Erica Scott: Life, Love and Spanking

Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken spanko and unapologetic attention wh–, um, hog.

Archive for the category “fiction”

A little holiday fantasy

I’m a couple of days late with this, but it’s still December, soooo… I was doing some file cleanup on my computer and ran across this story I wrote several years ago and never publicized — not sure why. I thought some of you might get a kick out of it. Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! 🙂

MY Kind of Christmas

It was Christmas Day; actually, to me, it was December twenty-fifth, a day like any other. Christmas meant nothing to me and I was spending it alone, which didn’t bother me in the least. I didn’t believe in all that sugarplum crap anyway. I was bundled up in comfy sweats with the heater on, had plenty of chocolate, and the TV, books or internet if I got bored. I was content in my grumpiness.

I was watching the TV Land marathon of classic Christmas shows. Oh, crap. They were just starting that insipid Brady Bunch episode where Carol loses her voice before she has to sing in the Christmas choir. Picking up the remote, I was poised to change channels when the doorbell rang. Who could that be? Had to be a mistake. I ignored it, but the bell rang again, more insistently. I lowered the volume, got up and shuffled to the door, looking out the peephole. Whoever it was, he/she was standing outside of view. Irritably, I yanked open the door.

WTF? There stood a tall, handsome man, dressed in a Santa suit. Who was playing tricks on me? I squinted at him. “Uh… can I help you?” He smiled at me, although it was more like a smirk. “Nope. I’m here to help you.”

I stared at him. “Ohhhhkay. Who are you?” “Silly woman,” he replied. “I’m Santa Claus, who else?”

Oh, good grief. Apparently, the local nuthouse had an escapee. I started to slam the door, but strangely, it wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I pushed on it. “Don’t believe me, huh?” he taunted.

I was getting nervous now. “No, I don’t,” I snapped, looking him up and down. “You don’t look anything like Santa Claus, except for that stupid suit. You’re not fat.”

He made a face. “Ever hear of Jenny Craig? I needed to lighten the load on the reindeer. Blitzen was getting a hernia and Rudolph’s face was as red as his nose. My cholesterol was off the charts. I figured it was time to ditch the fruitcake and pick up the celery sticks.”

This was ridiculous. “Okay, where’s your beard?” I challenged.

“Oh, that,” he said, sticking his hand in his pocket and then withdrawing it, something white and fluffy in his fist. He slipped a fake beard over his face and then hooked it behind his ears. “Happy now?”

“It’s fake?” I blurted. “Of course it is,” he replied impatiently, pulling it off. “I could never grow a real beard like this. Besides, this damn thing itches; I take it off whenever I can. Are you going to let me in, or what?”

“No! I have no idea who you are, but you’re creeping me out. Who do you think you’re kidding? If you were Santa, you’d come down the chimney. And why are you here, instead of delivering presents to all the boys and girls in the world?”

He rolled his eyes and leaned against the doorjamb. “Uh… you live in an apartment. No chimney.  And it’s Christmas Day. I delivered all the presents last night. Don’t you know anything?”

That did it; I tried once again to slam the door, but it still wouldn’t move. He shook his head at me. “You know, you’re trying my patience. I suggest you let me in. And turn that TV off; it’s rude to have it on when you have company.” Then he waved his hand, and the TV went black. I stared at the blank screen in shock. Numbly, I moved aside, and he stepped into my apartment, closing the now-unstuck door behind him.

“That’s better,” he said, walking over to my recliner and settling into it. “Got any eggnog?”

I stood in the middle of my living room, gawking at him. Clearly, I was dreaming. “No, I do not have any eggnog,” I said rudely. “That’s not on Jenny Craig, anyway.”

“You’re right, it’s not. Okay, how about a Diet Coke?”

What the hell was going on here? “Sorry, fresh out of that too,” I answered, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I guess you could whip some up yourself if you want it, no?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he smiled, and once again waved his hand. Within a second, he was sipping from a tall, frosty glass of bubbling soda. Bobbing at the top, instead of a slice of lemon, was a bright red maraschino cherry. My legs suddenly felt weak and I sat down abruptly. “What—what are you doing here?”

He started to put his drink down on the coffee table, hesitated, then snapped his fingers. Once a coaster appeared, he placed the glass on it and sat back. “Simple, my dear. You don’t believe in me, and I can’t have you going around implying to anyone who will listen to you that I’m not real. You’re such a Grinch, you don’t deserve any presents, but I thought I’d pop by and grant you one wish. Then perhaps you’ll get a little Christmas spirit infused into that cranky system of yours, finally.”

Oh yeah, right. Some sleight-of-hand tricks were one thing, but if he expected me to buy this, he’d been dipping into the rum balls once too often. Before I could say a word, though, he scowled at me. “I did not have any rum balls, young lady. They’re not on Jenny Craig either. Don’t be so disrespectful.”

