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”

Repost (I think?): The Editor’s Correction

Well, kids… I’ve really wanted to post something new here. But I’ve got nothing right now. So I thought I’d dig into the archives and repost some fiction.

I don’t remember whether I posted this story or not. I never published it in anything. And as you’ll see, I wrote it several years ago so it’s a little dated in some aspects.

  1. Obviously, everything is digital now. But not too long ago, I was still marking up bulky manuscripts with a red pen and marks like these. And yes, they did fall on the floor and get mixed up, get things spilled on them, etc.proofreadmarks
  2. Craigslist no longer has personal ads.
  3. And finally — does anyone under [insert old age of your choice] wear pantyhose to the office anymore??

But despite these minor issues, I still like this story a lot. Hope you will too. 🙂

And no, I don’t advocate pranks like this. But they’re fun to write about, and make for great spanking scenarios.

The Editor’s Correction

“Aaaaagggh! Damn it!” Maggie Bailey blurted without thinking, as she brushed against her glass of juice and knocked it over, the stain instantly spreading into the piles of manuscripts on her desk. She snatched up the papers, but the liquid had already soaked into several pages. She’d have to print them again. For the umpteenth time, she cursed her tiny desk in her tiny office.

“Maggie? Are you OK?” The voice of Greg Watkins in the corner office next to hers came through the wall. Maggie clenched her fists and took a deep breath. Damned flimsy walls! She made an effort to calm her voice and called back, “I’m fine; I just spilled something.” And it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you, she added silently.

Maggie had been working at H&L Publications for ten years. She started as an editorial assistant and worked her way up to being one of the fiction editors, earning her own small office. For a long time, this thrilled her to no end. However, the office was indeed very small, her desk was also small by necessity, and her work area constantly frustrated her. Things piled up all over and she had no room. Manuscripts often got knocked off her desk, papers strewn everywhere. It was difficult to keep things separated and collated with so little surface area. She could have used a long worktable, but there was no place to put it. Her desk, chair, filing cabinets and small couch took up most of the space. She often banged her shin or thigh on the desk corner or on a file drawer sticking out.

She’d borne these inconveniences patiently, working diligently and hard, putting in long hours. Her eye had long been on the Senior Editor position; she knew she was in line and qualified for it, and with the position being vacated soon, she hoped it would soon be hers. Not just for the pay increase, but for the coveted corner office—more room, a bigger desk and a window. Perhaps in some cases, honest effort paid off after all.

So it was much to her chagrin when Joe Hanford—the H of H&L—called her into his office three weeks ago and explained, somewhat uncomfortably, that the position had been given to a new employee, Greg Watkins. Maggie was certainly qualified for it, Joe hastened to add, but Greg had more experience (twenty years to her ten). And he’s male, Maggie thought privately. Although she never voiced it, she suspected that H&L was a bit of a good ol’ boys’ outfit, and if the choice came down between a qualified man or woman, the man was likely to be the winner. And she hated Greg Watkins even before she met him.

To add insult to injury, Greg turned out to be a pleasant, well-liked guy. Not her type, of course; he was the sort she sneeringly referred to as metrosexual. Impeccably dressed in tailored suits, hair perfectly styled, well shined designer shoes. He wore an understated but expensive watch; his fingernails were neatly clipped and very clean. He was smart, funny and knew the publishing industry well, and both the men and women in the company took to him immediately. All except Maggie. She resented his presence and wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed by his friendly overtures, even though he was right next door. She made sure she was never rude to him, but she was coolly polite and nothing more. When he spoke to her, she answered, but never initiated conversation. He often gave her puzzled looks, but she ignored them.

Seething with fresh resentment, Maggie stormed out of her office and into the kitchen, snatching up a sponge and several paper towels and hurrying back to her desk to wipe up the sticky spill. Looking up the numbers of the pages that had been soaked, she tapped them in the Print section to reprint. Finally, order was restored and she settled back down to work. It was lunchtime, but Maggie often ate at her desk.

“Hey, Maggie?” She looked up, and quickly stifled her annoyance at seeing Greg in her doorway, smiling at her. “Yes, Greg?”

He walked in and over to her desk, holding a stack of paper rubber-banded into a neat bundle. “I have a new author effort here; can you give it a look?”

