Monthly Maintenance

Selected Stories from Blushing Books Authors

© 2009 by Blushing Books

© 2009 by Blushing Books

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Blushing Books

Monthly Maintenance: Selected Stories from Blushing Books Authors

ISBN 978-1-935152-34-7

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This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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Table of Contents:

January: Firm Resolutions by Danielle Smith..................7

February: Groundhog Spanking by Monica Vale.........27

March: The Scent of Tennessee by Chula Stone...........41

April: Easter Hat by Fiona Wilde....................................59

May: Mother’s Day on the Spanking Satellite by Jean Gorski....................................................................................71

June: A Bouquet for Briony by Polly Carter ……………...85

July: Miss Independence by Vicki Blue..........................105

August: Old Fashioned Day at the State Fair by Amity Maree...................................................................................121

September: Teaching Abby by Joannie Kay.................136

October: Something Familiar by Robin Smith.............158

November: Thankful by Sullivan Clarke..................... 174

December: A Spanking for Christmas by Rebecca Jacobs..................................................................................186

Firm Resolutions

By Danielle Smith

Firm Resolutions by Danielle Smith

At first Andrea couldn’t figure out what Rob had going on in the garage. She pulled into the driveway beside his Taurus and peered through the windshield, trying to see under the raised door. He sat on the floor in a sea of newspapers, his broad back concealing whatever he was working on. Only the metal can by his knee suggested he might be painting.

She clutched the bag with the champagne as she got out of the car. Veuve de Cliquot, a little pricey, but they deserved something nice for their first New Year’s Eve as a married couple. Yes, now she could smell the varnish and identify his project. Her night stand - the one she’d been planning to stain since she picked it up three years before at an estate sale - had been transformed to a warm shade of brown. .

He put down his brush and rose to greet her. "What do you think?" he grinned, smearing walnut on his forehead as he pushed back his dark blond hair.

"Looks great from here," she teased, keeping her eyes on him instead of the furniture. "But maybe I better check it out a little more closely." As she stepped inside, she gave him the old up and down, paying particular attention to the jeans clinging to his slim hips and ass. "No wait, I think you missed a spot." Making sure she didn’t touch his streaked work clothes, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth.

Their tongues played together for a moment, then she stepped back. "Guess we better not give the neighbors any more of an eyeful. Show me what you’ve done."

"It’s pretty much finished - I want to give it one more coat, but then it just needs to dry." He made some calculations. "I’d say you can start using it again a week from now."

She inspected his work, admiring how evenly he’d covered the bare wood. "Wow, you even got it to match the bed! But whatever possessed you to do it this afternoon? Tomorrow we have to go over to my mother’s and watch the parades and football, then next day we go back to work. You didn’t have to spend your last vacation day doing something for me."

"Oh, but I did. Don’t say you’ve forgotten?"

"Forgot about what?" she started, then stopped as something pricked at her memory. A year ago they’d been curled together on the bed in her old apartment, watching the clock radio click away the seconds to midnight. Earlier that evening they’d announced their engagement to both families, so of course they’d been talking about the future. "New Year’s resolutions?" she guessed.

"Exactly," he smiled, his green eyes lighting up. "Remember how we made up the lists? When you went to put them in the drawer, I took mine back and tacked on one more item about staining the night stand."

"That’s right," she nodded. "You said you didn’t believe in general resolutions like ‘lose weight’ or ‘exercise more’, but specific things we could account for at the end of the year."

Now she recalled a lot more than she wanted to about the process, including what she’d added to the bottom of her own list. Despite the cool winter air, her cheeks flushed.

From the way his grin widened, she knew he’d noticed. "Well, I did all mine. Got my taxes done three weeks before the deadline. Worked out at the gym at least twice a week. The other things as well, but you’ll see all that tonight when we go over them and come up with new ones for the next twelve months."

Go over her list? Andrea bit her lips. Somehow between the ring sparking on her finger and the holiday celebration, it hadn’t seemed quite real. Certainly she never imagined she’d have to seriously account for what she jotted down. Maybe if she couldn’t find the paper — "I don’t know what I did with mine," she said hastily.

He dipped the brush back into the can. "Why darling, you don’t have to worry about that. I found your list today when I unloaded the drawer. It’s lying on the bed."

Her stomach took a slow turn as she held up the champagne. "Maybe I should get this chilling. Plus I’ve got a few things to do before we get ready for the party."

"I thought you might," he murmured without looking up. "It’ll take me a little while to finish up here. When do you want to leave? It starts at seven, right?"

"You know office parties. They don’t really get going for a while." The words continued to tumble out. "I don’t know why Edward insists on having this reception each year. Most people just drop in for a few minutes."

The bristles glided across the dark surface. "Well, you know we’ll have to get out of there by ten so we can take care of the resolutions by midnight, so I thought you might want to go early rather than late. But take your time."

Time. Unfortunately she didn’t have anywhere near enough of it to catch up with the things she’d promised she’d do. Yet maybe if she made enough progress...trying not to run, Andrea hurried into the house and stuffed the champagne in the refrigerator door. Now out of sight, she ran the rest of the way upstairs. No, he hadn’t been fooling. On her pillow lay the sheet of legal paper she recognized as the dreaded list.

She unfolded it, forcing herself to read her handwriting. "No. 1 - walk around the park at least five times a month. No. 2 - get a doctor’s appointment. No.3 - write thank you notes for wedding gifts." Even more awful, "No. 4 -- Eat healthy lunches such as salads at least four times per week." But the worst came after the numbered lines, where Rob’s printing took over. "I vow to make a good faith effort to accomplish these resolutions. If I fail, I agree my husband may take all necessary steps to make sure I succeed the next year." Although he’d suggested and composed her promise, she’d signed it, adding "Mrs. Robert Johnson to be" after her maiden name.

Of course she’d wondered what Rob meant by "all necessary steps", but thought he might intend to give her special help. Maybe he’d start reminding her to exercise or grill low-fat hotdogs for them on the weekend . But as their wedding day grew closer, she suspected he might have different ideas regarding her conduct. Ideas she found both exciting and scary, like standing on the platform at an amusement park waiting for her first roller coaster ride.

She remembered the first time he’d given her that funny feeling in her stomach. For their August honeymoon, they’d chosen the Caymans, hoping to alternate long dives on the reefs with lazy afternoons in their hotel room. Their travel agent put together a package requiring both an initial deposit and a partial payment within thirty days of departure. The week the second installment came due, Rob got called out-of-town on an assignment.

"It’s not a problem," he told her from the airport. "I already wrote out the check. Just get it from the file cabinet in my study. Look in the travel folder. Then drop it in an envelope and mail it to them. You can get it there in time."

Of course she’d promised, but that week brought many unexpected developments at her own work, plus she still had lots to get done for the wedding. Between emailing her bridesmaids and renegotiating the hors d’oevres selection with the caterer, she kept forgetting to run by Rob’s place. As the week slipped by, she vowed she’d pick up the check and take it personally to the agency so as to avoid any delay through the post office. On the final day, she planned to run the errand on her lunch hour. But before she got out the door, a senior partner corralled her on an emergency motion, and she didn’t reach his apartment until long after business hours.

Her phone rang immediately after she got home. "Andrea, I don’t understand this," Rob said anxiously. "Are you sick? Injured? I just got an email from Ken at Universal Travel. He said they were canceling the trip because they never got the second deposit."

"I’m so sorry," she told him, spilling out the story of her time conflicts. He listened silently, then sighed.

"Honey, I understand all that, but you needed to make this a higher priority. Didn’t you know we could lose not only our reservations, but the money I already put down?"

She felt like crying. "I’m sorry, sweetie. It will never happen again."

"I hope that’s true," he said slowly. "When we get married, we need to trust each other completely. I don’t want to be halfway across the country worrying if you’re really doing the things you said." They both became silent. "You know what you need, don’t you?"

"A chance to do it right next time?"

"Yes, of course, but no, I had something else in mind. Something that helps careless young ladies remember their promises." Again silence loomed between them as she fought to calm her rapid breathing. "Do you know what I’m talking about?"

"I —". She stopped. Even though this was Rob, her beloved soon-to-be-husband, she couldn’t find the right words

He paused, then said sternly. "You need an old-fashioned spanking, Andrea. Over my knee on your bare bottom. And if I were there tonight, that’s exactly what you’d be getting. But because I’m here instead, and fortunately squared things with Ken by putting it on my credit card, we’ll let it go this time. However you know what to expect if you break your word again."

She couldn’t remember how they’d ended the conversation. Mostly she’d felt dazed. Could he have really threatened her, a grown woman practically a law firm partner, with being punished like a little girl? Why hadn’t she objected? Told him she’d never let him do it? Because she knew she deserved it? Or because the thought thrilled her, even as it made her insides do flip-flops?

Through the rest of the summer and fall, she’d wondered if he intended to follow through on his declaration. A few times when she snapped at him, he asked if she needed her backside warmed, but she always shook her head as she apologized. Even after the wedding came and went, he understood her work still stressed her, and didn’t complain about her occasional lapse.

But this New Year’s resolution problem was different. Considering he’d completed his own list, he’d find her performance poor at best. After all she’d given up walking about mid-year and never gone near her doctor. The remaining thank you notes still occupied a corner of her computer desk. Worst of all, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d substituted salad for pizza or burgers.

Unless she did something quickly, tonight she’d be getting the first spanking of her life Again she struggled with her mixed feelings. Part of her wondered what she’d feel lying helpless across her husband’s lap as he touched her intimate parts in a completely new way. The other worried she’d find the experience embarrassing. Not to mention painful. She knew Rob had strong arms from toting the news camera to remote locations. Was she really ready to find out his seasoned hand could do to her defenseless backside?

Maybe next year she’d be better prepared, but right now she wanted to delay. Yet how could she wiggle out of the situation? By thinking like a lawyer, instead of a schoolgirl summoned before the principal. With a quick glance at her watch, Andrea came up with a plan.

First she reached for the telephone book and called her gynecologist’s office. "I’m sorry," a female voice answered, "but Dr. Nelson and her staff left at noon. If it’s an emergency -"

Yes, but not that kind. "I just need to make an appointment."

"I don’t know," the girl replied doubtfully. "I’m just temping this afternoon. Why don’t you call back after the holiday when you can talk with Jeannine -"

"That’s okay," Andrea interrupted. "I’m sure you’ve got the book there. It would mean a lot to me if you could just please find me an open slot."

To her relief she heard papers rustling. Finally the voice came back on the line. "The doctor seems pretty booked up next week -"

"It doesn’t need to be then. February would be fine. I just need a definite time so I can arrange the rest of my schedule to be sure and make it."

Andrea held her breath as the other woman searched. Finally they agreed on a day at the end of January. She scribbled down the information, then sighed. At least she could cross one thing off the list. Now to tackle the thank you notes.

When he came up to shower and dress for the party, he found her massaging her cramped fingers. As he towel dried his hair, he picked up and scanned the top ones from the pile. "These all of them?"

"Every last one," she smiled. "Except for that crystal bowl we could never figure out. Tonight I’ll ask a few discreet questions and see if someone from the firm sent it. Meanwhile, I hope we can stop by the post office on our way there and get these in the mail?"

"Oh, I’m sure we can manage that. So how does the rest of your list look? You might as well give me the rest of the preview."

She held out the paper book where she’d recorded the appointment information. "I’ll be seeing Dr. Nelson on January 28th at 2 p.m."

"You mean next year?" He looked at her quizzically. "I thought you were supposed to get your examination before the end of this one."

"Look, what the list says. ‘Make an appointment’. Doesn’t say when it had to be."

Rob shook his head. "Okay, I’ll grant you the technicality. As long as you promise to reword your resolution this year to actually see the doctor. If work keeps you away from her office on the 28th, you need to get in as soon as possible."

"No problem." She thought he’d argue more strenuously. Maybe this would work after all. "And the walking around the park thing. They closed the track to redo the golf course." Hopefully he wouldn’t ask when. " I drove by there last Tuesday, and they still had the ‘Under Construction’ sign up."

"Now darling." As he gazed steadily at her, she could smell his favorite aftershave. "You know the spirit of the resolution was for you to get steady exercise. Couldn’t you have found another place to go?"

"I will this coming year, but -"

"......I know, the list only required you to walk around the park." He sighed. "Which I guess you couldn’t do if they’d blocked it off. I’m starting to see why clients hire you to get them out of their contracts. But let’s talk about your diet. Anything preventing you from eating healthy?"

Andrea swallowed hard. "Um, no." If you didn’t count the new pizzeria on the ground floor of her office building.

"So you made your four-times-a-week goal?"

She knew she should confess, but she also knew what would happen. Especially with two of her other items being in the gray area, he’d take the opportunity to give her the long-anticipated spanking. How could she get through an evening with her co-workers knowing what would happen on their return? "Yes," she spoke quickly. "Not every week of course, because sometimes the firm ordered in lunches for the clients, but - enough." At least if you considered maybe three times out of the year "enough".

He came over to her desk chair and began rubbing her shoulders. "You’re sure about that?"

"Positive," she got out, glad he couldn’t see her face.

"Then I guess we won’t have as much to do before midnight as I thought." Not only did he sound disappointed, but she felt a sense of loss. How crazy. If she wanted him to spank her, she should confess her lie. But she said nothing as he mentioned coming up with new resolutions, then disappeared into the closet.

Andrea never considered Edward Bannister’s parties to be the highlight of her social season, and tonight’s seemed especially difficult. After the usual small talk with the host and his wife, she found herself in the corner with one of the other senior associates. As they discussed litigation strategy on a case coming to trial in two weeks, she kept remembering how she’d deceived Rob. Would knowing she’d be getting her bottom smacked be any worse than the guilt gnawing at her conscience?

She didn’t notice his coming up behind her until he grasped her arm. "We need to talk for a moment," he murmured, his fingers digging deeper. "If you’ll excuse us -" he nodded at the other lawyer, then pulled her away from the drinking and nibbling. Before she thought to protest, he’d marched her into the room where they’d left their coats and sat her on the bed.

When she opened her mouth, he held up his hand. "I was talking with your friend from the tax department. The one who looks like she got poured into her dress."

"Penny." Where could this be leading?

"Right. Anyway, I could tell she’d lost weight since last time we were here, so I asked her if she’d joined you on your health food watch." Andrea closed her eyes, desperately wishing she had no idea where things were going.

"She laughed, and said, ‘You mean Ms. Double Cheese and Canadian Bacon? I’ve been trying to get her to come with me to the salad bar at the club, but I don’t stand much chance against pepperoni and mushroom." Standing in front of her, he reached down and tilted her chin so she had to look up. "Was she just mistaken? Do I need to ask your secretary where you go for lunch to see whose story is right?"

"I’m sorry. I don’t know - I guess I got scared to tell you the truth. This year so many things happened I didn’t have time to spend looking for vegetables and things."

He trained his eyes on her. "Andrea, if you’d been honest, I’d have understood. Maybe four times a week can’t be done for someone juggling your schedule. But covering it up that way - well, for the first time since we’ve been married, you’ve really disappointed me. "

"I know," she whispered. "I never should have done it. Does it mean anything I’ve been feeling terrible about it all night?"

"Not enough to come clean," he pointed out. "But don’t worry, I’ve got a remedy. Something that will make you feel if not terrible, then pretty uncomfortable. Except I can’t do it here, so we’re going home right now.."

Her mouth had gone completely dry. "What’s going to happen when we get there?"

"First I’m going to give you what I planned if you fell short on your resolutions. Then you’re going to find out what happens when you lie to me." Rob plucked her winter dress coat from the pile on the bed and held it out for her. As soon as she slipped her arms into the sleeves, he flipped it up and landed three slaps across the back of her skirt, making her gasp. "Please consider that a preview of coming attractions. Now be quick about your goodbyes so I can take you back to our own bedroom and give you a real spanking."

She hoped no one noticed her flushed cheeks as she made up something about it a headache so they wouldn’t fuss over her abrupt departure. Maybe it wasn’t a complete fabrication - her head might be fine, but unless she read her husband wrong, her other end would be hurting plenty before the end of the evening. Even with her dress and underwear protecting her, she’d definitely felt the "preview". If he’d used the words "bare bottom" to describe her situation if he’d punished her for the missed deposit check, she could hardly expect less for lying.

He asked her to remain quiet on the way home so she could think about what she’d done. Never had the drive through town seemed both so long and so short. Her legs began trembling as he parked the Taurus in front of the garage, getting worse as she stumbled up the walkway.

As soon as he’d locked the door behind him, he turned to her. "Go upstairs and take off your dress," he ordered. "You can keep your underwear on while you’re waiting for me. Of course when I get up there, those panties will be coming down."

Although she’d expected it, until he confirmed her fate in his no-nonsense voice, she’d believed he might be playing an elaborate joke. Work her up a little, even scare her, then when he knew she’d think more carefully about her actions, tell her of course he couldn’t deliberately cause pain or embarrassment to someone he’d promised to love and honor. But she knew the look in his eyes: Rob was absolutely serious about this. As she slowly climbed the stairs, she felt the same loss of control as when the partners called her in each year for her annual review. No matter how much she hated the process, she couldn’t escape it.

Back in the bedroom, she slipped out of her green cocktail dress and hung it in the closet. They’d turned down the heating system while they went out, so she shivered in the cool air as her nipples hardened against her blue silk bra. Below, the same silk cupped her cheeks, though the low cut already exposed them at the top. As she ran her fingers across the soft skin, she trembled from more than cold. In a few minutes she’d have to submit this delicate area to the mercy of her husband.

She felt awkward standing around in Victoria’s Secret wear, but she doubted he’d want to pry her from underneath the bed clothes. When the moments stretched to minutes, she compromised by hiding out in the bathroom. As she sat on the edge of the tub hugging her knees, she listened for every sound. Were those his steps in the stairwell? Crossing the bedroom? Still her heart skipped a beat when he rapped on the door. "Andrea? Come out of there. It’s going to take a little time to take care of everything, so we need to start now."

With as much dignity as possible, she emerged, fighting the desire to grab a towel and wrap it around the target area. Rob sat on the edge of the bed tapping his knee. "Over here darling." Other than his suit coat and tie, he remained fully dressed. Despite having undressed before him many times, this was the first time he hadn’t stripped down with her. Her near nakedness made her feel completely vulnerable as she crept across the carpet towards him.

He reached out and took her hand as she came up to him, guiding her to his right side. Her knees grazed his pants leg as he began pulling her down. Again reality hit her - he expected her to put herself in this humiliating position so he could have easy access to her rear end. Suddenly cooperation seemed like a very bad idea, and she drew back.

"Young lady," he said sternly. "Even if this is your first time, you know what to do. Now put yourself across my lap or you’re going to get two spankings: one to make you listen, and the real one." He tightened his grip on her wrist. "Do I need to twist this behind your back while I bend you over the desk?"

Instead of answering, she stopped resisting, allowing him to lower her until her face pressed into the pillows at the head of the bed. His fingers grasped the edge of her panties. "Raise up." She bit her lips as she braced herself on her elbows and knees, putting her hips an inch in the air as he lowered her last protection. He pushed the garment all the way to her calves, then pressed her back down on top of him. As his left arm grasped her waist, the other roamed familiarly across her buttocks and between her legs, pulling them apart. Then without warning, he smacked her right globe.

