though I know driving home is going to be a little adventure. He's not embarrassed for either one of us, he doesn't smirk, if he had any judgment or disapproval it's gone. And 95% of me feels much better and I am determined to be good.
I woke from this dream Saturday morning and I'm proud to report that now, on Sunday night, my Christmas shopping is maybe two-thirds finished.
T'was the night before Christmas and all through the mall,
Not a store was left open, not one store at all.
The gates are down and some of the stores have their lights off; here and there I can hear a vacuum cleaner from the poor souls who still can't head home to their families on Christmas Eve – souls I would beg to open back up and let me buy something, by now anything, before I give up and face having to explain this Christmas as an unmitigated failure. I would beg them, but I only speak English and none of them seem to and they can't hear me anyway though their headphones. If I could just reach through the bars and unplug a vacuum or two...
Not truly unmitigated, of course – that was most likely my downfall. For once my husband expressed an interest in a specific gift between the months of October and December that wasn't crotchless (for me, not him), and once I had his rechargeable screwdriver (yes, honestly, a power screwdriver) in the bag I was lured into a false sense of completeness, since every year finally choosing something to give him has marked my seasonal shopping surrender. Oh, I was the grasshopper in summer, playing and partying, relaxed and laughing – possibly laughing at my friends as much as with them as I bragged, "Oh me? I've already bought Kevin's present." Meanwhile they scurried about like ants, heads down, frantically hoarding gift after gift for the coming winter. They settled for Wii's while I waited for the second wave of PS3 shipments, only to have the now-sold-out Wii's be revealed as the hot gift. They had aunts who camped out or nephews with hi-speed internet connections to jump on fads you couldn't find at the counter. They ordered at Thanksgiving to get super-saver shipping and still have it arrive in time. And me? I've spent my Christmas Eve racing from one end of this place to the other, chasing a rumor of a Tickle-Me-Elmo (didn't we do that one already?) mis-shelved in Macy's small appliances or comparing one scarf for my sister against a dozen others until all of them mysteriously disappeared. After twelve straight hours I stopped for a McMeal and when I came out of the Ladies Room the whole place was empty, locked and bolted. What was I going to do? I clumped over to the now-empty Santa chair and plopped myself down, burying my face in my hands.
When I looked up a large man was standing not two feet in front of me. "Aaahhhh!" I screamed, and I believe I set a new record for the sitting high jump. When my heart started again I felt pretty foolish. It was the mall Santa, some wino trying to winterize himself with the Christmas gig, being photographed with a parade of cranky, crying children while wearing a bad wig and beard. And I thought I hated my job. The thought of sitting here day after day in a red suit that makes me look fat, actually encouraging already spoiled kids to indulge their wildest fantasies of Nero-esque excesses... and now he wants to go home and some psycho-lady is sitting on the display he needs to pack up.
"Sorry," I tell him. "I'll get out of your way. I'm sure you're in a hurry."
"Well, I do have a lot to do tonight," he allows, "but there's always time enough at Christmas." Where he gets that idea, I would really like to know. "Maybe I should be sitting there."
As Santas go, this guy's a pretty good one. The Galleria must've sprung for a really high-quality costume, because it's velvet and faux-fur, not cotton, and those boots and belt are pretty well-worn but nicely polished black leather. And it fits, possibly because Mr. Santa has not been doing too many crunches up there at the North Pole, if you know what I mean. In fact, he's surprisingly light on his feet for a big man and settles into the chair practically before I'm out of it, I nearly end up in his lap.
"That's what it's here for," he reminds me, and while I'm thinking well there's a line if I ever heard one, I'm really no more ready to face the world than I was when I first sat down. So I take him up on his offer, albeit a little gingerly. "I won't break," he says, encouraging me to actually sit down, and somehow I believe he's right. He smells of leather and pipe tobacco like my grandfather and this suit is really soft. He's got an arm around my waist and a hand on my knee but it doesn't bother me at all. His hands are big, fingers strong, callused in places but soft palms, skin so pale you can almost see through it. So okay, I notice a guy's hands, yes, I do.
"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here," I tell him.
"No, I'm not wondering at all," he says with the voice of a man who's seen this every Christmas since the Nativity. A deep voice, a cold-clear-air voice. "Young ladies sit on my lap to tell me what they want for Christmas," he says with a twinkle in his eye. "Why don't you do the same?"
"All I want... ha! All I want – is a trunkful of presents for my family, my family's families, everyone I work with, and oh! a little something for anyone else I've encountered all year. Think you can whip that up for me?" I half-snarl at him.
"That doesn't sound like the Christmas spirit," he rebukes gently. "What about you? There must be something you want for yourself."
Myself. Myself, I can't complain. I have a wonderful family and a loving husband who can take a hint if I'm obvious enough and this year I was plenty obvious. A loving husband who is getting me...
"A pair of earring," I inform him with a little smile. "Champagne diamonds with little diamond accents all around them."
"Santa" looks into my face. "Yes," he says, "I see." He looks me then focuses on my light brown eyes. "They would be lovely."
"They certainly will be," I giggle.
"Oh? You sound very sure of yourself."
"Well," I think I'm actually blushing, "I might have peeked. Just a little." Giggle.
"Careful," he warns, "It's a short trip from Santa's lap to over Santa's knee. I just hope you're not on the naughty list."
My heart does about a dozen flips and winds up in my throat. "I'm nice," I protest a bit too much.
"Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?"
"No, I don't," I tell him a bit defensively, "I told you, I've already seen them."
"Christmas has a way of making things happen that you don't expect," he professes, "You never thought you'd get them, did you?"
"Well, no, not really..." I admit. They were awfully expensive, and we did say we'd go easy on presents this year. "What do you mean?"
"It just proves that good girls get what they want after all."
"Good. Because I'm good. One little peek doesn't make me naughty."
"No, no, not at all. So tell me, what are you doing here at this hour?"
Okay, fair enough. Not a good place for this question in this conversation. "What are you?" I challenge back. "Doesn't 'Santa' have places to be?" I try to sound brave but my heart is pounding and butterflies are doing advanced aerial acrobatics in my stomach.
"Santa will be there, don't you worry about that."
Okay, so I fell a little behind in my shopping. Okay, I've been rushing around snapping at people, edging them out at counters, challenging overworked clerks who claim they don't have any more in the back without even checking. Maybe for one day not exactly nice. "You probably think I need a spanking," I whisper into his trimmed white beard.
"Santa knows these things. He keeps an eye on all good little boys and girls." He motions for me to get up. "Perhaps you should see my workshop."
I look around and behind the chair stands a "workshop" about the size of a phone booth. He climbs down the steps and takes my hand, swallowed in his grasp, leading me that way. For my trip to his wintertime woodshed. I think I'll pull back, I think I'll stumble, but I don't.
I duck through the low door and it's much bigger inside than it looks. There's a big wooden table with a bridle being mended and a large pewter tankard of what better be O'Doul's. It's chilly by the door but there's actually a fireplace with a fire burning, a hearthrug and an oversized leather chair with a footstool. Santa comes in behind me and closes the door and the ubiquitous sound of vacuum cleaners disappears into a hush.
"I need to be getting home," I suddenly remember.
"This won't take very long at all," he promises, "and everyone at home is already asleep." He crosses past me and seats himself on the footstool, waiting. I know what to do and for some reason I am drawn through the motions of doing it, soon enough I am standing next to him.
Then he reaches for the waist of my black wool slacks and I jump backward, slapping at his hands. I nearly end up in the fire and jump forward again, counterbalancing over his lap. But his hand on my shoulder stops me.
"Here," I stammer, reaching for the buttons myself, "Let me. Please?" A short nod allows me to continue. These slacks have gotten tighter since last winter and I have to shimmy them down very carefully to avoid taking my panties with them. As Santa takes his hand off of my shoulder I lean forward across his waiting thighs, which are surprisingly not-soft. His hand rests on my hip.
"Kathleen," he begins, and I jump at the sound of my name. "Why are you here?" For a split second I seriously think about explaining but I just can't.
"Because I've been naughty," I confess, "and I want to be good." My mouth flies open again to protest his movement to lower my panties but no words come to mind. "Please," is all I can think to say. My panties are already down and my bottom is warming up fast, I'm not that far from the fire in more ways than one.
"Please what, young lady?" he asks in my grandfather's voice.
"Please not too hard. I'm mostly good – really I am!"
Despite this very reasonable and well-supported request, the first smack sort of takes my breath away. Low and – well, firm. Not angry, but hard anyway. A big hand with a big man behind it, a hand alternatingly smooth and rough with a lifetime of experience. A hand that is making my bottom hot and hurt with low solid spanks. He's holding me so I don't squirm much though I kick a little – the fireplace isn't dangerously close, it just feels that way. I sort of gasp and hiss and try to get through this until I realize that this spanking hasn't even started. He has the rhythm and the pace of a man who has all night at his disposal. And I also realize that it's okay to cry – first over my blazing bottom, then over my disappointment in myself, then just as a release of all the pressure and frustration that isn't supposed to be Christmas but is.
Okay maybe fourth is for my bottom again, because I am really getting spanked. Not a "naughty little girl" spanking but a woman-who-needs-it spanking. I mean, they hurt when they land – every single one, quite definitely – and they hurt afterward and they hurt when another one lands on them and other ones do, frequently, repeatedly, and with a sting all their own. I know I'll feel the lowest ones longest but the higher spanks have a sting that makes my ears ring. Okay I don't have the smallest bottom in the world and I'm not exactly a Stairmaster junkie so I just know that it's shaking like a bowlful of jelly. Strawberry jelly, maybe, but Santa wants cherry. In the firelight his red pantleg looks all the brighter and that's where I figure I'm headed.
"You want a good Christmas, don't you, Kathleen?" he asks.
"Yes, Santa," I sob.
"And you'll be good for Christmas?" Again I agree. "Are you going to help me?" he asks as I nod uselessly. "Do you promise to help me?"
"I promise," I promise sincerely.
"No more naughtiness?"
"No..." I wail.
"No more rudeness?"
"I'm sorry!" I tell him, and his lecture stops for awhile while he deals with that. Owwww.
"No barging, no snapping, no 'my hurry is more important than your hurry?'"
"I'm sorry," I repeat, despite knowing what that leads to. When he's done with all that, he pauses.
"And..." he says ominously, "not just for a pair of earrings, Kathleen. Not even diamond ones."
"No," I swear. "No. I want to be good," I avow with all sincerity. And then, with a bottom blazing like a Yule log and tears that have grown from streams to rivers, I am hit by an inexplicable insanity and beg, "Please make me good." So he does.
Afterward I trickle from his lap, slither my panties back into place and compose my attire a bit, soon finding myself back on his lap. No, really, by perching on one of his thighs with the backs of my own I can sort-of sit though I know driving home is going to be a little adventure. He's not embarrassed for either one of us, he doesn't smirk, if he had any judgment or disapproval it's gone. And 95% of me feels much better and I am determined to be good.
I woke from this dream Saturday morning and I'm proud to report that now, on Sunday night, my Christmas shopping is maybe two-thirds finished.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Heard and Not Seen
February 2007
I don’t know why brats seem to think it’s the driver’s – as in, my – fault that car trips take time, but they do. That’s just the way it is. And sometimes they get boring, I know that, it’s not like I can help it. In fact, I’m usually doing a lot to keep them from getting too boring – I’m not the type to plan endless driving, no stopping, let’s-see-how-fast-we-can-cross-the-continent trips. Somehow, that doesn’t stop the whining.
We’re in Cat’s minivan, which she likes just because it makes trips like this easier. It’s got a lot of room, it’s super-comfortable, we’ve got the iPod hooked into a nice stereo system. I’m up front, of course, with Cat, and Kitten is in the seat half-way back – the one remaining, we take one of the two out for extra space, and if we have extra passengers we can use the bench seat in the far back.
“Are we there yet?” Kitten asks for the dozenth time.
“No... ” I tell her with waning patience.
“Well how much longer?”
“About two minutes less than the last time you asked, or five minutes less than the time before that.”
“I want to be there now,” she insists, as if by me knowing this I can make it more likely. Not.
“We’re not there now, you just have to wait,” I remind her as if speaking to someone twenty years younger.
“I’m hot,” she announces, which is certainly true.
“You have your own AC control,” Cat chides her.
“Take some clothes off,” I suggest.
“I can’t, I’d be indeeee-cent,” she protests, which is also true. Reaching up, she adjusts the air, probably just because I’ve got an eye on her. Two miles go by in relative peace. “I’m bored,” she decides next.
“Hot and bored – a bad combination. How about smart? If you’re smart you’ll find something to do before you get yourself in trouble.” Even as I say this I know it’s a useless argument – when we get to the hotel she’s going to be spanked, repeatedly. She’s not real concerned about “making it worse.” I try to think of something to threaten her with, but each evil object that comes to mind I immediately decide to use, heavily, regardless. So I don’t have much luck, though I enjoy the anticipation of absolutely blistering her bottom with a whirlwind from the long-handled spoon.
“I must not be too smart,” she fibs blithely, “Or else I wouldn’t be sitting back here, hot and bored.”
Admittedly, we feel a little bad that she’s kind of out of the conversation back there. “Do you want something to read?” Cat asks solicitously.
“I can’t read in the car, I’ll get sick. I wish I could. If I could read I maybe I wouldn’t be so booored.” Another two miles roll by. A new song comes on.
“Oooo, turn this up – I like this,” she says. Cat reaches over and complies. “Farther,” Kitten asks, unsatisfied. “Farther. Farther.”
“I think that’s far enough,” Cat decides, turning it back down to about 100 decibels. Kitten grumbles quietly – though loud enough to hear, even over the music. Apparently, we’re “no fun” and “too old” anyway.
“Are we there yet?”
“That, young lady, is also far enough. We are not, now behave. Do not make me pull this car over,” I warn in my best imitation of everyone’s dad.
Behind me I can almost feel Kitten’s eyes scanning the desert – and deserted – horizon. Exits lead to tiny short roads out into the wide open flat sand. She knows that I’m very unlikely to get her out of the car and pull her pants down, anyway – not when every square inch of land for miles is visible from the freeway.
I, on the other hand, do have something in mind. Sometime in the next fifteen minutes we ought to be getting to an exit where the road goes around a little hill, at least. Undoubtedly I can figure something out with the partial seclusion that it affords. I look at her in the rear-view mirror and, as if knowing what I’m thinking, she settles down.
Sure enough, as the minutes pass, the exit I’d been thinking of looms into sight. Kitten straightens and I look at her again – she smiles a little and raises her eyebrows expectantly, putting on her “I’m so good – aren’t I good?” face. As we pass the exit, I look to my right to see how it would have worked out, which is sort-of-pretty-much-okay. After a quick glance, Kitten slumps down in her seat again. Ahead of us the desert rolls on shapelessly again, dropping slightly before rising up the next set of mountains, a vast valley all in plain view. I wonder idly if I should have stopped, and if we will on the return trip.
“Are we there yet?” Kitten asks plaintively. She knows that I’m not going to drive all the way to the next exit, turn around, come back to the one we just passed, and all that.
“No, we are not there yet. You know how you can tell? Because when we get there, you’re getting the strap. Since you’re not getting it right now, we must not be there yet,” I explain. Cat lets out a sigh of slight frustration. Funny, because usually she’s being the brat, in just this manner.