She glanced at the manuscript after he laid it on her desk; the author was female and the story was clearly some sort of romance novel. Before she could stop herself, she looked pointedly at the various stacks of paper on her crowded desk and muttered, “Sure, why not—it’s not like I have anything else to do.”

Greg’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to dump more on you. It’s just that—”

“It’s just that it’s chick lit, and I’m a chick, so you figured it was right up my alley, right?” she interrupted. She felt a slight sense of satisfaction when he had the good grace to look embarrassed.

Greg hesitated, picking up the manuscript. “Maggie…do you have a problem with me? Have I done something to offend you?”

Maggie cursed herself. Dammit, she had tried so hard to remain completely professional and polite, and give him no ammunition. She forced a tight little smile onto her lips and lied through her teeth. “No, nothing like that. I’m just busy, and I’m rattled because I spilled juice all over everything. Put it down; I’ll look at it later.”

“OK,” Greg said, placing it once again at the corner of her desk, but he didn’t move away, just stood there looking at her. Unnerved, Maggie dropped her eyes back to the computer. “If you’ll excuse me…” she murmured. Greg looked at her for another moment, then turned and left her office.

Jerk, she thought, letting her face settle into a disgusted frown. Sighing, she sat back in her chair and stretched, and saw Matt Weiss, the associate publisher, pass her door. Then she heard his voice; obviously he had stopped at Greg’s office. “Hey, Greg, a few of us are going to the corner to grab a sandwich and some brews. You up for taking a break?”

“Sounds good,” she heard Greg answer. “Only I’ll have to skip the brews. I have a meeting with both H and L this afternoon and I need to be on my toes.”

“OK, Nancy,” Matt teased. “We’ll make sure to order some tea for you.”

Maggie heard Greg’s chair squeak as he pushed away from his desk. “Never mind that Nancy crap,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “I can drink your sorry ass under the table any day of the week, and you know it.” The men laughed as their voices faded down the hall.

She rolled her eyes. Stupid macho idiots, she said to herself, her fingers beating an angry staccato on the keyboard. Times like these, she wished she could send an IM or an email to her friend Lynn in the advertising department; Lynn often served as her sounding board and she knew all of Maggie’s secret feelings. She was such a good listener, Maggie forgave her for thinking Greg was cute. But that was out of the question; H&L had a bit of a “big brother” policy where their computers were concerned. Emails were monitored, and any incoming or outgoing messages other than business-oriented ones were forbidden. So she sat and seethed a bit, fantasizing about bringing Greg Watkins down and grabbing the position that was rightly hers.

As she tried to focus on her work, a wicked germ of an idea took hold and began spreading. The more she tried not to think about it, the more it consumed her. Maggie found herself sitting at her desk giggling, and realized she had read the same page three times and still didn’t know what was on it. Her reasonable and professional self battled with her childish urge.

I couldn’t do it.
But I want to.
I can’t.
Damn right I can.

After a few minutes of this, she got up and with her heart pounding, walked out of her office, looked up and down the hall, then slipped into Greg’s office and shut the door quietly. Going over to his desk, she tapped on a key to disrupt the screensaver—yes! He was still logged into the system. She sat down (noticing with disgust that his desk chair was far more comfortable than hers) and since Greg was already online, she went directly to Craigslist, clicked on Personals and then on Create Ad.

She specified that it was to go into the Casual Encounters area, m4m (male for male). For the email, she typed in Greg’s business address. And then there was the content area. Grinning wickedly, she wrote:

My name is Greg, but you can call me Nancy. I’m a very bad boy, because I like to wear my mother’s underwear. I need a big mean daddy to spank me until I’m crying like a little girl.

Oops, Mom is coming, gotta go! No time to post a picture, but I promise you, you won’t be disappointed!

Her hands had been trembling, and she made several typos. After going through and fixing them, Maggie hesitated for a few seconds, then hit Publish. She waited until the confirmation email popped into Greg’s inbox, opened it and clicked on the supplied link to finalize and post the ad. It was done. Giggling nervously, she closed down Craigslist. After making sure she left the desk exactly how she had found it and peeking out the door to make sure no one could see her, she scuttled back to her office and closed the door. Her heart still raced and her hands still shook. She couldn’t believe she’d actually done it.