It took a moment for her mind to catch up with what was happening, as though her body couldn’t believe something had deliberately hurt its lower part. By the time she realized he’d begun, he’d brought his hand down again on the left side. As she’d feared, he hit hard, each blow stinging more as he continued the barrage.

At first she took it stoically to deprive him of the satisfaction of watching her cry out or squirm. Sure it hurt, but she could take it. But she hadn’t figured on the cumulative effect. After spanking most of her backside once, he began repeating, concentrating on particular spots. Each time she felt it a little more along with the heat building everywhere down there. Finally "ows" and "ouches" started coming out of her mouth while her legs betrayed her by coming off the bed in response to each wallop. Rob’s only response to her growing discomfort was to pin her more tightly and pick up the pace.

She kept her composure until he turned his attention to her thighs. Within moments she began struggling in earnest as he blistered the less padded area. He paused just long enough to clamp his right leg over her left, holding it in place as he renewed his grip across the small of her back. No matter how she moved, she couldn’t escape his searing palm. Although her rear wasn’t in much better shape, she preferred it when he returned there.

Only when she lay limply across his lap did he finish off with an intense volley right at the top of her thighs. She sniffed back tears as he restored her panties. "So we’re done?" she sighed as he helped her stand up. Finally her hands got to rub her throbbing derriere.

He glanced at the clock radio. Although it felt like she’d spent hours getting her bottom toasted, they still had over two hours until midnight. "For the moment. You still need your lesson in truthfulness. I’m going to give you part of it, then I want you to sit and think for a while about why you needed to be punished."

"Sit?"

"Exactly. Some people would make you stand in the corner, but I don’t think there’s anything more effective than a well-warmed seat perched on a very hard seat to focus one’s thoughts." How could she have ever loved that grin? "Besides, we have one more thing to do before I get out the paddle."

The paddle? "I never thought you’d use anything but your hand," she stammered.

"You’d have been right if we were dealing only with your falling short on the resolutions, but for the rest, you’re going to get my mother’s two-step, surefire treatment for lying. But what are we going to use for a chair?" He looked around the room. "Everything in here is too soft, and we don’t have anything much better downstairs."

Good - maybe he wouldn’t think of anything and she could curl up with an ice bag and pretend she’d never heard of the "two-step, surefire" cure or any word beginning with the letter "p". Unfortunately his gaze zeroed in on her wooden desk. "If we clear off a corner, that will do fine. Why don’t you move those books and papers?"

"Yeah, right," she grumbled, earning herself a swift smack driving her in the right direction. Soon she’d shifted enough things around to create an adequate area.

"Hop up, darling," he told her. "But first pull your pants down again. I want your skin directly against the wood."

How much more embarrassment could she stand? Andrea felt like a little girl in a doctor’s office as she followed his instructions. Although the desk wasn’t terribly high, her legs still dangled several inches from the floor, her panties clinging to her right foot. But that was nothing compared to her buttocks screaming in protest as her full weight pressed them down on the hard surface.

He patted her knee. "I’m going to get the soap."

Soap? "Rob, what are you going to -"

"The same as my mother did to me," he announced as he disappeared into the bathroom, emerging with her shampoo bottle. "We’re going to wash that lie out of your mouth."

"I’m not going to let you -" Andrea clamped her lips together as he popped open the lid.

"I’m afraid you’re not going to have any choice." Before she could resist, he’d pinched her nostrils together, tipping her head back. He pressed the plastic top against her mouth and tilted the bottle up. A few drops dribbled out as she tried to hold her breath. "Andrea, don’t fight me. If you do, you’re going to have to swallow this, but if you behave, I’ll let you spit it out before your paddling."

She let her jaw loosen, feeling the top sliding in as the pink liquid oozed out. How could raspberry-scented shampoo taste so terrible? Bitterness covered her tongue as she tried to keep from gagging..

Finally he put the bottle down. "Nasty stuff, isn’t it? My mother used this green stuff she got on sale, and it’s certainly one of the reasons I stopped lying to her. I’m going to leave you alone for a few minutes, but here’s the rules. You’re not to get up for any reason, especially to rinse your mouth. If you do, you’re going back over my lap, and then getting dishwashing detergent, and we probably won’t finish everything by midnight. So be a good girl and sit still. Think about the spanking you just received and the paddling you’re about to get, and figure out how to do better in the future."

As soon as she left the room, Andrea felt tempted to jump down. If she tiptoed, he probably couldn’t hear her moving around. Yet he’d notice the water running if she tried to get rid of the shampoo. The idea of earning an extra pounding from that hard palm along with another round of soap kept her in place, if not sitting exactly still. No matter how much she squirmed, she couldn’t relieve the ache. Could he really be planning to make it worse?

Yet despite her physical distress, she couldn’t say she hated Rob for disciplining her. No, she didn’t like the burning in her mouth and derriere, but there had been something extremely intimate about lying across him, feeling his thighs underneath her as he took complete control. Of course she’d always respected him, but some of that feeling eroded every time he’d threatened her with punishment without carrying through. Now it returned full force, along with gratitude he cared enough for her to hold her accountable for her behavior.

Still she dreaded the final installment, her heart pounding when she heard him coming down the hall to the bedroom. Her eyes focused immediately on his right hand, which held something painted a fluorescent green. "Yes, I got it at the toy store," he informed her. "It’s a paddleball. But if I wrap the elastic around the handle -" he demonstrated - "I think it will do the job nicely."

Despite its cheery color, Andrea had no doubt the paddle would do more than nicely from his perspective. Yet she knew better than to protest as he put his arm around her shoulders and edged her off the desk. With as much dignity as she could manage, she stepped out of her panties. He led her into the bathroom and allowed her to rinse out her mouth, though even several glasses of water didn’t get rid of it, then steered her back to the bed.

This time he didn’t sit down, instead pulling the two pillows from in under the covers and stacking them in front of her. "I want you to lie across these so they elevate your rear. That way I can put a lot more swing into the swats. But before you do, I think we can take this off as well." His fingers undid the clasp on her bra, letting it also fall to the floor. Automatically she folded her arms across her breasts, trying to keep from feeling so totally exposed.

He slapped the paddle against his palm. "Andrea, I’m waiting." Forcing herself to move, she first knelt on the bed, then placed herself as instructed. Although her bare nipples pressed awkwardly against the material, her bottom angled up as her toes brushed the floor..

"Now let’s figure out how many of these you should get. Four lunches a week times fifty two equals what?"

She almost came off the bed. "What do you mean?"

Rob laid the paddle square across her cheeks, pushing her back into the pillows. "I think you can do the math, young lady. How many healthy lunches did you owe yourself this year?"

No wondered she hadn’t liked where this was going. "Two hundred and eight," she muttered.

"Then that’s how many reminders you need." He lifted the paddle away and stepped back.

"Wait," she said frantically. Over two hundred whacks of a wooden paddle on her already fiery behind? "Rob, that’s way too much. Please, please don’t give me that many! I can’t possibly stand it!"

"Sorry, darling, but I can tell from the way you’re acting that you need every one." How could he keep his voice so low and reasonable, as though they were discussing where to eat dinner? "You’re still more upset about being held responsible for your resolutions than you are about letting yourself down, much less hurting me by telling tales." His left hand lightly massaged a sore area. "There’s a wonderful thing about this part of your anatomy. It can take a lot of correction and still recover quickly. Though I’m sure you’ll prefer standing up when we drink our champagne."

Maybe he was right about her needing something severe to punish her for lying. She scrunched up her eyes and fists. "Then just get it over with."

"Will do." Yet even after his fingers stopped rubbing, she still wasn’t prepared when the paddle took its first bite. "One," he announced cheerfully. "Now two, three, four —". She bit lips and tried to stifle her yelps as he continued rattling off numbers, each bringing new agony. Did he intend to go all the way without stopping? Suddenly the hand spanking she’d gotten seemed gentle..

By the time he passed fifty, she could no longer hold back the tears. She kicked and bucked as he continued to one hundred, methodically paddling one side than the other. From her waist to her knees, she couldn’t imagine she had a single inch of skin which hadn’t felt the wood.

"Rob, I’m so sorry," she sobbed, crying harder than she imagined she could. "I’ll never, ever deceive you again."

He gave her the 108th smack, then paused. "We have another hundred to go. Are you telling me you don’t deserve them?"

Did she? She certainly didn’t want them, but she had to admit she’d earned them. After all if she’d made any kind of serious attempt to follow her eating plan, they’d be finished by now. Plus she’d jeopardized the trust between them by being untruthful. "No," she sighed. "I guess you’d better go ahead give them to me." Burying her face in her hands, she braced herself.

"I’m hoping you may have learned your lesson," he said quietly. "So this is what we’re going to do. You’re getting twenty more right now, as hard as I can make them. The remaining ones I’ll defer to next year. If you don’t do better, you can expect to get them- plus interest - along with anything else I have to do. But if you meet your new goal, we’ll forget about them. Fair enough?"

"Yes, oh yes!" Although his final volley made her want to scream, she got through it, rejoicing when he uttered the final number.

He sat down and pulled her into a sitting position in his arms, hugging her closely. "You did very well, darling, for your first time. We have a few more minutes until midnight. Why don’t you put on something appropriate and meet me downstairs?"

"All right," she mumbled, wondering what she had in her closet which wouldn’t aggravate her backside. After he left, she decided on her satin robe, tying it loosely around her waist. Usually she wore something under it, but tonight it seemed appropriate she remain naked.

Rob already had the champagne open as she came into the living room. He grinned as she pursed her lips. "Are you sure you haven’t had enough bubbles for tonight?"

"Yes." Although even brushing her teeth hadn’t restored her taste to normal. Still she took the glass and returned his smile as the ball began to drop on their television screen. The crowd chanting the final seconds reminded her what she’d gone through with the paddle.

"Happy New Year, darling," Rob whispered as they completed the toast, his hand slipping under her robe. As his fingers found their favorite spot, the second fire building below overwhelmed her. She set down the flute and pulled him to her, kissing him deeply. He grimaced slightly as his tongue roamed her mouth, and she could tell he’d gotten the remnants of the shampoo. Yet he accepted it as he did her, drawing her down on top of him on the couch as they made love, their bodies responding with more intensity than ever before.

Not just a new year, but a new way of making love, she marveled as waves of pleasure rippled through her. And in some ways, a new husband. One who would set and enforce limits in the way she’d secretly wanted her entire life.

Obviously he’d been thinking the same thing. "We still need to finish your resolutions, but let me tell you mine. Continue working out at the gym. Get the taxes in at least as early. Organize the garage, so next time I can find the paintbrush. At least once a week, meet you for lunch at that salad bar Penny told me about. But most importantly - pay attention to your progress." He cupped her swollen backside. "I think you’d do a lot better if we had these discussions each week, instead of once a year. So unless you want to be sitting gingerly on Mondays, you’d better keep up."

Andrea buried her head in his chest so he couldn’t see her grin. Before, New Year’s resolutions depressed her because she knew how quickly they’d be discarded. Now she knew she’d actually be keeping them. Or at least most of the time.

And either way, it would be a wonderful year.

Groundhog Spanking

By Monica Vale

Groundhog Spanking by Monica Vale

“Rise and shine…just the way my hand is rising and these lovely young ladies will soon have shining red backsides as their gift for Groundhog Day. That’s right…your hot host is sitting in his spanking chair!”

Ginger Delaney groaned as she reached over to shut off the alarm radio as quickly as she could. Even so, she was not fast enough to avoid hearing the first resounding smacks, followed by the shrieks of his all-too-willing victim: OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!

And to think that this disgusting degenerate was paid more than anyone else in radio history, while she had to drag herself out of bed each morning to sell houses. She sighed at the unfairness of it all.

Of course, looking on the bright side, she was a top selling Realtor…or, rather, the Delaney Duo had always been a top-selling team. Despite everything, she and Herb still worked very well together.

For one thing, she looked the way people expected a lady Realtor to appear…with her blond hair piled carefully on her head in a seemingly carefree, tousled style, above her high, hollow cheekbones, while wearing her agency’s trademark royal blue velvet blazer.

To be fair, Herb was their image of a male professional…windblown brown hair over a square jaw and equally square fists that were always clenched at the side of his tweed sweater.

That look always appealed to the lady clients, just as it had attracted Ginger Nelson herself, when they had met at a sales awards ceremony during their first year in the business. When they had tied for the honors as Rookie of the Year, it had seemed a sign that they were fated to be together.

She shook her head to drive the thought away, as she hastily pulled on her new red turtleneck jersey. He was coming over this morning to help prepare the house for sale, using all the tricks of their trade to make it look better than new.

He would be sure to paint the front door, for one thing, because prospective buyers spent so much time staring at it while their own agents took the key from the lockbox. In this “down” market, and especially in wintertime, sales agents had to use all the tricks of their trade. Now she was using them to sell her own property.

They had a contract with a landscaper for their one-acre lot, but that still left plenty of work to do inside.

She would begin by clearing the cluttered living room of all the things that did not belong there. He would never help her remove them, since he had put them there himself and stubbornly insisted on keeping them. So she would have to drag them to the basement before he got there.

That barely left time for her morning coffee, before she heard his key in the lock. The sight of him standing in the hallway, with his fists against his hips, made her heart stop as it always did. At once, she shook her head again. They had good reasons for going through with this divorce, and a surge of hormones was no reason for canceling it.

“Have you had your coffee yet?” she asked him, as he hung his coat in the closet. With a faint smile touching her thin lips, she went on, “You could never start the day without Starbucks Café Verona, any more than I could.”

“It smells great, but I have had some already.”

With one of the new female rookies at the agency? The thought made her grin grow narrower beneath her clear red gloss.

“Well, then, let’s get to work,” Ginger said.

Turning towards the living room on his right, Herb said resentfully, “I see that you have already started it. You took out my favorite leather easy chair and my Western paperbacks.”

“I dragged them both down to the basement, yes,” she told him. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a Colonial house. We bought it because it is always the easiest style to sell, in case you didn’t remember. That means everything must be elegant and formal…especially in the dining and living rooms, which are the first thing that the buyer sees, on either side of the entrance hall.”

“Yes, I remember how you kept saying that,” he muttered. “I happened to like Western ranch houses. I also notice that they are getting more popular now, because more elderly empty nesters are looking for places with no stairs to climb.”

“Well, we did not buy a Western ranch house,” she went on, with a great show of patience, putting her hands on her hips “And that cracked leather chair and those paperback Westerns do not fit in a Colonial home. As you see, my new Queen Anne clawfoot chair with the white brocade upholstery looks just right next to the marble fireplace, and so do the leather-bound classic novels. You can take your things to your apartment, where anything will fit right in.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that tonight,” he said. “Now don’t we have a few more things to do?”

“Lots of them. Just to start with, we’ve got to replace all the bulbs in the dining room chandelier.”

“You mean, I’ve got to do it.”

“Well, I’m just not tall enough, unless I stand on a chair. That could be dangerous, if there’s no one here to catch me when I fall.” Fearing that that made her sound too helpless and needy, she went hastily on, “I will help you, though. I can stand next to the fixture handing you up the bulbs.”

As she stood gazing up at him, where he stood on top of the ladder, she could not help noticing how tight his backside was and how strong and square his hands appeared. Even worse, she could not fight her own strange sense of satisfaction at standing beneath him, as his helpmeet.

Now she shook her head harder than ever. They had been completely equal partners, just as they should be, even if she sometimes had to repeat her opinions more than once before he agreed to them.

On that basis, they had been a great success…to the point where their careers had taken up all their time. Realtors had to work on evenings and weekends, when clients were free to shop for homes.

And, she feared, they had spent too much of their free time talking about their work…deciding how much they should ask for each house, for instance. Sometimes, their discussions turned into something more like debates, although she usually won them.

The last disagreement had become so heated, he had wound up walking out of the office right in front of the client, and she had been too proud to try to stop him. Instead, she had just made some excuse for him and gone right on making the sale. Funny, she could no longer even remember which fight it had been. There had been so many in the last few years.

“All done now.” This time she almost jumped, because his words seemed to fit their situation so well. He meant, of course, that he was done changing the light bulb, but the phrase also described their relationship.

After eleven years of marriage, they were, indeed, all done. It was just lucky that they had never had children. Still, she could not help sighing at the thought of the coming divorce.

“Is something wrong?” he asked her.

“No, nothing at all,” she answered quickly. “Now we should go back to the kitchen and change the bulbs in the overhead fixture there, too. Two of the six have burned out.”

There were enough chores to keep them both busy until dinnertime. As he finished painting the front door and started walking towards the garage, she found herself wondering if she just might ask him casually whether he wanted her to throw something together for their dinner. Before she could do it, he told her he had to go.

“Are you having company?” she asked, too casually.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he answered sharply.

“You are right,” she assured him. “It certainly is not.”

So she ate a frozen dinner alone that night and hoped he was doing the same.

* * *

“Rise and shine…just the way my hand is rising and these lovely young ladies will soon have shining red backsides as their gift for Groundhog Day. That’s right…your hot host is sitting in his spanking chair!”

Ginger groaned even more loudly this time. Hadn’t that idiot radio host been bad enough the day before, without playing the same so-called comedy routine all over again? And it wasn’t even Groundhog Day any more.

Throwing her red dress over her head and hastily pinning her hair up, she marched down to the kitchen. She would call the station about their annoying mistake, as soon as she had made her coffee.

Reaching for the lamp switch, she froze in her tracks. Only four of the lights went on, even though Herb had replaced the two burned-out bulbs the morning before.

Forgetting her coffee for once, she raced to the dining room and tried switching on the chandelier. The bulbs were burned out there again, too.

Turning to the living room, she saw that something was wrong there as well and soon realized what it was. That hateful, awful, out-of-place cracked leather easy chair and those tacky paperback novels were right back in their previous places, next to her own brocade Queen Anne furniture and hardbound classic books. Despite the cold, she pulled the front door open long enough to see that it was soiled and scraped again.

It was all too easy to see exactly what had happened. As soon as she heard Herb’s key in the lock, she started telling him exactly what she thought of his little trick.

“You must believe you’re very clever!” she shouted. “You snuck in here, dirtied up the door again, took out the new light bulbs and carried your old books and furniture back up to the living room.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” he yelled back, glaring down at her from his six feet of height. “Why would I do a thing like that, after I worked all day making the place look good? Someone else must have snuck in and done it.”

“Just who could that have been?”

“Well, it certainly could not have been me!” he exclaimed, glowering even more fiercely. “Since we plan to divide the profits from our home sale, why would I want to ruin our chances of selling it?”

Why, indeed. She had to think about that one for a moment, before coming up with the obvious answer.

“Just to hurt me!” she shouted up at him, angrily fighting back tears. “You hate me so much, you want to stop me from being happy any way you can…even if it means keeping us both from making any money on our home sale.”

“We earn enough money as it is,” he reminded her.