“I just asked a question,” Kitten complains. I decline to reply. “Not very fair to spank me just for asking a question.”
“The long strap,” I expand on my earlier statement. “On your bare bottom. Hard. You are, Kitten.”
“Not fair,” she grumbles, but grants us a few minutes’ reprieve.
“I was just asking,” Kitten suddenly offers by way of defense. “I hadn’t asked in a long time. I shouldn’t be spanked just for asking. I really wanted to know.”
We ignore all of this but I think she can sense that if I ever find another place to pull over, she’s getting it right then. Unfortunately, that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen anytime soon. Maybe she figures that now she hasn’t got that much to lose.
“So?” she announces after waiting just long enough to make us hope that she’d given up on the whole thing. “How long? I really want to know.”
In the seat next to me, Cat unfastens her seat belt. I look at her in mild surprise. As she rises, Kitten looks at her with a lot more surprise.
“Wha-wha-what are you doing?” Kitten asks timorously.
“Come on,” Cat orders, reaching down and unfastening Kitten’s seatbelt as well. Grabbing her by the elbow and lifting, she makes it pretty clear that Kitten is expected to get up.
“But... but... ” Kitten sputters, but rises as requested.
Cat curves around the seat with Kitten in one hand and her oversized purse in the other. As she sits on the bench seat I the back she finds that toppling someone over your lap in a moving vehicle is not very difficult. “Now... ” Cat pronounces with satisfaction.
“Wait! No! Someone will see!” Kitten protests – not really very likely, since all the back windows are heavily tinted. She’s wearing a short wrap-around skirt and a spaghetti-strap top, at least one of which is probably coming off. “Like, truckers!”
“You should have thought of that,” Cat suggests calmly.
“You’d better not let any truckers see you, Little Missy,” I warn Kitten ominously from the driver’s seat. In the mirror I see Cat put Kitten’s skirt on her seat.
Even with a bare bottom under her hand, Cat doesn’t begin spanking immediately – in the interest of not annoying my readers, I have greatly edited Kitten’s remarks, of which there were many (many) more. Searching through her bag, Cat produces one of her favorites, the black leather “ruler” strap – short but with a terrific sting plus surprising smack. Having had this before, Kitten knows she doesn’t really like to get it hard.
“No, no, wait... ” Kitten suggests. “I was just... ”
Having raised the strap above Kitten’s bare, unprotected, and well-positioned bottom, Cat gives her a fair chance. “Just what, young lady?”
“Um... YEOW!” Kitten replies as the sound of the swat ricochets through the van like a rifleshot. “Ahhh! OWW! No, wait – YEOW!”
“Just being a brat?” Cat queries.
“GEEZ OH OW EE YEOW,” Kitten explains uselessly.
“Just trying to bug us?” This brings a similar answer. “Just making a nuisance of yourself? We try to take you on a nice trip and this is how you behave?” In less than a minute Cat has her quite well spanked with no signs of letting up. “Do you think we need this kind of aggravation, young lady? How nice is that? Do you call that being good? Is this you, being a good girl?”
“No no no no no no no,” Kitten replies with such sincerity that I’m tempted to pull over and watch the scene I’m hearing.
“No it is not,” Cat continues, as do the heavy spanks, only slightly slower to improve her aim. “Don’t you want to be a good girl?”
“Uh huh yes, yes I do,” Kitten manages between ow’s.
“And you are going to be,” Cat promises her. “You’re going to sit in your seat and behave,” she predicts, “and you can put your skirt back on when we stop in Baker. Understood?”
“Uh huh,” I think Kitten says.
“You’re getting another one of these as soon as we get out of Baker and if we’re not there by four o’clock you’re getting one then, even if we’re on the Strip a block from the hotel.”
Muffled sounds come from Kitten, but they must be the right ones.
“Is that unfair?” Cat asks her, getting Kitten to admit that it’s not. “Is that something to complain about?” The spanking has slowed but both the strap and Kitten are making a lot of noise. “All right then,” Cat says finally. “How old are you, young lady?” After getting an answer, she tells Kitten, “Okay then, this will be the last twenty four. Ready?” I suspect Kitten nods her head. They all sound hard.
Adult conversation makes for a pleasant hour until we get to Baker.
*****
“May I put my skirt on now?” Kitten asks politely as I pull up to the gas pumps. "Please?" she remembers. For the past hour she has been sitting on a hot bottom completely without complain.
“Yes, you’d better; we’re getting out,” Cat tells her, though before she can cover herself I’ve opened the door to get out myself, seeing through the gap between my seat and the van pillar a flash of leg bare from her toes to the hem of her abbreviated top. She jumps and nervously tries to cover herself, adding sandals to complete her ensemble. I slide her door open for her and she alights with a smile and a “thank you,” her nipples standing straight up, tempting me to touch them. It’s not from cold, either – this town is always hotter than the hinges of hell, even famous for its hundred-foot-high thermometer. The girls disappear in the direction of the Ladies Room while I gas up the van, clean the windows, and try to wait patiently.
When they return we try to decide where to get some food. I’m glad to be out of the car for a bit, so I’m not advocating drive-through, leaving either fast food or restaurant.
“I’m not trying to be a brat, really – honest,” Kitten tells us, “but how much farther is it, about?” We’ve got 90 miles – a little more than an hour – to get to Las Vegas, plus a little time to get from the freeway to the hotel, putting us there about 3 o’clock, including eating. I realize that she’s thinking about the spanking Cat’s promised her if we’re not there by four, so I want to let her wonder.
“Not too bad,” Cat tells her.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get there when we get there,” I suggest.
“Maybe somewhere fast,” she proposes, not wanting to take any chances. Not that she won’t be getting enough spankings when we arrive, I think to myself. “Anxious for your second spanking?” I tease her a bit – Cat’s also promised one when we get out of town.
“No!” she insists. “That one hurrrrt!” Neither Cat nor I have any strong opinion so we opt for fast food, but dine-in.
Once we have our food we pick out a booth like we always do and put Kitten on the inside, with Cat boxing her in and me across from them. I pat the hard vinyl seat and she puts her feet up next to me as Cat drops her inside hand to Kitten’s thigh. As always, I make quick work of my lunch.
“Yes?” I ask Kitten – she’s started to say something and her nipples are standing up again – she sees that I notice.
“I was good,” she professes meekly. “This past hour, I was very, very good.” A true statement – we talked some, intelligently, and she amused herself when we didn’t.
“Yes, you were,” I agree, loud enough for them to hear but not anyone else. “The spanking must have worked. How did you like it?”
“It was hard,” Kitten insists, with understandable emphasis. “And long.”
“Well, you asked for it,” Cat reminds her.
“Repeatedly,” I add.
“But I’ve been good, since,” she points out, and, when we don’t seem to pick up on it, adds, “Maybe the other one could be nice.”
“I don’t know,” I tease. “That one worked so well, I’d be tempted to repeat it about as exactly as I could.” I look at Cat questioningly. And, knowing that Kitten’s concerned about the time, I add, “After all, you’ve got a lot more riding that you need to be good for.”
“I do?” Kitten asks, but as she does her eyes get wide and she glances downward, so I know Cat’s sliding her hand up Kitten’s bare thigh. Her nipples can’t get any harder, but she blushes.
“What are we doing tonight? Are we going to a show?” Kitten asks suddenly – probably thinking of trying to sit without squirming. Sometimes we go to a show; sometimes we go to a late dinner with one or both of my little Kitties wearing a remote-controlled vibrator; sometimes we cruise the casinos and gamble a bit or hit Downtown or have even tried the Olympic Gardens, a classy strip club.
“No, the show’s tomorrow night,” Cat tells her – when she’ll be good and all the sorer. “Was there something you wanted to do?”
“Maybe gamble a bit... ” she speculates, probably so she can stand while doing so.
“Seems to me you bet your ass every time you open your mouth,” I tease.
“Matt... .” Cat chides slightly at my use of that word, while Kitten sticks her tongue out at me. The thought of having her over my knee, legs pinned down while I absolutely completely blister her bottom brings a smile to my face. There’s an odd symmetry in how I’m thinking of that moment now and when the time gets here I’ll be thinking of this moment with her tongue and her nipples sticking out.
“We’ll see,” I say non-committally. “Probably a little.” We need to come up with a game, serious penalties for losing, some kind of star treatment if she actually wins.
Having finished, Kitten is rubbing against Cat, who is eating slowly. “I’ve been good,” she continues to campaign. “Haven’t I been good?”
“You have,” Cat concedes. “Very good.”
“So you’ll be nice?” Kitten begs unabashedly.
“I could... ” Cat drawls. “But... ”
“But?” Kitten asks her anxiously.
“But if there’s any trouble before we get there, you’ll have to have another one.”
“No! There won’t be. I’ll be good, promise. I’ll be so good... ”
“Well, see that you are – I don’t want you fooling me,” Cat warns.
Finished with our food we head back to the minivan, where Cat opens the rear door on her side. Holding it for Kitten, she tells her, “Straight in the back – might as well,” smacking her lightly on the bottom as Kitten climbs in in front of her. “You don’t need your seatbelt.”
“But nice, right?” Kitten pleads one last time, her skirt fluttering over the back of her regular seat just as I climb in myself. She doesn’t get an answer, and the black strap is still lying on the bench seat beside them, but once we get back on the freeway I can hear the pitter-pat hand spanks that they both prefer.
Afterward – apparently hand-spankings take much, much, much longer to accomplish, the flushed pair return to their seats. “I should get to put my skirt on,” Kitten suggests.
Just as Cat shoots her a “Don’t push your luck” glare, I agree. “Don’t want you seen by any truckers,” I point out.
“Ohhh?” Kitten asked, shamelessly greedy. “And what if I am?”
“When we get there,” I answered, “I might just show you.”
The Tempest, or Setting an Example Part II by Matt - June, 1997
(medium, M/F Erotic Domestic Discipline) Eve knows it won’t be long before she gets hers, but household schedules are hard to manage.
Matt rubbed each eye as they started down the last big grade to the valley floor. Stretched out before him was a long, long shimmering line, red on the right, white on the left. The red intensified as drivers used their brakes, attempting to control their descent. No one was awake to see this sight tonight, except his youngest daughter, singing to herself in the far back. He found himself amused by the pairings of glowing red pinpoints that blossomed and brightened as he watched. Across the median, headlights passed in a steady stream. Big ones, little ones, high, low, even a pair of motorcycles wobbling along at an inconstant distance. Matt glanced over at his dozing wife, whose top, in the latest fashion, stretched a little tight across her own headlights and he smiled.
He was tired. And he was sore. God, was he sore. He might like to wear the baggy shorts and the big tee-shirts and get his Brad Pitt haircut from a girl not much older than his daughter but he had to admit, the years had taken their toll. It’s not the miles, he liked to say, or even the load. It’s the speed you drive and the road you choose and the lack of shock absorbers.
He’d driven it hard today. His shoulders couldn’t take these heavy restraints anymore. He’d been hung and swung, flipped and rolled. Coaxed slowly to the peak and then dropped like a rock, only to beg for more and more and more. Even standing up, one time. Sixteen roller coasters! Every inch of his body hurt.
The food hadn’t helped. Whatever had possessed him to try to eat his way across the park? Pretzels, cotton candy, corn dogs, root beer. That he could have handled. But what were those deep-fried things? Churzos? Funnelcakes should have been enough. He should have chosen between the two. And at some point he should have told his kids, “If you can’t finish that, throw it away.”
End of the line. Matt knew he ought to help unload. Six kids times a two-hour nap was twelve hours of sleep - why couldn’t they unload? But Matt knew that if he didn’t help Eve would do it all herself. And one job’s always saved for Daddy. Carrying sleeping children up to bed. How could she be asleep? She was singing when we pulled into the driveway.
The house remained dark and quiet. Even the teenagers went to bed. Matt trudged into the bathroom in search of Mylanta. Turning, Eve appeared before him. Her face was anxious. He wrapped her in his arms.
“I just need a quick shower,” she told him. The patter of running water was the last sound he heard that night.
***
“Matt!” Eve hollered.
“What?”
“Come down here where I can talk to you,” was her command.
Matt appeared at the foot of the stairs. Immediately, he saw what Eve expected him to do.
“Out of the kitchen! Everyone, out!” His calm, deep voice reached every corner of the big house. Their son even looked up from his Star Trek novel.
“Cindy. Out.” he repeated from closer range.
“I’m cooking,” Cindy claimed.
“She’s cooking,” Eve confirmed.
“Debbie, get your junk off the table.”
“Homework, Dad,” Debbie corrected him with imperious disdain.
“Off.”
Matt stepped into the hall where he could be heard. “Okay, little Evita, off with the stereo. Help set the table. Argentina will have to figure out why not to cry all by itself.”
“But Dad! I’ve been waiting for this song. Can’t I listen, just till it’s over? Pleeeease?”
“Dad, is Evita Spanish for Eva?” asked Tom, the youngest and the very spirit and image of his father.
“You can listen to it after dinner. Turn it off,” Matt told their wandering minstrel.
“Not tonight! Dad, you know!” came the reply.
He smiled and held a finger to his lips. She giggled.
“Dad. Is Evita Spanish for Eva?” Tom demanded.
“Little Eve. “Ita” means little in Spanish,” Matt tried to explain uselessly. In a second, Tom would be wondering about the moon, or something.
“You want to eat now, or when you get back?” Eve asked him.
“Later,” he said, checking his watch. He greatly preferred being able to sit down with his family. “Okay, guy. Got your gear? What time’s practice over?”
“Not till nine,” the boy sighed, heading for the car.
A few minutes later, Matt returned, managing to catch some dinner on its way to the dishwasher. The three little ones were buzzing around like little hummingbirds. Suddenly, Lori appeared with the car keys.
“Who’s ready for Tarzan?” she asked.
“We are! We are!” replied the excited chorus.
“What?” Eve asked, “Who’s going where?”
“I’m taking the kids to Tarzan,” Lori told her. Seeing her doubtful look, Cindy quickly put in, “Dad said we could. It’s twi-night pricing.”
“Well! I guess that settles it!” she conceded. Eve shot a quick scowl at Matt, who was relaxing on the couch with a book. He really should have asked her first. He was definitely going to hear about this. But as the door closed on the receding horde, a rare silence descended and she was reluctant to break it.
As Eve walked into the kitchen, she was met with a sight that made her heart do a little flip. Debbie was cleaning up after dinner, unasked! Would wonders never cease. Torn between feeling useless and relieved, Eve decided it would be nice to have some time for herself but as she looked for a book to lose herself in, the doorbell rang. Upon opening it, she was greeted by a young man and behind him she saw a car, idling at the curb.
“I’m here for Debbie,” he announced, to Eve’s amazement. He wasn’t that young - he must have a driver’s license, or a friend out in the car.
“Maybe you better come in. Have we met you?” she asked, with obvious suspicion.
“I’m Steve Mattson,” he told her factually, “We go to your church?”
“And what are your plans for the evening?”
“Oh, you know,” Steve continued, oblivious to the gathering storm, “Dinner, movie, just get out and away. Nothing special.”
Her daughter appeared, just as Eve prepared for battle. “Debbie, want to tell me what this is about?” Why the heck wasn’t Matt over here, backing her up?