It took a while for the adrenaline to dissipate, but Maggie finally relaxed, ate a sandwich at her desk and continued with her work. She was so absorbed, she barely registered Greg’s return as he chatted with his coworkers in the hall and then went into his office. A few minutes later, her concentration was broken by a muffled but very loud “What the hell?” She jumped, her heart banging in her chest once again. Now she could hear Greg in the next room muttering to himself. Obviously, he’d checked his email and found a reply or two to his (her) ad. Maggie clamped both hands over her mouth, stifling laughter. Greg was going to have some explaining to do once word of this breach of email etiquette reached HR. Bending her head back down over her papers, she forced herself to focus and stayed in her office the rest of the afternoon, long after she heard Greg’s door slam and his footsteps thunder down the hall.

* * * *

When Maggie arrived at work the next morning, Greg’s door was closed. She went to the kitchen, selected a bagel from the bag on the counter, toasted it, poured a cup of coffee. While she was spreading cream cheese on her bagel, Greg came into the kitchen with his mug. But instead of his usual friendly greeting, he merely nodded at her with a set face, got some coffee and walked back out. She gathered up her plate and cup to head back to her office, hoping her blush hadn’t given her away. Of course he couldn’t know it had been her doing. He could suspect all he wanted, but he couldn’t know for sure.

It was an unusually busy day, and Maggie remained sequestered in her office, keeping a low profile. When Lynn popped by to invite her to lunch, she declined. She did not see Greg again, although she heard him coming and going.

Late in the afternoon, she sat back and stretched, looked at her watch. Five o’clock. It was Friday and she suspected everyone had already gone home. Not her, though, not diligent worker bee Maggie. Sighing, she got up, walked to the door and opened it, cautiously looking out into the hall. Sure enough, all the office doors were open, with no sounds emanating from within. She went into the kitchen, hoping for some coffee, but the machine was shut off and the two pots were soaking in the sink. Instead, Maggie grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator. She planned to stay another couple of hours and thought a jolt of caffeine would help.

Back in her office, she left the door open and settled back at her desk, popping the top of the soda and picking up the manuscript Greg had left with her the day before, making a face. Might as well get this done and out of her hair.

The story turned out to be surprisingly well written and as she scanned it, she found herself getting more absorbed. So absorbed that when a deep voice said, “Working late again, I see,” she nearly jumped out of her skin and let out a little scream.

Greg was standing in her doorway. “Jesus Christ,” Maggie breathed, putting her hand to her chest. “You scared the hell out of me, Greg! I didn’t think anyone was here.”

He slowly walked in. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Maggie, I apologize.” His words were cordial, but something about his stare made her feel very uncomfortable. She was suddenly aware that the two of them were the only ones left in the building. She tried to force a casual tone into her voice. “It’s OK; I’m just not used to seeing you here this late, that’s all.”

Greg leaned up against her desk. “I’m usually not, you’re right. But I had some unusual circumstances today that needed a fair amount of my time.”

“Oh?” Maggie feigned nonchalance, took a sip of her Diet Coke, and discreetly balled up her other hand into a fist in her lap so Greg wouldn’t see it shaking.

“Yeah, you could say I had to do some damage control,” Greg continued, pushing some papers over and sitting casually on the corner of her desk. His eyes never left hers.

“Sorry to hear that,” Maggie murmured, dropping her eyes to her computer screen. “What happened?”

Greg shifted, picked up a manuscript, shuffled the papers in his hands. “Well, it seems that someone hacked into my computer, and placed a, shall we say, inappropriate personal ad on my behalf on Craigslist.”

Maggie opened her eyes wide in shock. “You’re kidding! How? Who? Do you know?”

“I have some ideas, but nothing for sure,” he said calmly, placing the papers back down and continuing to level his unwavering gaze at her. “I had one hell of a day, though. I had to keep erasing answers from a bunch of perverts out there. Fortunately, the ad finally got flagged and removed. And then HR got wind of it through the IT people. That’s where I’ve been for the past hour, trying to explain myself to them, convince them that I had nothing to do with this.”

Maggie shook her head, hoping she looked properly indignant. “That’s terrible! Did you manage to convince them?”

Greg sighed, briefly looking away from her, and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, fortunately, I finally did. Joe went to bat for me, saying I’d never pull anything like this, and it had to be an office prank. Of course, now everyone wants to know who did it; if they find out, that person is history here.”