Once again, she was silent…but only for a moment, before she thought of a logical reply.

“Exactly!” she crowed, shaking one long red fingernail up at his burly chest. “You could afford to get revenge this way.”

“Why would I want revenge on you? You told me that there have not been any other men, even after we separated.”

“If I had tried to get one,” she snarled slowly, “I would not have failed. I am still a damned attractive woman, even if you stopped noticing years ago.”

“I never stopped noticing you,” he mumbled. “You were the one who got too busy to notice ME, whenever we weren’t arguing. But that still isn’t a reason to do myself out of seven hundred thousand dollars or more. You still haven’t told me why I would do such a thing.”

“Because you hate the house so much! You wanted a Western ranch style, but I talked you into getting this Colonial instead.”

“If I hated it,” he answered slowly, “I would be very eager to get rid of it, wouldn’t I? I just hated the way you pushed me into buying it.”

This time, she had no convincing argument in return.

“Then I’m not sure why you did it,” she admitted. “But there is one thing I do know for sure…no one else had any reason to ruin all the work you had done.”

“If you believe that, then I can’t think of anything else to say, and I might as well go.”

“You are right about that, at least!”

As she saw him stalking towards the garage, she strode back to the kitchen, looking for her list of handymen. Luckily, the first one she called was available.

Jose did the work much faster than she and Herb had accomplished it together. What’s more, he smiled cheerfully while he did it, rather than arguing with her. That alone made him worth the expense.

* * *

“Rise and shine…just the way my hand is rising and these lovely young ladies will soon have shining red backsides as their gift for Groundhog Day. That’s right…your hot host is sitting in his spanking chair!”

This time she came awake slowly. As she did, she realized that that stupid script was growing on her. In fact, the whole idea was starting to turn her on. This time, she listened to the entire first spanking…every smack and shriek…stroking herself as she did.

Perhaps he did deserve his sky-high salary, after all. He was trying to earn it, since he changed the message for all the holidays and not just…

Groundhog Day!

This time, she raced to meet Herb as soon as she heard his key in the lock.

“I know you didn’t put the burned-out bulbs back in again or throw dirt at the door,” she assured him, as soon as he entered the hall.

“You do?” he answered sarcastically. “Well, that’s nice of you. So who do you think was guilty?”

“No one!” she crowed. “It all started on Groundhog Day. Don’t you see, it’s like that old movie. Bill Murray has to keep living through the same Groundhog Day over and over again, until he gets it right. Obviously, that’s what we’re doing now.”

“Obviously,” he told her.

“Now you must really think I’m crazy.”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “You must have just dreamed the whole thing.”

“I certainly did not! There really is something weird about this neighborhood…it is not your average upscale Washington suburb. When I asked my friend Georgia Bailey how she was doing, she smiled in a really strange way and told me it’s a wonderful life. It sounded as though she were talking about an old movie too, and she and Marv had lived through it together.

“When I told her so, she leaned forward and whispered that she really had made a wish that had turned out badly…just like Jimmy Stewart in the movie…and she was very glad to be able to change things back again. And you know how sensible she has always been.”

“Well, she was not even being rational this time. She was obviously nuts on the subject.” But Herb sounded so uncertain, Ginger decided to press her advantage.

“Anyway, it’s worth a try,” she insisted. “We’ll do our best to get this day right this time. Otherwise, we could spend the rest of our lives living through it…and none of our days have been that great recently.”

With a sigh, she added, “I left all your furniture and books up here in the parlor. I know they don’t belong here…they don’t go at all with the décor…but I’ll keep them, just so we won’t have to keep doing the same things forever.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see who…or what…is doing it to us?” he asked, as he changed those light bulbs for the third time.

“How could we do that?” she asked.

“By sitting up together until midnight.”

“It sounds good to me,” she answered. As she made his favorite steak dinner, the whole idea seemed very good indeed. It felt even better, sitting beside him on the brocaded Queen Anne sofa, with her feet tucked under her and her head on his shoulder.

She snuggled even closer, as she realized that he had not needed to call anyone to cancel any supper plans, with any other girls. His arm slipped around her shoulder in response.

Her eyes were starting to flutter shut, when he woke her up by announcing, with his broadest grin, “It’s five minutes past midnight! It seems we’ve done it. It’s the morning after Groundhog Day now!”

* * *

She closed her eyes tight to kiss him…and opened them to find herself alone in her own bed again, listening to the same radio “shock jock” saying the same thing.

“Rise and shine…just the way my hand is rising and these lovely young ladies will soon have shining red backsides, as their gift for Groundhog Day. That’s right…your hot host is sitting in his spanking chair!”

So they hadn’t gotten it right this time, after all. She sighed with disappointment at the thought, and not just because they would have to spend the day doing all those chores again.

She had to admit it: She wished she were still sitting on the couch with Herb’s arms around her. The radio was some consolation, though. It soon got her so excited that she reached down and stroked herself again, while wondering if she could take the hairbrush from her bedside table and use it on her own backside.

Once again, she shook her head. That did not seem very satisfying. But then, neither did fixing up the house again, only to find it messed up the next time she got out of bed. She told Herb as much, the moment he walked through the door.

“We might as well leave everything the way it is,” he said, in obvious annoyance. “Even if it means staring at that brocade sofa again.”

“You might as well look at it,” she answered. “Didn’t I have to look at that ugly old cracked leather seat all these years? But then I agreed to keep it anyway.”

“Yes, you gave in just so this day would end. You never cared that I liked that chair.”

For a moment, she could only stare at him in surprise.

“How could I not have cared?” she demanded. “Didn’t I leave it where it was, where everyone could see it, all these years?”

“Only because I wouldn’t let you throw it away.”

“You wouldn’t LET me?” she demanded, stabbing her fingernail at his chest again. “Who are you to let me or not let me do anything, especially where our furnishings are concerned? That’s supposed to be the woman’s specialty, isn’t it?”

“The entire home is supposed to be the man’s castle. And so is his business office, for that matter. You insisted on having your way in both places…whether it was furnishing our own living room or setting an asking price for someone else’s house. Sometimes you even argued about it right in front of the client. That’s what finally drove me away. Anyway, those decisions should have been mine.”

“Well, that’s a very modern attitude!” she sneered. “Next you’ll say that you want to spank me for putting your ugly old things away!”

“Spank you?” he asked slowly. “It’s funny you should mention that. On the way here, I was listening to a radio program in the car…”

Now she was starting to smile. “Where he was spanking the lovely young ladies for Groundhog Day? I heard it too, in bed.”

“I thought that guy disgusted you. You said you only kept the radio tuned to that station because he made you too angry to fall asleep again, so you were forced to get up on time.”

“Well, I believed that, too,” she answered, blushing. “But that talk of spanking…the third time I heard this particular episode, it started to turn me on.”

“It did the same for me, from the first time I heard it. That’s why I didn’t mind that he kept playing it over and over again. At first, I just thought other husbands enjoyed it as much as I did. Now it seems that some of their wives did, too.”

“Herb,” she said slowly, batting her eyelashes as she looked up at him. “I think that ugly old leather chair might be good for something, after all.”

“It sure might!” he answered, as he pulled her towards it. “If that radio guy thinks HE has a spanking chair, he has nothing on us.”

She shrieked in happy mock dismay, wriggling with desire, as he threw himself into the seat and dragged her over his lap. Then he pulled her skirt up to her waist and threw her panties onto the Persian carpet. Her smile turned to a startled gasp when the first blow landed, hurting much more than she had ever expected.

“OUCH!” she cried, when his big, square right hand hit her slim right buttock cheek for the second time. “OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!” He did not answer, as his hand kept moving from one side to the other in a swift, steady pace. As thin as her backside was, she felt that each sharp smack was cutting her to the bone. The tenth time his palm landed, she shouted, “That’s enough! You can stop now!”

To her alarm, he stayed silent as the blows kept raining down. Now she was struggling desperately, but his left arm dropped across her back, holding her in place. She could feel her hair falling across her shoulders…really disheveled now, rather than just pinned up to look that way.

“OUCH!” she cried again. “That really hurt! Please stop now!” Still the spanking continued, as she shrieked, “Can’t you hear me? I was begging you to stop!”

“I hear you,” he answered, as his hand kept rising and falling. “So could all of our neighbors, if we didn’t have a one-acre lot. But I want you to hear me now. I have never stopped loving you, but I did grow to hate your bossy ways. From now on, I decide how we furnish our home…and how much we charge for our clients’ houses…and every other major choice we make. I will listen to your opinions, but then you will stop nagging about them, because the final say will be…MINE!”

At that last word, his hand came down with the greatest force of all, sending her jumping into the air as far as his restraining arm would allow.

“But, Hank, I…OW!”

“Do you agree or don’t you? Because I can keep this up as long as you keep resisting me.”

“All right, all right! I will not resist. You can keep this leather chair in this elegant parlor forever…and put the horns from a Texas steer over the mantel if you want to. And you can charge one hundred dollars for a 20-room mansion if you like. Just stop spanking me!”

“All right, I will…after I’ve smacked you ten more times, to make you remember your promise!”

“No, no! OUCH!” And his hand went relentlessly on, until the count was complete.

When it was finally finished, he lifted her into his arms, kissed her hard and carried her to the brocade sofa. She found herself clinging to him with her arms around his neck, reaching up to return his embrace.

Somehow, the pain had turned into pleasure, as her response to his complete dominance and control. Thinking of that, she knew she had always secretly longed for them, even while she fought against him…without realizing that she was fighting against her own deepest desires at the same time.

“I’m glad we’ve finally found a use for this thing,” he said, as he arranged her carefully on the padded seat. Ignoring the lingering burning pain, she reached up and pulled him down on top of her, writhing again with desire. To both of their surprise, they reached the most violent orgasm of their lives together, a moment after he thrust himself into her.

Then he went back to the leather chair and spread his legs, so she could sit facing him comfortably. Soon they were covering each other’s faces with kisses.

“So, what shall we do now?” he asked her.

“We can fix things up once more,” she answered. “I just hope we can do it again tomorrow…because I never want THIS day to end. And I never want to get rid of that chair.”

As he carried her upstairs to bed, he murmured, “I think we’ll always find a use for that brocade sofa, too.”

* * *

The day did end, though, in a very satisfactory way. When they woke up that morning, they were still lying in bed together and she was nestled in his arms. That stinging in her backside was definitely left over from the night before, telling her that the previous day was finally complete.

As final proof, the radio “shock jock” had a new message, too.

Both smiled as he said, “You know I am famous for spanking those lovely young ladies…”

“You’re our main man, too,” she told him. “You turned us on to spanking. I wonder if we should write and tell you so.”

“It might be a good idea,” her husband said.

In a moment, they agreed that it would be a very bad one indeed.

They jumped up in surprise as the announcer’s voice went on, “but I hope you also realize it is all in fun. We have been getting complaints from some people, and our sponsors have, too. I want to assure them all that I am not really spanking anyone…it is all just sound effects, and I don’t really have a spanking chair. Hey, I’m a modern man, too. I would never treat a woman that way.”

At that, Herb and Ginger both started laughing and fell back into each other’s arms.

The Scent of Tennessee Spring

By Chula Stone

The Scent of Tennessee Spring

by Chula Stone

"Kind of ironic, ain't it?" he stated in a matter of fact tone. "That's one job I'll never have: porter. But that's the name all right. Porter Reams. Glad to make your acquaintance." He reached his huge, calloused hand over the fence and shook the dainty one she offered. That little hand shouldn't be trying to break up ground, he thought. Look what this darn war has brought us to. Not a decent whole man in the county to do the heavy work for a sweet little creature like this here.

"And I'm Emma Wythe," she replied as she winced a bit from his too firm grip. He noticed and gentled his touch, but it was too late. He'd made her nervous and she spoke without thinking. "I'll be happy to use that pick for you and break up the ground for your Victory Garden. I know it must be difficult for you seeing as you've..." Her voice trailed off as she registered the hard look on his face. "I don't mean to give offense, sir. I was only trying to help."

He looked down at the crutch in his right hand then at the pick in his left. "The day I need a lady like you to break up ground for my garden is the day I get out my shotgun and do what I should have done years ago when I first lost this leg." He threw the pick into the frozen earth and strode away before his anger got the better of him. He'd fairly shouted the last few words at her, but the way she flinched when she saw the pick penetrate the hard-packed soil made him more angry with himself than he was with her. He'd hurt her shaking her hand and mistreated her by shouting at her, then topped it off by scaring her with his uncontrolled angry strength. Good then, he thought to himself. She'll know to stay away.

Until the county had asked everyone to start keeping Victory Gardens to help with the war effort, Porter had only put in a few cabbages and potatoes every fall. They'd last till the first hard frost, which sometimes didn't come till December. Then he'd start seedling tomatoes and plant them after the danger of frost was past. He grew a few tomatoes and cucumbers to remember Sherry by every year, but didn't bother with much else until last year, when he planted the biggest Victory garden around. With the bottom half of his right leg missing, he couldn't go over to Europe where he belonged, fighting beside his neighbors and friends, but he could at least grow food to feed their children and wives waiting at home, so that's what he intended to do.

In fact he was expanding his plot as his 1943 New Year's resolution. He'd just heard about air raids on Berlin and he knew that his buddies were probably in the thick of it all. He couldn't be there with them, but he could use every inch of the two acres his Daddy hadn't sold off to grow food. He wished now Daddy hadn't sold off the land. First off he would have it for more garden, and second he wouldn't have to deal with bothersome neighbors like that little school teacher next door. Though each house had a two acre lot, their two houses had been built rather close together to take advantage of the relatively flat hill top overlooking the gently sloping land around them. Gardens had to be carefully laid out to allow for correct drainage, but it could be done on either side of the fence. That meant that he would have to work side by side with her.

"She was only trying to be helpful, Porter," his father said the next morning when Porter told him about yesterday's incident. "And don't be giving me that look. I can't tan your hide any more, but I can tell your Momma and she'll let you have it with the skillet."

They both laughed at his joke, since his mother reached five feet if she stood on her toes, and Porter was well over six feet even when he slouched. She might give him a piece of her mind, but she'd never use the skillet for anything but Sunday's fried chicken. He ate at their house every Sunday, but kept to himself most of the week, working on cars at his garage when there was work and tending his garden when things were slow. Car fixing didn't need two legs and he was strong enough to do with one hand anything in the garden that needed doing so that his other hand was free to hold the crutch.

"If anybody's hide needs tanning, it's that little school teacher. She shouldn't be breaking up the land this early. Surely she knows it'll freeze again. And just how big a garden does she think she can handle?" He was letting a bit too much exasperation show, and his father had to hide a smile when he realized that Porter must be interested in this new neighbor.

The next afternoon found him wiping the sweat off his brow, even though the cool February day called for coats and mufflers. Working the land like this always warmed his blood and made him think of springs past. He remembered his old friends and the way they would all swim in the creek when their Momma's had all said it was still too cold. He remembered baseball games in the stubble of the winter wheat fields, when he could still run with the best of them. He remembered how Sherry's hair shone in the sweet spring sunshine and how it smelled even better than that unique and intoxicating fragrance that only blew fresh in his native middle Tennessee and only on some days in the spring. Sherry had been the gardener in the family, and he only kept a garden in her memory. When she'd been alive he'd had to take a switch to her behind more than once for working too long in that garden or for not wearing gloves and a scarf to protect herself from chiggers and ticks. Oh, what he wouldn't give to walk that garden with her on an evening and note the growth and blossomings just one more time.

While he stood a moment thinking and dreaming of his lost wife, gone now these five years, Emma came out with a brand new pick ax like the one she had seen him wielding yesterday. Now what in tarnation does she think she's going to do with that thing? Chop her own leg off so she'll look like me? He approached the fence about the time she raised the pick above her head and realized how heavy it was. She swung it downward in a dangerous arc and managed to get it all of a half inch into the cold ground.

"Miss? Not that it's any of my business, but what do you think you're doing with that? It's near as big as you are," he exclaimed as he ducked his half leg and crutch neatly through the fence then followed with the rest of himself in a practiced swing that had him standing on her side of the boards in less time than it takes to tell.

"I'm going to break up the ground in preparation for planting my garden, Mr. Reams," came her cool reply.

"And whose gonna take you to the hospital when you knock yourself out with that pick ax?"

"I didn't ask for your advice, Mr. Reams, and I'll thank you to stay on your side of the fence, if you please. You made it abundantly clear that my help was not welcome or needed yesterday. Well, your help isn't welcome or needed today." With that, she made another valiant attempt at a swing and nearly tumbled over backwards.

"Look, you don't have to heft it that high," he explained, rushing over and taking the pick from her with his left hand. "Watch me." He demonstrated a shorter swing and the pick penetrated the ground with a muffled thud.

"But I can't get the pick in the ground unless I let gravity help it build up some force," she explained right back. Boy, doesn't she sound just like a teacher, he thought. Next thing you know, she'll be making me write out the formula for figuring the square footage of this plot or something.

"Why do you want to get the pick into the ground anyway?" he asked her. "It's way too early for planting."

"Does spring come to your side of the fence earlier than it does to mine, Mr. Reams?" she shot back.

What was it about this little lady that got him so riled so fast? He could feel his temper rise and tried to keep it under control. Apparently she had forgotten her fear of him from yesterday and felt confident enough to sass him today. "I'm starting early to put in a huge garden, Miss Emma. You won't need near this much time to clear enough land to put in a few posies."

"I'll look forward to your posies, Mr. Reams. I intend to grow as many vegetables on as big a plot as I can. There is a war on, you know." Then she blushed bright red and put her hand over her mouth.

"Don't you dare apologize for that war comment, Miss Emma. Everybody says it and believe me, I'm aware of it. But if you think you can clear and tend all this land in a garden by yourself, you're crazy. It'd take you a month of Sunday's just to clear half this back lot here." He indicated the land with a sweep of his hand.

"Then I'm glad I started early, as I intend to sow the front lot, too," she declared as she reached for the pick.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" he said, snatching the pick out of her reach. "If you'll just hold your horses, I'll make you a deal. How 'bout my breaking up the ground for you, and you helping me with my weeding when the time comes."

"That sounds fair enough, Mr. Reams," she agreed, a bit doubtfully. She wondered if when the weeds started to sprout, he would indeed accept her help, but she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. The pick ax was dangerous and she had to admit her reach probably had exceeded her grasp when it came to turning the ground.

She stepped back, as if she expected him to begin at once. This little gal just doesn't have any quit in her, does she?

"I'll get to it just as soon as I get my plot cleared," he explained as he started back over to his own side of the fence with her pick still in his hand.

"But what about my pick? I can at least do something while you work your own plot."

"You, little lady, will forget about this pick, you hear? If I catch you with this pick in your little hand again, you'll be very sorry." His glance dropped to her backside and he made a swinging motion with his crutch. She blushed at his implication and turned to run back into her house like a scalded cat. He laughed the rest of the afternoon every time he thought of the look of horror on her face.