“Mom,” Debbie whined, “Babysitting? It’s on the calendar.” With that, she ducked past Mr. Mattson and was gone.
“Nice to meet you,” Eve said weakly.
“See you on Sunday,” Steve called from the walk.
As Eve closed the door, a very clear realization came over her. A realization that, while it had been fun at the time, she really hated the fact that she had paddled her husband in front of the kids a few days earlier. In fact, the more fun she remembered it being, the more she hated it now.
“Eve,” Matt called calmly. “Want to take your panties off and come over here? I’d like to talk to you.” She looked over and Matt had already moved to the straight-backed chair. Of course.
“Um, it’s a swimsuit,” she mentioned and there was a brief, motionless moment before she hastened to comply. Her slightly damp seat was clammy when the air hit it. Trying to press it dry with her cover-up, she silently regretted her evening’s attire. Not only was the cover-up non-absorbent, it would offer no protection and only serve to assure that she got an extra layer of spanking.
Like she needed an extra layer. When she thought back to applying the paddle to her husband’s buns, she wondered just how long it would be before she was let up to fetch the hairbrush. Probably a long, long time, she concluded.
“Eve, it seems that, the other day, you thought I needed to be paddled, in front of the kids? Did you enjoy doing that? Enjoy it a lot?”
Eve, ill-advisedly, giggled. Then, she grew defensive. “You deserved it. You were mean to me. You lost your temper. You swore. In fact, it’s me who should be paddling you right now.”
“You’ve already taken care of that,” Matt said dismissively. “Whatever possessed you to do that?”
With a smile she couldn’t repress, Eve told him, “Have to set a good example.” But, let’s face it, it wasn’t worth what was coming.
“And did you, Eve? Did you set a good example?” When Matt used her name a lot, she knew the trouble quotient was at an all-time high.
“Had to,” she insisted. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, she thought.
“Eve,” Matt said yet again, causing her cold little cheeks to clench in anticipation, “what’s our rule about paddlings over the age of twelve?”
“Don’t,” she had to admit.
“And what’s our rule about paddlings over clothing?”
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“And about paddlings that aren’t over-the-knee?”
“Don’t,” she wailed.
“And about me paddling girls, or you paddling boys?”
“Don’t,” she squeaked.
“Seems like we're getting a lot here. Are you keeping count?”
“No,” she claimed.
“Well, we’ll call that six.”
“Four,” Eve said, then wished she’d bitten her tongue. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for that again.
“Fibbing?”
“Five,” she admitted.
With her teeth pinning down her lower lip, she nodded. She moved slowly over his waiting lap, hoping her seat had dried by now.
*****
Raising his hand, Matt began methodically patting Eve’s cover-up. Not patting, actually. The thin fabric did prevent his slaps from ringing like they usually do but they still stung plenty. He’s starting too hard, Eve cried to herself. But she wanted to save her protests for after she’d gone for the hairbrush. Why, oh why, had she done something this foolish? Sure, it had been fun, it had been irresistible and she’d remember it all her life. But if Matt realizes that, she thought, he’ll make this spanking just as memorable.
“Ow. Ow. Ow,” Eve complained softly. Oh, this is too much. Oh, I hope he gets a lot of this over with now. Owwwwwwwww.
It really didn’t take long for Matt to stop. It only seemed that way to Eve. To Matt the time passed very quickly and he had to give her a lot more than she deserved in order to stretch it out. But he was finally satisfied and paused long enough to lift her sheer skirt.
Panic set in on Eve’s fanny. Matt had been spanking in the middle and now, as he rubbed her all over, the heat of his overworked hand made her realize how chilly the rest of her bottom was. This is not a good thing at times like these. If she’d had any clue whatsoever, she wouldn’t have gone swimming at all.
Oh, oh, oh, this was worse, much worse. Now the slaps had the familiar ringing sound. It felt like he was punishing her, not just warming her up! Well, maybe not that bad but had she been that wrong? How many had he said? All she remembered was that it was more than she deserved. Next time, next time, she would resist. Resist the urge, that is. That one morning when she pushed him in the pool when he was dressed for work, she should have resisted. Sitting down all those days later was easy to resist, even though her feet had been tired. Why couldn’t she resist sooner?
I don’t even think it stings any more, she thought. It’s just going to make me sorer. Longer to recover, longer to remember. Oooh, does this really help? Oh. Oh.
Just then, Matt stopped. Not paused, stopped. Eve held perfectly still, oh-so-tense, waiting.
“Stand up, sweetie,” he told her, with a pat on her jumpy seat. She moved immediately to comply.
“Want to get in position?” he asked and she leaned forward for him, grabbing the back of the chair. Legs back, straight, sloped. Back arched, offering. Feet apart.
Matt slid slowly off of the chair. His arms circled her waist, hugging her, tighter and then tighter some more.
“Mmmmm,” he insisted.
“Mmmmm,” she admitted.
But when she was absolutely sure his head was firmly between her thighs and his ears were definitely covered, she raised her head, smiled and said in a clear voice, “You deserved it.”
Matt rubbed each eye as they started down the last big grade to the valley floor. Stretched out before him was a long, long shimmering line, red on the right, white on the left. The red intensified as drivers used their brakes, attempting to control their descent. No one was awake to see this sight tonight, except his youngest daughter, singing to herself in the far back. He found himself amused by the pairings of glowing red pinpoints that blossomed and brightened as he watched. Across the median, headlights passed in a steady stream. Big ones, little ones, high, low, even a pair of motorcycles wobbling along at an inconstant distance. Matt glanced over at his dozing wife, whose top, in the latest fashion, stretched a little tight across her own headlights and he smiled.
He was tired. And he was sore. God, was he sore. He might like to wear the baggy shorts and the big tee-shirts and get his Brad Pitt haircut from a girl not much older than his daughter but he had to admit, the years had taken their toll. It’s not the miles, he liked to say, or even the load. It’s the speed you drive and the road you choose and the lack of shock absorbers.
He’d driven it hard today. His shoulders couldn’t take these heavy restraints anymore. He’d been hung and swung, flipped and rolled. Coaxed slowly to the peak and then dropped like a rock, only to beg for more and more and more. Even standing up, one time. Sixteen roller coasters! Every inch of his body hurt.
The food hadn’t helped. Whatever had possessed him to try to eat his way across the park? Pretzels, cotton candy, corn dogs, root beer. That he could have handled. But what were those deep-fried things? Churzos? Funnelcakes should have been enough. He should have chosen between the two. And at some point he should have told his kids, “If you can’t finish that, throw it away.”
End of the line. Matt knew he ought to help unload. Six kids times a two-hour nap was twelve hours of sleep - why couldn’t they unload? But Matt knew that if he didn’t help Eve would do it all herself. And one job’s always saved for Daddy. Carrying sleeping children up to bed. How could she be asleep? She was singing when we pulled into the driveway.
The house remained dark and quiet. Even the teenagers went to bed. Matt trudged into the bathroom in search of Mylanta. Turning, Eve appeared before him. Her face was anxious. He wrapped her in his arms.
“I just need a quick shower,” she told him. The patter of running water was the last sound he heard that night.
***
“Matt!” Eve hollered.
“What?”
“Come down here where I can talk to you,” was her command.
Matt appeared at the foot of the stairs. Immediately, he saw what Eve expected him to do.
“Out of the kitchen! Everyone, out!” His calm, deep voice reached every corner of the big house. Their son even looked up from his Star Trek novel.
“Cindy. Out.” he repeated from closer range.
“I’m cooking,” Cindy claimed.
“She’s cooking,” Eve confirmed.
“Debbie, get your junk off the table.”
“Homework, Dad,” Debbie corrected him with imperious disdain.
“Off.”
Matt stepped into the hall where he could be heard. “Okay, little Evita, off with the stereo. Help set the table. Argentina will have to figure out why not to cry all by itself.”
“But Dad! I’ve been waiting for this song. Can’t I listen, just till it’s over? Pleeeease?”
“Dad, is Evita Spanish for Eva?” asked Tom, the youngest and the very spirit and image of his father.
“You can listen to it after dinner. Turn it off,” Matt told their wandering minstrel.
“Not tonight! Dad, you know!” came the reply.
He smiled and held a finger to his lips. She giggled.
“Dad. Is Evita Spanish for Eva?” Tom demanded.
“Little Eve. “Ita” means little in Spanish,” Matt tried to explain uselessly. In a second, Tom would be wondering about the moon, or something.
“You want to eat now, or when you get back?” Eve asked him.
“Later,” he said, checking his watch. He greatly preferred being able to sit down with his family. “Okay, guy. Got your gear? What time’s practice over?”
“Not till nine,” the boy sighed, heading for the car.
A few minutes later, Matt returned, managing to catch some dinner on its way to the dishwasher. The three little ones were buzzing around like little hummingbirds. Suddenly, Lori appeared with the car keys.
“Who’s ready for Tarzan?” she asked.
“We are! We are!” replied the excited chorus.
“What?” Eve asked, “Who’s going where?”
“I’m taking the kids to Tarzan,” Lori told her. Seeing her doubtful look, Cindy quickly put in, “Dad said we could. It’s twi-night pricing.”
“Well! I guess that settles it!” she conceded. Eve shot a quick scowl at Matt, who was relaxing on the couch with a book. He really should have asked her first. He was definitely going to hear about this. But as the door closed on the receding horde, a rare silence descended and she was reluctant to break it.
As Eve walked into the kitchen, she was met with a sight that made her heart do a little flip. Debbie was cleaning up after dinner, unasked! Would wonders never cease. Torn between feeling useless and relieved, Eve decided it would be nice to have some time for herself but as she looked for a book to lose herself in, the doorbell rang. Upon opening it, she was greeted by a young man and behind him she saw a car, idling at the curb.
“I’m here for Debbie,” he announced, to Eve’s amazement. He wasn’t that young - he must have a driver’s license, or a friend out in the car.
“Maybe you better come in. Have we met you?” she asked, with obvious suspicion.
“I’m Steve Mattson,” he told her factually, “We go to your church?”
“And what are your plans for the evening?”
“Oh, you know,” Steve continued, oblivious to the gathering storm, “Dinner, movie, just get out and away. Nothing special.”
Her daughter appeared, just as Eve prepared for battle. “Debbie, want to tell me what this is about?” Why the heck wasn’t Matt over here, backing her up?
“Mom,” Debbie whined, “Babysitting? It’s on the calendar.” With that, she ducked past Mr. Mattson and was gone.
“Nice to meet you,” Eve said weakly.
“See you on Sunday,” Steve called from the walk.
As Eve closed the door, a very clear realization came over her. A realization that, while it had been fun at the time, she really hated the fact that she had paddled her husband in front of the kids a few days earlier. In fact, the more fun she remembered it being, the more she hated it now.
“Eve,” Matt called calmly. “Want to take your panties off and come over here? I’d like to talk to you.” She looked over and Matt had already moved to the straight-backed chair. Of course.
“Um, it’s a swimsuit,” she mentioned and there was a brief, motionless moment before she hastened to comply. Her slightly damp seat was clammy when the air hit it. Trying to press it dry with her cover-up, she silently regretted her evening’s attire. Not only was the cover-up non-absorbent, it would offer no protection and only serve to assure that she got an extra layer of spanking.
Like she needed an extra layer. When she thought back to applying the paddle to her husband’s buns, she wondered just how long it would be before she was let up to fetch the hairbrush. Probably a long, long time, she concluded.
“Eve, it seems that, the other day, you thought I needed to be paddled, in front of the kids? Did you enjoy doing that? Enjoy it a lot?”
Eve, ill-advisedly, giggled. Then, she grew defensive. “You deserved it. You were mean to me. You lost your temper. You swore. In fact, it’s me who should be paddling you right now.”
“You’ve already taken care of that,” Matt said dismissively. “Whatever possessed you to do that?”
With a smile she couldn’t repress, Eve told him, “Have to set a good example.” But, let’s face it, it wasn’t worth what was coming.
“And did you, Eve? Did you set a good example?” When Matt used her name a lot, she knew the trouble quotient was at an all-time high.
“Had to,” she insisted. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, she thought.
“Eve,” Matt said yet again, causing her cold little cheeks to clench in anticipation, “what’s our rule about paddlings over the age of twelve?”
“Don’t,” she had to admit.
“And what’s our rule about paddlings over clothing?”
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“And about paddlings that aren’t over-the-knee?”
“Don’t,” she wailed.
“And about me paddling girls, or you paddling boys?”
“Don’t,” she squeaked.
“Seems like we're getting a lot here. Are you keeping count?”
“No,” she claimed.
“Well, we’ll call that six.”
“Four,” Eve said, then wished she’d bitten her tongue. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for that again.
“Fibbing?”
“Five,” she admitted.
With her teeth pinning down her lower lip, she nodded. She moved slowly over his waiting lap, hoping her seat had dried by now.
*****
Raising his hand, Matt began methodically patting Eve’s cover-up. Not patting, actually. The thin fabric did prevent his slaps from ringing like they usually do but they still stung plenty. He’s starting too hard, Eve cried to herself. But she wanted to save her protests for after she’d gone for the hairbrush. Why, oh why, had she done something this foolish? Sure, it had been fun, it had been irresistible and she’d remember it all her life. But if Matt realizes that, she thought, he’ll make this spanking just as memorable.
“Ow. Ow. Ow,” Eve complained softly. Oh, this is too much. Oh, I hope he gets a lot of this over with now. Owwwwwwwww.
It really didn’t take long for Matt to stop. It only seemed that way to Eve. To Matt the time passed very quickly and he had to give her a lot more than she deserved in order to stretch it out. But he was finally satisfied and paused long enough to lift her sheer skirt.
Panic set in on Eve’s fanny. Matt had been spanking in the middle and now, as he rubbed her all over, the heat of his overworked hand made her realize how chilly the rest of her bottom was. This is not a good thing at times like these. If she’d had any clue whatsoever, she wouldn’t have gone swimming at all.
Oh, oh, oh, this was worse, much worse. Now the slaps had the familiar ringing sound. It felt like he was punishing her, not just warming her up! Well, maybe not that bad but had she been that wrong? How many had he said? All she remembered was that it was more than she deserved. Next time, next time, she would resist. Resist the urge, that is. That one morning when she pushed him in the pool when he was dressed for work, she should have resisted. Sitting down all those days later was easy to resist, even though her feet had been tired. Why couldn’t she resist sooner?
I don’t even think it stings any more, she thought. It’s just going to make me sorer. Longer to recover, longer to remember. Oooh, does this really help? Oh. Oh.
Just then, Matt stopped. Not paused, stopped. Eve held perfectly still, oh-so-tense, waiting.
“Stand up, sweetie,” he told her, with a pat on her jumpy seat. She moved immediately to comply.
“Want to get in position?” he asked and she leaned forward for him, grabbing the back of the chair. Legs back, straight, sloped. Back arched, offering. Feet apart.
Matt slid slowly off of the chair. His arms circled her waist, hugging her, tighter and then tighter some more.
“Mmmmm,” he insisted.
“Mmmmm,” she admitted.
But when she was absolutely sure his head was firmly between her thighs and his ears were definitely covered, she raised her head, smiled and said in a clear voice, “You deserved it.”