Maggie swallowed hard. “So… did you share your ideas with them?”

“No,” Greg replied, turning back to stare at her. “I thought I’d go straight to the source instead, see what I could figure out on my own.”

His look unnerved her. “Why are you staring at me?” she finally blurted, shifting in her seat.

“Am I?” Greg asked, smiling slightly. “Or is your guilt making you imagine things?”

“Guilt? What guilt? What are you talking about?” Maggie cried, her voice overly shrill. She cleared her throat, took a breath. “What are you implying, Greg?”

Greg stood and slammed his palms down onto her desk, making her jump. “Oh, come on, Maggie. I know it was you. You might as well stop this pretense. I know you’ve disliked me since the minute I came here, but I never thought you’d stoop to something like this.”

She felt her face burn, but she forced herself to meet his angry eyes. “What makes you think I did it?” she said defensively.

“How stupid do you think I am?” Greg snapped. “I don’t know anyone else here who has that big an axe to grind with me. You work right next to me; you know when I’m there and when I’m not. You could hear when I left for lunch. And you no doubt overheard Matt call me Nancy.”

Maggie’s lips twitched. “Yeah, I heard that part. I thought it was pretty damn funny. Your friends know you well, apparently.”

Greg leaned closer, his face stony. “You know, somebody really should spank you until you’re crying like a little girl,” he hissed.

His words sent a lurch through Maggie’s stomach, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was scaring her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sneered, “but it certainly wouldn’t be you, Metro Man. You’d ruin your manicure.”

Greg closed his eyes for a moment, and his fists clenched and unclenched. Maggie looked away, fighting down her butterflies. Manicured or not, Greg had mighty large hands.

“You are a piece of work, you know that?” he said. “What did I ever do to you, anyway? What is your problem?”

Maggie shrugged and made a face, turning back to her work. “Nothing,” she said, her tone snippy. “You’re the one whose mother’s underwear is in knots.” She giggled at her own comment. Then she looked up to see Greg’s triumphant look and instantly felt sick.

A smile slowly crept across Greg’s face. “Well now,” he said, his voice low and silky. “How did you know the bit about my mother’s underwear? I didn’t mention that.”

Maggie’s throat closed and she knew she was blushing scarlet. She was completely busted and there wasn’t a thing she could do to extricate herself. “I… I… um…” she stammered. He continued to smile at her, waiting, and she couldn’t stand it anymore. “OK! Fine! I did it. Are you happy now?”

“No, actually, I’m not,” Greg replied, his smile fading. “Do you have any kind of explanation? Why would you do something so childish? Do you realize that you could have cost me my job?”

She couldn’t look at him; her eyes dropped to her lap, and she fiddled with a thread on her jacket. She opened her mouth several times to speak, and stopped. Finally, she shrugged.

“All right, Maggie, since you won’t answer my questions, I’ll try another one. Do you realize I could cost you your job? All I have to do is tell HR I know who did it, and that’s it. You know that, right?”

Her head jerked up and she looked into his face, which was angry and uncompromising. Suddenly, the full weight of what she had done crashed down on her. All she could think of was her bills and debts—the mortgage on her townhouse, her car payments, her credit cards. If she lost her job, how could she pay for them? And how on earth would she be able to afford her own health insurance? H&L might not have advanced her to her liking, but they paid her a decent salary and provided excellent benefits. She stood to lose all that right now, and all because of her petty attitude. Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip, willing them away. “Yes,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse and meek. “So… are you going to tell HR?”

Greg sighed. “I should, but I’d rather not. I don’t know if I could live with myself, causing anyone to lose their job in this economy.” His eyes narrowed. “But you do need to be punished for what you did.”

Maggie winced at the childish word, punished. She swallowed around the huge lump in her throat and clasped her shaking hands in her lap. “So what are you going to do?”

He raised an eyebrow at her and folded his arms, his lips curling into a smile that chilled her to the bone. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

Maggie stared at him, speechless. She couldn’t believe she was in this position; she’d read about it so many times in books, seen it in movies, but she didn’t think it actually happened. Cold anger replaced her fear and she slowly stood. “You bastard,” she hissed. “OK, let’s get this over with.” Adrenaline coursing, she took off her jacket and threw it over her chair. Then she reached up and began to unbutton her blouse. Greg’s expression went from smug triumph to confusion.