My heart pounded; I was getting truly scared now. Apparently he could read that as well, because his face softened. “There’s no reason to be scared; I’m not here for any other reason except to give you something you want. Now come on, spit it out. I want to go home; I was up all night and I’m dead tired. What do you want? A few million dollars? A fully furnished and soundproofed townhouse, mortgage free? A portrait that ages while you don’t? What?”

I shrugged and looked away. “I don’t want any of that,” I muttered.

“You really are hard to please,” he grumbled. “Dammit, it’s warm in here.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket, opening it to reveal a rather chiseled torso. I couldn’t help staring; I was beginning to feel a bit warm myself. After all, I couldn’t remember the last time someone came down—or up—my chimney, if you get my drift. Suddenly I wished I was wearing something a little less… unsexy. He caught me ogling. “Don’t even think about it, little girl. Let’s have it—tell me something you want. The reindeer are double-parked on this insanely crowded street of yours.”

I looked him straight in the eye. “Okay, if you’re really Santa Claus, this is what I want. It’s not for me; it’s for my friend Bill. I want him to not have lost his job. I want it to all be a bad dream, and he’ll wake up from it and everything will be as it was, and he’ll have a wonderful holiday with his family.”

He stared at me. “That’s what you want? That’s it? You can have anything, and that’s what you’re gonna wish for?” Squirming under his gaze, I nodded my head and looked down. I’d been very worried about my friend, and wanted things to be better for him. He had a wife and three children.

He continued to watch me for a long beat, his eyes searching. Then he spoke.

“Well. I can see I’m going to have to adjust my assessment of you, Erica.” (He knew my name?) “That’s a remarkably unselfish and generous wish. You sure?” Once again, I nodded, and he shrugged. “Okay, then.” He closed his eyes for a moment, waved his hands around a bit, then clapped them together. “It’s done.”

“It is?” I said skeptically. “How do I know?”

He stood and buttoned his jacket, his face impatient once again. “Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it, won’t you? Trust me, it’s done. Your friend is home celebrating Christmas with his family without a care in the world. His job has been reinstated and he got a promotion. Good thing, since that highfalutin private school his kids go to is expensive. And I’ll tell you what else—I wasn’t going to do this, but you know, I’m feeling extra generous today. I’m giving you another wish, just for you. What would you like?”

Oh, my. I didn’t see that coming. From his body language, I could tell I didn’t have much time to think about it. As I stood there watching this hunk in my living room, I realized just how long it had been since, well, pretty much everything. Underneath my sloppy clothes, I felt some long-forgotten sensations stirring. Lust. Desire. A craving to be anywhere else but here, be anyone else but me, just for a little while. Anything I wanted, huh? Right then, I knew exactly what I wanted.

“Hmmm… okay, but I don’t know if you can do this. I want to suspend time for twenty-four hours. I want everyone out there to just freeze, for everything to stand still. And during those twenty-four hours, I want to be with you in a luxury five-star hotel, where we can do whatever we want, no distractions, no one calling or needing us. That’s my wish.”

He stared at me once again. “That’s it? You flatter me, my dear. All right, are you ready?”

“Really?” I stammered. “You can, just like that? You’ll do it? But you’re married… no judgments?”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “I’ve been around for hundreds of years and been in millions of homes. You think Mrs. Claus has been my one-and-only, all this time? Some of those grateful moms rewarded me with more than milk and cookies, you know.” I clapped my hand over my mouth, stifling giggles. “Hey!” he added, giving me a stern look. “You keep that to yourself, now. I have a reputation to maintain. Now shut your eyes.”

“Wait a minute!” I pled. “How is this going to work? How will I get back into my life when the time is up?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he said irritably, with a dismissive gesture. “You think you’re dealing with some amateur here? Don’t worry about it. When the twenty-four hours are up, you’ll end up back here. Simple as that, with no one the wiser but you. It will be the same day and time as it is now.”

“But—” I said, but he cut me off. “Enough with the questions, or I’ll leave you with a lump of coal. Shut. Your. Eyes.” I obeyed him. I felt a sensation of being airborne, with a whooshing sound in my ears. Fighting the temptation to see what was going on, I kept my eyes closed tightly until I felt myself settle. A delicate scent filled my nostrils, and slowly, I opened my eyes. And gasped.

I was lying on a beautiful four-poster bed, made up with satin sheets and strewn with red rose petals. Looking around, I could see that I was indeed in a luxuriously appointed hotel room. There were flowers, fruit, chocolates and a bottle of champagne sitting next to a bucket. I looked down at myself, then jumped up and ran to a full-length mirror. My sweats were gone, replaced by a sexy, lacy black nightie with a matching lace thong. My face was flawlessly made up and my hair was perfect. I had high heels on, but my legs were bare. Oh, God! I reached down and swept my hand up one leg, then sighed in relief. Good old Santa had taken care of everything—even my legs were shaved. I peeked underneath the nightie. Well, now. He’d seen to the landscaping too.