Setting an Example by Eve - June, 1997
(medium, mild F/M Domestic Discipline) Eve imagines trying to raise Matt’s many children and what might happen. Very cute!
With six little ones to raise, it was important that rules were set up. Even more important that infractions were followed through on. As parents, they needed to be strict or things could easily get out of hand. But... as sometimes happens... they were about to backfire.
"I'm not kidding, you guys. We're not going to go the amusement park if your rooms aren't clean and your beds aren't made."
Matt smiled to himself as the three youngest chased each other, circling around his wife until you'd think her skirt would fly up in the funnel of wind they produced. "Hey... you better get a move on," he said, stopping the race by lifting one of them up, mid-step.
"Tsk... Daddy... .I did all that," his daughter said, eyes twinkling back into eyes that mirrored his own.
"Uh huh... and what happens if we find out otherwise?"
Her little hand flew back to her bottom and she pouted. "You warm my fanny."
He nodded solemnly and said, "Yes... I do. Sure you don't want to check it again?"
"Put me down, Daddy. I want to check again. I want to check evvvvvverybody's bed... k, Daddy?"
He chuckles as he lets her down and she scampers away. "Just remember the rule about tattling, young lady."
She doesn't answer, too intent on digging up dirt.
A few minutes later, after calling names up the stairwell to stop arguments, Mom loses her patience. "The next time I hear anyone fighting, I'm coming up with the paddle. Understand?"
A chorus of 'Yes, Mommy's' ring out and things calm down to a din. She winks at her husband and says, "You have the tickets, right?"
He shakes his head and says, "No... You have them."
Her hands go to her hips as she frowns. "I do not, Matt. You never gave them to me."
He sighs heavily and says, "Look, honey. You have to have them someplace."
They both start the search as one by one, all of their children come back downstairs, anxious to get to the park.
"Come on... and Let's go's" now ring out.
"Not another word or we're not going at all," their Dad warns, exasperated because this isn't the first time his wife has forgotten things.
"Matt. I remember giving you the tickets last week," his wife pouts. "I know I did."
A slight scuffle starts up with the two oldest and Matt glares at them, quickly stopping it. He looks back at his wife and says, "No... you didn't. And I'm a bit tired of your forgetfulness."
"MY WHAT?!!" Truly affronted, his wife's face fills with a flush of anger.
"You heard me, woman! You lose things all the time and try and pin it on me. I'd know, damn it, if you gave me the TICKETS!"
A gasp goes out from the middle child as the others cover their mouths. "Awww, Daaaaaaaaaaaaaddy. You sweared!"
He ignored them and reached into his back pocket for his wallet, just to prove he didn't have the damn tickets. He flipped it open and said, "See?!", just as eight tickets fluttered to the floor.
He nearly blushed as his eyes met his wife’s... who raised a brow and crossed her arms.
"Daddy's gonna get paddled," his youngest whispered loudly.
The others giggled as their Dad shot the baby a frown. "Somebody will be, young lady... but it won't be me!"
The third born smirked and sang, "Rules are rules, Daddy. 'Member when you said that?"
His wife, who was still ticked over the accusations flung her way nodded. "That's right, Matt. And you broke a few major ones."
He gawked at her and said, "Hey, honey... I don't know what you're thinking--"
"She's thinkin' of paddlin' you... huh, mummy?"
"Absolutely," she returned, moving to grab the paddle from the hook.
Matt wanted to laugh out loud at the thought of it but realized the example that would set for the children.
"Daddy should take his shorts down, too!"
"No, honey. Mommy doesn't want to take the time now... she's just going to paddle him over them," he heard his wife say.
"You are NOT-"
"Awwwwwwwwwww... ... he's arguuuuuuuuuuing!"
Matt swore to himself and gave his wife a look of promised revenge, then moved to place his hands on the couch, presenting his rump for the paddle. She could knock her socks off... and he hoped she enjoyed it... cuz he was going to pay her back in spades.
"A dozen ought to do for now, Matt. And don't forget proper behavior now." She smiled and swung her arm back... .then slammed the paddle off his rump. He was surprised at the sting... but didn't react. By the end of the paddling, he felt it. He managed to take it amid all the giggles and cheers.
"There now, young man. Are you going to argue or swear again?"
He muttered, "You just wait," for her ears only... then said, "No, Ma'am."
"You're going to remember the rules and the reasons we have them?"
His eyes sparkled devilishly as he nodded, "Yes, Dear."
His wife suddenly realized the position she'd put herself in and smiled apologetically. "Okay then, honey. Let's go."
And go they did. Each a bit wiser, from examples being set. (w)
With six little ones to raise, it was important that rules were set up. Even more important that infractions were followed through on. As parents, they needed to be strict or things could easily get out of hand. But... as sometimes happens... they were about to backfire.
"I'm not kidding, you guys. We're not going to go the amusement park if your rooms aren't clean and your beds aren't made."
Matt smiled to himself as the three youngest chased each other, circling around his wife until you'd think her skirt would fly up in the funnel of wind they produced. "Hey... you better get a move on," he said, stopping the race by lifting one of them up, mid-step.
"Tsk... Daddy... .I did all that," his daughter said, eyes twinkling back into eyes that mirrored his own.
"Uh huh... and what happens if we find out otherwise?"
Her little hand flew back to her bottom and she pouted. "You warm my fanny."
He nodded solemnly and said, "Yes... I do. Sure you don't want to check it again?"
"Put me down, Daddy. I want to check again. I want to check evvvvvverybody's bed... k, Daddy?"
He chuckles as he lets her down and she scampers away. "Just remember the rule about tattling, young lady."
She doesn't answer, too intent on digging up dirt.
A few minutes later, after calling names up the stairwell to stop arguments, Mom loses her patience. "The next time I hear anyone fighting, I'm coming up with the paddle. Understand?"
A chorus of 'Yes, Mommy's' ring out and things calm down to a din. She winks at her husband and says, "You have the tickets, right?"
He shakes his head and says, "No... You have them."
Her hands go to her hips as she frowns. "I do not, Matt. You never gave them to me."
He sighs heavily and says, "Look, honey. You have to have them someplace."
They both start the search as one by one, all of their children come back downstairs, anxious to get to the park.
"Come on... and Let's go's" now ring out.
"Not another word or we're not going at all," their Dad warns, exasperated because this isn't the first time his wife has forgotten things.
"Matt. I remember giving you the tickets last week," his wife pouts. "I know I did."
A slight scuffle starts up with the two oldest and Matt glares at them, quickly stopping it. He looks back at his wife and says, "No... you didn't. And I'm a bit tired of your forgetfulness."
"MY WHAT?!!" Truly affronted, his wife's face fills with a flush of anger.
"You heard me, woman! You lose things all the time and try and pin it on me. I'd know, damn it, if you gave me the TICKETS!"
A gasp goes out from the middle child as the others cover their mouths. "Awww, Daaaaaaaaaaaaaddy. You sweared!"
He ignored them and reached into his back pocket for his wallet, just to prove he didn't have the damn tickets. He flipped it open and said, "See?!", just as eight tickets fluttered to the floor.
He nearly blushed as his eyes met his wife’s... who raised a brow and crossed her arms.
"Daddy's gonna get paddled," his youngest whispered loudly.
The others giggled as their Dad shot the baby a frown. "Somebody will be, young lady... but it won't be me!"
The third born smirked and sang, "Rules are rules, Daddy. 'Member when you said that?"
His wife, who was still ticked over the accusations flung her way nodded. "That's right, Matt. And you broke a few major ones."
He gawked at her and said, "Hey, honey... I don't know what you're thinking--"
"She's thinkin' of paddlin' you... huh, mummy?"
"Absolutely," she returned, moving to grab the paddle from the hook.
Matt wanted to laugh out loud at the thought of it but realized the example that would set for the children.
"Daddy should take his shorts down, too!"
"No, honey. Mommy doesn't want to take the time now... she's just going to paddle him over them," he heard his wife say.
"You are NOT-"
"Awwwwwwwwwww... ... he's arguuuuuuuuuuing!"
Matt swore to himself and gave his wife a look of promised revenge, then moved to place his hands on the couch, presenting his rump for the paddle. She could knock her socks off... and he hoped she enjoyed it... cuz he was going to pay her back in spades.
"A dozen ought to do for now, Matt. And don't forget proper behavior now." She smiled and swung her arm back... .then slammed the paddle off his rump. He was surprised at the sting... but didn't react. By the end of the paddling, he felt it. He managed to take it amid all the giggles and cheers.
"There now, young man. Are you going to argue or swear again?"
He muttered, "You just wait," for her ears only... then said, "No, Ma'am."
"You're going to remember the rules and the reasons we have them?"
His eyes sparkled devilishly as he nodded, "Yes, Dear."
His wife suddenly realized the position she'd put herself in and smiled apologetically. "Okay then, honey. Let's go."
And go they did. Each a bit wiser, from examples being set. (w)
The Packers at Home or Packers Part II by Matt with Eve - May, 1997
(short, F/M Domestic Discipline implied) Eve gets even.
Finally. We're in! Some boxes are empty and gone, the bed's set up and filled and the kitchen is functional once again. A good time, I thought, to attend to a little something.
"So," I said cheerfully, snuggling up to Matt, "you hid my keys and then spanked me for it. Pretty unfair, I thought."
He wrapped me in his arms and stroked my hair, sighing and relaxing. "You deserved it," he told me.
I propped myself up and looked at him. "Did not," I pouted, "you set me up."
Matt gave me that look, the one where he's still deciding, and a thrill ran through me. Actually, my bottom wasn't all that sore anymore. "Well, you needed it," he corrected himself. "Want another one?"
"No way! That was plenty," I squealed, though the idea did have some appeal. "Besides, it's your turn." As soon as I said it, I hid my face in his chest. Sometimes he goes along, sometimes he definitely does not. This time, though, I thought I was being pretty fair.
I could hear the smile in his voice and I knew things would be okay. With my hand, I could feel him getting excited.
"Oh I am, am I?" Matt asked. "Okay then, what would you like?"
"Nothing at the moment. Tonight. I have a whole night in store."
"Ooooo," he cooed, his hands wandering. "And you? Anything I can do for you?"
My body was responding to his touches and my head was starting to lose focus but I figured if I was going to make him wait, I would, too. "Unt uh, baby,” I said with a kiss. "Tonight. Not now, tonight." Insisting, convincing myself. The kiss got longer - so did he - but we broke off with a little panting.
I got home first, which was nice, I got to relax and plan and wait. It was a hot day (duh, summer!) and I knew Matt would be hot and tired but that'd be okay, since tonight would perk him up. I put on a really cute short outfit, this summery dress with spaghetti straps, white with big kind-of blue tropical flowers in a big print, that I had gotten pretty recently. I would have chosen my even shorter one but I was going to put thigh-highs under (Matt's favorites) so it couldn't be too short!
When he got home he smiled to see me looking cute and cool, got started right in on the hugging and kissing and didn't seem too concerned about what he had coming, which annoyed me a little, though I did enjoy the attention. But he wanted to keep going right then and there and I had other plans. Wisely, I had kept my hands between us and I pushed him off like a first date.
"Shower," I told him, not a command, just telling him and he smiled, barely able to wait for me. Little did he know. "And don't get dressed afterward."
He must've done a good job of scrubbing up, because he was in there a long time. And when he came out he was at full attention! I met him in the bedroom with a beer, which he was gladly willing to exchange for more hugs and kisses but I limited him to one kiss. I made him stand still and then just ran my fingertips over him.
From the bed, I got a pair of new silky boxers and brought them to him to put on. Shopping may not be quite as much fun as sex but today it was close, since I hadn't had any in God, way too long and it was for him, and us, anyway. We don't have any cash at the moment since we just moved so I have to be really careful or it'll be me getting the sore fanny. But I figured just this one thing would be okay and we needed it for a night like tonight.
Matt did like the feel of the boxers even if he didn't like putting clothes on, he'd figured out we were going out. I got his best slacks out of the closet and brought them to him as well. Pretty soon he looked sharp - I was justifiably proud of him.
"First, you bad, tricky boy, you're taking me out," I informed him. "Then we're coming back here so I can get even. Any problem with that?" I asked with a kiss.
"Whatever you want," he promised me.
I sent him out of the room, telling him to be good and promising to be ready soon. I should have made him wait a really long time except I was impatient, too. I just had to put on my hose and sandals - I'm still way shorter than him, even with them on - brush my hair and a few things and I was ready.
"Give me your wallet," I told him as we headed for the door and he did, even though he was surprised. I was surprised, too, at how hard it is to act like you're completely in control but I put his wallet in my little white purse, explaining, "I'm buying tonight."
It's a short drive to this cool Mexican place, Que Pasa - that's the name - and we had to park a ways out since it was already getting crowded. Before we got out I took his hand and asked him if he wanted to feel something, putting it on my leg. It moved upward totally on its own. Matt smiled as he felt the tops of my hose and gave me a look of surprise to find I wasn't wearing any panties. His fingertips danced across me between my legs, which was bare down below.
"You, mister," I told him between sighs, "are going to get it."
"This?" he teased. "I'm going to get this?"
"Later. Later you're going to get this. But first you are so going to get it. Are you man enough to take it?"
Neither of us wanted to get out of the car and when we did I crushed against him, wanting to attack him right there but I behaved. We walked over to the stores and got in line at the restaurant. It was hard to wait, especially for the patio, but we'd been scrimping lately and I was ready for a good time. The patio was worth the wait, with misters to keep it cool and everyone walking by so I could show off my good-looking man. I was pretty happy even before the first margarita.
We got all the way through most of our food before Matt even asked, "So how much trouble am I in?" He tried to sound casual and jokey but didn't do too well.
"Well, let's see," I said, acting like I had a long list in my head. "You really walloped me." He started to protest but I shushed him. "I was pretty sore. And it was all a trick."
"You needed it," he insisted.
"Oh yeah? Well let's just say you need this." That shut him up. "So you tricked me, then you walloped me and scared me half to death. Plus you're a lot bigger and stronger than me, so we have to consider that. And I don't get many chances. And you look so hot, that'll count for something."
"That'll help?" he asked, full of confidence.
"Help me, not you. Help me give you what you deserve. You do look pretty hot."
We decided to skip dessert and hurry up the check. I really didn't feel like I was missing anything. Matt seemed a little respectful until we got back to the car, then his hands when straight up my legs. I practically had to wrestle with him and I wouldn't have minded losing but not right now.
"Come on!" I told him. "Who's in charge here?" He looked at me sheepishly.
"Home!" I commanded.
Finally. We're in! Some boxes are empty and gone, the bed's set up and filled and the kitchen is functional once again. A good time, I thought, to attend to a little something.
"So," I said cheerfully, snuggling up to Matt, "you hid my keys and then spanked me for it. Pretty unfair, I thought."
He wrapped me in his arms and stroked my hair, sighing and relaxing. "You deserved it," he told me.
I propped myself up and looked at him. "Did not," I pouted, "you set me up."
Matt gave me that look, the one where he's still deciding, and a thrill ran through me. Actually, my bottom wasn't all that sore anymore. "Well, you needed it," he corrected himself. "Want another one?"
"No way! That was plenty," I squealed, though the idea did have some appeal. "Besides, it's your turn." As soon as I said it, I hid my face in his chest. Sometimes he goes along, sometimes he definitely does not. This time, though, I thought I was being pretty fair.