Throughout the next weeks, he worked steadily on his land, but the progress was slow. Every day, Miss Emma would come out after school and visit with him as he swung the pick. They had come to an easy companionship and chatted amiably about war news, town gossip and the weather, which showed signs of an early yet still illusive spring. She was just itching to start planting, and he had to laugh at her eager anticipation of the backbreaking labor ahead of them. To humor her, he broke up a plot of land on her side of the fence of a size he thought suitable for her to work by herself, with some help from him, of course. He had no intention of breaking up any more land for her, but he neglected to mention that fact. He assumed she would trust his judgment on the matter and not make a fuss once she was able to really start to hoe the rows and plant.

That was why he stopped dead in his tracks, speechless with anger at the spectacle waiting for him when he came home from the garage late one Friday afternoon. There she was, in shorts, of all indecent things, swinging a pick ax into the broken earth. It was easier to continue in the earth he had already started and extend his rows than it had been to start from scratch. She was actually making minute progress and that inflamed his anger all the more.

He walked as quietly up behind her as he could manage and was almost to her before she heard him. He knew he might only get the one shot so he had to make it count. He raised his arm back and bent down to give her a mighty wallop, not on her shorts clad bottom but rather on her bare lower thighs. She yelped and spun around but didn't react fast enough to escape him. He picked her up over his left shoulder and carried her easily to the fence where he could lean, and not need the crutch. He then proceeded to hold her on his shoulder with his left arm around her waist and deliver a hard spanking to her wiggling bottom with his right hand.

His only regret was that he hadn't taken off his belt to use. She was squirming so much, he didn't dare reach down and try to remove it now. So he had to content himself with wallop after thudding wallop with his hard calloused hands. He brought his arm up as hard as he could and didn't forget the flick of the wrist at the last minute that Sherry had always said she hated when he used it on her. That flick should bring out the sting like nothing else, he thought. She sure could yell loud, he noted, as he continued to swat her very nicely shaped rear. He couldn't see it well from this position, but he could feel it with every stroke. He didn't even try to count how many times he brought his hand down on her backside, but he knew he'd gotten through to her when she quit yelling, "You brute" and starting sobbing, "I'm sorry". He kept on spanking for a few more minutes just to make sure.

"This is what happens," he scolded as he started in on her thighs again, "to bad-mannered little school teachers who break into sheds and steal dangerous equipment they've been told to stay away from. Didn't I tell you that you'd be sorry if I ever caught you with that pick again?"

"I'm sorry. I should have asked you first. I'll never do it again, I promise. Just please stop. It hurts. It hurts!" she pleaded, but he wasn't ready to listen just yet.

"Didn't I tell you I would turn all the ground you needed? Didn't I warn you not to go playing with picks too big for you to be hefting? You could have hurt yourself a lot worse than I'm hurting you now," he chided.

"I won't touch the pick again, ever, if you'll just please stop!" she promised. "Please, just stop. Pleeeeeeease, pleeeeeeease, stop!"

"If you'll stop hollering for a minute, and listen to me, I might just think about stopping," he assured her. She immediately fell silent.

"You going to mind me from now on?" he demanded.

"Yes, yes, anything," she promised, hoping for relief from his fiery assault on her rear end.

"I'll hold you to that, Miss Emma," he said as he lowered her to the ground. Still leaning on the fence, he was able to put both arms around her and hold her while she sobbed. When she finally calmed down, he went on gently, "You're a school teacher, sweetheart, not some pioneer woman who has to clear her own land and run her own farm single-handed. Spring will come soon enough and there'll be plenty of work for you to do. Until then, you just have to be patient and trust me, hear? And them shorts better not see the light of day ever again, either. This ain't Hollywood, in case you hadn't noticed."

She nodded as she stepped away from him, rubbing gently at her very tender bottom. He let her go back into the house, then took the offending pick ax back to his shed where he placed it on a high shelf, out of sight. Maybe that would help her resist temptation.

For Emma, the weeks of winter dragged by more slowly that year than they had ever done before. She enjoyed her work at the high school but looked forward even more to daily talks with her handsome next door neighbor. Girlfriends at school had told her about the terrible car accident that took Porter's first wife and his leg. They all agreed that he was a good man and felt sorry that he had kept so much to himself since his tragedy. A quick look in his old school records revealed that he had been a good student and another interesting little tidbit: his birthday was March 11.

That cool March day the sun shone bright and fair. As she marched with her prize through the gate and over to his side of the fence, she thought she caught a faint whiff of a lovely scent she had never smelled before, but while she tried to identify it, the breeze carried it away. He was still in the house, so she knocked on the back door and waited with happy anticipation for him to appear.

Thinking it was his mother, he called out, "Come on in! I'll be right down!"

She had never stepped into his home before. It would not really be proper, but she thought she would just set his present down on the table and go right back outside. Her back was to the hallway, so she didn't see him enter, bare-chested as he changed from his car fixing clothes to his gardening shirt to go with his dungarees. He let out a "huh?" at seeing her and she whirled around to gape at his muscular though roughly scarred chest. She realized on later reflection that he had been more grievously injured in the accident than she had been told. At that moment, however, all she could do was scurry in embarrassment to the door. When she moved away from the table, he saw his present standing proudly upon it. It was a beautiful two-layer cake with caramel frosting. How could she know it was his favorite, he asked himself in delight. And where did she get the sugar, he asked himself a moment later in consternation.

"What is this?" he demanded. His voice was rough but she could tell by the look on his face that he was thrilled.

"It's just a dumb old caramel cake," she explained, trying to make light of her accomplishment.

"But it must have taken you forever to save up that much from your sugar rations. You shouldn't have done it!"

"I'll take that as a 'thank you,' Mr. Reams," she pouted in disappointment and turned to go.

Even with the crutch, he could move quickly in small spaces. He pushed the door to with his free hand and leaned close to her, ready to command her to take the cake back and enjoy it herself. Up this close, however, her scent and nearness chased every thought from his head and he couldn't resist his impulse to lean down yet a bit lower and kiss her lovely lips.

He'd meant it to be just a little kiss at first, just a thank you, brotherly type of kiss, but he held it a moment too long for that. He couldn't seem to pull away, but she could. He wanted to reach out and pull her back but the look of confusion on her face made him step away from the door and say instead, "I've got a little coffee saved for a special occasion. This looks like being it. Have a seat."

He stumped away to the stove, but was so flustered that he dropped the coffee pot which he'd stored away on a shelf. She very competently retrieved the coffee pot and started elbowing him out of the way to fill the pot with water and measure the coffee grounds.

"Well, just make yourself to home, why don't you?" he laughed as he went and sat down like a guest at his own kitchen table.

"It's your birthday, so it's you who deserves the break. Just rest there a minute and I'll take care of..."

At that moment the back door opened and in walked the preacher of the small church they both attended. Porter stood so hastily he forgot his crutch and nearly toppled over backwards. This made Emma turn and splash water on the stove. They both looked so flustered and guilty, Brother Simon had to work hard to stifle a laugh.

Emma, as the first to recover her composure, invited him as gracefully as possible, "Come on in, Brother Simon. We were just going to have a piece of Mr. Reams' birthday cake with a little coffee. You'll join us, surely."

"I'll be more than glad to, Miss Emma. Thank you. Seems like I got here just in time." Turning to Porter, he gave the younger man a hard look. "Just in case you forgot it, boy, this here ain't New York or California, either. What are you thinking about, alone in here with this fine young lady?"

"We weren't doing anything wrong," Porter protested.

"Well, I know that, and you know that, but what about the busybodies this town is plumb full of, huh? Do you think they know that?" Brother Simon chided him. He placed the blame squarely on Porter since he knew that Emma was new to the area and might not realize what a breach of decorum her being here represented.

"Oh, well, Preacher, that's okay, then," Emma asserted smoothly. "You might as well be the first one to know, and we'd appreciate you keeping it under your hat for a while yet, but Porter and I are engaged."

In later years, she recalled fighting to keep a straight face as she tried to decide who looked more shocked, Brother Simon or Porter. Good thing the preacher is looking at me and not Porter's face, she thought, or he'd know in an instant what a story I just told.

"Well, that's different, I reckon," smiled the preacher as he accepted a cup of coffee from Emma.

Porter could do no more than sputter, but Brother Simon put it down to his not wanting to let the cat out of the bag just yet. "Don't worry yourself, boy. I'll keep it dark. But you two got to be more careful. No more playing house till you're ready for me to tell your good news. It's about time you found you a good woman, Porter. It's what Sherry would have wanted. And this little lady here looks like a jim dandy, sure enough."

He finished up his cake and walked out of the house with Emma following behind him. She made to head back to her own house, but Porter called to her as soon as the preacher was out of sight.

"Emma Wythe! You get your little self back over here right now! What in this world have you gone and done?"

"Nothing, Porter Reams. I just got us out of an uncomfortable situation. I didn't want the preacher to get the wrong impression. In a few weeks, we can say we decided to call it off, and no one will be the wiser."

"And do you make a habit of telling tall tales like that to get out of trouble?"

"It's been known to happen, I guess." She shrugged and faced him with a "what are you going to do about it" look.

"Well, not around here, it hasn't been known to happen. Leastwise, not if the girl wanted to sit down any time in the next month."

Without thinking, Emma began backing away and covering her behind with her hands. "No, Porter. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied. I'll make things right in a few weeks. We can say you called it off so you're not the one embarrassed."

"As if anybody'd believe that! No man in his right mind would call off a wedding with you. Folks around here will never take me for such a fool. But they won't take you for such a fool either, to marry the likes of me."

"Now just hold on one minute, Mr. Reams. Nobody will take me for a fool for trying to catch the nicest, most hard-working man in town." Her teasing tone irked him and he realized that maybe he had let this pretty little teacher get under his skin. Time to make her see reason.

"Not to mention the only man in town, Miss Emma. As you told me once, there is a war on. It's not like there's anybody else here for competition. Everyone will know you just feel sorry for me." In the silence following his words, she could have sworn she heard the very air around them freeze up like it was the coldest day of winter.

"If that's what you think of me, Mr. Reams, I guess it's best I find it out now." She turned on her heel and walked on through the gate and out of his life.

He was careful to go inside as soon as he saw her walking up the lane from school each afternoon as spring finally began to tell the redbuds to bloom. Their bright colors along with the forsythia made quite a show up and down the street, but the winter chill that still held his heart wouldn't let him see the beauty around him. Spring seemed to him to be a woman's season, with it's promise of new life, and with no woman around any more, he'd rather skip straight on to summer. But every day, the light gained ground against the darkness of the evening and soon enough he had to admit he needed to keep working even when she was outside.

They said not one word to each other until the Saturday morning he saw her with her hoe, watering can, and several packets of seeds. He watched in disbelief as she showed every sign of preparing the soil for planting. He couldn't just stand by and let her waste all that good seed.

"Too early," he shouted, not looking up from his own hoeing.

She just continued on about her business, paying him no more mind than a crow pays the dog barking underneath it as it flies. He laid down his hoe, paced to the fence, and tried again. "It's too early, Miss Emma. There'll be another frost and kill anything you put in the ground today."

"But the crocuses are all up, and those red trees have already flowered, Mr. Reams, and the yellow bushes are in full flower, too. Surely, nature would not let them freeze. They wouldn't all be blossoming if there were still danger of frost."

"Miss Emma, many's the time I've knocked snow off my blooming forsythia, and seen the ground covered in those redbud blossoms 'cause they bloomed too early. They'll fool you every time. Takes a while for spring to really come here, but it's worth waiting for. Like lots of things, Miss Emma. They take time, but they're the sweeter when they get here."

Like you, she thought. I pushed you, didn't I? I tried to move too fast and I scared you away. You're worth waiting for, too, Mr. Porter Reams. What she said out loud, however, was, "Then how will I know when to plant?"

"Well, for one, I'll tell you when to plant. But for another, you'll smell the spring smell. It's something else around here. 'Specially after a rain, you can't find candy near as sweet as that smell. It's sweeter even than that caramel cake you made. It was good by the way. I never got a chance to thank you properly."

"Oh, that's all right. I hope you had a happy birthday."

"It started out great, but I ended up making a dear little lady mad at me. I sure was sorry about that."

"I'm sure any lady would be happy to forgive a man who offered so sweet an apology," she replied.

They smiled at each other before she returned her watering can and seeds to her little shed. They spent the day hoeing the plots and making the neat straight rows that would receive the seeds when the time was right.

The next morning, they walked to church together and the frost covered grass crunched beneath their Sunday shoes. She slipped on a slight slope and he reached out with his free hand to steady her. By silent agreement, she kept her arm linked through his all the way to church.

The next week saw the sun rise earlier and set later. At last Emma heard Porter speak the words she'd been waiting for. "I reckon it's about time, Miss Emma," he said, on a lovely Friday afternoon. She grinned and wondered why he looked so solemn. "Come with me."

He led her to his shed and she followed happily. It was hard to keep from skipping. Spring was finally here and they were going to plant. It never entered her head that his words might have any other meaning.

He'd never seen anyone look so happy about getting a spanking. As he entered the shed and went to take a seat on the low bench that ran the length of one wall, he wondered if she would leave with as much spring in her step as she brought with her now. He doubted it very seriously.

"So, what will we start with?" she asked in happy anticipation. "I've been waiting for so long and I'm so excited."

"Well, I don't know. I suppose I'll use my hand at first," he answered her, still unable to grasp why she seemed so happy.

"And then the hoe, I guess. I'll get it down for you," she offered.

"The hoe? No, that'll be too hard on you. I wasn't figuring on using the hoe," he replied.

"But what else can you use?" she questioned.

"Well, there's my belt here and that ruler over there if you really want to know," he told her. He could tell by the look on her face that she did not understand him.

"I don't see how your belt is going to do any good," she said, doubtfully.

"Oh, I imagine you'll see soon enough," he promised. "Now come on over here and let's get this show on the road."

She came to him without a moment's hesitation and he took her hand. "I'm glad you're not trying to run, Miss Emma. We both know if you ran, I could never catch you. I can hold you once you're here, but I have to depend on you to come to me."

She still didn't understand, but she smiled and replied, "Why would I try to run? I want this very much."

"You do? Then you agree you deserve it?" he asked.

"After all this time, I should say so," she asserted.

"All right then," he agreed, then took her arm and gently pulled. She lost her balance and fell over his knee.

"What? What are you doing, Porter?" Emma demanded. She felt his hands at the elastic waist band of her gardening slacks and tried to stop him as he tugged. "Stop that. You can't do that."

"Says who? You just told me you agreed. You just told me you've been waiting. It's been quite a while since you told that lie and you'll get what's coming to you today."

"But that's not what I....ouch! Ow! OW!" she cried out as he made good on his promise to start with his hand. She wriggled to try to get away from him, but he was able to hold her easily. He smacked her backside twenty times on each cheek before he stopped to scold her.

"This is what you'll get each and every time you tell a lie, Emma. I don't tell stories and I expect the same to be true of you. Now, be still, or after I'm done, I'll give you twenty more swats for not minding me."

"But wait," she protested when she'd caught her breath. "I misunderstood. I thought you meant that spring was finally here and we were going to plant seeds today."

"I suppose we could do that," he answered after a moment's thought. "That doesn't require sitting down, so you'll be okay."

"Wait, ouch! Ouch! Ouch! OUCH! Oh, ow, please, wait, stop. No, wait, I meant...oh, ow, please!" she tried to reason with him as he resumed his assault on her pinkening bottom.

"Lying is something I won't tolerate, especially lying to get out of trouble. We should have just taken what was coming to us. Instead you told that lie and it came all too easily to you, I thought," he scolded as he spanked. "And I'll take my belt to your kabumpus each and every time you try it, understand?"

"Yes, I understand, Porter. Please, I won't do it again, I promise. Oh, ow, that hurts, please stop! Stop, please," she pleaded and he wondered if she really thought it would do any good.

"Hush that talking and take your medicine, little lady," he told her as he picked up his belt from the bench where he had laid it earlier. He doubled it with a practiced motion, hiding the buckle in his big hand. Snap, thwack, splat came the sounds of the belt striking tender flesh in various places up and down her thighs then on up higher over all of her rear end. She was thoroughly red by the time he stopped and let her catch her breath.

"So, let's go over this again. Why are you getting this spanking?"

"Because I told a lie. I'm really sorry and I'll never do it again," she answered in a small voice. She pushed herself up on her hands in an attempt to stand up, but he held her down with his strong left arm.

"You'll wait to get up till I tell you to get up," he cautioned her. "Don't try that again." He made his point clearer with a dozen more strokes with the belt. She was sobbing now and he gave her a moment to recover her composure. "So you agree that you do deserve this spanking?"

"Yes, I do. I agree that you should spank me if I lie, but I won't lie again, so please, no more."

"I told you I would use the ruler, too. That's what I'm fixing to do, but if you count out twenty, I'll let that be the end of it." He picked up the ruler and brought it down hard on her backside. The pain was different and terrible on her already roughened, red, sore skin. She winced and bucked, but counted as she had been told.

"One." Another stroke sounded over her sobs. "Two." He brought it down again, though not as hard this time. "Three." A little lower down, the ruler connected with the tender crease between her bottom and her thighs and she gasped before she counted. "Four." He continued, waiting for her to count before he gave her the next stroke so that in essence she was setting his pace. She began to let more time elapse between each swat until she realized that this only made the pain of each individual stroke worse. Better to get it over with, she thought, as with supreme effort, she counted faster until all twenty had been delivered.

He rubbed her back for a moment when he was done and then said, "You can stand up now. I'm finished, and I hope that for goodness sakes, I never have to do that again."

She stood with difficulty then remained where she was, not knowing what to do next. He grasped his crutch and stood, then embraced her with his free arm. "I'd hug you with both arms," he explained, "but then I'd have to lean on you."

"I wish you would, Porter," she responded. "You can always lean on me."

"No, not always. Sometimes a man has to stand on his own. But sometimes, I guess it's okay to lean, too." He put the crutch back on the bench and let his hands rub her gently, her hair, her back, her sides. It seemed natural to both of them, once her tears had subsided, for him to kiss her face and lips. This time she didn't pull away from him, but returned his kisses. The buzzing of a bee finally interrupted them and they laughed as Porter swatted it away with the ruler.

"You're entirely too handy with that thing," she joked. She wanted him to understand that she would accept his discipline with good grace, when she felt she deserved it. "And the belt, too."

"And you couldn't see how the belt would do any good, huh? That's rich. You wanted me to use the hoe. Ha ha ha! You don't see how I can use a belt to plant seeds, huh? Do you get the idea now how handy a belt can be?" he asked her.

"I get the idea that a belt can plant an idea in my mind, and that idea is 'no lying'. I think that seed will sprout and take root very quickly, too. Speaking of my lie, Porter, when do you think I ought to start to make that right. I mean, the preacher is going to start to wonder why we're not saying anything."

"You know, I've been thinking on that right often and I was wondering if we really needed to correct that lie after all. Maybe we could just let it be for a spell, and see what happens." Porter looked at his hands, at the floor, at the pesky bee, anywhere but at her face, because he couldn't stand to see her expression if she wasn't going to agree.