“Maggie, what the hell are you doing?”

His tone was so honestly bewildered, it made her hands freeze mid-button. “I’m… I… didn’t you…?” she sputtered. To her complete mortification, Greg burst out laughing.

She stamped her foot. “Stop laughing, damn you!” she shrieked.

He didn’t stop, and she wanted to crawl under the desk and curl up into a ball. “Ah, Maggie,” he said, trying to contain his mirth. “Don’t flatter yourself. That’s not what I had in mind.”

Now she was the confused one. “Then what did you have in mind?”

He smiled, clearly relishing her discomfort. “I’m going to do exactly what you suggested in that little ad of yours. I’m going to spank you. Hard.”

Maggie’s stomach lurched once again. This was even worse than she thought. “The hell you are!”

“The hell I’m not!

“You arrogant prick! There is no way I’m letting you do that!” she shouted. “Get out of here!”

Greg took a deep breath and blew it out hard. “OK, Maggie,” he said calmly. “But if I leave this office without giving you a sound spanking first, then I’m going to HR first thing Monday morning. Your choice—pay now, or pay later.”

Maggie put her head in her hands. This couldn’t be happening. She’d never hated anyone so much in all her life.

“Come on, Maggie,” Greg said, his voice gentle. “Take the first choice, and it will hurt for a little while and then be over. Take the second choice, and you’ll have a whole world of hurt that won’t end anytime soon.” As she stood there staring, he took off his jacket, neatly folded it and put it over the arm of the couch. Then he sat down, patted his lap and looked at her expectantly.

Maggie’s head spun. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered.

“Nice try, Maggie,” Greg smiled. “Come here.”

She went to him, her legs leaden. “God, I hate you,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” he said, taking her forearm and firmly pulling her down across his lap. She shuffled and squirmed, situating herself. “Comfy?” he said mockingly.

Maggie pounded her fist on the couch. “God damn you, just get on with it.”

Greg laughed, and she felt his hand pull her tweed skirt up to her waist. “Hey!” she hollered. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Please… do you really think you’d feel anything through that heavy skirt?” He snapped the waistband of her pantyhose. “Besides, you have plenty of protection with these… for now.”

“What do you mean, for… ow!” Maggie yelped as his hand firmly cracked onto her right bottom cheek. Before she could catch her breath, he delivered a similar stinging slap to the left. “That hurts!”

“Gee, it does?” Greg said sarcastically. “Maybe I should rethink that ‘big mean daddy’ thing, huh?” He smacked her right cheek again, harder than before.

“Dammit, Greg, stop it!” she howled, struggling against him. “I changed my mind! Do what you want, get me fired, I don’t care! Just let me up!”

Greg pinned her more firmly. “Nah, I don’t think so. I’m enjoying this too much. Might as well settle down, Maggie, you’re here to stay. You’ve got this coming.”

He got into a pattern of solid swats, alternating cheeks, his big hand coming down again and again. Maggie squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to bear it stoically, but it hurt like hell and soon she was thrashing and kicking, screaming in pain.

Finally, he paused and Maggie struggled to catch her breath. “So,” he said, laying his hand on her bottom, making her flinch. “You care to tell me why you hate me so much? Enough to pull such a stupid stunt?” When she didn’t reply, he sighed. “Never mind, I already know. I know you wanted the Senior Editor position, and you were pissed off that I got it. Joe told me when he hired me.”

Maggie buried her face in the couch cushion, feeling her humiliation from head to foot. “If you already knew, why did you ask?” she mumbled.

“Look, Maggie, I know you wanted that job and you worked really hard for it. Joe felt bad; it’s not that you’re not qualified. It’s just that I have more experience than you. It’s not your fault, but it’s not mine, either. Can’t we get along?”

No, Maggie thought. Stubbornly, she remained silent. When Greg spoke again, his voice had hardened once more. “OK, have it your way. I think that, considering the gravity of your crime, your spanking should continue on the bare bottom, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t!” she screamed, rearing up, but he pushed her back down, and she felt his fingers snaking into the waistband of her pantyhose. “Lift your hips,” he said. She balled up her fists and stayed still. Smack! His hand cracked down on the very top of her upper thigh, hard. “Owwwww!