I could hear the smile in his voice and I knew things would be okay. With my hand, I could feel him getting excited.
"Oh I am, am I?" Matt asked. "Okay then, what would you like?"
"Nothing at the moment. Tonight. I have a whole night in store."
"Ooooo," he cooed, his hands wandering. "And you? Anything I can do for you?"
My body was responding to his touches and my head was starting to lose focus but I figured if I was going to make him wait, I would, too. "Unt uh, baby,” I said with a kiss. "Tonight. Not now, tonight." Insisting, convincing myself. The kiss got longer - so did he - but we broke off with a little panting.
I got home first, which was nice, I got to relax and plan and wait. It was a hot day (duh, summer!) and I knew Matt would be hot and tired but that'd be okay, since tonight would perk him up. I put on a really cute short outfit, this summery dress with spaghetti straps, white with big kind-of blue tropical flowers in a big print, that I had gotten pretty recently. I would have chosen my even shorter one but I was going to put thigh-highs under (Matt's favorites) so it couldn't be too short!
When he got home he smiled to see me looking cute and cool, got started right in on the hugging and kissing and didn't seem too concerned about what he had coming, which annoyed me a little, though I did enjoy the attention. But he wanted to keep going right then and there and I had other plans. Wisely, I had kept my hands between us and I pushed him off like a first date.
"Shower," I told him, not a command, just telling him and he smiled, barely able to wait for me. Little did he know. "And don't get dressed afterward."
He must've done a good job of scrubbing up, because he was in there a long time. And when he came out he was at full attention! I met him in the bedroom with a beer, which he was gladly willing to exchange for more hugs and kisses but I limited him to one kiss. I made him stand still and then just ran my fingertips over him.
From the bed, I got a pair of new silky boxers and brought them to him to put on. Shopping may not be quite as much fun as sex but today it was close, since I hadn't had any in God, way too long and it was for him, and us, anyway. We don't have any cash at the moment since we just moved so I have to be really careful or it'll be me getting the sore fanny. But I figured just this one thing would be okay and we needed it for a night like tonight.
Matt did like the feel of the boxers even if he didn't like putting clothes on, he'd figured out we were going out. I got his best slacks out of the closet and brought them to him as well. Pretty soon he looked sharp - I was justifiably proud of him.
"First, you bad, tricky boy, you're taking me out," I informed him. "Then we're coming back here so I can get even. Any problem with that?" I asked with a kiss.
"Whatever you want," he promised me.
I sent him out of the room, telling him to be good and promising to be ready soon. I should have made him wait a really long time except I was impatient, too. I just had to put on my hose and sandals - I'm still way shorter than him, even with them on - brush my hair and a few things and I was ready.
"Give me your wallet," I told him as we headed for the door and he did, even though he was surprised. I was surprised, too, at how hard it is to act like you're completely in control but I put his wallet in my little white purse, explaining, "I'm buying tonight."
It's a short drive to this cool Mexican place, Que Pasa - that's the name - and we had to park a ways out since it was already getting crowded. Before we got out I took his hand and asked him if he wanted to feel something, putting it on my leg. It moved upward totally on its own. Matt smiled as he felt the tops of my hose and gave me a look of surprise to find I wasn't wearing any panties. His fingertips danced across me between my legs, which was bare down below.
"You, mister," I told him between sighs, "are going to get it."
"This?" he teased. "I'm going to get this?"
"Later. Later you're going to get this. But first you are so going to get it. Are you man enough to take it?"
Neither of us wanted to get out of the car and when we did I crushed against him, wanting to attack him right there but I behaved. We walked over to the stores and got in line at the restaurant. It was hard to wait, especially for the patio, but we'd been scrimping lately and I was ready for a good time. The patio was worth the wait, with misters to keep it cool and everyone walking by so I could show off my good-looking man. I was pretty happy even before the first margarita.
We got all the way through most of our food before Matt even asked, "So how much trouble am I in?" He tried to sound casual and jokey but didn't do too well.
"Well, let's see," I said, acting like I had a long list in my head. "You really walloped me." He started to protest but I shushed him. "I was pretty sore. And it was all a trick."
"You needed it," he insisted.
"Oh yeah? Well let's just say you need this." That shut him up. "So you tricked me, then you walloped me and scared me half to death. Plus you're a lot bigger and stronger than me, so we have to consider that. And I don't get many chances. And you look so hot, that'll count for something."
"That'll help?" he asked, full of confidence.
"Help me, not you. Help me give you what you deserve. You do look pretty hot."
We decided to skip dessert and hurry up the check. I really didn't feel like I was missing anything. Matt seemed a little respectful until we got back to the car, then his hands when straight up my legs. I practically had to wrestle with him and I wouldn't have minded losing but not right now.
"Come on!" I told him. "Who's in charge here?" He looked at me sheepishly.
"Home!" I commanded.
The Packers by Matt - May, 1997
(short, M/F Erotic Domestic Discipline) Matt relieves the stress of moving with a good spanking. Based on Eve actually packing her purse, keys and all, when she moved.
What a day to be moving - if there ever is a good day. Tempers short from all-night packing, hot, frantic - Eve would be glad when they had all this behind them and they could settle into their wonderful new home. But in the meantime it was just plain hot and her nerves were stretched to the breaking point, if not beyond. She didn’t know how much more she could take.
“Babe? Couldn’t we crank the old A.C. one last time?” she asked, now that the door was closed and Paul had headed over with a load in the rental truck. Thank God they were almost done - the place was deserted except for the stacks of wrapped brown moving boxes that stood like monuments throughout the empty rooms. But she knew the answer to her small request - Matt was taking no chances with anything that could break, nick, or might otherwise need to be replaced, especially if it had to cool the entire neighborhood.
It was fine for him; he liked being hot and could work without a shirt on. She, on the other hand, was hot, sweaty, fully clothed and largely ignored, a fact that she understood and accepted when she saw how much stress Matt put himself under in his determination not to pay another day’s rental on the truck. This move had stretched them a little and much as she loved their new place she was anxious for the day that their cash flow settled back to normal.
“What’d you do with my car keys, sweetie?” Matt came into the room asking. His spirits had lifted enormously and Eve wondered if he had passed into the delirious stage. Paul had better get back with the Taco Bell soon. Five minutes ago Matt would have eaten the molding - if it hadn’t been on the move-out checklist.
“I gave them back to you when I came in,” Eve replied automatically. “I mean, I always do… Don’t you have them?”
“Wasn’t here when you came back. Seen ‘em lately?”
Eve tried to remember. It had been hours ago. She always gave them back, that’s what God gave men pockets for. Suddenly a sick feeling came over her.
“Let me look,” she pleaded with a sense of impending doom.
“They’re not in the bedrooms,” Matt reported, “check the kitchen.”
Soon drawers were flying open and closed again but with everything empty, nothing contradicted her nightmare. When she looked in the oven and refrigerator, Matt joined her and picked up on her concern.
“You don’t think….” He tried to begin. Tears were waiting to express her fears. Was that her imagination of his high spirits a moment ago? He might even crack under this setback. He’d either crack or blow up, she wasn’t sure which would be worse but her hands went automatically back in a useless effort to protect her fanny.
Matt’s eyes widened further in recognition of this gesture. “You do think! Where? Any idea where?” he demanded, frantic. Suddenly, a strange calm came over him as he approached her. “Ohhhh, baby,” was all he said, backing her into a corner, reaching for her.
***
Run! Her brain shouts and in a movement she’s around him, into the living room, half way to the door. His touch on her hip, his arm trying to encircle her waist, she throws an arm back to ward him off and connects with something, he’s gone. Panicked, she stops and turns, the back of her hand smarting. Matt is kneeling on the floor, holding his nose.
“Oh, baby,” she says, subconsciously echoing him, going to him, wrapping an arm around him. Instantly he springs on her, pinning both wrists behind her back.
“I’m sorry!” Eve wails, “I’m sorry!” But Matt doesn’t even reply, he makes no sound except for his breathing, loud and slow in an attempt to control himself. She doesn’t know if he’s ever been this mad but he’s pushing her back into the living room, back to where she was finishing the packing. Where are they going? Passing the tape on the floor doesn’t even register until her nose is almost on it and he shifts both wrists to one hand.
“Nooooooooo!” she begs. “Matt! I’m sorry! Really!” What can she say? She must think of something.
“It was an accident!” An accident incurred in trying to escape a well-deserved spanking but even so, an accident! Eve stops trying to think and resorts to sobs, submitting limply to having her wrists taped behind her. This is not something they do! Oh, this is going to hurt! Once, she’d threatened to smack him and he wouldn’t even speak to her until she had asked to be paddled. If only there was something she could say! If only Paul would come back and save her!
***
An instant later she did not want Paul to come back, as she stood before a stack of boxes and Matt reached around to unfasten her shorts. His frantic, hard movements brought a new wave of tears, not from pain, though she gave up a little “ow.” She didn’t want these ripped, all of her others were already at the new place. Matt’s breathing sounded like it came through clenched teeth. She started again on her apologies, just in time to be hoisted rather unceremoniously onto the stack of boxes.
The violent yank that brought her shorts and panties down had her in hysterics and now she definitely didn’t want Paul to save her. Tornado! That’s what she needed - please, please God, a tornado? Earthquake? First ever? Then the thought of being shown on national TV, a wall missing, her in this position, changed those prayers as well.
Matt’s hand cupped one cheek almost lovingly. Even in her crisis a shock of turn-on raced through her. If only….
Matt pulled his hand waaaay back and brought it up again, slowly, measuring.
“Eve, where’s the hairbrush?” he asked her with a terrible calm.
“Packed! It’s already packed!” she screamed. She couldn’t survive this with the hairbrush, what was he going to do to her? And yet, as he always said, go on and do something about it, or take what you’ve got coming - and she couldn’t even move.
“You sure, or fibbing?” Matt pressed, verbally and manually.
“I don’t know!” Eve babbled - wasn’t it already gone, too? If only he’d wait until they got there! What was left in the house - not the paddle, it went this morning. Please don’t start unpacking, Matt, don’t tear everything open, ohhhhh…..
The hand came back again and when it found the curve of her cheek she saw stars.
Words and tears poured out of her as the slow, measured, terrifying spanks came up under her cheeks and drove themselves into her poor, vulnerable fanny. Tears and sweat and three days of stress combined with all she had done and all she was in for to break her down entirely. Tomorrow, tonight, soon, this would hurt but at the moment it was more than she could even register.
Soon, his terrible hand stopped and it was time for her to panic. Eve would have wet herself if the carpet hadn’t just been cleaned. When she realized that Matt wasn’t wearing a belt, her head snapped up as she flung herself around, trying to imagine what he’d find to use. In her delirium her eyes fell on the waterbed frame, disassembled by the front door. Seven feet long and eight inches wide - it would kill her! Oh God….
She bucked from hips to forehead, so surprised she was when he speared her. He stroked her slowly, since she had been too crazy to heat up properly. His hands on each hip clutched her to him in his need. In an instant, she found herself filled with a drink for the thirst she hadn’t even realized she had, filled to the heart as he pounded into her. Had it lasted forever it would have been over too soon….
Eve was in the kitchen washing her wrists when Paul pounded on the door, making her jump. He was loaded down with two $10 real meal deals, enough food for forty people. Soon every kid in the neighborhood would be here to eat and help load.
“Whoo, hot enough in here?” Paul asked sympathetically on his way by.
Matt came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “Hey, doll. Those kitchen cleansers didn’t do your eyes any good - they look kind of puffy. Why don’t you run over and let Janet give you a wine cooler? We’ll finish up here, I’ll come get you when we’re done.”
Standing at the door, Eve heard one last thing. It was Paul’s voice, calling from the bedroom.
“Matt? These your keys here on top of this box? Don’t pack those, man - Eve’ll have your ass.”
The Wish Police by Diane - November, 1994
The Wish Police by Diane - November, 1994 - (long, silly, M/F Erotic Discipline - fun) Diane tells her message-board friends about a silly fantasy she has - very cute!
The Wish Police
A story by Diane
Don’t ask me what I was doing home in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week. I don’t know. But that was the least curious aspect of this very curious experience. My little bit of solitude was disturbed by a knock on the door. When I opened it, a man stood there, imposing in a black uniform with red shoulder patches. He filled the doorway, blocking the light.
“Wish police, ma’am. May I come in?”
He asked to be polite but he had already invaded the room.
“Is anything wrong, Officer? And, who did you say you were with?”
“The Wish Police, ma’am. We patrol your wishes.” His bright eyes bored right into me. “I’m here to fulfill them.”
I felt myself start to panic. How much did this man know about me?
“What wishes were those?” I asked weakly.
“A double dose with a long plastic ruler. Too much to take, you were going to bargain your way out of half of it.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“I have an affidavit here from the sales clerk at B&R School Supply. She swears you bought the ruler, which is only sold for disciplinary purposes, and that you acted nervous and distracted. Is that correct?”
“Well…”
“And you enjoy bargaining your way out of such extreme trouble?”
“Certainly not!” And just as I said it, I felt the panties disappear from under my skirt!
Noting my surprise, the officer asked me, “Anything wrong, ma’am?” He had a very mean smile.
“No. Nothing,” and my bra evaporated from under my blouse. My nipples, those traitors, tried to poke their way through. The officer saw them immediately and couldn’t take his eyes off of them.
“I must inform you,” he said slyly, “that with each untruth, you will lose an item of clothing. How you deal with that is entirely up to you.”
Great, I thought. One more lie and I’m half naked, right down to the skin. What could I do?
“Now,” he said, “back to the facts. You enjoy getting yourself into more trouble than you can take and you thrill at the idea of having to get yourself out of it. You have bragged that you can get out of any spanking you want with your "oral persuasion" techniques, haven’t you?”
“I… I may have,” I answered guardedly.
“And you’ve practiced these skills for this purpose? I have a credit card receipt for a book you bought with this in mind.”
“That was years ago!”
“Still legible. How much,” he insinuated, “of this spanking did you think you might want to have ‘forgiven?’”
“None of it – not with you! You’re crazy!”
“The full double dose then. This is a most particularly painful instrument. Perhaps I’m not the one who’s crazy. Number two.”
“There’s more?” I groaned. I was ready to cry.
“Seems you wanted to bend over for 30 on each cheek with the hairbrush. My, you do like them hard, don’t you?”
I assumed the question was rhetorical, so I didn’t answer.
“Don’t you?” he pressed. He was staring at my breasts again, so I assumed it’d be my blouse that would go at the next evasion.
“I guess so.”
“You bought a new thong for the occasion, didn’t you? In claret, I believe,” he said, consulting his notes, “would you care to tell me why?”
“No, I would not.” I knew that wasn’t a lie, that’s for sure.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” which, of course, he wouldn’t be. “You wanted something in a darker red than your crimson panties. Darker, for such a heavy spanking in a vulnerable position.”
At this point, he strolled confidently to the kitchen and headed straight for the ruler. Somehow, he knew exactly where it was. He smacked it menacingly against his palm.
“Not going to take anything off a double dose. It’ll be to be a long time before you sit down, that’s for sure. But since that’s what you’ve wished for…”
“I won’t do it,” I insisted bravely. I couldn’t take two full spankings with that wicked ruler and I wasn’t making any deals – certainly not any "oral" ones!