The door opened and Santa walked in, carrying a small bag of ice. His red suit was gone; he wore dress slacks and a crisp shirt and tie, no jacket, and looked impeccable and delicious. Jolly old fat man, my ass. “There you are,” he smiled, going over to place the champagne in the bucket and dumping the ice around it, and then crossing over to me. “Mmmmm… look at you. You clean up well. Or should I say, I cleaned you up well.” Immediately we were enveloped in each other’s arms, and his mouth sought mine. For a guy who was centuries old, he was a damn good kisser.

“Well, hello to you too,” I murmured against his lips. “Merry Christmas.” He pulled back a bit and looked at me in amusement.

“What was that? Did I just hear ‘Merry Christmas’ from you, Miss Grinch?” he laughed. I squirmed a little. Okay, so I’d been a wee bit cranky the past month or so, cursing the holiday and wishing it would be over and done with. “Why the change in attitude?”

Of course, he knew damn well why, so I didn’t bother explaining. I was going to enjoy every minute of this fantasy. “I dunno—does it matter? I’m here, aren’t I?”

His eyes swept me from head to foot, hungrily. “Indeed you are.” He crossed his arms. “But don’t you think we should address your behavior over the past few weeks before we move on to fully enjoying our stay here?” Nervously, my eyes skittered away from him and fell on his toy bag, on the floor by the dresser. I got the feeling there weren’t any Legos or Barbie dolls in there.

Still unable to look at him, I shifted from foot to foot, knowing I was getting excited despite myself. “Ahh, come on, Santa…” I mumbled.

“Come on, what?” he said, his tone taunting me. “Don’t you think you deserve to be punished, at least a little bit?” I was silent, and he added, “I didn’t hear an answer from you. Answer me when I ask you a question, please.” “Okay, okay,” I snapped, suddenly feeling very… unclothed. “Maybe a little…”

“Yeah, maybe a little.” He stared at me a while longer, then turned toward his toy bag. As I stood and watched, he pulled out a strap, a small paddle and a flogger. And then, to my shock, several lengths of rope. “What—what is that for?” I sputtered.

He didn’t answer me, just glanced toward the four-poster bed, and then I understood. Oh, my. I bit my lip, speechless, and shivered, even though it was comfortably warm in the room. He gestured to the bed. “Take off your clothes, please, and then lie on the bed, face-down and spread-eagled.” With my hands trembling, I pulled the nightie over my head, then took off the thong. “You can leave the shoes on,” he said. “They look hot.”

I assumed the position on the bed, my arms and legs stretching toward the four corners. Deftly, Santa tied my wrists and my ankles to the posts, snug but not too tight. The ropes felt soft and did not chafe my skin. I continued to shiver, half with trepidation and half with arousal. I was completely vulnerable, open to him. I heard him moving around, and shifted my head to the side to look at him. He was unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, and he caught my eye and held it. My face burned and I looked away.

The message was clear: my Scrooge-ish demeanor had been inappropriate. After a brief warm-up spanking with his hand, he used the paddle on my bottom and upper thighs, covering them thoroughly, increasing the intensity and tempo subtly but surely. I squirmed and writhed, jerked against the ropes, but they held me fast. “Stop wriggling,” he chided. “I can’t help it! It hurts!” came my muffled whine from the pillow. He paused, and I heard him snicker. “So what’s my line now?” I groaned and thumped my head against the soft bed in frustration. “Yeah, yeah… it’s supposed to hurt,” I mumbled. Freaking know-it-all.

Then I felt him place the paddle between my widespread legs, up against my crotch. It was startling at first, but then I realized why it was there—for protection. It was to shield my genitalia from the strap he had just picked up, to avoid stray shots. Despite my pain, I smiled. Once again, I knew I was safe and cared for.

The strapping was intense, precise and stung fiercely. He didn’t make me count, just told me to keep still. (Like I could move, anyway?) Then he finished me off with a flogging all over my back, bottom and legs. My blood thrummed under the strikes and I felt my body tingle and respond, heard moans escape from my throat. I closed my eyes and buried my face into the satiny comforter, knowing I was staining it with my arousal, and not caring in the least. This was so fucking hot. Who knew Santa Claus was so kinky?

At last, he stopped, and I heard him say, “All right. Do you have something you want to say to me?”

“Yes,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I was such a Grinch. I’m sorry I didn’t believe in Christmas. I didn’t deserve my wish to come true, but I’m really glad it did. I’m going to look at the holidays differently from now on.”

“Good girl,” he said softly, caressing my heated flesh with gentle hands, his hand dipping teasingly between my legs, then kneading my back, caressing my hair. Slowly he untied me, and as I lay there, rotating my ankles and wrists, I watched him strip. (Guess what? Santa Claus has a tattoo of a mistletoe sprig on his right butt cheek.)

The next few hours were a blur of sex, kissing until our mouths were raw, employing every position known to Santa-kind. We played again, more sensually this time, until I was deliciously sensitized and sore. Screw sugarplums, whatever those are. Santa’s candy cane was far more satisfying.