He need not have worried. She threw herself into his arms again and nearly knocked him over. They kissed again, then went out into the bright sunshine to begin the spring planting together. "That's it, right there," he told her as he inhaled a big breath of a luscious scent he wanted to share with her. "That's the spring smell I was telling you about."

"Oh, that is lovely," she replied, imitating his long inhalation to get the full effect. "What is it?"

"Nobody knows for sure. It's the rain and the blooming trees and shrubs and just the very hills around us. It's everything mixing together and welcoming spring."

Each spring, the first smell of that lovely fragrance reminded Emma of her first spring in Tennessee. From that year on, it reminded Porter of a certain spring afternoon in his shed, where his belt came in very handy indeed.

Easter Hat

By Fiona Wilde

Easter Hat by Fiona Wilde

The bell above the door of Hart’s Mercantile tinkled lightly as Matilda Jenkins walked into the store. She looked down at the toes of her shoes and the hem of her dress and despaired. She’d tried to step carefully, to avoid the muddiest parts of the road left by the spring rains. But it was hard to do while toting a huge basket.

Matilda looked around. At least the store was relatively empty and what shoppers there were consisted of ladies too old to make snide remarks. Breathing a sigh of relief, she walked up to the counter.

“Good morning, Mr. Hart,” she said.

“Mrs. Jenkins!” Aaron Hart turned, his mustachioed mouth turning up in a friendly smile. “You’re just in time. Janet Little was in yesterday asking if I’d have jam and eggs today.” He helped her lift the basket onto the counter and opened the lid.

“Lovely,” he said as he lifted a smaller basket of eggs from the larger one. “These are perfect for coloring.”

Matilda smiled. “There’s more where they came from,” she said, lifting forth another basket. She sat it down beside the first and began to take out other things - jars of mint jelly, strawberry jam and a stack of intricate hand-tatted lace doilies.

“You’ve outdone yourself, young lady,” the storekeeper beamed. “I hope Ray appreciates what a wonderful little homemaker his new bride is.”

The face framed by blonde curls and a bonnet blushed prettily. “Thank you, Mr. Hart,” she said, and instantly brightened. “It’s been six months today since we were wed!”

“Has it been that long? My goodness.” Mr. Hart opened the cash drawer and began to withdraw money, but Matilda stopped him.

“Mr. Hart, I actually have a few things to pick up. Perhaps we should hold off on the accounting until we balance out what we owe each other.”

“Let me guess, you caught a glimpse of my new ribbons,” he said.

Matilda laughed. “Is my longing so apparent, Mr. Hart? You do carry the most beautiful ribbons in the region. And I’m particularly keen to create a lovely Easter hat.”

“Then you should be well pleased,” he said. “Much of it is imported silk, lace from Belgium..”

But Matilda was already there, allowing the beautiful ribbons to slide through her slim fingers.

“Can I help you?” Pearl Hart glided through the door of the back room, her hands smoothing the bodice of a light pink dress. She looked Matilda up and down, her eyes lingering with disapproval on the younger woman’s muddy hem.”

“Goodness, Mrs. Jenkins. Did you walk in the pigsty this morning?”

Matilda heard the sound of tittering laughter behind her and turned to see Samantha Snowden and Margaret Appleby giggling and eyeing her mud-caked hem.

She blushed deeply, feeling deeply embarrassed, as Matilda was a fastidious girl - and neat - who prided herself on her tidy home and tidy appearance. She wanted to fall through the floor in the face of such mean-spiritedness, but instead repeated the mantra her mother had taught her, “At all costs, be a lady.”

So rather than walk away as she wanted to, she turned and smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Snowden, Mrs. Appleby.” Then turning back to the shopkeeper’s wife, she said sweetly. “It only looks like I walked in a pigsty, Mrs. Hart. But I did not. The road outside your shop is terribly muddy and it became impossible to hoist my skirt while carrying your order in a way that did not shatter the eggs.”

“Well, I would have shattered the eggs before coming into public with egg on my face,” said Samantha Snowden.

Matilda ignored her. “Mrs. Hart, I’d like to talk to you about getting some ribbons.”

“The regular ones are over there,” Mrs. Hart said, jerking her head towards the cheaper embellishments.

“I meant the new ones, ma’am,” she said.

Mrs. Hart smirked before stepping aside with an audible sigh. “You can look,” she said. “But they are *very* expensive.”

“I have money,” Matilda said quietly, and began to re-examine the ribbons, ignoring the loudly whispered “Well, that’s certainly unusual,” that came from behind her back.

Matilda compared the ribbon, scrutinizing the grain, texture and thread count. In her mind, she saw the simple straw hat she’d purchased several weeks before, envisioned the hat festooned with a bouquet of ribbons and lace.

She selected four different types of ribbon and some lace. Mrs. Hart cut it into the lengths she requested, figured the amount and wrote it on a piece of paper. “Take this to Mr. Hart,” she said.

Matilda looked at the ticket and felt her heart leap into her throat. The amount came to nearly three-quarters her projected revenue from the items she’d brought in to sell. But then she remembered that Mr. Hart always gave her items at wholesale cost. Walking over, she handed the shopkeeper the ticket. As she did, she heard his wife’s hard voice from across the room - and so did everyone else.

“There will be *no* discount on the imported ribbon, Aaron.” Matilda felt all eyes on her again, and the flush crept back into her face. Raymond Jenkins was very specific about what his wife was allowed to spend, as they were saving to buy a house in town. He’d be incensed to know she spent so much money on trifles.

She looked imploringly at Mr. Hart, but he looked down, obviously uncomfortable but unwilling to publicly confront his wife. He dashed out figures on the paper and tallied them, as his wife stood behind him, her lips pursed, glancing occasionally at Matilda.

Matilda tried to look casual when he announced that the revenue was, indeed offset by her expenditures to the tune of a little more than three quarters. Taking the change, she smiled graciously and took her package and tucked it in her basket. Then she turned and walked from the store with her head held high.

She walked down the steps of the mercantile, clutching her basket. She walked past the livery, past the butcher shop before ducking into a side alley, where she leaned back against a wall and closed her eyes.

“What have I done?” Matilda asked herself. “What am I going to tell Raymond?”

She considered her plight. Matilda had been married six months and had never once deceived her husband. That, in fact, was why he had chosen her from among the flock of beauties pushed in his path by anxious mothers. And then there were the matchmaking attempts of the shopkeeper’s wife, who’d always been civil to Matilda until Ray chose her over Pearl Hart’s best friend Margaret Appleby.

The spurned women and their allies had shown up at the wedding with forced smiles, but had been cruel as wolves ever since. Raymond’s tight grasp on the financial strings meant that Matilda had little money to spend. Even most of the money generated from her flock of chickens, her cooking and her sewing was required to be put back into the budget. She was given a strict allowance and was warned that - while he was a patient man - spendthrift ways would not be tolerated and would furthermore earn her a trip over his knee.

Matilda had been an obedient, placid daughter and was determined to be an obedient, placid wife. So the shock of her own defiance for the sake of pride presented a dilemma. Should she throw herself on her husband’s mercy? Or should she concoct a plan to cover her weakness, and save her bottom?

She decided honesty would be the best policy, so with a heavy sigh she turned back on the street and walked another block before coming to a narrow brick building that housed the office of Raymond Jenkins, town clerk.

He greeted her with a smile, putting down his quill pen and rising from his chair. She put the basket on a chair and rushed to him, her bonneted head only coming up to the middle of his broad chest as they embraced.

Matilda broke away and reached into the basket to retrieve the lunch she’d prepared, some dried meat, bread, cheese and plum cobbler. Best satisfy his hunger before giving him the bad news.

“How’s your morning, dear?” she asked.

“Quite well, except that the mayor is in the worst of moods.” He stomped about fretting all morning. I could barely hear to do my sums.

“And what set him wrong?” Matilda asked, taking off her bonnet and hanging it up along with her short cape. “Surely he had a good reason. Mr. James is usually such a mild-mannered man.”

“He has a perfectly good reason,” her husband said, his handsome face growing serious. “It seems his wife went into Clarksville a fortnight back - with Mrs. Hart - to visit the merchants and purchased a dress worth two weeks wages. When he confronted her about the wastefulness of such an expenditure, she said she wanted finery to match her companions. In other words, her allegiance to her own vanity was more important than her allegiance to her husband.”

Matilda stood, her face hot with shame at hearing herself described in the tale of another woman’s vice. She walked over to the bookshelf and let her fingers absently play along the leather bound spines. “Well, perhaps it was just a moment’s weakness that he will excuse. After all, husband, Easter is upon us and we wives all wish to look lovely for our husbands.”

“Hmph.” Raymond Jenkins’ derisive snort could not be interpreted as anything other than condemnation. “I’d hardly think my wife lovely adorned in finery outside our budget. If I looked at such a woman, I’d find her shameful to behold.”

At this, Matilda Jenkins instantly burst into such a violent fit of tears that her husband dropped his fork. Pulling the napkin from around his neck, he rushed to her side.

“Tildy,” he said. “Tildy, darling, what’s wrong?”

But she could barely muster the words to tell him and only cried harder until he ordered her quite sternly to calm her emotions. Matilda was not completely successful, but was able to calm down enough to give him a full accounting of what she’d done at Hart’s Mercantile, how she’d been lured by the pretty ribbons and had been too embarrassed to put them back after she found out their exorbitant cost.

Her husband was sympathetic but stern. “Tildy, you know better than that. We’re saving for a place in town, so that I can be closer to work and we can spend more time together. You want a nice house with a little yard and a rose garden. You’ll never have it if you fritter our money away on ribbon.”

“I know,” she sniffed.

“You must take it back,” he said.

“Take it back?” A vision of Mrs. Hart’s smirking face floated before her. “No!”

“You must, Tildy.” Raymond Hart’s voice tone was inflexible.

“I will do more sewing next week, to make up the difference,” she cried.

“No, that is not the point,” he persisted. “You will learn nothing if I allow you to keep those ribbons, save that you can flaunt my rules without consequence.”

Tildy felt her face grow hot. She crossed her arms. “That is not true,” she said. “I never ask you for anything, Ray. I pinch pennies, mend my own clothes and have saved you more in six months than other wives spend in a year. I have a right to a few ribbons and I shall not return them!” She stamped her foot for emphasis.

Her husband sighed and walked to the door and for a moment - a brief moment - Matilda thought she had won, until she saw him lock the door and stride back towards her, his face grim and purposeful.

She had precious little time to contemplate being lifted and hauled over to the chair, where he sat before pulling her over his knee.

“I warned you, Matilda, that if you ever did anything like this you would be spanked!”

Matilda whimpered and squirmed. “All right, Raymond, I’ll take the ribbons back!”

Her husband pulled up her dress and opened her pantelettes to reveal her smooth, round buttocks.

“It’s too late for that,” he declared. “You had your chance and chose to defy me, wife, and you’ve been warned of the consequences of disobedience.” And without any further preamble, he began to spank her.

Matilda was not a delicate girl, but she had only been spanked twice in her life - once when she was five for dumping a pail of milk on her brother’s head, and another time when she was ten, for playing when she was supposed to be working. She remembered being afraid, but she didn’t remember the spankings of her childhood hurting like this.

Raymond was not gentle, and she began to squeal as his large hand peppered smack after vigorous smack on the ivory mounds of her bottom. The handprints bloomed like roses across her fair skin, and even as she became mortified that passersby might overhear her ordeal, she could not stop as her husband shifted her further forward over his knee and targeted the soft skin where buttock meets thigh.

Matilda was begging now, promising between ragged sobs to be the best wife ever, to never spend money again -anything to make her husband stop. But he only reminded her of her disobedience, and leveled another ten spanks before finally pulling her to her feet.

Her hands pressed to her bottom, Matilda wailed her distress as her husband led her to the corner and firmly ordered her to stand until he permitted her to leave. It took her a good twenty minutes to stop crying, and when she did, he dried her eyes and informed her - again - that she needed to walk down to the mercantile and return the ribbons. He said he would go with her, for moral support.

It was difficult, walking into the store. Mr. and Mrs. Hart were standing at the counter when the Jenkinses came through the door.

“Back again, Mrs. Jenkins?” Mr. Hart beamed.

Matilda managed a weak smile as she walked over and laid the package on the counter. “Yessir,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I…I need to return these ribbons. They really are outside our budget and I should have resisted the temptation of buying them.” With trembling hands, she slid the package across the counter.

Mr. Hart laid a hand on it. “Oh, dear, you’re such a good customer and have brought in a good deal of money with your lovely wares. Take them. As a gift.”

But Mrs. Hart snatched the package away. “Absolutely not. This ribbon didn’t come cheap to us and is absolutely not going to be given away to some chit of a girl who should remember her station before making a purchase so obviously beyond her means!”

“Pearl!” Mr. Hart’s tone was one of distressed embarrassment. “That is cruel.”

“It is,” Raymond Jenkins icily agreed as he saw his wife’s chin wobbling in an attempt not to cry. “Tildy is returning the ribbons because it is the right thing to do. It shames her to do it, but it must be done. I would not have her shamed worse.”

“Well, perhaps if you’d chosen better for a wife, you wouldn’t be in this dilemma. Dear Margaret Appleby would hardly be so thoughtless a spouse.”

Matilda’s gasp of shock was audible, and her husband’s face was a thundercloud as he turned to address Aaron Hart. “I’ve never been a man to meddle in the affairs of others, he said, "but a good man such as yourself is not complemented by such a harridan.”

He turned then and guided his wife from the store. They did not see Mr. Hart take his wife by the upper arm and lead her to the back room. They did not see him sit down in his desk chair and pull the raging and fighting woman over his lap. They did not see him raise her skirts, rip her pantalettes open and raise the wooden ruler he help hanging in his office. They did not see him bring it down on the white, wobbly buttocks of his wife.

But they heard it. And they weren’t the only ones. From the livery to the bank to the butcher’s shop to the town hall, people came out onto the stoops and into the streets, drawn at first from concern and then reacting in amusement as they realized the haughty shopkeeper’s wife was finally getting her just deserts.

And oh, was she. Inside his office, Aaron Hart directed a wealth of pent up frustration at his wife’s bouncing bottom. Line crisscrossed line as he whaled away, twice catching her fingers when she made the mistake of attempting to shield herself.

“Your nasty behavior is an embarrassment to me and to yourself,” he lectured, catching first the crest of one cheek and then the other. “You are a wretched representative of a business I have built upon my good reputation." He paused to apply five smacks to each ample thigh. “And if you should open your mouth again to scheme or berate another I will put you away without a cent to your name.” Mrs. Hart screamed as he applied ten more rapid licks to her already bruised bottom. “Madame, consider this spanking a warning.”

And with that, the shopkeeper dumped his wife onto the floor like a sack of potatoes, hung the ruler back on the wall and walked out the back door, where a crowd of townspeople were waiting to cheer him.

On Easter morning, Pearl Hart sat in the church sanctuary, quiet and subdued, clad in a the most conspicuously plain dress and hat of all. Most of the town was there for Easter service, and minutes before the service began, Raymond Jenkins walked in. On his arm, was his wife, and all who witnessed their arrival found themselves staring.

Matilda Jenkins was arrayed in a beautifully form fitting peach-colored dress, with a slight bustle. Pearl buttons and lace adorned the bodice. On her head she wore a beautiful hat that was immediately recognized as the work of the most sought after milliner in the region. In her gloved hand she held a coordinating parasol, edged all around with the finest lace.

The ensemble had been waiting for her when she woke up that morning, along with a note reading,

“Dearest Tildy, I am pleased that the lesson of earlier this week made an impression on you. Although it grieved me to teach it to you, I am hopeful that the reality of a husband’s discipline will always be a deterrent against the type of disobedience that led to its implementation.”

“That said, I fear I have perhaps not shown you adequate appreciation for all you do for me. My house is clean, my meals are nutritious and tasty, and your handicrafts - from curtains to quilts - adorn our house in a way that makes it feel more like home. You’ve extended your arts into the realm of business, adding to our family’s savings.”

Eventually we will have enough to afford a beautiful house in town. But our thriftiness is no reason for me to occasionally forestall the small installments of beauty that I shall use to display my undying affection. So please, accept this gift from me, which I acquired in Clarksville whilst on business. I’m sure you will agree that it is lovely, but it will only be eclipsed by its wearer. Happy Easter.” Love, your husband Raymond.

Mother’s Day on the Spanking Satellite

By Jean Gorski

Mother’s Day on the Spanking Satellite

“Do you dare defy me, miserable slave?”

“No, Master, never! But I beg for mercy!” She threw herself at his feet, clutching his knees, beneath his bearskin cloak. He pushed her away, and she fell to the floor before him. Then he dragged her up again and hurled her face down across the table.

As his slave, she always came to him naked, except for the wide metal collar around her throat. Now he stared for a moment in satisfaction at the soft white buttocks that were so helplessly exposed to his gaze. They belong to me completely, he thought, like the wheat-colored tresses that are falling across her oval face, her bright blue eyes and her still shapely form.

“But why are you punishing me, Master?” she cried.

“Do you dare to ask me that, miserable slave?” he demanded. “You still have the manners of an Earth woman, even though we took you from that wretched planet almost a year ago. I need no reason to punish you…but you will suffer even more, because you dared to ask me why.”

* * *

She moaned, knowing all too well what his punishment would be. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him pulling the wide, heavy belt from around his waist. Then she quickly turned back to the table again and squeezed her eyes shut, as she heard the leather whistling through the air. It struck her backside with an even louder crack, leaving an angry red streak across her milky skin.

After all the strappings he had given her, she was still amazed at how much they hurt. This one set her bottom on fire. Still, she managed to bite down on her thin lower lip, to keep from screaming…until he brought the strap down for the second time. Now the fire blazed even higher, until she felt sure it would consume her. Again and again it burned her, leaving her fearing she would never live through this punishment.

“OW! OW! OW!” she cried. He did not seem to hear her.

By the fifth blow, she was sobbing softly. “How much more must I suffer, Master?” she pleaded, even though she knew what the answer would be.

“Do you dare to ask me that?” he demanded. “Haven’t you been punished often enough for doing it? My answer is…I will give you five more smacks than I would have done if you had remained silent.”

“No, no, no, Master!” she begged him, knowing it was all in vain.

Now the flames were spreading through her entire body following each blow. She could no longer keep from writhing to avoid the strap, as futile as she knew it to be. If she had not been gripping the table with all her strength, she would surely have tried to flee, even knowing that that would only earn her a harsher punishment.

How many times had he struck her? She had lost count long ago. Glancing over her thin shoulder and counting the crimson stripes, she saw that it must have been ten at least. The blows were falling across each other now, adding to her agony. At the sight, her screams gave way to helpless wailing.

“That’s better!” he snarled. “Now I know you are sorry for angering me.”

“I am, I AM, oh Master! I beg you to forgive me for failing to please you.” A few moments ago, she would have begged him to tell her where she had fallen short, but she knew better now. It was her task to learn, without asking, how she could satisfy him, since failing to please her Master was a slave girl’s greatest crime.

“I shall give you your last five, then,” he grumbled. “These are the ones you earned by daring to question me. You deserve many more, but I am inclined to be merciful.”