“Oh, you’ll do it. In a moment, you’ll lie across my lap and I’ll lift your skirt. Since your first little untruth has cost you your panties, you’ll be ready to have me apply a most terrifically stinging spanking to your poor, bare seat. And after the first, I’ll just have to go on to the second. I really don’t know how you’ll stand it. It’s certainly a painful beginning.”
“And if I don’t?” I challenged.
“I have certain computer postings of yours. I’m sure you’re familiar with their contents. They have been collected and will be e-mailed to your group’s secretary.”
“Marla!” I cried, “but last week she sent her lunch order to 14,000 company employees worldwide!”
“There’s no guarantee that will happen with your information. And, of course, if you can tell me that you never wished for these things, they will not occur. If you can tell me truthfully.”
Once again he stared meaningfully at my chest. It seems every time I told the slightest fib, an article of clothing abandoned me. My bra was already who knows where.
“And while you’re being truthful, I’d like you to admit, that when you saw me, you wondered what it would be like to lay across my thighs and what a shoulder like mine could do to your fanny.”
I thought the safest plan was to keep my mouth shut and, for once, I did so.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he continued, “and you’ll soon find out. First, a good hard one over my knee with the ruler. It’s thirty-six swats to the spanking in this household, isn’t it? Then the second set to match the first, to make you wish you’d made a deal with me. Then, just time enough to put on that dark, dark red new thong of yours and your favorite bra so you can bend over for thirty a side with the hairbrush. That should get you ready.”
“Ready? Ready for what?”
“Your final wish. Does this sound familiar? - ‘only takes about three minutes and she wouldn’t sit down for a week.’”
“I didn’t write that! Carol T. did!”
“And you thought it was the most exciting thing you had ever read. You can’t get it out of your head, can you?”
I couldn’t deny it. It was true.
“So once we’ve finished with your first two wishes, you can touch your toes for a three minute visit by the cane.”
“But I might need to sit down in the next week,” I wailed, “and we don’t even own a cane.”
“I know that,” and he unslung a case from across his back. He removed a long, thin cane from his quiver. And that’s what I began to do - quiver. Not just my bottom, which had turned into Jell-o with an icy hand griping its center but other parts of me started to quiver as well.
“If there’s a single stroke you don’t want, just tell me you didn’t wish for it.”
“What I wish is that my husband was home.”
“Not to worry, this’ll only take approximately 22 minutes. Now, does the skirt go up, or does Marla get an interesting e-mail?”
Just then the front door burst open.
“What’s going on here,” Matt demanded. “And who are you?”
“I wish,” I said to the officer, “that you were gone.”
***
“Who was that?” my husband, Matt, quite reasonably asked.
“The Wish Police,” I tried to explain. “He said he was going to fulfill my wishes.” I was on the verge of tears from the terror and the relief.
“How silly. That’s my job. Just what did these wishes consist of?”
“Well, there was a double dose of the ruler.”
“A double dose? How did you dream you were going to take that?”
“I wished I was going to be in for it and then persuade you out of some of it but I didn’t want to have to do that with some other man.”
“That’s good to hear, at least. Don’t you have a bra on?”
“It disappeared because I lied to the Wish Police. They know everything.”
“They don’t have to be all that smart to know that you don’t have a bra on. Maybe you do need a double dose of the ruler. Wait a minute - how many lies did you tell him?” Matt asked, running his hand up under my skirt.
“I guess I told two. Then I had to stop.”
“Good thing you did. Any other wishes?”
“Kind of.”
“Like?”
“I’m supposed to bend over in a dark red thong and get thirty a side with the hairbrush.”
“You wished for that? Why?”
“Because I got mad at you for no reason last week. I was going to tell you, honest.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been that sore,” Matt reminded me.
“Oh, you’re also supposed to drive me wild first and make me wait to be satisfied.”
“Wow. Okay. Anything else?”
I swallowed hard. “No,” I told him.
Matt moved up beside me and started removing my blouse.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You just told another lie. I guess your blouse has to come off.”
“How… how could you tell?”
“Come on, Diane. Everyone knows wishes come in threes. What was your third wish?”
“I can’t tell you,” I said, burying my face in his shoulder.
“Honey. You’re about to go over my knee for a double dose of the ruler. You don’t want me mad at you, do you?”
“It was three minutes under the cane. So I couldn’t sit for a week.”
“Oh my. But we don’t even own a cane.”
“Thank goodness for that!”
“But come on. Off with the skirt. You’ve got a lot of wriggling to do.”
“Please, Matt. Not all of it. Why don’t you let me…”
“No, no, spanking first. Then, we’ll negotiate. What do I always tell you?”
“Be careful what I wish for?”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
The End
The Wish Police
A story by Diane
Don’t ask me what I was doing home in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week. I don’t know. But that was the least curious aspect of this very curious experience. My little bit of solitude was disturbed by a knock on the door. When I opened it, a man stood there, imposing in a black uniform with red shoulder patches. He filled the doorway, blocking the light.
“Wish police, ma’am. May I come in?”
He asked to be polite but he had already invaded the room.
“Is anything wrong, Officer? And, who did you say you were with?”
“The Wish Police, ma’am. We patrol your wishes.” His bright eyes bored right into me. “I’m here to fulfill them.”
I felt myself start to panic. How much did this man know about me?
“What wishes were those?” I asked weakly.
“A double dose with a long plastic ruler. Too much to take, you were going to bargain your way out of half of it.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“I have an affidavit here from the sales clerk at B&R School Supply. She swears you bought the ruler, which is only sold for disciplinary purposes, and that you acted nervous and distracted. Is that correct?”
“Well…”
“And you enjoy bargaining your way out of such extreme trouble?”
“Certainly not!” And just as I said it, I felt the panties disappear from under my skirt!
Noting my surprise, the officer asked me, “Anything wrong, ma’am?” He had a very mean smile.
“No. Nothing,” and my bra evaporated from under my blouse. My nipples, those traitors, tried to poke their way through. The officer saw them immediately and couldn’t take his eyes off of them.
“I must inform you,” he said slyly, “that with each untruth, you will lose an item of clothing. How you deal with that is entirely up to you.”
Great, I thought. One more lie and I’m half naked, right down to the skin. What could I do?
“Now,” he said, “back to the facts. You enjoy getting yourself into more trouble than you can take and you thrill at the idea of having to get yourself out of it. You have bragged that you can get out of any spanking you want with your "oral persuasion" techniques, haven’t you?”
“I… I may have,” I answered guardedly.
“And you’ve practiced these skills for this purpose? I have a credit card receipt for a book you bought with this in mind.”
“That was years ago!”
“Still legible. How much,” he insinuated, “of this spanking did you think you might want to have ‘forgiven?’”
“None of it – not with you! You’re crazy!”
“The full double dose then. This is a most particularly painful instrument. Perhaps I’m not the one who’s crazy. Number two.”
“There’s more?” I groaned. I was ready to cry.
“Seems you wanted to bend over for 30 on each cheek with the hairbrush. My, you do like them hard, don’t you?”
I assumed the question was rhetorical, so I didn’t answer.
“Don’t you?” he pressed. He was staring at my breasts again, so I assumed it’d be my blouse that would go at the next evasion.
“I guess so.”
“You bought a new thong for the occasion, didn’t you? In claret, I believe,” he said, consulting his notes, “would you care to tell me why?”
“No, I would not.” I knew that wasn’t a lie, that’s for sure.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” which, of course, he wouldn’t be. “You wanted something in a darker red than your crimson panties. Darker, for such a heavy spanking in a vulnerable position.”
At this point, he strolled confidently to the kitchen and headed straight for the ruler. Somehow, he knew exactly where it was. He smacked it menacingly against his palm.
“Not going to take anything off a double dose. It’ll be to be a long time before you sit down, that’s for sure. But since that’s what you’ve wished for…”
“I won’t do it,” I insisted bravely. I couldn’t take two full spankings with that wicked ruler and I wasn’t making any deals – certainly not any "oral" ones!
“Oh, you’ll do it. In a moment, you’ll lie across my lap and I’ll lift your skirt. Since your first little untruth has cost you your panties, you’ll be ready to have me apply a most terrifically stinging spanking to your poor, bare seat. And after the first, I’ll just have to go on to the second. I really don’t know how you’ll stand it. It’s certainly a painful beginning.”
“And if I don’t?” I challenged.
“I have certain computer postings of yours. I’m sure you’re familiar with their contents. They have been collected and will be e-mailed to your group’s secretary.”
“Marla!” I cried, “but last week she sent her lunch order to 14,000 company employees worldwide!”
“There’s no guarantee that will happen with your information. And, of course, if you can tell me that you never wished for these things, they will not occur. If you can tell me truthfully.”
Once again he stared meaningfully at my chest. It seems every time I told the slightest fib, an article of clothing abandoned me. My bra was already who knows where.
“And while you’re being truthful, I’d like you to admit, that when you saw me, you wondered what it would be like to lay across my thighs and what a shoulder like mine could do to your fanny.”
I thought the safest plan was to keep my mouth shut and, for once, I did so.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he continued, “and you’ll soon find out. First, a good hard one over my knee with the ruler. It’s thirty-six swats to the spanking in this household, isn’t it? Then the second set to match the first, to make you wish you’d made a deal with me. Then, just time enough to put on that dark, dark red new thong of yours and your favorite bra so you can bend over for thirty a side with the hairbrush. That should get you ready.”
“Ready? Ready for what?”
“Your final wish. Does this sound familiar? - ‘only takes about three minutes and she wouldn’t sit down for a week.’”
“I didn’t write that! Carol T. did!”
“And you thought it was the most exciting thing you had ever read. You can’t get it out of your head, can you?”
I couldn’t deny it. It was true.
“So once we’ve finished with your first two wishes, you can touch your toes for a three minute visit by the cane.”
“But I might need to sit down in the next week,” I wailed, “and we don’t even own a cane.”
“I know that,” and he unslung a case from across his back. He removed a long, thin cane from his quiver. And that’s what I began to do - quiver. Not just my bottom, which had turned into Jell-o with an icy hand griping its center but other parts of me started to quiver as well.
“If there’s a single stroke you don’t want, just tell me you didn’t wish for it.”
“What I wish is that my husband was home.”
“Not to worry, this’ll only take approximately 22 minutes. Now, does the skirt go up, or does Marla get an interesting e-mail?”
Just then the front door burst open.
“What’s going on here,” Matt demanded. “And who are you?”
“I wish,” I said to the officer, “that you were gone.”
***
“Who was that?” my husband, Matt, quite reasonably asked.
“The Wish Police,” I tried to explain. “He said he was going to fulfill my wishes.” I was on the verge of tears from the terror and the relief.
“How silly. That’s my job. Just what did these wishes consist of?”
“Well, there was a double dose of the ruler.”
“A double dose? How did you dream you were going to take that?”
“I wished I was going to be in for it and then persuade you out of some of it but I didn’t want to have to do that with some other man.”
“That’s good to hear, at least. Don’t you have a bra on?”
“It disappeared because I lied to the Wish Police. They know everything.”
“They don’t have to be all that smart to know that you don’t have a bra on. Maybe you do need a double dose of the ruler. Wait a minute - how many lies did you tell him?” Matt asked, running his hand up under my skirt.
“I guess I told two. Then I had to stop.”
“Good thing you did. Any other wishes?”
“Kind of.”
“Like?”
“I’m supposed to bend over in a dark red thong and get thirty a side with the hairbrush.”
“You wished for that? Why?”
“Because I got mad at you for no reason last week. I was going to tell you, honest.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been that sore,” Matt reminded me.
“Oh, you’re also supposed to drive me wild first and make me wait to be satisfied.”
“Wow. Okay. Anything else?”
I swallowed hard. “No,” I told him.
Matt moved up beside me and started removing my blouse.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You just told another lie. I guess your blouse has to come off.”
“How… how could you tell?”
“Come on, Diane. Everyone knows wishes come in threes. What was your third wish?”
“I can’t tell you,” I said, burying my face in his shoulder.
“Honey. You’re about to go over my knee for a double dose of the ruler. You don’t want me mad at you, do you?”
“It was three minutes under the cane. So I couldn’t sit for a week.”
“Oh my. But we don’t even own a cane.”
“Thank goodness for that!”
“But come on. Off with the skirt. You’ve got a lot of wriggling to do.”
“Please, Matt. Not all of it. Why don’t you let me…”
“No, no, spanking first. Then, we’ll negotiate. What do I always tell you?”
“Be careful what I wish for?”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
The End
Monday, November 06, 2006
Buyer’s Remorse
Buyer’s Remorse by Diane with Matt’s help - February, 1995 - (short, M/F, light, EDD) Diane can’t stop her spending without Matt’s help, which she gets.
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1995 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1995 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
Buyer’s Remorse
- Diane? What is that?
“A dress - isn’t it cute?”
- Yes, very cute. Looks new, even.
“Um, uh huh....like it?”
- Diane. Whether I like it or not is not the question. The question is, did you just buy a new dress when you knew you you’d already spent all of this month’s budget and some of next month’s?
“Welllllll, yes, but see, it was like this - we need new drapes in the living room, so I went to J. C. Penny’s...and on the way there I saw this dress, it was the last chance to buy it...I saved us lots of money, it was on sale...”
- You’d better take it off, you’re returning it AND you’re getting spanked...
“Ohhhhhhhh, um, Matt? I can’t...”
- Can’t take it off? C’mere, I’ll help.
“No, can’t take it back. It was on clearance. That’s why it was such a great deal?”
- Diane, you’d better be joking. If that dress can’t go back, you’re it so much trouble...
“Ohhhhh. A lesson spanking?”
- Yes, a learn-a-lesson spanking. Didn’t you just have a lesson in this?
“Um, I guess so...”
- You guess so? It must not have made much of an impression on you.
“No, no, it did. It hurt!”
- Couldn’t have been too bad, you’re doing this again already. Couldn’t have been bad enough.
“Ohh, it was bad enough. I spent lots of money that time! I just spent a little money this time... and it’s not like we’re poor...”
- Diane.
“Yes?”
- We’re not poor, no. But last time you spent your whole clothing budget for three months without batting an eyelash. Didn’t we agree that you wouldn’t by any more clothing until your budget caught up with you? Well, your budget just caught up with you.
“Ohhhhhhh. A lesson spanking? And no being nice afterward?”
- Mmmmmm, baby. You know I can’t be nice afterward, you wouldn’t learn a thing.
“But it’s a long time till bedtime...and you’ll have to wait, too...then you’ll say I’m a tease...then you’ll spank me again when I’m already sore...”
- Diane? Who bought the dress? Me, or you?
“I did, I guess.”
- Ah, you don’t have any panties on?
“No, I...I thought you might want to spank me...ow!”
- You knew you were getting in trouble!
“Wellllll...but it’s cute - ow!”
- We’re going to get you out of this dress, young lady... it’s going in your closet until the first of May, when you’d have enough money to pay for it...
“Oh, I can’t...”
- You can’t?
“It’ll be out of season - that’s why it was on sale - for so cheap! I have to wear it!”
- Have to, huh? Okay, you wear it. And every time you wear it I’m going to take it off you and spank you.