And then speaking of sweets, we feasted on grapes, wonderfully sweet strawberries, rich chocolate truffles and champagne, with nary a doorstop fruitcake in sight. Even better, Santa proclaimed that since it was Christmas, none of the calories counted. Works for me.

As we settled down under the covers, spent, sleepy, sated with alcohol and sugar and sex, I glanced at the nightstand clock. Only six hours had gone by; still so much more time left. I sighed with contentment.

But alas, time passed, or it seemed to, anyway. “I have to get going home for Christmas dinner,” Santa said, yawning and stretching. “Mrs. Claus said that if she saw roast goose and yams once more time, she’d throw them against the wall, so I promised to bring home a pizza.” Once again, after we said our goodbyes, I was commanded to close my eyes. Again with the whooshing and swirling. I opened them and saw I was back in my living room and in my sweats. I turned on the TV, just in time to see Cindy Brady lisping to the department store Santa about how her mommy had “larry gitis.” Taken aback, I looked at the time stamp on my phone. It was still the afternoon of Christmas Day; Santa had spoken the truth. No time had passed.

Mystified, I wandered into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. My hair was its usual disheveled mop, and there wasn’t a speck of makeup on my face. But what was different? Ah, yes… the tingling, tenderness and somewhat pleasant soreness in my nether regions. Pulling down my sweatpants, I took a peek at my butt. Wow. It certainly looked a lot like Christmas back there. You would even say it glowed. And there was no mistaking my stiff walk of (non)shame; Santa had filled a whole hell of a lot more than my stocking. Repeatedly. Still in a state of disbelief, I went back into my living room, and then did a double take. There, on my coffee table, still fizzing merrily, was the glass of Diet Coke.

Thanks, Santa. I believe in you now, albeit my image of you is far removed from your public one. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your true being. Who would believe me, anyway? But from this Christmas forward, whenever I see one of your chubby impostors and hear them bellow “Ho, ho, ho!” I will smile enigmatically and think to myself, “Why yes, I certainly am.”

“Just Ask Me”

No Steve this week, and I am happily slammed with work. I need to be, as my car is in the shop and tonight I will get it back, to the tune of about $1500, maybe more. groan So, in lieu of a session post, I am sharing my contribution to Cassandra Park’s anthology, My First Spanking (available here and here). I was honored when she asked me if I’d like to contribute a story. I had the option of making it fiction or nonfiction; since I’d shared the story of my first real spanking many times, I decided to go for a fun, sexy fictional account of a young woman blundering her way into getting what she craves.

Hope you enjoy it! 🙂

Just Ask Me
(First appeared in My First Spanking, ©2012 & ©2015 by Cassandra Park, ed.)

“He did what?” Tim spluttered, his forkful of pasta stopping halfway to his lips.

“You heard me,” Ally laughed. “It was the end of that evening, believe me!”

She and Tim sat across from each other in a cozy booth, sharing their fourth date. They were at the endless conversation stage, and tonight, the subject had wandered into past relationships. Ally, at 26, had had more dates from hell than long-term relationships, while Tim, 35, had been married before.

Ally liked Tim. He was fun to be with, intelligent, attractive. As always with new men, she listened and watched carefully for clues; hints that maybe, just maybe, he might be the one who could tap into a desire she’d had for as long as she could remember. One she hadn’t talked about with anyone, but had spent many hours in front of the computer exploring.

“So,” she said shyly, poking at her salmon, “what happened with your ex?”

Tim shrugged, taking a sip of his Cabernet. “Typical story—we got married too young. We didn’t really have enough in common to sustain a good marriage, but at the time, we thought lust was enough, you know?”

Ally willed herself not to blush, her eyes flickering to her plate. She and Tim had had sex on their second date, so she knew how powerful that lust could be. He was amazing. “What was she like?”

He didn’t answer at first, gathering his thoughts, helping himself to another roll. “She was a wild little thing—very impulsive, had a temper, always up for a good time. That was fun in the beginning, but it got old when we were married. I was working and still in school, and she expected me to be a constant source of entertainment.”

“I can see how that would get tedious,” Ally murmured. She was hardly a “wild little thing,” herself.

Tim’s lips curled into a half-smile. “We did have some crazy times. She was a bit kinky, too.”

That old familiar lurch in the pit of her stomach reared up, and Ally swallowed carefully, her nerves buzzing in her ears. “How so?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.

He grinned, dropping his voice slightly. “Well, among other things, she loved being spanked. Hey, are you OK?”

Ally couldn’t answer as she pressed her napkin to her face, choking on the gulp of wine that had gone down the wrong way. Tears came to her eyes, but she nodded her head vigorously. He didn’t just say that. Oh my God. Oh my God.