“Thank you, Master, THANK you,” she gasped, then bit her lip again as the belt struck.

“You must thank me again each time, for taking the trouble to correct you…rather than feeding you to the skivodni beast as the worthless slave you are.”

“OW! Thank you, Master. OW! Thank you, Master. OW! OW! OW!”

“And what else do you have to say?”

“HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!”

* * *

At those startling words, they both wheeled towards the hallway. As stunned as they were, they were obviously not as shocked as the two young people who stood staring at them, their mouths laterally hanging open. At last, the young man started shaking his head slowly in disbelief, until his long brown hair fell over his bony forehead, as he clutched a bouquet of roses.

“Is that your mother, Emma?” he finally managed to ask.

“Who else would it be?” the girl snapped back. “Only she has obviously lost her mind. The real question is…who is that man standing over her, holding a belt and wearing the bathroom rug?”

“It’s supposed to be a bearskin,” Melanie Wardman explained feebly, as she pushed herself up from the table. Pulling off the linen tablecloth, she hastily wound it around herself.

“It isn’t really a bearskin, of course,” she explained. “We got it at JC Penney, and this tan color looks sort of like animal fur. We also got this choker there, in the jewelry department.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Emma told her…in a tone that always terrified her eighth-grade English students. “Who IS that man, and why is he…No, don’t answer,” she added quickly, as her mother started to speak. “I know perfectly well why he is holding the belt. My real question is…how can you let him treat you that way?”

“Well, I told you I had found a new boyfriend, and that he was different from your father in many ways.”

“Different?” her daughter howled. “I should HOPE so! We came here to surprise you and meet him…”

“And I was looking forward to meeting you too, Nick, when I have heard so much about you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wardman.” He started holding his hand out. Seeing, again, that she was using all her fingers to clutch a tablecloth around her, he dropped his own palm quickly at his side.

“Never mind that now!” his sweetheart shrieked. “The point is, now we wish you had never heard of him. This fellow is an utter pervert…and he’s made you into one, too.”

“Now, just a moment there.” They all jumped, as the older man spoke for the first time. “I won’t have you speaking to your mother that way.”

“How will you stop me?” Emma demanded, thrusting her fists against her slim hips. “Will you whip me, too?”

“Of course not! You are not my slave girl.”

For once, she was speechless, gasping so hard that her firm young bosom heaved beneath her blue silk t-shirt. “And my mother IS your slave girl?” she finally demanded. “Mother, where in the world did you FIND this guy?”

“On the Internet, of course,” Melanie replied.

“You are having an affair in real life with a man you had met on line? What is the MATTER with you? I know you have been lonely since father died, even though that was ten years ago…but I didn’t think you had gone mad.”

“Of course, I obeyed the safety rules,” her mother defended herself. “I met him in a public place, and I made sure some friends at my insurance agency saw us together. They were all glad I had found someone, I might add…much happier than you seem to be. Of course, I also have a safe word that will stop him if I feel he is going too far.”

“That sounds about right,” Nick offered. “The safe word is like giving Emma the key to your house, in case of an emergency.”

His sweetheart immediately turned on him.

“That didn’t turn out so well either.”

“You were the one who wanted to surprise them,” he reminded her timidly. “Didn’t I say we should call ahead?”

Ignoring that question, the girl went on, “As for those computers you love so much, they caused the whole problem. The school district would be better off without them.”

Turning to her mother, she said, “Anyway, your friends were happy because they thought you had found a Romeo…not a Simon Legree. Where did you ever get such a crazy idea anyway?”

Rather than answering, her mother glanced towards the mahogany bookcase in the parlor across the hall. It was filled with old paperbacks. That itself seemed strange in that formal room, with its white crown molding above the soft beige walls and floral draperies.

Those window coverings were heavy brocade, the doors were thick paneled wood and the walls were solid brick on all four sides. Thank goodness for that, Emma realized. Otherwise, everyone in Wilmette would probably have heard the noise they made, even across the half-acre lot…and half the people in Chicago would have heard them, too.

Thinking about their lovely house made her angry again. How could she stand to see her childhood home being defiled, along with her father’s memory? And how could her mother have done such a terrible thing to her?

Marching across the hall, she took a closer look at the bookshelf. It immediately answered her question.

“It’s those Savage Satellite novels of yours!” she cried, as she strode back to the dining room. “I thought they were only science fiction stories, left over from your own college days, until I learned from the Internet that most people called them the Spanking Satellite series. Judging by your costume, sir, I assume that you are one of the Vikings of the Savage Satellite.” She bowed coldly in his direction.

“Just how do you know so much about spanking stories?” he demanded.

“None of your business!” she snapped again. “Can I assume, then, that you met my mother on a Spanking Satellite fan site?”

“Not just a fan site,” he informed her. “It’s also for people who want to act out the stories in real life…Centurions of the Savage Satellite, Rangers, Sheiks, Vikings, and so on.”

“I would have expected the readers to be college kids!”

“Well, they aren’t.” To her surprise, he smiled. “I admit, though, I was shocked after I met your mother and realized she did not look like the young Grace Kelly, in that picture she e-mailed me.”

Seeing his sweetheart’s look of disappointment, he quickly went on, “I mean, the resemblance was close enough. I can see where you got your good looks from. But I still had to punish her for lying, and that was the first spanking I gave her. I forgave her, though. After all, I don’t really look like that picture of the young Kirk Douglas I sent her.”

“You certainly do not,” the girl muttered. “More like a fifty-year-old man with a blond crewcut that’s turning grey and face that’s gotten wrinkled and brown from too much time outdoors. Your arms are still strong enough, though…obviously!”

“Well, they should be,” he answered. “I work hard for a living, as a construction foreman. That’s why I have to be outside all the time. Of course, you probably think that’s not good enough for your mother.”

“Nothing wrong with a construction foreman…even if my father was an accountant. But there IS something wrong with standing there in a fake bearskin rug, holding a strap. And it’s even worse to see my mother standing there with nothing on but a tablecloth and a slave collar.”

“It’s only a choker from JC Penney,” Melanie pointed out.

“But it’s SUPPOSED to be a slave collar, and that’s just as bad. So will you both please go get DRESSED? And, Nick, will you put down those roses? You are scattering the petals all over the floor.”

“So I guess this means we aren’t going to the Olive Garden tonight,” Nick finally realized, his thin shoulders slumping with disappointment. “I guess I’d better cancel the reservation, so someone else can enjoy it.”

“The Olive Garden?” his hostess asked. “How did you know that was my favorite place?”

“Your daughter told me. We wanted to surprise you both.”

At last, the woman lowered her eyes in shame. “That was very sweet of you,” she murmured. “The flowers were, too. I’ll go put them in this crystal vase before I go get dressed. You just should have called to warn us.”

“I guess we should, at that. But now I’d better cancel the reservations, like I said.”

“You’d certainly better do that,” his sweetheart answered grimly. “We all have some talking to do…and we don’t want to do it in a crowded restaurant, on the busiest day of the year. Those other ladies would fall off their chairs.”

“Are you sure of that?” Nick asked softly. “I mean, a few minutes ago, you would have thought your mother would do the same thing. I mean, after tonight, I’ll never look at ladies in the Olive Garden the same way again.”

* * *

“No, your father did not leave me frustrated,” Melanie assured her daughter, as they sat at the wooden table in the breakfast nook, dining on Stouffer’s microwaved frozen lasagna. It was not, of course, much like the Olive Garden’s Italian cuisine, but no one felt very hungry anyway.

Sitting on her quilted cushion, Melanie had no appetite at all, since she could barely keep from squirming. Since Emma was her daughter, she had no intention of telling her about the other way she always wound up squirming, in her bed with Ian on top of her, after the punishment was through.

“We had a very happy marriage, even though he was so much older,” she went on. “But Ian Foster was something different. In my 25 years with your father, I enjoyed my fill of filet mignon, and now I wanted…”

“Slave bread from the Savage Satellite?”

“How do you know about the slave bread?” Ian asked suspiciously. Emma pretended not to have heard.

“He is a very kind Master, as you can see,” her mother went on. “Look at this Japanese kimono he bought me from Marshall Field’s.”

“You got me this nice plaid shirt from the same place.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Marshall Field’s, mother?” Emma mocked her softly. “Since you are so eager for change, shouldn’t you call it Macy’s?”

“Not THAT much change!” her mother rebuked her. “Even if Macy’s bought it, they should have kept the real name. Marshall Field’s is a landmark in our area…it even survived the Chicago Fire…”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” her daughter said, as though she had been talking to an eighth grader who had been caught passing notes. “What in the world possessed you to embrace a masochistic lifestyle, and at the age of 48, too?”

“Well, you know what they say,” Ian answered with an even broader grin, showing the boyish gap between his front teeth. “When there’s snow on the roof, there is fire in the hearth. But it might take a little more imagination to get it burning.”

“Will you please pass the salad dressing?” asked Nick, in a voice that had gone high and boyish. Clearly, he had taken all the embarrassment he could stand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a little more Merlot, too.”

His hostess jumped up to serve him, trying not to show how eager she was to get off her poor bruised backside for a moment. After taking the wine and Italian dressing from the granite work counter, she tried, again, to hide her reluctance to sit down again.

“Melanie, you can stand up if you want to,” Ian told her. “Everyone already knows why you find it so hard to stay in your chair.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, as she jumped to her feet again.

“Not ‘Thank you, Master’?” her daughter sneered. “Isn’t that the proper way for a slave girl to talk?”

“You certainly DO know a lot about those stories,” Ian pointed out again.

“Not half as much as YOU two,” Emma hastily retorted. “Do you really have no idea how disgusting you are?”

“As long as it makes us happy, I don’t see anything wrong with it,” her mother protested.

“You don’t? Well then, we’ll show you!”

Rising from her chair, the girl turned to the work island, pushed aside the bottles and leaned across the granite surface. The others were left staring at her firm little outthrust bottom, outlined by her long silk flowered skirt.

“You will NOT show us!” her mother ordered, as the two men stared at the scene. “You are showing us quite enough as it is, thank you. Emma Rose Wardman, YOU are the one who is being disgusting now.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” The girl turned her head to glare at them, tossing back her shoulder-length blond tresses. “Now he is going to spank me, to show you how repulsive the whole thing really is.”

“I am?” he asked in dismay, running his hand nervously through his own long brown hair.

“You certainly are! I don’t see any other way to get the message across, that grown women do not let grown men spank them. Not that anyone should spank a child either…”

“We never spanked you when you were a little girl,” her mother objected.

“It shows,” Ian murmured, putting his arm around Melanie.

“Well, Nick?” the girl demanded.

Shrugging his narrow shoulders, the young man gazed at the other couple in silent apology. Then he raised his long, thin hand high above his head and brought it down with all his force across his sweetheart’s backside.

“OW!” she yelled. “That’s enough, you can stop it now. I am sure they have seen how ridiculous it really is! NICK! NICK! STOP!”

He did not seem to have heard her. Instead, he smacked her again and again, faster and faster, as though his right arm had a mind of its own.

“NICK! NICK! NICK! STOP! STOP! OW! OW! OW!”

At last, her cries seemed to reach him. He stopped and pulled away.

“Well, you asked me to do it!” he said in a defensive tone, shaking his own sore hand.

To their surprise, she did not seem angry at him.

“I know I did,” she murmured, bowing her head.

“You do? Well then, you know if I got carried away and really hurt you and you hated it, that was all your fault.”

“But I did not hate it,” she answered softly, even as her hands gently reached for her bruised backside, to stroke the pain away. “It sort of…turned me on.” Lowering her eyes in shame, she went on, “Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”

“And good for us both!” her mother exclaimed. “Those feelings are nothing to be afraid of. I’m proud of you for facing them.”

“My wife was terrified at the very idea, and that’s why we split up,” her boyfriend explained sadly. “I believed that any decent woman would feel the same way she did…until I met your mother.” He squeezed Melanie’s hand again, and she smiled up at him gratefully.

“So you STILL don’t think there is anything wrong with all this?” Emma demanded.

“No, and you don’t either,” her mother replied. “Otherwise, you would not have been spending so much time on the Internet, finding out all about the Spanking Satellite. You loved the idea of getting paddled, even if you refused to admit it, even to yourself. But you’re doing it now.”

Gazing directly at her daughter, Melanie firmly went on, “I think you DO want him to go on, no matter how many times you shouted for him to stop. But you don’t want us to watch him do it, and I can hardly blame you for that.

“So I guess it’s up to you. If you want us to go back to the table and have our ice cream, I will be happy to do that…even though you and I will both be standing up while we eat it. If you want us to leave you alone together, you can say that, too.”

Emma’s fair skin turned almost as red as her bottom, as she mumbled, “We can have dessert later.”

“Then we’ll see you in about an hour,” her mother answered.

“An hour?” Emma demanded in alarm, her hands flying back to cover her bottom. “You think he will spank me that long?”

“No,” Melanie replied with a smile. “But we will be doing something else that may take awhile. After a good spanking, you may decide that you want to do the same thing.”

“MO-THER!”

This time, it was Melanie who pretended not to have heard. She merely smiled as she started following Ian towards the front stairway.

Halfway there, he turned and came back to the kitchen work counter. Pulling a long wooden spoon from the drawer, he pressed the handle into Nick’s palm. “I think you have advanced to this stage,” he said, giving the boy’s thin shoulder an encouraging pat. Emma’s eyes went wide as she stared at the implement, but she said nothing.

When she saw her mother vanishing up the stairs, the girl suddenly panicked and started running after her. Then she gasped in surprise as Nick grasped her arm and pushed her back down across the counter. She tried to stand as he pulled her skirt to her waist, but he was holding her firmly in place, with his left hand across her back. Frantically, she struggled as he dragged her flowered cotton panties down to her knees.

“Nick!” she cried. “Not my bare bottom! That is going too far.”

“I’m going a lot farther, before I’m done,” he warned her.

“OW!” she howled, as he brought the wooden spoon crashing down. It raised round red marks across her right buttock cheek, which was already bright pink from his hand.

“Nick, I don’t like this! You are really hurting me!”

“Good, that’s the idea! You have earned a real punishment, and I am giving it to you.”

“NO!” Again, he seemed not to hear.

“My mother has a safe word, and I want one, too!”

“You don’t get to use one when you are being disciplined, and believe me there’s a lot to punish you for. THIS is for being so RUDE to your MOM! And this is for being so hard ON the KIDS at SCHOOL! And this is for insulting ME!” Hard smacks followed each word, as he swung the spoon from one sore cheek to the other.

“OW!” She wailed, through her tears. “All right, that must be thirty whacks already. Aren’t you done punishing me?”

“Almost. Or I will be, after I give you three more on each side…just to be sure you remember the lesson I gave you today.”

“How could I ever forget it? OW! OW! OW! OW! OWWWWWW!”

When he finally let her stand, the skirt fell back to her ankles. Hastily, she pulled her panties up again, before he could change his mind and give her even more whacks. Then she stood gently stroking her backside with her right hand again, while her left dabbed at her eyes.

Taking a paper napkin from the dispenser, he pressed it into her fingers. Gratefully, she wiped her face and softly blew her nose.

“You just made me cry,” she sniffled. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

“Do you really want me to?”

She shook her head and managed a weak smile. “Actually, right now, I want you to do something else. And I think we’d better do it in the guest room, in case Mom and Ian come downstairs again.”

“I don’t think they’re going to do THAT for awhile. But the bed will be more comfortable anyway…at least if I lie on my back and let you sit on top of me. I don’t think you’ll be in any condition to lie on your own back for awhile.”

“You don’t have to gloat about it,” she answered, pouting.

“Don’t tell me what I have to do!” he ordered. She squealed as he grasped her arm and pulled her towards him, for a sharp smack that made her jump. Then, with much lighter spanks, he drove her all the way up the stairs.

* * *

“I don’t hear any more noise from the kitchen,” Melanie said to Ian, as she lay on her side, snuggling against him, her hair falling over his chest. “What do you think they are doing now?”

“The same thing we just did,” he told her. “The same thing we are going to do again.”

“Shouldn’t they save that for marriage?”

“Did WE? Anyway, we are getting married now, aren’t we? And I suspect that they are, too?”

At that, she pushed herself up on her elbow and stared down at him. “We ARE?” she asked.

“We certainly are. And that’s an order.”

“Yes, Master!” and she pressed herself against him again. In another moment, though, she was propped up looking down at him again.

“But we are just acting out our fantasy,” she said. “He is punishing her for real. I am not sure I like that idea.”

“You don’t have to like it, any more than she has to approve of what we are doing together. Just as long as you accept her feelings…the way you wanted her to accept yours. And that’s an order, too.”

“Well, then,” she sighed, nestling back against him. “This really IS a happy Mother’s Day.”

“I intend to make it even happier for you, if you will just say the magic words.”

Her eyes lit up at the invitation. Jumping to her feet, she flung herself to her knees on the thick carpet, held out her arms and cried, “TAKE me, Master!”

Immediately, he was back in Viking mode. Leaping out of bed, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I will indeed!” he snarled. “You have learned how to please me at last!” Lifting her into his arms, he threw her back onto the sheets.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you want to learn more about the Savage Satellite series…and its fictional creator’s own sexy spanking scenes…look for “Spanking Satellite” in the sci fi section of www.romanticspankings.com.

A Bouquet for Briony

By Polly Carter

A Bouquet for Briony by Polly Carter

As the gate clicked gently shut behind him, Rick stood for a moment gazing at the brick house which had once been like a second home to him. Three years had passed since the last time he'd been, and he was no longer even sure who lived here now.

But it wasn't that last, agonizing visit that filled his mind with memories as he looked at the garden with its big jacaranda tree in the front lawn and the neat brick house behind. The loungeroom window, like an eye covertly regarding him from behind the tree, reminded him of the first evening he'd spent with her after he'd summoned the courage to ask for a date. They'd met in town at her suggestion, and after eating Chinese food in a cheap but pleasant restaurant, had wandered hand-in-hand through the city streets, looking in brightly-lit shop windows, making each other laugh with the ease of those who want every moment to be special. Her childlike gaiety and spontaneity had been captivating, and she'd stirred feelings in him he hadn't felt before, couldn't even begin to name.

It had been so hard to take her home, to bring the evening to an end, and he'd stalled as long as possible, holding her and kissing her and talking with her in the car before he'd finally let her go with a sigh and begun to drive her home.

"Oh my God!" she cried unexpectedly when the midnight news began on the radio. "That's not really the time, is it? How could it have got so late? I'm going to get killed!"

"Were you supposed to be home at a certain time?" Rick asked with concern. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have kept a closer eye on the time for you."

"I guess I was embarrassed to say I'm 18 and still have a curfew," Briony whispered with a blush, making her cuter than ever in Rick's eyes.

"Will your folks be waiting up for you?"

"More than likely Dad will be. If he is I'll cop it for sure."

"I'll explain," Rick offered, but she shook her head violently.

"No! I'll go in by myself. You drop me up the road a bit."

"Will you be all right?" Rick was starting to be unnerved by her seriousness. "He won't hurt you, will he?"