“Ow! Mmmm, every time? Ow!”
- Every (smack!) time...
“But not a lesson...”
- Well, no, not a bad spanking... still, a spanking every time...
“Mmmmmm, okay... I won’t wear it two days in a row then...”
- But tonight you are going to learn a lesson - one you won’t forget this time...
“Baby? You’re going to start with your hand?”
- I’m going to teach you a lesson over my knee, is what I’m going to do!
“But you’ll start with your hand?”
- Why do I start with my hand, Diane?
“Because you care about me...”
- And why do I teach you a lesson?
“Same reason?”
- Yes. Because I care about you. Now over you go...
“Ow! Ow! Oh, start softer - that hurts!”
- Diane! It’s supposed to hurt!
“Ow! Oh! Mmmmmmmmm. Ah mmmmmmm.”
- Now Diane, we have an agreement. You don’t have to worry about every little thing...
“Mmmmm hmmmm...”
- And I tell you when you’re going too far...
“Ooooh oh! Oh!”
- And then you stop...
“Mmmmm mmm hmm...”
- Or...
“Mmm hmm?”
- Or you get your bare bottom spanked!
“Ow! Ow! Hey! Ow!”
- Had enough?
“Nnnt nnn. Not ready...”
- No?!?
“Ow! Ow! OWWW!”
- Want you to be ready....
“Eee! Mmmmm, that’s better... nnnt nnn, not ready mmmmmm...”
- Want you to be good and ready - want this bottom to be ready to really learn this lesson - not have you back in a month again...
“Mmmmmmm...”
- I know what that wiggle means...
“You do?”
- That’s you’re “don’t you want to spank this cute bottom” wriggle, isn’t it?
“Mmm, mmm hmm...”
- I think (tap tap) that’s ready enough. Up!
“Ohhhhhhhhh....”
- Now let’s get this pretty little dress off of you...
“Wellll, okay...”
- Mmm, this bra isn’t new, is it?
“No, you know it’s not. I was good, see?”
- Mmm, well, a little good...
“Oh, don’t tease... now who’s teasing? Not fair! Ow!”
- If you didn’t want to wait, you shouldn’t have bought the dress.
“Ohhhhhhh... hey, where are you going?”
- To get something.
“To get what?”
- You’ll see...
“Oh, ummm, what’s that for?”
- What do you think? To warm your pretty little bottom.
“Instead of the hairbrush?”
- What do you think?
“Um, I don’t know?”
- Before the hairbrush. Nice warm leather paddle before that mean old teacher of a hairbrush...
“Ohhhh, that’s what I was afraid of...”
- Mmmm, yes, you look, mmmm, very nice...
“Oooooo don’t do that!”
- This right here with my finger?
“Ooooo ooo ooo uh huh that!”
- Mmmm and why not?
“Oh! I think you scratched me!”
- I did?!?
“Mmm hmmm...you should kiss it and make it better...OW! Ow! Yeow! Just kidding!”
- Hold still...
“YEOW!”
- Okay now, back over my knee... put your bottom up where I can spank it good...
“Ow! Ow! Jeez, start slow! Can’t you start easier? Ow!”
- Baby, this is easier...
“YEOW! YEEEOW!”
- See? Didn’t I start easier?
“Ow ow...yes...ow oh ow...”
- Got to have you all warm... skin...
“Eeek! Ow!”
- And muscle...
“Oh! Oh! Ugh! Oooo!”
- Even though...
“Ow ow zowee...”
- I’m only going to use the hairbrush a little...
“Ahhh. Oh ow!”
- Well, a lot - but in one...
“Eeek! Ow!”
- Or two little places...
“Ohhhhh! Owwwww!”
- Aren’t I?
“Oooo uh huh...ow oh yes, you are...ow OW!”
- Okay up. You go this time. And I’m counting...
“Ohhhhh....”
- That was quick - see, you can be a good girl, when you want to be...
“I am a good girl...”
- When properly motivated. No, no, don’t start that again, just bend over, right here... Diane?
“Yes?”
- How much was this dress?
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh...”
- Diane, how much?
“It was on saaaaaale... OW! God, that better count! Fifty-five dollars...”
- Not very much, is it?
“Wellll... not in money... OW! Jeez!”
- But money you’re not supposed to be spending on clothes, isn’t it?
“OW! Nooooo.... OW! Matt, that hurts!”
- Of course it hurts, Diane... that’s our deal, isn’t it? If you spend what you said you wouldn’t...
“OW! OW! OHHH! Not that much!”
- Then I have to spank you like this!
“OH jeez no - it hurts too much!”
- You didn’t spend too much money, Diane?
“Not too much...”
- How many swats do you have left?
“Ohhhhhh...OW! Um, a lot?”
- Yes, seems like a lot now, doesn’t it?
“Oh! God, yes! OW!”
- There now - are you learning your lesson?
“OH! Oh yes - yes, oh yes, I’m learning...”
- The lesson you didn’t learn six weeks ago?
“Yes - yes!”
- Even with all those swats?
“Yesss...”
- Do you want to get all those swats again, Diane?
“No! No no! OW GEEZ NO!”
- So this time you will learn your lesson...
“Eeek! OW!”
- Plus get spanked each and every time I take that dress off of you...
“Mmm... (ow!)... until April...”
- Until (swat!!!) May - longer if I say so...
“Ohhhh... no fair... OW!”
- Ready for the hard ones?
“WHAT?!? OW! OH, GOD! OW! YEOW-OW!”
- And this should finish up...
“OWWWWWOW OH OWWWOWOW!”
- All done. Up you get!
“Oooooo. No rubbing?”
- No rubbing!
“No hugs?”
- Well, yes, you can have a hug. C’mere.
“Mmmm. That’s better. And no clothes till?”
- Till May, now, just about - you only have a little money left in April.
“That’s a long time...”
- Do you need more spanking to help you remember?
“No! Unt uh. I remember! I remember just fine!”
- Good. I thought you did.
“Oh, baby?”
- Mmm hmm?
“I’m too sore to fix dinner - let’s go out to eat.”
- You!
“OW! Hey! Ow! Ow! Stop! That hurts! Ow! Kidding! Kiddiiiiing!!!!!!! OW! Ow ow OW!”
(And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I got my new drapes!)
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Parents Who Spank - humorous fiction by Matt
Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
I thought it would be the pits riding back with Beth, having to put up with her smug self-satisfaction - but I wasn’t going to let on that I knew. Who told me? No one. I could just tell by the way Jason avoided the question when I asked him where he was last Friday night. That, plus Beth ditching us on our Girls’ Night Out, made it all too clear. Way too much to be a coincidence. Now, in a couple of days, Jason will drop me and then, when an indecently short time has passed, he’ll show up with Beth. But I will not let on.
I thought it was more than I should have to put up with, though, to have to ride back from the church with her after the Youth Retreat. Not a fun time for me anyway, since I figured it out Saturday at lunch and had been miserable ever since, so this just put the icing on the cake. Then I saw her folks and remembered - oh yeah! - Beth has Parents Who Spank.
Now I had to be careful, because I absolutely could not get caught. If I did, Beth would be right in whatever she did to me, because she confided once that her mom’s hairbrush is the best she can hope for and everybody says that’s just brutal. But she told me that when she hears her father say “let’s lift that hem, young lady,” she knows she’ll be eating her meals standing up for days to come.
Beth was in very high spirits, a pretty sharp contrast to me, but then I cheered up considerably. I tried to sound casual even as I chose my words so carefully. Beth’s parents are so strict, they don’t let her date - at all - and in some weird flash of insight I knew exactly what she had told them.
“We had so much fun Friday night,” I started, “Beth, it is so too bad you couldn’t be there.” The frozen look on Beth’s face told me I’d gotten it on the first try. And here I was, sounding as innocent as a new-born lamb. Beth’s mom turned her head so fast I thought it’d snap her scrawny neck. Mother and daughter had matching tight-lipped expressions.
Ol’ Mom there was the first to recover. She didn’t let on a bit - if I hadn’t been doing it on purpose, I’d have never known anything was up.
“So, Stephanie,” she started, trying to be casual, “what did you get up to that you had so much fun?”
What a perfect opening! I thought of making up something outrageous and implying that we did this stuff with Beth when she was with us. Then I had a better thought. See, Beth had known our plans and like I said, I absolutely didn’t want to say anything that didn’t check out. But this would take that cute little ass she likes to prance around and turn it the color of a Japanese sunrise!
“Well, Mrs. Johnson, we went to Jerry’s Pizza - me and Allison and Jennifer,” I told her. This part is what Beth would have said we were doing, herself included.
“Allison, Jennifer, and I,” Beth’s mom corrected automatically. I think she’s always wanted to be one of those ultra-anal teachers, you know? But as long as she was going to paddle Beth’s bottom good and sore for me, she could say anything she wanted to.
“But Jerry’s was dead, so we went to Alcatraz,” I continued. I knew, just knew, Beth would have said she was with us at Jerry’s but she wouldn’t have known about our change in plans. No way out of this one. I had to fight from looking at Beth - I tried to make out her expression in the window. I was not just imagining that it was pretty grim.
“Oh, you did?” Mrs. Johnson asked, in that way parents do when they don’t want an answer. Her dad was real quiet, watching the road a lot more carefully than anyone would need to. I don’t know what he thought he might see out there.
“Yeah, it was great. You know Sean? His brother has a band.” True, true, all true. I had a pretty good idea that the adults at church didn’t think too highly of bands with names like Barren Tomb.
Now my brain was really cooking and I had to just stop before I went overboard and gave myself away. I wanted to say we got in late, because I know Beth has a 10:30 curfew and they are really strict about it but I got lucky and caught myself. Of course she was in by her curfew! I came so close to maybe blowing it! Now, now I had it, the master stroke. Okay, little Bethy, get ready for the hairbrush and papa’s strap! I’ll have you hotter than the Los Alamos fire and a nuclear lab meltdown put together!
“But we had to get home early, Allison had a swim meet, so we had to leave at nine,” I complained. Outside, I was disappointed. Inside, I was watching Mr. Johnson’s ears get red as he rolled his shoulders. Beth wasn’t actually crying, not yet, but was she ever close! She must’ve waltzed in at 10:30 on the dot! Oh, little missy, you can have that two-timing Jason but will you ever pay!
Everyone else was real quiet as we turned into our subdivision. Beth’s seat must’ve been feeling a little itchy, because she was squirming around some. Personally, my whole weekend had been salvaged from the smoldering wreck of only a few minutes earlier. As they stopped at my house I thanked them, maybe gushing a little too much, and promised Beth to see her at school in the morning. Then, grabbing my stuff, I rushed to ditch it in my room.
Their house is only two blocks away and if I cut through the back I can get there almost before they do. It was hot here today and maybe they’ve even left a window opened. In any case, I’ll be happy to report back!
I thought it would be the pits riding back with Beth, having to put up with her smug self-satisfaction - but I wasn’t going to let on that I knew. Who told me? No one. I could just tell by the way Jason avoided the question when I asked him where he was last Friday night. That, plus Beth ditching us on our Girls’ Night Out, made it all too clear. Way too much to be a coincidence. Now, in a couple of days, Jason will drop me and then, when an indecently short time has passed, he’ll show up with Beth. But I will not let on.
I thought it was more than I should have to put up with, though, to have to ride back from the church with her after the Youth Retreat. Not a fun time for me anyway, since I figured it out Saturday at lunch and had been miserable ever since, so this just put the icing on the cake. Then I saw her folks and remembered - oh yeah! - Beth has Parents Who Spank.
Now I had to be careful, because I absolutely could not get caught. If I did, Beth would be right in whatever she did to me, because she confided once that her mom’s hairbrush is the best she can hope for and everybody says that’s just brutal. But she told me that when she hears her father say “let’s lift that hem, young lady,” she knows she’ll be eating her meals standing up for days to come.
Beth was in very high spirits, a pretty sharp contrast to me, but then I cheered up considerably. I tried to sound casual even as I chose my words so carefully. Beth’s parents are so strict, they don’t let her date - at all - and in some weird flash of insight I knew exactly what she had told them.
“We had so much fun Friday night,” I started, “Beth, it is so too bad you couldn’t be there.” The frozen look on Beth’s face told me I’d gotten it on the first try. And here I was, sounding as innocent as a new-born lamb. Beth’s mom turned her head so fast I thought it’d snap her scrawny neck. Mother and daughter had matching tight-lipped expressions.
Ol’ Mom there was the first to recover. She didn’t let on a bit - if I hadn’t been doing it on purpose, I’d have never known anything was up.
“So, Stephanie,” she started, trying to be casual, “what did you get up to that you had so much fun?”
What a perfect opening! I thought of making up something outrageous and implying that we did this stuff with Beth when she was with us. Then I had a better thought. See, Beth had known our plans and like I said, I absolutely didn’t want to say anything that didn’t check out. But this would take that cute little ass she likes to prance around and turn it the color of a Japanese sunrise!
“Well, Mrs. Johnson, we went to Jerry’s Pizza - me and Allison and Jennifer,” I told her. This part is what Beth would have said we were doing, herself included.
“Allison, Jennifer, and I,” Beth’s mom corrected automatically. I think she’s always wanted to be one of those ultra-anal teachers, you know? But as long as she was going to paddle Beth’s bottom good and sore for me, she could say anything she wanted to.
“But Jerry’s was dead, so we went to Alcatraz,” I continued. I knew, just knew, Beth would have said she was with us at Jerry’s but she wouldn’t have known about our change in plans. No way out of this one. I had to fight from looking at Beth - I tried to make out her expression in the window. I was not just imagining that it was pretty grim.
“Oh, you did?” Mrs. Johnson asked, in that way parents do when they don’t want an answer. Her dad was real quiet, watching the road a lot more carefully than anyone would need to. I don’t know what he thought he might see out there.
“Yeah, it was great. You know Sean? His brother has a band.” True, true, all true. I had a pretty good idea that the adults at church didn’t think too highly of bands with names like Barren Tomb.
Now my brain was really cooking and I had to just stop before I went overboard and gave myself away. I wanted to say we got in late, because I know Beth has a 10:30 curfew and they are really strict about it but I got lucky and caught myself. Of course she was in by her curfew! I came so close to maybe blowing it! Now, now I had it, the master stroke. Okay, little Bethy, get ready for the hairbrush and papa’s strap! I’ll have you hotter than the Los Alamos fire and a nuclear lab meltdown put together!
“But we had to get home early, Allison had a swim meet, so we had to leave at nine,” I complained. Outside, I was disappointed. Inside, I was watching Mr. Johnson’s ears get red as he rolled his shoulders. Beth wasn’t actually crying, not yet, but was she ever close! She must’ve waltzed in at 10:30 on the dot! Oh, little missy, you can have that two-timing Jason but will you ever pay!
Everyone else was real quiet as we turned into our subdivision. Beth’s seat must’ve been feeling a little itchy, because she was squirming around some. Personally, my whole weekend had been salvaged from the smoldering wreck of only a few minutes earlier. As they stopped at my house I thanked them, maybe gushing a little too much, and promised Beth to see her at school in the morning. Then, grabbing my stuff, I rushed to ditch it in my room.
Their house is only two blocks away and if I cut through the back I can get there almost before they do. It was hot here today and maybe they’ve even left a window opened. In any case, I’ll be happy to report back!