“Excuse me for a sec,” she croaked, and she got up and dashed to the restroom, still coughing. Once there, she ran into a stall, locked the door and leaned against it, feeling waves of heat rising off her face.

How many years had she spent fantasizing about being spanked? All the dates, trying to suss out men who might deliver her fantasy to her, just like she read in the stories, saw in the clips she watched endlessly online. Thanks to her virtual explorations, she knew intellectually that many shared her desires, but she still felt self-conscious about them and had never voiced them to anyone. Instead, she hoped she’d meet a man who would just know. Who could intuit and figure it out. And now, here was this man she thought was absolutely sublime, talking about spanking his ex-wife.

What do I do now? she thought, exiting the stall and standing at the sink, wetting a paper towel and placing it to her cheeks, wiping under her eyes. I can’t ask him about it; he’ll see me blushing purple and think I’m a child. And there was no way she could simply come out and say, “You know, I’ve always thought I’d like it, too.” It was too embarrassing.

When she’d recovered sufficiently, she went back to the table where Tim rose, looking concerned. “You OK?” he repeated.

She slid back into her seat, smiling at him. “I’m fine. Sorry about that. Can’t take me anywhere.”

They went on to other subjects, finished their meal and split a tiramisu. But for Ally, the conversation was a blur and the food was sawdust. All she could do was look at Tim, gaze at his hands and imagine being spanked by him.

After Tim took her home and kissed her good night, Ally tried going to bed, but couldn’t sleep. Restlessness tossed her from back to front, side to side, until she sat up in frustration and switched on the light. She was simply too keyed up, her head full of questions and what-if scenarios. She’d see him again on Saturday; he was coming over and they were going to a movie and dinner. How could she broach the subject of spanking with him?

She couldn’t. There had to be another way.

* * * *

Saturday afternoon arrived. Ally had not slept well the night before, and she was nervous and irritable. She hadn’t had this sort of apprehension on their previous dates and it baffled her. In the past couple of days, she had obsessively read online stories and re-watched her favorite spanking clips, studying intently, seeking a common thread. The one she found, over and over, was that the woman was a brat and provoked the spanking somehow.

Ally chafed at that idea; it wasn’t in her personality. But neither was it in her personality to come right out and ask Tim to spank her. Even though she knew this was the proper adult approach, she was far too shy. Besides, why should she, really? He’d done this before. Couldn’t he figure it out, if she gave him enough hints?

She dressed, put on her makeup with care, and was ready too early. Pacing her apartment like a caged cat, she waited for him. He got stuck in traffic and called, telling her apologetically that he was running a bit late. That didn’t help her mood.

When Tim got there, she was practically jumping out of her skin. Barely giving him a proper greeting, she snapped, “Well, there goes the movie. We won’t make in time now.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Tim apologized, trying to hug her, but she stiffened in his arms. He backed off a bit, looking surprised. “I couldn’t help it; there was an accident. Shall we wait until the next showing? Or is there something else you’d like to see?”

“No!” she huffed, walking away from him and sitting on the couch. “The next showing is too late; it will run into our dinner reservation. And I don’t want to see anything else.”

He came over and sat beside her. “How about changing our reservation, bumping it to a little later?”

She frowned at him. “This late in the day, at that restaurant? Don’t be stupid.”

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

Aha, she thought triumphantly. Here it comes.

“I didn’t call you anything,” she said crisply. “I just told you to not be stupid.”

“Ally, what’s gotten into you?” Tim asked, looking into her face.

She avoided his eyes and shrugged. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’ve been rude to me ever since I walked in the door,” he said. “I’m sorry I was late, but it was unavoidable. I feel bad enough about it without you reacting like this.”

Ally squirmed. She hadn’t meant to upset him or hurt his feelings. This wasn’t going well at all. She couldn’t care less about the damn movie; she was just happy to be with him. Perhaps it was time for a different tactic. If he liked wild girls so much, then maybe she needed to loosen up a bit.

“OK, OK,” she said, turning to him, smiling. “Forget the movie. Let’s do something else while we’re waiting for dinner, shall we?” Her hand wandered up his thigh.

Tim grabbed her hand. “What are you doing?”

This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. “Why?” she countered. “Don’t you like it?”

He shifted away. “I can’t just switch gears like that, Ally,” he protested. “You snark at me one minute, then grab at me the next? What’s going on?”

Flustered, she folded her arms. “Geeez! When I do something right, will you let me know? Excuse me for thinking you were a normal, healthy man who might want sex.”

Oh, no. I didn’t just say that, did I?

She had. Tim stood up. “You know what?” he said, his voice calm, but angry. “You’re clearly in a god-awful mood and I really don’t like how you’re acting toward me. Have your snit on your own; I’m going to leave now. I’ll come back in time to pick you up for dinner, and hopefully, your mood will have improved.”


“No!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “You can’t leave!”

“Why not?” he asked, glaring at her. “Do you have something to say to me?”

Yes, yes. I’m so sorry. Spank me. Please.