“Lift. Your. Hips.”

She complied this time, and he yanked her pantyhose down below her bottom, then did the same with her panties. Without another word, he began spanking her again. If she thought the pain was bad over layers of underwear, it was nothing compared to this. She tried desperately to squirm away, but he held her fast. She dug her nails into her palms, grit her teeth, but finally the burning pain overtook her and she howled until her throat hurt. Still, he continued. She didn’t know which was stronger—her pain, her humiliation or her rage.

At long last, Greg paused again and Maggie collapsed against him, panting. “Maggie,” he said quietly. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

Tears stung her eyes and the pain was unbearable, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize to him. She was still too angry and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she bit out, “Yes, I do. Go fuck yourself.”

She felt his entire body tense under her, and she cringed in horror at her own words, terrified of what might come next. He didn’t give her any time to ponder on it. “Get up,” he snapped, roughly grabbing her shoulders and pulling her upright. Her pantyhose were bunched up around her knees and she nearly fell, but he yanked her up, then strode to her desk, dragging her along with him. With one long sweep of his arm, he sent all the papers flying and cleared the desk. She gasped, but didn’t dare comment on the mess he’d just made.

“Get over the desk, Maggie. Now,” he growled, glaring murderously at her.

She looked at his red face, fearfully. But she still couldn’t give in to him. “W-why?” she stammered, with a bravado she didn’t feel. “What—what are you going to do, you pervert?”

Greg put his head in his hand for a moment, then rolled his eyes heavenward. “I repeat, Maggie—don’t flatter yourself.” He then reached down and began to unbuckle his belt.

Maggie nearly fainted, she was so terrified. “Greg, no!” she burst out. “You can’t! Please! I can’t take that!”

“You should have thought of that before you started this whole mess, Maggie,” he said, pulling his belt out of the loops. “And especially before you told me to go fuck myself.” He snapped the belt, then doubled it over. “Over. Belly down on the desk. Now.”

Trembling, Maggie slowly turned toward the desk and put her palms on it. But before she could lower her belly down onto it, Greg said, “Wait!” She froze. Silently, she watched him go retrieve his jacket from the couch arm and bring it over. She gaped in surprise as he patted it into a soft bundle, then placed it on the desk. “OK, now,” he said, his voice marginally gentler.

She leaned down and laid her body onto his jacket, grateful for the comfort, although she knew that wouldn’t last. Once in position, she stretched out her arms and grabbed the edge of the desk, lay her head down and shut her eyes tight. “Please, Greg…”

He didn’t reply. Snap! She felt his belt impart a burning stripe across her behind. She jumped and shrieked, and his hand pressed into the small of her back. “Hold still, Maggie. I don’t want to miss, and you don’t want me to either.”

Gritting her teeth, she did her best to remain in place as the belt struck again and again, all over her bottom. Her feet involuntarily stamped and her fists pounded on the desk, but somehow, she stayed in position. But the pain nearly drove her crazy.

“I know it hurts,” she heard him say. “But it will be over soon, and then we’re done.”

“No, we’re not!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “I won’t be able to work here anymore, regardless! You’ll tell everyone and I won’t be able to look anyone in the face again!”

Greg paused and walked around to her side. “Maggie, look at me,” he commanded. Slowly, she turned her head to look up and meet his eyes.

“I am not, repeat, not going tell anyone about this. I told you I wanted to keep this between you and me, and I meant it. After we leave here today, we won’t speak of this again. I promise.”

Maggie’s eyes searched his face; she saw no trace of malice. “You mean it? You—you won’t make fun of me? You won’t tease me about this?”

“No, I will not.”

She believed him, and her tense body relaxed a fraction. At all once, she felt profoundly ashamed. It was ridiculous that she should be in this position, and she had no one to blame but herself. She turned her face away, blinking back an onrush of tears. It dawned on her once again how close she’d come to losing her job. A job that, she now realized, really wasn’t that bad after all.

Greg stepped back. “OK, Maggie. I’m going to give you one more long set, and you’re going to hold still and take it. After that, we’re even.” Maggie took a deep breath and steeled herself.

Whack! Crack! The belt struck all over her bottom repeatedly as he moved around her, the blows more rapid than before. Finally, Maggie’s pride shattered; she gave in and burst in tears. “Owwwwww,” she sobbed. “Oh God, Greg, please stop, please! I’m sorry!”