Am I Right? by Lexi – June, 2000
by Matt with Lexi, late 2000
Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
“So there!”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than he was on her - he’d clearly expected them, been waiting for them, seemingly relaxed but patiently waiting to spring. Lexi knew that as soon as she felt his thigh against her hips that she would be spanked, hard and bare, so she twisted and spun and spat out her objections and rebukes, even knowing they were useless and all the more knowing that, in her current situation, they couldn’t make things any worse.
“Hey! HEY! WHAT are you doing? I’m right, you can’t spank me when I’m right! Ow!” she cried, as a little smack came down even before he’d gotten her under control. “Hey! NO FAIR!” She scowled as several more poorly-directed swats came her way. She tried to keep her seat directly facing away from him, so he had quite a chore reaching, let alone swatting her, and she was still well-protected by pants and panties. But he cared very little for decorum, did not object in the least to rolling on the floor or completely wrapping himself around her - he seemed all arms and legs and soon the smacks stopped as he used his hands to improve his grip on her. His weight passively dragged her down, his head on her shoulder controlled her movements even as she tried to turn away.
His legs were already around her and though she was not one to give up, she realized the likely outcome of her situation. “Stop that!” she scolded, “What did I do? You can’t spank me if I don’t know what I did!”
Ah, but she was wrong in that. Lexi tried to squirm downward and found this to be easy. His legs rode up around her waist, she was halfway out - but his hand was down below his legs, reaching around, digging for the snap on her pants. This is not good, she thought. “This is NOT GOOD!” she said, as he struggled with her zipper. Now she was in a bind. If she went lower, she’d only be helping him. As she tried higher, his legs edged her pants hipward. Turning her back to him she got smacked, turning toward him she presented her zipper to all the more easily be loosened. His hand slid into her pants to push them down from the inside...
Facing him, she poked at his ribs and got enough room between them to get her own hands in there. She unbuckled his belt for him and started on his own pants, feeling his effort lose its insistence. Still, it continued, and his hand slid into her panties, sliding everything off with his thumb. Not much time - not enough, in fact. He got his arms well around her and released his legs, suddenly standing up and heading back for the chair where they started.
She was between his legs, standing, with her tummy clasped to his chest and her knees between his thighs, bare tushie stuck out for all the world to see. God, did he spank hard! “STOP THIS!” she requested, only to be ignored.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” Matt asked as he smacked her again and again.
“NO! You’re not even DOING it right!”
He barely paused long enough to bend her over the arm of the chair, pushing her forward with his chest. Her legs were still locked between his. He captured a wrist and guided it to his hand that stuck out under her waist, clamping it securely in place - but the spanking had stopped, at least for a moment.
He was drawing it out, after starting so hard, squeezing and patting like so he loved to do, but Lexi knew better than to relax...he started suddenly and furiously, anxious to make her wish for less, and keep her wishing...
“There and there and there and there,” he said, “is that what you need?”
“Who SAYS I need anything?” she wailed, though she suspected she knew the answer - so it surprised her when he said “You did!”
“I did? I?!? did? I did NOT! I most certainly DID NOT!”
“Well, wait till I’m done - ow, that must’ve stung - and we can talk.”
“I don’t - ow! AH! - WANT to talk! I am NOT talking to you! YOU can find - oh!!! ow! owww! - find someone ELSE to talk to!”
“Getting there. Getting red. Not so red, but getting there. How about this?”
“Mattheeeew!!!!! Stop that! STOPPPPPPPP!”
“Hold still, I think we’ve got it, just...”
“Ah, ah, ah AHHHHH!”
“So red, just there... and here, so red there, too...”
Soon Lexi was being lifted back up, tummy to chest, pretty blond head to shoulder, arms hugging her, tushie stuck out again where it could cool - someday!
Matt pressed her hip back and she sat down on his thigh, now that he had unlocked his legs. Without releasing his neck, she shifted her head to the other side and continued to hold him, while he kept his arms loosely around her, only letting her go to stroke her head...
Finally she caught her breath and pulled her head back. Her sigh was not of relief or relaxation, exactly - more just signaling the end of their exertion.
“What?” she asked, a little breathlessly, “Was that all about?” His pants were still undone, and her hand dipped down his stomach. His breathing had not slowed. He held perfectly still, just like he always did when she was moving in that direction...she smiled in recognition of this habit...
“You said you needed a spanking - so you got one. Was there someone else you thought would give it to you?”
“Someone else?!? YUCK!” she made a face of mock disgust. “But when did I say I needed a spanking?”
“Isn’t that what “So there!” means? That you need a spanking?”
“It does NOT! It most certainly does not!”
“It doesn’t?”
“NO!”
“Oh, well, my mistake.”
“You said it, buster!”
“So, says who?”
“Says who what?”
“Who says it doesn’t mean “I need a spanking?””
“Says ME!”
“Oh, you’re the expert?”
“Yes, I am the EXPERT.”
“And you’re always right?”
“And I am ALWAYS right.” Giggling, she goes on, “So there!”
Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
“So there!”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than he was on her - he’d clearly expected them, been waiting for them, seemingly relaxed but patiently waiting to spring. Lexi knew that as soon as she felt his thigh against her hips that she would be spanked, hard and bare, so she twisted and spun and spat out her objections and rebukes, even knowing they were useless and all the more knowing that, in her current situation, they couldn’t make things any worse.
“Hey! HEY! WHAT are you doing? I’m right, you can’t spank me when I’m right! Ow!” she cried, as a little smack came down even before he’d gotten her under control. “Hey! NO FAIR!” She scowled as several more poorly-directed swats came her way. She tried to keep her seat directly facing away from him, so he had quite a chore reaching, let alone swatting her, and she was still well-protected by pants and panties. But he cared very little for decorum, did not object in the least to rolling on the floor or completely wrapping himself around her - he seemed all arms and legs and soon the smacks stopped as he used his hands to improve his grip on her. His weight passively dragged her down, his head on her shoulder controlled her movements even as she tried to turn away.
His legs were already around her and though she was not one to give up, she realized the likely outcome of her situation. “Stop that!” she scolded, “What did I do? You can’t spank me if I don’t know what I did!”
Ah, but she was wrong in that. Lexi tried to squirm downward and found this to be easy. His legs rode up around her waist, she was halfway out - but his hand was down below his legs, reaching around, digging for the snap on her pants. This is not good, she thought. “This is NOT GOOD!” she said, as he struggled with her zipper. Now she was in a bind. If she went lower, she’d only be helping him. As she tried higher, his legs edged her pants hipward. Turning her back to him she got smacked, turning toward him she presented her zipper to all the more easily be loosened. His hand slid into her pants to push them down from the inside...
Facing him, she poked at his ribs and got enough room between them to get her own hands in there. She unbuckled his belt for him and started on his own pants, feeling his effort lose its insistence. Still, it continued, and his hand slid into her panties, sliding everything off with his thumb. Not much time - not enough, in fact. He got his arms well around her and released his legs, suddenly standing up and heading back for the chair where they started.
She was between his legs, standing, with her tummy clasped to his chest and her knees between his thighs, bare tushie stuck out for all the world to see. God, did he spank hard! “STOP THIS!” she requested, only to be ignored.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” Matt asked as he smacked her again and again.
“NO! You’re not even DOING it right!”
He barely paused long enough to bend her over the arm of the chair, pushing her forward with his chest. Her legs were still locked between his. He captured a wrist and guided it to his hand that stuck out under her waist, clamping it securely in place - but the spanking had stopped, at least for a moment.
He was drawing it out, after starting so hard, squeezing and patting like so he loved to do, but Lexi knew better than to relax...he started suddenly and furiously, anxious to make her wish for less, and keep her wishing...
“There and there and there and there,” he said, “is that what you need?”
“Who SAYS I need anything?” she wailed, though she suspected she knew the answer - so it surprised her when he said “You did!”
“I did? I?!? did? I did NOT! I most certainly DID NOT!”
“Well, wait till I’m done - ow, that must’ve stung - and we can talk.”
“I don’t - ow! AH! - WANT to talk! I am NOT talking to you! YOU can find - oh!!! ow! owww! - find someone ELSE to talk to!”
“Getting there. Getting red. Not so red, but getting there. How about this?”
“Mattheeeew!!!!! Stop that! STOPPPPPPPP!”
“Hold still, I think we’ve got it, just...”
“Ah, ah, ah AHHHHH!”
“So red, just there... and here, so red there, too...”
Soon Lexi was being lifted back up, tummy to chest, pretty blond head to shoulder, arms hugging her, tushie stuck out again where it could cool - someday!
Matt pressed her hip back and she sat down on his thigh, now that he had unlocked his legs. Without releasing his neck, she shifted her head to the other side and continued to hold him, while he kept his arms loosely around her, only letting her go to stroke her head...
Finally she caught her breath and pulled her head back. Her sigh was not of relief or relaxation, exactly - more just signaling the end of their exertion.
“What?” she asked, a little breathlessly, “Was that all about?” His pants were still undone, and her hand dipped down his stomach. His breathing had not slowed. He held perfectly still, just like he always did when she was moving in that direction...she smiled in recognition of this habit...
“You said you needed a spanking - so you got one. Was there someone else you thought would give it to you?”
“Someone else?!? YUCK!” she made a face of mock disgust. “But when did I say I needed a spanking?”
“Isn’t that what “So there!” means? That you need a spanking?”
“It does NOT! It most certainly does not!”
“It doesn’t?”
“NO!”
“Oh, well, my mistake.”
“You said it, buster!”
“So, says who?”
“Says who what?”
“Who says it doesn’t mean “I need a spanking?””
“Says ME!”
“Oh, you’re the expert?”
“Yes, I am the EXPERT.”
“And you’re always right?”
“And I am ALWAYS right.” Giggling, she goes on, “So there!”
A Mystery
by Matt
Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
Don't you hate it when you can't find something you've set down? After I've looked everywhere, I have to ask for help.
"Cat? Have you seen my book?"
"Book? No, I don't think so. Which one?"
"The Jagged Ledge? The mystery I've been reading for the past three days? I know you've seen it. And I'm almost done, too."
"Oh you are?" Cat asks, all too innocently.
I wrap my arms around her waist. I have a sneaking suspicion that I haven't "misplaced" it at all.
"Oh I am, young lady. And I'm starting to look for clues that you might know something about it."
She turns a bit, but she's not about to get out of my grasp. "You mean that book you've had your nose in every minute since Wednesday? Would that be the one? If I were you, I'd look on the end of your nose, that's where I'd expect to find it!" she bursts out with, accompanied by giggles.
"Let me see..." I begin ominously, unfastening the snap on her shorts. "I could have put it anywhere..." A rough push with each hand serves the two purposes of shedding them off of her hips and leaving me with a nice palmful of cheek on each side.
"Hey! I don't have it on me, okay?" Now she does break away, and since I have a hold on her shorts, they move downward as she escapes. She giggles again - I do love to hear her giggle, I can't help but smile. "You'd better look somewhere else," she helpfully suggests.
"Can't decide," I tell her, now that I have her back in my grasp, "whether to continue my search or interrogate some suspects." One hand makes the rounds of her panty waistband while I hold her with the other arm.
"Hey! What about my rights?"
I press my lips to her ear (kiss her lightly) and whisper, "You have the right to remain silent, but I bet you won't be able to do that. I have the right to keep you from sitting through dinner."
"Ow!" she exclaims, as I exercise my right on her right. "Ow! Hey!"
"Yessss?"
"Don't forget my left," she giggles. "Ow!"
"Now - let's revisit the scene of the crime. Look familiar?" There's a reason our coffee table is strong enough to sit on.
"Nooooo," she claims thoughtfully.
"Well, let me see if this will help your memory..." My finger between her cheeks lowers her panties that last necessary inch.
"Noooo!" she repeats, but it's a different no this time. "Ow! OW! Ohhh!"
Cat has always been a complainer, I'm barely spanking her yet, but have to start slowly, we're going to be here awhile....
"I was right here, reading my book..." My swats take on a little more force. "That would have been Wednesday. Or was it Tuesday?"
"No! Oh! Owowow! Today! Start with today! Ow! Oooo!"
"And you - let's see, where were you... you know it's a shame you don't get any pinker any faster..."
"Ow! Ow! Matthew, that hurts! Really!"
"Really? Maybe I should do this." I try a circular motion with the swat on the upswing, right in the center. It takes a minute to become unbearable. "And I seem to recall you were busy that evening..."
"I was! I WAS! OW! OW, okay?"
"And then last night you were on the phone for how long?"
"Ow! Not too long... Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Okay! A long time! Ooo! But you were reading!"
"But I was reading, so that was okay - oh, wait a minute..." I stop the crime reconstruction and focus on spanking her for a bit, leaning into my work. Pretty soon Cat is making those little sniffs that let me know she notices. "Now where were we? Ah yes, Friday."
"You did Friday! This is today! Ut oh, no, no, honeeeey! I'm sore there! You did that already ieeee..."
"Oh yes, today. Today you were (SMACK!) doing nothing but (SMACK!) coming over to see (SMACK!) how close I was to the end (SMACK SMACK SMACK!) Was I close?"
"You were close! Close! Very close - to the end!"
"Oh - but I hadn't done this," I remind her, as I use my fingertips on the lowest part of her cheeks, just either side of the cleft... she's kicking, of course, making it hard to get so low, so a lot of my spanks are wasted elsewhere, and it takes some time. "Then you noticed I was right at the best part."
"Ow oo owwie! How would I know?"
"I don't know, maybe you guessed. And I answered the phone. And we had some lunch. Then you wanted me to move those boxes. While you..."
"OW! Oooo! I what?!?"
"You were unattended, unlike now."
I'm slackening my pace when she claims "You can't prove anything!" So our discussion takes another break. By the time that's over I figure she must be done, so I give her a choice.
"Are you going to tell me where my book is, or do you want the hairbrush?" In the middle of her little exclamations, I can't believe my ears. "Was that a giggle I just heard?!?"
"OW OH OW OH GEEZ OWOW!"
"Cat?"
"Yes?" a small voice answers.
"Did you hide the hairbrush?"
"Ohohohoh - uh, what if I did? You don't need it."
"I think you'd better tell me where my book is right now, young lady."
"I.. I.. I'll get it for you. Let me up."
"If this is a trick, I'll find something to spank you with..." I say, but I know her reason is that she doesn't want me to see her hiding place.
"Nonono, no trick. No more spanking - ooo, that hurt!"
"Okay, come right back - and you'd better have my book!"
"I will - close your eyes."
I trust her, so I do. Or if I don't trust her, I'll at least enjoy spanking her if she's up to something. I hear her run around. I hear a drawer slide, sounds like in the bathroom.
"Okay, I'm back."
Mmmmmm, yes, she is, beautifully nude from tip to tip, hands behind her back. She's smiling out from under her hair, looking adorable.
"Book?" I demand severely. Her hands come out and my book is back. Of course, by now I have no intention of reading it...
"And the hairbrush is back where it belongs, in case you ever need it," she chirps.
"Do I need it?" I ask her as I nuzzle into her hair and start rubbing the sting out of her bottom.
"Nt nnn. I'm good," she proclaims.
"Mmm hmm," I agree, "you're a good girl. Just wanting a little attention."
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