She met his glare; bit back her words. “No.”

“I’ll see you later, then.” He turned and walked to the door.

“Dammit, Tim!” she shrieked. But he was gone.

Ally was stunned. What had just happened here? How did it spiral out of control so quickly? Left alone with her thoughts, she transitioned from bewildered to angry. How dare he walk out on her like that? That’s not how it was supposed to go!

When 7:00 came, her intercom buzzed. Tim was right on time, ready to take her to dinner as promised. But she didn’t answer.

She sat still and listened to it buzz again, then a third time. A minute later, it buzzed a fourth time, longer and more insistent. Then her phone rang. She didn’t answer that, either. Ally hoped that maybe another guest would arrive at the same time, so Tim could get in the security gate and come banging at her door. However, the knock never came. Her phone rang once more, then stopped. Silence.

The phone’s voice-mail light blinked, indicating a new message. Heart pounding, she went to pick it up, expecting to hear a lengthy diatribe. Instead, the message was brief and coldly furious: “When you’re ready to give me an explanation, if you have one, call me.”

I’m not calling him, she thought. He’ll call me tomorrow. I think.

But he didn’t. Ally slept late, dawdled around the apartment, did chores, waiting. Around 3:00, she left to run errands, her cell phone on. Nothing. And when she returned two hours later, there were no messages waiting. By 8:00, she knew he wouldn’t call.

It took her until 9:00 to gather the courage to pick up the phone and punch in his number. He answered on the second ring.

“Don’t hang up,” she pleaded. “It’s me, Ally.”

“Hello, Ally.” His voice was cool and impersonal.

“How are you?”

“I’ve been better. What’s up?”

So much for small talk. “Tim, I’m so sorry,” she babbled. “I don’t know why I acted like that yesterday, and I know I owe you an explanation for why I didn’t answer the door when you came back, but I don’t have one. I was just so damn mad that you’d left. Please forgive me?”

“I left because you were being rude to me, Ally,” Tim said, his voice still chilly. “But I came back. Leaving me stranded outside the gate was inexcusable.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Ally pleaded. “I don’t have any excuses. Please, give me another chance? How about coming over on Wednesday night? I’ll make dinner for you.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then Tim spoke. “I don’t know.”

“I promise I won’t do anything like that again. I’ll make Italian—I know it’s your favorite. Please?”

“All right, Ally,” Tim said, softening a bit at last. “I have to work late, but I can be there about 7:30. Will that work for you?”

“Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll see you then, OK? And I really am sorry.”

“OK. Good night.”

Ally hung up, taking a deep breath. All right, so the belligerent bit hadn’t worked. But she wasn’t giving up. It was time for Plan B.

* * * *

On Wednesday, Tim arrived promptly at 7:30. Ally noticed he was friendly, but slightly reserved. He did bring a bottle of wine, however. Such a thoughtful man.

“Something smells wonderful,” he said, removing his jacket.

“Chicken cacciatore,” she beamed. “Relax for a bit; it’s almost done. Will you open the wine for us?” The table was already set, the bread in the oven, fresh asparagus steaming. All she had to do was boil the noodles.

When dinner was ready, she sat him at the table. “I’ll be right back,” she said, walking into the kitchen. At the stove, she dished up two plates of noodles, then lifted the lid of the Crock-Pot, sniffing appreciatively at the chicken simmering in tomatoes, onions and Italian spices as she ladled some onto both plates. After arranging asparagus alongside the main dish, she took a jar of cayenne pepper out of the spice rack, opened it and shook some generously over the chicken on Tim’s plate, stirring it in.

Back at the table, Ally smiled as Tim poured them both some wine. “Cheers,” she said, clinking her glass with his. Tim took a healthy forkful and chewed. In seconds, his face turned red, his eyes teared up and he began to cough. Ally watched in amusement as he took a gulp of wine, then snatched up his water glass and drank most of it down.

“Too spicy?” she asked.

Tim’s face was still red and he struggled to speak. “Umm… well, yeah, a little,” he managed. His voice sounded so strangled, she couldn’t help it—she burst into giggles.

Wiping his eyes with his napkin, Tim looked at her suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh,” she burbled, putting her hands over mouth, trying to contain her glee. “You should see your face!”

Tim stared at his plate. Then, abruptly, he stood and reached for hers.

“Hey!” she cried, snatching at it, but he pulled it out of reach. “What are you doing?”

“You be still,” he growled, sitting back down, pushing his plate aside and replacing it with hers.

“But what are you—”

“Ally! Shut. Up.”

Ally obeyed, and mutely watching as he cut a bite of chicken, tasting it gingerly at first, then chewing and savoring, glaring at her. Ally fidgeted as he took a second bite, chewed and swallowed.

“Just as I thought,” he said, putting his utensils down. “Yours seem to be missing that extra something.” He threw his napkin on the table. “Do you mind telling me what’s going on here?”