He stopped immediately. “That’s all I wanted to hear, Maggie,” he said.

Feeling broken, Maggie remained lying over the desk, crying her eyes out. She wanted to die then and there, rather than stand up and face Greg. He put his hand tentatively on her back. “You OK?”

She gulped and nodded, unable to speak. When she made no move, he hesitated, then gently ran his fingers over her sore behind. His touch mortified her, but she said nothing.

“Maggie, listen,” he said. “This is the last word I’m going to say on this subject, I promise. But it looks like you’re going to have some bruises. When you get home, I would suggest sitting on an icepack for a while; that should reduce some of the swelling. OK?”

Her voice still paralyzed, she nodded her head once more. Then Greg, with his fingers still lightly caressing her bottom, added, “And you’ll probably want to use some lotion as this heals, so your skin won’t get rough.”

It was too much. Lashing out, she blurted, “You sound like you’ve done this before!” Then she cringed. Oh, shit, why did I say that? There was silence behind her for a moment, then Greg cleared his throat. “Well, tell you what—I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine, OK?”

Oh my God. “Yes, OK. Please…” she choked out, “may I have a few minutes by myself?”

“Of course,” he said, and she heard him slip out the door and close it. She clung to the desk and sobbed, releasing all the tension, and then reached back to rub her backside. It felt hot to her touch, and she could feel raised welts. Wincing, she carefully stood. Her legs shook so hard, she could barely stand on them, and she had to brace herself against the desk. Painfully and slowly, she pulled her panties back up, then her pantyhose, and smoothed down her skirt. Grabbing the Diet Coke can on her desk, she took the last swallow of flat soda. Then she got a mirror out of her purse and attempted to wipe away her smeared makeup with a tissue, blowing her nose vigorously.

There was a gentle knock at her door. “Maggie? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” she croaked out, looking away awkwardly as Greg opened the door and walked back in. Her eyes dropped to his jacket on the desk, wrinkled and disheveled from all her squirming. Sheepishly, she picked it up and handed it to him. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled.

“It’s OK,” he said, taking it from her and putting it back on, running his hands over the wrinkles. He smiled at her and somehow, she managed a wobbly smile back.

“Look, Maggie,” he said, his voice kind. “I can’t do anything about getting your position in the company changed. But I know this office sucks. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but I know a couple of people are leaving soon and there will be vacant offices, bigger ones. I’ll have a talk with Joe about moving you into one of them. All right?”

She felt tears coming on again, but she blinked hard against them. “You’d do that for me? After what I did?”

“I told you, we’re even now. And you do deserve a bigger office.”

Embarrassed, Maggie looked away again, then knelt down and started picking up the strewn papers. “Leave that,” Greg said, touching her arm. “I’ll get them.”

Wordlessly, Maggie went to the couch and gingerly sat, biting back a groan of pain, and watched Greg pick up the papers, put them back in order and place them in neat piles on her desk. Then he stood, turned to her and grinned. “There… friends?”

Despite herself, she grinned back. “Friends,” she replied.

“OK, I guess it’s time I head out of here,” he said, going to the door. “You coming?”

Maggie shook her head. “No…I think I’ll stay a while and get a little more work done.”

Greg made a face at her. “Maggie, you don’t need to work so damn hard. Really, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she said firmly, pointing to her desk. “Look at all that. If I don’t do it, who will?”

Greg hesitated, then sighed. “Well…maybe I’ll try having a word with Joe about getting you an assistant. Not promising anything, though.”

Maggie’s heart lifted, and she felt the last of the tension melt from her limbs. At last, from a very unexpected place, she might have an ally in this office of good ol’ boys. Despite the burning throb in her backside, she felt better than she had in weeks. “Thank you, Greg,” she said, getting up and walking over to him. “Have a nice weekend.”

“You too,” he said, then stuck out his hand. Smiling, she shook it. “Night, Maggie.”

She had a sudden mischievous urge. As he turned to walk out, she replied, “Night, Nancy.” And then slammed the door on his surprised face.

On the other side of the door, she heard him chuckle. “Just remember, Maggie—I know where you work!”

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.”

What??

“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?”

“No.”

“No?”

“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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