For a minute she looked as if she might say something, her eyes wide and dark in her pale somber face. But then she shrugged.

"Dad will be mad." She shuddered. "But he'll be over it by tomorrow." She smiled brightly at Rick, a little too brightly maybe. "Don't worry. I'll be okay. Promise. And besides, maybe he's already in bed and I can sneak in and he'll never know the difference."

Rick still felt uncomfortable, and when she insisted he drop her off a few doors from her house, he waited until she was safely home and then followed. Glad they didn't seem to have a dog which would alert the residents to the prowler in their garden, Rick hid in the darkness behind the tree and listened. He hadn't formulated any particular plan, but vaguely imagined that if he thought Briony was in danger, he could leap to her defense. At first he thought she must have been able to sneak in unnoticed because there was no discernible movement or noise from inside. The light was on in the living room, though, which suggested someone may have been up when Briony made her late entrance. Only thin white curtains covered the window and, from his hiding place in the garden, Rick had a clear view of the comfortable, neat room which was hidden from the view of passerbys in the street by the front hedge.

He had an equally clear view of Briony when she entered a moment later followed by a tall, strongly-built man with greying temples, whom Rick rightly guessed to be her father. They stopped in the middle of the room and Rick could see the older man talking to his daughter. He wasn't ranting and raving, however, and seemed in no danger of losing control and becoming violent so it appeared "being killed" in Briony's world meant being subjected to a stern scolding. Rick just hoped it wouldn't also include a long grounding and a ban on her seeing him again.

She looked more adorable than ever, he thought, standing in front of her father like that, her head bowed and her hands clasped solemnly in front of her, for all the world like a truly obedient daughter. Still Rick hadn't heard any raised voices, and as Briony's father had fetched something from a draw in the sideboard and then seated himself comfortably on the couch, Rick expected to see Briony apologize one more time and then go to her room. He was totally unprepared for what in fact happened next.

Removing her shoes and coat, and putting her handbag with them, she padded in bare feet to stand next to where her father had seated himself, and after saying something to him which Rick couldn't hear but which elicited only a shaking head, she slowly reached under her skirt and pulled her panties to her knees. Rick gasped in shock, wondering what kind of perverted acts her father was expecting her to perform, and was about to leap to the window through which he was spying, when he saw Briony hitch up her skirt and lay across her father's lap. At the same time, her father picked up the sturdy wooden ruler he'd placed on the couch beside him and the truth of what was taking place was suddenly, blindingly clear. The young woman Rick had so recently been wanting to make love to was now no more than a naughty girl over her Daddy's knee waiting to have her bottom spanked for disobedience.

Rick was unable to tear his eyes away from the spectacle being played out before him. Part of him felt guilty, wondering how Briony would feel if she knew he was spying on her while she was being punished, but he could no more look away than can the prey of a cobra once its gaze is trapped by the hypnotic swaying. In Rick's case, once Briony's father had pushed her shirt up and out of the way and then shifted her into a position with which he seemed satisfied, it was the hypnotic rise and fall of his arm as it brought the ruler cracking down onto the proffered roundness of his daughter's bottom which trapped his gaze and held it fast.

A newcomer himself to corporal punishment, it was still obvious to Rick that the scene taking place in front of him had been acted out in this fashion many times before. Briony's compliance in preparing for the spanking by baring her own bottom and placing herself submissively across her father's knee suggested she'd been well trained, as did the fact that her hands were still firmly clasped in front of her and she was making no move to interfere with her punishment despite the spanking clearly becoming uncomfortable judging by the way she'd started kicking her legs each time the ruler fell. And her father's business-like attitude, his relaxed but stern demeanor, and unhurried, carefully placed swats with the ruler were equal evidence that this had been a routine occurrence between the two of them for a long time.

The vantage point Rick had unwittingly secured for himself was perfect to view the whole proceedings, and although he felt sorry for Briony and longed to be able to put an end to her suffering and kiss her better, he was unable to prevent himself being almost overwhelmed by a feeling of excitement as he saw the round feminine bottom over the older man's knee turning a dark shade of pink as the spanking progressed. And he felt himself harden uncomfortably in his jeans as the disciplinarian tipped his daughter slightly further forward and trapped her legs between his, straightening the crease where her bottom met her thighs.

As the ruler began spanking the softer, tender area, Briony became clearly more distressed and for the first time, Rick was able to hear her voice as she began pleading for the punishment to end. Her head was tossing feverishly from side to side as the ruler stung her tender flesh over and over again, but even so she kept her bottom still and unprotected, allowing the spanking to proceed until her father decreed she had been sufficiently punished. And after what seemed an interminable amount of time, and was in reality a good 10 minutes, the spanking was finally over.

If Rick expected Briony to be angry with her father for giving her such a long spanking, he was in for yet another surprise that evening. After pulling up her panties and helping her to her feet, her father opened his arms and she went willingly into them for a reassuring hug while she calmed down. Anyone seeing them now would never imagine what had just taken place and, as Rick watched, her father spoke gently to her and she nodded her head, clearly admitting that she understood why she'd been spanked and that she had indeed deserved it and would aim to be more obedient in future so as to avoid it happening again. Then, reaching up on tip-toes, she kissed his cheek before collecting her things and leaving the room. Her father, after replacing the ruler in its safe-keeping place, followed after, turning out the light and plunging the room into blackness as he went.

"So, did you get into trouble?" Rick asked Briony the next day, desperately wanting to talk about the strange phenomenon he'd witnessed but unable to confess he'd spied on her.

They'd met at the university cafeteria for lunch and he'd surreptitiously watched as she sat down, feeling a stirring once again as a tiny tell-tale wince brought the image of her lying bare-bottomed across her father's knee flooding back into his mind.

"Yeah, Dad was pretty mad, but he's okay now," she answered, keeping her eyes averted.

"Oh?" Rick had a feeling he was on dangerous ground, but he couldn't let it go. "He didn't punish you, did he?"

"Well, he didn't ground me if that's what you're worried about," she smiled at him.

"I'm glad of that," he smiled back. "I don't understand why he'd be angry, though. You are 18." The image of her meek compliance during her punishment intrigued him. Why hadn't she refused to co-operate?

"It's just the deal we have," she said with a shrug. "If I live with him and he pays the bills, I abide by his rules. If I don't want to, I'm free to move out. But I can't afford to live away from home while I'm at uni - well, I probably could, but I'd have to work more hours, so I quite like this arrangement. I know the rules. If I stick to them, I'm okay."

He couldn't push any further without risking her finding out he'd seen her being spanked, but over the coming weeks, try as he might, he couldn't rid the image from his mind. Each time he saw her, he wondered if she'd been spanked again, but not being able to ask, he'd rub her bottom watching carefully to see if she reacted. If she had been over her father's knees again and there was any tenderness, though, she never gave anything away.

Then it happened again. She'd told him she definitely had to be in by 11pm that night; her Dad had been very emphatic about that as she had exams coming up, but the movie had gone on longer than they'd realized and when Rick warned her they were going to be late if they stayed until the end, she'd fidgeted nervously for a moment, then shrugged and said it was "too bad".

As soon as he'd dropped her off outside her gate, Rick had driven forward far enough so his car was out of sight and then, once again, crept into the garden in which he now stood five years later, and hid behind the tree. Her father had been waiting for her in the loungeroom this time, and she'd gone straight in to him after letting herself in through the front door. Rick arrived at his vantage point, just in time to see her unbuckling her jeans and pushing them down to her knees and then once again taking her position across her father's knee, her hands demurely clasped in front of her.

Taking only a moment to adjust her position to his satisfaction, her father quickly began the spanking. Over and over the ruler came cracking down on her plump flesh and it took no time before her growing discomfort again became evident by the way she was kicking her feet and tossing her head each time the ruler fell. After one particularly painful stroke to her tender upper thigh, she jerked so hard she got out of position. Her father stopped spanking and readjusted her, apparently scolding her as he did so. Again Rick wondered at her submission; as soon as the ruler had momentarily stopped its onslaught, she had become still and compliant as her father pushed her forward again so her bottom was presented more accessibly.

Why didn't she fight against the punishment? It was clearly painful enough to distress her. And how could she accept her father treating her thus without it raising some feelings of resentment within her? In a moment his question was answered in a way he could never have imagined. Having positioned his daughter once more so that the spanking could be carried out with maximum effect, the older man slid his hand up her back and gently rubbed it. Inexperienced as he was, the significance of this gesture exploded through Rick with such force that he had to lean against the tree for support.

There was no doubt that that hand on Briony's back was there to sternly remind her, and to help her, keep still until the spanking was over, but it was also, at precisely the same time, imparting a gentle message of reassurance and love. It was telling the prostrate and increasingly distraught young woman that it was only her bottom that was being punished, the rest of her was as loved and safe as ever. And he also realized that that deep love, freely given and received both ways, explained Briony's submission to the punishment.

In the second that Rick clearly understood the loving relationship between the father and the daughter he was once again soundly spanking, he just as clearly realized something about himself: that that was how he wanted to love and care for his woman; not just any woman, though - the adorable girl he was now watching having her plump, feminine bottom spanked. From that point on, Rick told himself, he would be the one, and the only one, to spank Briony, and the one to comfort her afterwards.

As he approached the front door now, that moment was a distant memory and he found himself suddenly wondering if he was making a terrible mistake in coming back after all this time. He didn't even know if she was back in Western Australia; he'd heard once, more than a year ago that she'd gone overseas and was living in London. Maybe she was still there.

With a resolute sigh, he pulled open the fly screen and pushed the buzzer. He'd come this far, he might as well go through with it now, and if all his dreams and memories turned to ashes, perhaps he would finally be able to let her go and move on with his own life. Maybe she'll be here, he thought, and she won't recognize me. Maybe I won't recognize her! But then the door opened and there she was, standing before him, and he did recognize her even though she was more enchantingly lovely than even he'd remembered.

"My God, Briony!" he gasped, barely noticing her look of confusion. "You look like a princess!"

"Rick? Is that you?!" Briony sounded amazed. "I nearly didn't recognize you. Can you believe that? I just wasn't expecting you at all. I didn't even know you were in town. . . "

The words were tumbling out on top of each other, but Rick had stopped hearing anything but the awful whooshing of the blood rushing through his ears the minute his heart stopped as his brain registered what he was seeing. The reason Briony looked like a princess was because she was wearing a long, white lacy gown, unmistakably a wedding gown.

"Is the wedding today?" he blurted out.

It seemed Briony had also forgotten she was dressed as a bride. For a moment the tiny furrow which Rick had loved to kiss appeared between her eyebrows, then she remembered, looking down at herself with an embarrassed gasp.

"No, Saturday," she stammered. "Mum was just finishing the alterations. Come in." Taking his arm, she pulled him into the house and headed him towards the sitting room in which her father had spanked her. "I'll change. Mum, look who's here."

As Rick made his way through the glass sliding doors, Mrs. Andrews looked up from the table strewn with needles and threads and pins and scissors and all manner of other sewing paraphernalia, and there was no doubting that after a momentary look of surprise, followed by the shock of recognition, it was with pure delight that she greeted him.

"Rick!" she exclaimed, kissing him warmly on the cheek. "What a lovely surprise. It's so nice to see you, and looking so well. Where'd Briony go?"

"She said she was going to change," Rick answered, quickly adding "I hope I haven't interrupted."

"No, not at all," Mrs. Andrews assured him. "We'd finished anyway. Well, all the pins are in at least. I can finish stitching it up later. Come and sit down and tell me about yourself. It's been such a long time, and . . well, you left so unexpectedly . . ."

"Yes," Rick mumbled, wishing desperately he hadn't come. It had been a terrible mistake, but he hadn't even admitted to himself how much he'd been secretly hoping and dreaming of a quite different outcome. Now, he just wanted to get away again with as much dignity as he could salvage without either Briony or her mother realizing how much the news of the forthcoming wedding had destroyed him.

As he thought of Briony, she reappeared, casually dressed in jeans and T-shirt. Her straight blonde hair was shorter now than it had been, accentuating her elfin features. Rick could see she was feeling as uncomfortable as he and his misery deepened further.

"So, stranger," she was saying "where've you been hiding all this time?"

"I've been up north on the gas project." He was answering mechanically, his mind obsessed with only one thought: Was it David she was marrying?

"Sit down, love," Mrs. Andrews was urging him as she headed for the kitchen. "I'll make a pot of tea."

"You in town long, then?" Briony asked.

"No. Mary and I are heading back up to the Burrup on Saturday."

"Mary?" The question, though lightly asked, was heavy with meaning. Too late, Rick realized the mistaken inference, but before he could correct it, the phone rang in the hall and, with a quick "excuse me", Briony had left to answer it.

"Hello?" he heard her say and then in a much warmer voice "Oh, hi, David."

Well, Rick thought wretchedly, I guess that answers my question.

"Kettle's on," announced Mrs. Andrews as she reappeared from the kitchen. "You'll stay for a cuppa, won't you?"

"I'm not sure," Rick began, but he was sure, sure he couldn't stay here a moment longer than it was going to take him to extricate himself without making a greater fool of himself than he'd already done by coming back. "Thanks, but I think I'd better be heading off actually. I was just passing and stopped in on the spur of the moment."

"I know!" Mrs. Andrews exclaimed suddenly. "Will you still be here on Saturday? Why don't you come to the wedding. I'm sure Briony would love you to be there; you were such good friends once."

Overcome with horror at the thought of having to watch the woman he loved marry another man, Rick was speechless.

"Do say you'll come," Mrs. Andrews pressed him, taking his silence for possible acceptance. "It's at that lovely little church on Walcott Street, just down from Beaufort Street. You know the one? Say you'll come. 11.00am."

Rick was saved from having to answer by Briony's return. As she came close, her soft sweet smell washed over him, and he could see the heightened color in her cheeks and the sparkle in her blue eyes like afternoon sunshine on a lake. The effect was dazzling, but the knowledge that it was the call from David which had created the soft glow of love which now enveloped her cut through him like a blade of steel.

He lurched to his feet, desperately fighting back the urge to take hold of her, to bury his face in her hair, to kiss the sweetness of her neck and to feel the softness of her against him. It was too much; he had to get out.

"You sure you won't stay for a cuppa, then" Mrs. Andrews was saying with surprise.

"No, thanks," he stammered. "I've got to get back. Mary's waiting for me."

As he made for the front door, he was aware that Briony was regarding him with a strange expression. His brain was valiantly trying to understand what that look was, but there was such a pounding from his heart, echoed by a throbbing in his head, he could no longer think straight.

"Well, dear," Mrs. Andrews was warmly shaking his hand. "It was lovely to see you. Don't let it be so long before you come and see us again."

"No, I won't," he answered, scarcely aware of what he was saying. "Goodbye, Mrs. Andrews."

He looked past her into the bottomless pit of Briony's eyes. For a second, they locked together and then the moment was gone forever.

He'd lied about having to get back to the hotel, but he couldn't stay in the house with Briony another second; it was just too painful. With nowhere special to be, he found himself unconsciously driving back to the house in Nedlands where he'd been living when he met Briony, and it was in that house, in the sleep-out on the back verandah, that he'd first put her over his knee and spanked her as he'd watched her father do.

The two of them had been out celebrating the end of mid-year exams with Rick's housemates and their girlfriends. After a few drinks, the others had decided to go on to another pub, giving Rick the chance he'd been waiting for. The house would be empty for a few hours, and Briony didn't seem particularly keen to go with the others, and was happy to accept Rick's suggestion of going to his place for coffee before he took her home. At least with exams having just finished, her father had relaxed her curfew, so they had plenty of time to spend together.

Rick had no idea of how he was actually going to get her across his knee, or how she would react to such a suggestion, or whether he would be able to spank her properly and efficiently as he'd seen her father do, but in the end it had all just fallen into place as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The couple of glasses of wine Briony had had while they were out had made her a little belligerent, and she'd started squabbling with him over who would make the coffee. It was a trivial incident, but when she called him a "stupid prick", it provided all the excuse he needed. Taking her hand he led her into his room, ignoring her struggling and protests.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "I want coffee."

"You want your bottom smacked!" The words were out before he knew they were coming. He'd planned to go more slowly, to ease her into the idea for fear of frightening her away, but intuitively he read in her look of surprise at his words that they might be unexpected but they had not horrified her.

"No I don't," she argued, trying to release her hand from his.

"What would your father say if you behaved like this at home. Or called him a 'stupid prick'." It was a gamble, but he was in too deep to back out now.

"I wouldn't!" She'd blanched at even just the thought.

"So, why should I put up with you calling me one?" he felt stronger now, knew he was backing her into a corner. Inwardly he smiled at the image of her standing in the corner like the naughty girl she was, waiting for him to put her over his knee and spank her.

"I'm sorry," she said, her demeanor instantly losing its aggressive edge. She smiled and snuggled up against him. "You're right, Rick, I won't ever call you a prick again, I promise."

"Well, I'm still going to spank you to make sure." She was good, he thought to himself wryly. It would be so easy to take her in his arms and kiss her now instead of spanking her, but his mind was made up. He didn't know when he'd get another chance if he let this one go. "I tell you what," he pretended to reconsider as he disengaged himself from her arms. "I can't ground you, but I can stop us seeing each other for two weeks. I don't want that at all, but I feel like I should make a stand. So, baby, it's up to you. A spanking now and we forget about it, or I take you home and we don't see each other for a fortnight."

"But, Ricky," she pleaded with the most adorable pout. "What about Rosie's party? And we were going to Rottnest and the movies and we had so much planned for the holidays."

"I know. It would be a terrible waste if we have to miss out, but it's your choice," he told her again, quietly but firmly. "Just be a good girl and take your spanking now and we can still do all the things we planned."

"But, you're not my Dad," she said, looking a little bewildered. "Why would you spank me?"

Rick took her in his arms. "No," he murmured gently "I'm not your father and I'm really glad about that. I certainly don't want to be your father, but I care about you and I want to protect and look after you, in some ways like a father might, but in a lot of other ways as well, totally not like a father. I want you to know where the boundaries are and if you stay within them I'll look after you in every way I can. But if you step over them, I'll spank you to remind you to be more careful in future." Sensing she was finding it difficult to tell him what she wanted, he drew her to the bed and sat down, then gently tugged her hand.

"Come on, Babe. I think we both need this." He had no idea where that last had come from, but he somehow understood that this first spanking would redefine their relationship in a way nothing else could, that it would put them both where they would always find the most joy and contentment.

He tugged again and this time she went across his knee and he felt a tingle of excitement as he saw her instinctively clasp her hands in front of her. As much as he desired her, he'd deliberately refrained from introducing sex into their relationship, although they had indulged in heavy sessions which had included almost everything but the final possession. Still, he hadn't yet made love to her properly and this was the first time he'd spanked her, so he resisted the temptation to bare her bottom.

He did, however, lift up her skirt and her thin high-cut panties afforded her cheeks scant protection. He raised his hand and brought it down crisply. It landed with a loud thwack! creating an instant pink handprint on the part of her flesh not covered by white lace. A heady feeling of power tempered with deep emotion surged through him. He was hooked, both on the lovely girl across his knee and this new and unexpected way of dealing with her.