She started laughing again, but more out of nerves this time. “It was just a little joke,” she said, cutting her eyes at him. “Where’s your sense of humor? There’s plenty more; I’ll go get you some.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” he said, standing. “Ally, you know, I really liked you and thought we had something going here. But now, I’m not so sure this is working out. I’m too old for this childish crap.”

Ally couldn’t believe her ears. “What? No!”

“Call me when you grow up a bit, OK?”

“You can’t!” She jumped up, her legs stiff with panic. “Please! This isn’t how I expected you to react!”

His stare was incredulous. “What is that supposed to mean? How did you expect me to react?”

“Damn it!” she cried, stamping her foot in frustration. “I was trying to get you to spank me!”

“You were what?”

Mortified, she sat back down, turning away from him, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve wanted a man to spank me for as long as I can remember, and when you talked about your ex, and how you used to spank her… and how she was this wild little thing …”

“Ally! I divorced her, remember?” Tim exclaimed. “That’s what all this was about? For God’s sake, why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I couldn’t! It’s too embarrassing!” Ally cried. “It never happens like that in the stories and the videos—the girl acts up and the man just knows what to do. I thought since you’d done it before, you’d know …” Her voice faded as she realized how ridiculous she sounded.

Tim took a deep breath, clearly trying to compose himself. “Jesus, Ally. I’m not a mind reader. And those videos, those stories, that’s just what they are—stories. Fantasies. They’re not real. In reality, acting out gets you ostracized. Or arrested. Or maybe a punch in the mouth. Not spanked.”

Ally buried her face in her hands. She’d never felt so foolish in her life, and she’d screwed up what could have been a very good thing. “I’m so sorry, Tim,” she mumbled through her fingers, tears stinging her eyes. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never told a man that I wanted this. I didn’t know what to do.”

There was a pause, and she waited for the sound of him walking out the door. Instead, she heard, “Well. I think it’s time to be adult about this, Ally.”

Startled, she looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, stepping closer. “You want me to spank you? Ask me. Nicely.”

Her face flushed and she ducked her head. “Tim, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Just do it. No more games, Ally.”

With her head down, she began, “Um … will you …”

Tim leaned toward her, put his fingers under his chin and lifted her face. “Look at me.”

She wanted to crawl away and disappear. Goosebumps broke out on her arms and her limbs shook. But somehow, she managed to look into his eyes. “Tim,” she whispered. “Will you—will you spank me? Please?”

There was a ghost of a smile on Tim’s face, then it was gone, and his expression became steely. “Will I?” he replied. “Just try to stop me.”

Swallowing hard, Ally stood and started to clear the plates, but he gripped her forearm. “Leave those,” he commanded. His head inclined toward her bedroom. “Go to your bedroom and wait for me.”

Her legs trembled so badly, she was afraid to move. “Ally, go,” he repeated, more firmly. She went.

* * * *

As Ally plucked nervously at the fringes on her throw pillow, she could hear Tim in the bathroom, opening and closing drawers. When he walked in holding her hairbrush, she felt sick. “What is that for?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to use it first,” Tim said, sitting next to her on the bed. “Although you sure deserve it.” She turned her face away. “Ally, look at me when I’m talking to you. I’m not going to ask you again.”

When she reluctantly did so, he continued. “Are you sure this is what you want? It’s going to hurt. More than you imagined, probably.”

Ally squirmed, but replied yes.

“OK, then.” Tim guided her across his lap, flipping up her skirt. Without thinking, she burst out, “I thought you’re supposed to start over the skirt first!”

Tim’s hand pressed into her back. “Are you going to tell me how to do this?”

She bit her lip. “No,” she mumbled.

“You’re not in charge here, Ally. I am.” Before she could answer, she felt a rush of air and then a hard smack on her right cheek. Her breath caught in her throat. Another smack landed on the left side.

Ohhhh … damn, that hurts!

Tim got into a pattern quickly, alternating cheeks, covering them thoroughly, and the warmth and sting increased steadily. She squirmed and her feet flew up. “Hold still, Ally.”

She tried, she really did, but as the burn grew more intense, she began to kick again. “Ally, I said hold still,” Tim scolded.

“I can’t help it; it hurts!” she whimpered.

“I told you it would,” he said, not stopping. “If you really, really can’t bear it, if you need me to stop, say ‘mercy.’ Otherwise, keep still and take your spanking. Remember, you wanted it.”

Yes, she had. But she still gasped in protest when she felt him pull down her panties.

He stopped briefly. “You have something to say, Allison?”

She winced at his use of her full name, and shook her head vigorously.

Smack! “Ow!” she yelped.

“I can’t hear a nod, Ally,” Tim said, pausing. “I want an answer.”

“No, Tim,” Ally murmured. “I have nothing to say.”

“Good. Let’s continue. And I don’t like this kicking, so it stops now.” He swung his right leg up and pinned her flailing limbs under it. She could still thrash around, but her legs were immobile.

Much as she complained and cried out, the powerlessness aroused her like never before. Afraid her neighbors might hear, she pressed her face into the bedspread, stifling her moans and shrieks. The spanking got harder and faster.

“Still want this, Ally?” Tim asked, stopping briefly to rub her bottom.

“Yes,” she gasped. “I … I think so.”

He chuckled despite himself. “Brave girl,” he said. “Let’s see if you still want it after this.” She felt the cool, smooth wood of the hairbrush moving across her cheeks, and she shuddered. “Oh, Tim, no.”

“Who’s in charge here, Ally?”

Argggh! “You are. I’m sorry.”

“Just thirty, Ally,” he said soothingly, but she didn’t feel soothed at all. “Fifteen on each cheek, so you’ll remember to be honest and straightforward with me from now on. Are you ready?”

She nodded, and the hairbrush cracked down hard. “Oww! Tim!” she shrieked.

“That one didn’t count,” he said firmly. “What did I tell you about nodding?”

Her voice breaking, Ally cried, “Yes, yes! I forgot. I’m ready!”

If she thought his hand hurt, that was a caress next to the hairbrush. Mercifully, he paced the thirty smacks a little more slowly, so she could catch her breath and absorb the pain. Still, she struggled and clutched the bedspread, her mind screaming for it to be over.

Yet when it was, she felt disappointment mingled with the relief. She wanted even more. It shocked her how much she’d liked it, even more than she’d thought she would. How could something that hurt so much, feel so damn incredible?

Tim gently massaged her bottom and lower back, his other hand stroking her hair. Damn it, she thought, tears slipping down her cheeks. Why can’t I tell him I want more?

“How are you doing?” he said quietly. “You all right?” “Yes,” she whispered, her voice breathless and teary. He made no move to let her get up, and she didn’t want to. After several minutes, she meekly asked, “Shall I stand up now?”



“You know, Ally,” Tim said, his voice having changed from authoritative to silky soft, “there are many different types of spankings. I’m sure you’ve seen them, what with all those clips you’ve watched. Some are more disciplinary, like the one you just got. Others are more on the sensual side. I think maybe it’s time for you to have a taste of the nice kind, don’t you? I mean, since we’re here and this is your first time and all.”

Ally’s skin tingled; she felt that lovely lurch in her belly again. He knew, after all. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I’d like that very much. Please.”

“Well, since you said please …” She felt his hand squeeze and knead her sore cheeks, firmly but tenderly. His palm on the small of her back no longer felt like an iron bar, but the gentlest of restraints.

When the spanking started again, the feeling was different. Tim’s technique had gone from brisk and punitive to lingering, his hand creating a slap and a caress at the same time. Sometimes he struck with his palm, other times with his fingers. On occasion, he’d stop and lightly drag his fingernails across her flesh, making her jump. Or simply caress with his fingertips, wandering along her thighs. His other hand slid up and down her back, then twined itself into her hair.

Ally groaned. The pain, which had been tough to take before, was now pure pleasure. Her body sought release, and she nearly screamed when Tim pushed her legs slightly apart. But all he did was slap and stroke gently on her inner thighs, fingers coming oh-so-close, but not quite. “Oh, God. Tim, please!”

“Please what, honey?” he teased, continuing his maddening touch. “What’s your hurry? We have plenty of time.”

In response, Ally clamped her legs closed, squeezing his hand between them. Tim laughed and detached his hand. “Greedy, greedy girl,” he scolded. “First things first.” And he began spanking her again. Harder. Still sensual, yet deliciously painful.

Faster and faster he went, increasing the intensity little by little. She ground against him, gritted her teeth and took it, arching her back for more. Soon, the blows were so hard, they shook the bed. Again, she buried her face in the spread and howled. But still, she loved it. Yes. Yes. This is what I want.

Finally, he wound down. Ally lay boneless across his lap, panting, relishing the throb and burn, the euphoria. In her haze, she noticed that Tim had not said a word and she was grateful. She couldn’t make coherent speech at this moment for the life of her.

Time slipped by as she slowly regained her senses, enjoying the solid feel of Tim’s thighs under her belly, of his hand making slow circles on her behind. His voice floated to her ears. “How are you doing, baby?”

“Fine,” she murmured dreamily, undulating like a cat on his lap. “Wonderful.”

She felt his laugh rumbling. “Yes, you certainly are.”

“Mmm. So are you.”

Ally had no desire to move, but eventually, she remembered her manners. Tim hadn’t had any dinner. “Shall I go warm up some cacciatore?” she asked. “You must be pretty hungry by now.”

In reply, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her up, gathering her against his chest. “I am, but not for that. Maybe for a midnight snack, OK?”

Feeling the dampness of his shirt against her cheek, Ally clung to him, trembling with desire, fueled by the heat rising off her skin. She glanced at the nightstand clock and smiled. It was only 9:30. Tim was right; there was no need to hurry.

They had all the time in the world.

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