Locking his arm around her waist, he spanked her without worrying about what was the right way to do it. It just came naturally, and he smiled with recognition as she began to kick and wriggle beneath him as the steady drumming of his hand on her bottom created a growing sting.

At last she cried out. "No, Rick. Please. I won't do it again. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

The words tumbled out on top of each other as the burning heat in her bottom became less and less bearable.

"Please . . " He could hear the crack in her voice and discovered the double-edged sword of providing loving discipline. His head told him he was doing the right thing and it was not quite time to stop, but his heart couldn't bear to hear the pain and sadness in her voice as she pleaded with him to end her torment.

"Shh, Baby," he whispered, rubbing her back as he'd seen her father do. "Be brave now. It's almost over." And steeling himself against his desire to stop the punishment and take her in his arms, he forced himself to finish with a flurry of hard fast blows which made her cry out again and again.

That night he made love to her for the first time, and that night, also for the first time, he told her he loved her above and beyond anything. For the next year, there was plenty of spanking and plenty of loving, but then things began to change.

"What happened?" Across the hotel dining table, Mary regarded him with soft compassion. When Rick had finally returned to the Merlin the previous evening, after endless hours of aimless driving, wondering, thinking and remembering, he'd headed straight to bed, glad he was able to simply disappear into sleep for innumerable hours whenever he was truly miserable. Mary had rung in the middle of the next morning and he'd simply said he thought he'd have a quiet day in his room but would meet her for dinner that evening, the last before they flew north again the next day, Saturday, the day Briony was to wed David.

And so now here they were, and Mary, who'd appointed herself a kind of surrogate mother to him when he'd arrived on the Burrup as a greenhorn, was gently waiting for his answer.

"It sounds like you loved each other a lot," she prompted him again, having just heard a brief version (minus the spanking) of his relationship with Briony.

"We did and everything was perfect for a while, but she was so young then. She didn't really know what she wanted. She dropped out of uni and took a job with her friend, Rosie, at the Hamburger Grove. I was working on my doctorate and I guess I just seemed very boring to a young girl who just wanted to have a good time. And then she met David."

"Ah," Mary nodded wisely. "And so she called off her relationship with you."

"No," Rick surprised her by saying. "Not in so many words. But he was everything I wasn't: sophisticated, working, he had money and a fancy car and plenty of time to take her places."

"Were these things important to Briony?"

"I hoped they weren't," he growled, unable to conceal a touch of bitterness. "I mean, she was always telling me not to be jealous. That she and David were just friends and they only went out as a threesome with Rosie. In fact, she suggested I went along a few times, but I was always busy and besides, it wasn't really my scene at all. So I just told her go ahead. It didn't seem fair to stand in her way when I was being so boring with my work and all."

"Is it possible she may have been flattered by a small show of jealousy on your part?" Mary asked.

Rick looked at her in complete surprise. The thought had obviously not occurred to him before, but after considering it for a moment, he shook his head.

"Nah, I doubt it," he said finally. "I never saw much evidence she was missing my company."

"So you just drifted apart?"

"Sort of," Rick answered grimly. "For a while. But the final straw came after I got the job up north. I decided to take a gamble and ask her to marry me. She wasn't expecting me - obviously - because when I got there I found her with David. She didn't even see me, but I saw her kissing him. I just went home, packed and the next day was in Karratha. I told Mum not to tell her where I was, just that I'd be in touch, but I didn't contact her again, not until today. And that turned out to be a bloody huge mistake, didn't it. There she was, wearing the dress she's going to wear when she marries David tomorrow. Thank God we're getting out of here in the morning. I don't exactly want to be around to kiss the bride."

But if Rick thought he was going to be able to sneak away without having to come face to face with his nightmare, fate had other ideas.

The early light the next morning found him already dressed and packing. The terrible weight of the day's impending event was heavy on his mind, and he was longing to put as much distance between himself and Briony as he could. But it was not to be. Shattering his reverie and destined to shatter his plans, the phone suddenly jangled in his ear.

Immediately he'd replaced the receiver, he slammed down the lid on his suitcase and swore out loud. Then he picked the phone back up and barked "room 210" at the startled operator.

"Hello," came Mary's voice seconds later.

"Mary," Rick's voice was tightly controlled. "Rick. Will just called. We've gotta leave early. He wants me to pick up some plans on the way to the airport."

"Oh, okay. I'm ready anyway. Rick," she added gently "are you okay?"

"Yeah, just great," he answered with heavy irony. "Apparently the office I have to pick them up from is on Beaufort Street, so if we go down Walcott Street we'll go right past the church Briony's getting married at. Probably be just in time to see the happy couple emerge as man and wife."

And he hung up quickly before Mary could speak again. He just couldn't bear the thought of any more pity.

At 10.50am they were in the taxi and on their way. Try as he might, Rick could think of nothing else other than that in ten minutes time Briony would belong to another man forever. There was a vague sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and a painful tightness in his chest as the taxi pulled up outside the address where the plans were waiting. After satisfying himself that everything Will needed was there, Rick returned to the taxi, suggesting to the driver that it might be quicker if they turned off Beaufort Street there and headed down to Lord Street rather than risk getting stuck at the Walcott Street lights.

The driver looked bemused, but having decided years ago that there was no point arguing with his customers, he turned off where Rick was pointing, and came out two blocks down at a park where he was forced to turn left. Too late Rick realized his mistake. The taxi was already pulling up at the stop sign directly outside the church and judging by the people milling around its entrance, the newly-wed couple were indeed emerging, just as Rick had foretold. Keeping his eyes averted, he cursed the line of cars in front and the seemingly never ending stream preventing them from turning out onto the busy major road.

Mary, however, was unable to resist and as the couple came into sight she exclaimed "Well, you were right, Rick. She really is a beautiful bride."

Unable to stop himself, Rick turned to look. Mary heard him draw in his breath sharply. "No she isn't!" he cried.

"What?" cried Mary, surprised by his vehemence. "Rick, what is it?"

"It's not her," Rick exclaimed joyfully. "It's Rosie. Mary, Briony's not the bride - she's the bridesmaid!"

Suddenly Rick recognized the look that had been on her lovely face as he'd left the house in such a hurry two days earlier, the look that had so baffled him at the time - it rose up before him now and he knew without a doubt that it was love.

"Wait here please, driver," Rick called as he leapt from the taxi and ran towards her. In an instant, Briony had seen him too and rushed to meet him.

Mary's eyes filled with tears as she saw the lovers look deeply into each others eyes, wordlessly, hungrily, until Rick's arms went out and snatched her to him. For a moment, Briony just lay against him unable to move; not wanting to break the spell, but eventually she turned to look up at him.

"Mary?" she asked tremulously.

"That's Mary in the taxi," Rick grinned. "She's a wonderful, wonderful person and I do love her - but only as a friend."

Briony looked at the grey-haired woman watching them delightedly from the taxi.

"Could you really have thought I could ever love anyone but you, Briony?"

"Then why did you leave me? Without even a word."

"I thought you were in love with David," Rick told her. "Things weren't going so great between us, remember. Not for quite a while. And then I came around to . to . to see you, and you were in his arms."

"What?!" Briony looked aghast. "You might have seen me hug him, but that's all it would have been. He and Rosie were already becoming a couple. If you'd ever come out with us like I asked, you'd have seen that for yourself. Although, it's true, I did try and make you jealous because you seemed so stuck on your work and I thought you were relieved to have me off your hands."

"I should spank you for that," he growled, pulling her tighter. "All this wasted time. And then when I saw you wearing the dress when I came round the other day I thought it was you who was getting married."

"Oh, no!" Briony was obviously shocked. "I was just helping Mum adjust the length. Oh Rick, I was so sad when you went. There's never been anyone else but you."

"Well, I can't say I felt that was the case back then," Rick said, remembering those awful days of doubt and despair.

"I know." Briony kissed him gently. "I wasn't really being very nice. I was behaving a bit like a vain and shallow child, but I never thought it would mean I'd lose you. Maybe it was for the best now, though. I've grown up since you went, Rick. I'm not that same thoughtless person now."

"I think maybe I will spank you anyway - for then," he whispered with a grin, loving the way it made her blush and wriggle. "And maybe not just once, maybe every day for the rest of my life. What do you say?"

"How about just when I'm naughty?" she smiled back.

"Well, maybe. I'll think about it, okay?"

"Hmm, okay, then. I guess it'll have to do."

"So you will marry me, then?" he asked, serious now. "Even though I mean it about spanking you whenever I say so, and that will be often."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she assured him with a kiss.

"Hey, Briony." A shout from the church steps brought them back to the present. "Come on. Rosie and David are leaving."

"Quick," Rick cried, grabbing her hand and led her to the taxi. "Mary," he called as they reached the window. "This is Briony."

"Hello, dear," Mary smiled at the radiant couple, so obviously in love.

"Would you mind getting those plans to Will for me?" Rick asked. "I think I'll stay a couple more days. I've got some important business to attend to."

"Of course I will," Mary promised. "But what about your case?"

"Put it in Dad's car," Briony suggested. It's just there in the car park."

Moments later, the luggage transferred and Mary farewelled, they made their way hand in hand back to where the guests were congratulating the bride and groom as they too prepared to depart. Just before she climbed into the waiting limousine, Rosie turned and threw her bouquet to the waiting crowd. As though drawn by a magnet, it went straight to Briony who caught it with a delighted laugh.

And as the taxi turned the corner and headed for the airport, Mary looked back through the rear window. Her last sight of Rick and Briony was wrapped in each others arms, their deep, precious kiss sealing the promise of a lifetime of love foreshadowed by the falling bouquet.

Miss Independence

By Vicki Blue

Miss Independence by Vicki Blue

“Damn kids.“

Sheriff Roark Wheeler frowned as he put his cruiser in reverse and backed up until his window was level with the alley. Beside the dumpster, three boys looked up with nervous expressions as they attempted to fan away the wispy smoke from the forbidden stash. One picked a handful up from the ground and tossed it in the dumpster.”

Roark got out of his car. “Stand back! Hands up where I can see them!”

The boys - all under age fourteen - stood, looking guiltily from one to another. Busted.

Roark shook his head as he approached. It was days like this he wished he’d taken a job as an urban cop instead of a small town sheriff. If he had, he’d be chasing down drug dealers instead of escapees from the local youth program.

Glancing at the boys in irritation, he reached into the dumpsters and pulled out three still smoldering sparklers and threw them down beside the stash of illegal fireworks that lay at the boys’ feet. “Nice move, guys. You know, if you‘re going to try burning the town down or blowing your hands off, you could at least have the courtesy to wait until the Fourth of July. It‘s just one day away.”

The boys said nothing as they stood there, heads down, shuffling their feet.

“Let me guess,” he continued. “Ms. Klein has no idea where you are.”

“Yeah she does,” said the shortest boy defensively. “She gave us good behavior passes to go to the park.”

“And this is how you reward her trust?,” said Roark, “because I’m willing to bet that pass didn’t include permission to buy illegal fireworks and set them off in the alley behind the furniture store.”

The boys shook their heads.

“Come on. I’ll take you back to the house.”

One of the boys reached down to pick up the remaining fireworks, but the sheriff stopped them. “Uh-uh,’ he said. “Those are mine now.” He gave them a stern look. “Evidence.”

“Are you going to charge us?” the short boy - which Roark decided must be the leader - moaned. “Because I don’t want to go back to juvenile hall.”

Roark had no intention of charging them, for something he’d done himself as a kid, but he wasn’t going to let them know that. “I haven’t decided,” he said. He watched the boys file into the back seat of the cruiser. It didn’t surprise him that the boys wanted to stay at Chloe Klein’s place. Damn hippie chick had no business running a halfway house for youth.

As Roark guided the cruiser up to the front of her sprawling Victorian house the adjectives townspeople used to describe Chloe Klein sprang to mind. “Quirky.” “Feisty” “Weird.”

The house was painted a bright blue, with purple trim. The garden was filled with flowers that were bursting forth in an explosion of color. Outside was a sign proclaiming the place “Sunshine House.” It was common knowledge that the boys assigned here from juvenile hall often didn’t want to go inside upon arriving on the grounds that the place looked “totally gay.” But once they did, they became fond of Chloe, who put them to work gardening or attending her small menagerie of poultry and farm animals. Bonfires were commonly sighted on the property, and the youth at Sunshine House had become famous (or infamous) for the expressive murals they painted on the long wood fences that ran the sides of Chloe’s property. Chloe also got the boys involved in community projects - including the community garden and doing home repairs for the poor. Her tactics were unconventional but successful; the recidivism rate for boys graduating from Sunshine House were low.

Roark considered it nothing more than coincidence. Boys needed discipline. Hell, the way he saw it, everyone needed discipline and the problem with today’s society was the feel-good approach to dealing with rebellion.

He hit the siren for one brief blast as he pulled up to the house. From a tangle of coneflowers, a short figure popped up wearing a tank top and overalls with a piece sign on the front pocket, braids hanging long from under her wide-brimmed straw hat. Tossing the handful of weeds aside, Chloe Klein began removing her gardening gloves as she walked over to the car.

“Sheriff Wheeler,” she said with a nod. “What brings you here?” She smiled as she spoke, her teeth white in her tan, dimpled face. Roark couldn’t help but note how attractive she was, and how the sheen of sweat beaded on her ample chest. He looked away for a moment. Damn. Why did the flakiest women have to be the most attractive?

“Good day, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll make this short and sweet. You need to crack down on your boys. I found these three in the alley behind Mercer’s, trying to set off some illegal firecrackers.”

Chloe leaned down and looked through Roark’s window to the boys sitting in the back. “Is that true, guys?”

“I just said it was,” Roark growled.

Chloe shot the sheriff an irritated look. “Yes, but I want to hear it from them.”

The boys mumbled a yes.

“Alright,” she said. “Out then, unless Sheriff Wheeler is planning to take you downtown and throw the book at you.”

Roark got out and walked around to open the back door. “I should. These boys need some consequences for their action. Some punishment.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. You made yourself quite clear.” Chloe turned to the boys. “I think you both know what this means. You lose all your points.”

The boys grumbled in disappointment and walked towards the house. Roark watched them go and then turned in disbelief to Chloe.

“That’s it? They lose some points?”

Chloe crossed her arms and frowned. “Would it have made you feel better if I’d just picked up a stick and started hitting them? I’m quite sure you and half this conservative town would approve of such a base approach, even if it is less effective.”

“Well, I can tell you this young lady,” Roark shot back. “If those were my boys a good switching is exactly what they’d get. And the fear of the consequences would have kept them out of that alley in the first place.”

“Is that so?” Chloe smirked. “Well, if that’s how you think, allow me to clear a few things up. First of all, even if I did believe in all that ‘sparing the rod’ crap, I couldn’t exercise it since it’s illegal to physically punish kids in a group home. Second, while you may have been beaten as a child --”

“I wasn’t beaten,” Roark interjected. “I was spanked. There’s a difference.”

“Not to me,” retorted Chloe. “As I was saying, while you may have been beaten I’m pretty sure you still disobeyed, so don’t act like corporal punishment is some sort of panacea. And third, drop the ‘young lady’ from your vocabulary when referring to me. I’m 35.”

Roark couldn’t help but be shocked at the admission. He didn’t put her a day over 27. He started to tell her, but decided against it. Even if she was just five years his junior, as far as he was concerned she still warranted the title, especially in light of her casual and disrespectful tone. He was, after all, the sheriff.

“Don’t you even want to know where they got the firecrackers?” he asked.

“They’ll tell me,” she said, "unless you’d rather take them downtown and water board them. You obviously don’t have much better else to do but tell people what to do.”

Roark felt his face grow warm. The boys in that house weren’t the only ones who could use a good spanking. It was something else he would have liked to have told Chloe Klein.

“Now if there’s nothing else…” she began.

“Well, actually there is,” said Roark. “The Fourth of July festival is in two days. I know your boys are planning to attend, and if any of them get out of line I’m going to hold you personally responsible.”

Chloe felt her face grow hot with anger. “Are you planning to have this same conversation with other parents in this town?”

“Only the ones whose kids are picked up for delinquency.” He smiled, satisfied with her indignant expression, and tipped his hat. “Now you have a good day.”

Chloe watched him go, her irritation still peaking as she walked inside. Damn cop. Typical authority figure with typical linear thinking. Chloe scoffed as she walked towards the house. The only reason the guy probably got elected in the first place was for his looks. Every single woman in town thought he was hot, and even Chloe had to begrudgingly admit that the 6’2”, well-built lawman with jet black hair was easy on the eyes. Too bad he was such an insufferable jerk.

Inside, the three offenders were sitting on the couch, looking glum. Chloe removed her hat and put it on the table before sitting down across from them.

“You guys know everyone thinks we’re all misfits, don’t you? Not just you, but me, too. You guys do know, don’t you, that everyone expects me to fail with you and for you to fail the rest of your lives, right? Haven’t we talked about this before, about how proving them wrong is the best thing we all can do?”

“We’re sorry, Miss Chloe.” The tallest boy, Roger spoke up now. Beside him Charlie and Antwon nodded in agreement. “We were just having a little fun.”

“Well, you’re little fun has cost us all. The cop that brought back is making it his personal mission to keep tabs on every kid in this house. Thanks to you three, each and every one of you is going to be treated like suspects.”

“Nice work, buttheads.” A lanky handsome youth with shoulder length curls walked through the room.

“Sebastian.” Chloe looked over at her fifteen year-old son and sighed. While she appreciated his patience in dealing with the endless parade of foster brothers that trooped through their home on a rotating basis, his tendency to interject himself in her lectures didn’t help.

From the doorway, her son smiled and winked, painfully awakening memories of the father who never stuck around to see him born. Chloe sometimes wondered how their life would have been if he had. It had been a hard lesson - learning that you couldn’t count on a man. She hoped her son - and the boys she fostered - would grow up to be better than that.

“Does this mean we can’t go to the festival?” Charlie was looking at her now, disappointment creeping into his eyes.

“You lost all your points. What do you think it means?” Chloe rose from the couch and turned away so the boys wouldn’t see she was as disappointed as she was. “Outings are a privilege, not a right, and privileges are earned with points. You figure it out.”

“But that’s not fair!” Charlie was on his feet now. “We’ve been looking forward to the festival all summer. The other boys get to go!”

“The other boys didn’t lose their points,” said Chloe firmly. She turned to face them, forcing herself to maintain a poker face. “Now enough; you know the rules. There’s no more discussion. You have chores to do. Get to them.”

The boys rose and stalked out, quietly protesting. Chloe wondered if she shouldn’t separate them. Angry boys fed off of each other’s defiance. She knew that. But the more optimistic part of them hope they’d talk through their resentment - as she always encouraged them to do - and agree that they had no one to blame but themselves.

It was a strategy that had worked before for kids who had been through the Sunshine House Developing Conscience Program. The philosophy had been an outgrowth of Chloe’s doctoral thesis on developing natural morality in children, and her techniques had been embraced by her peers in California. It was a harder sell in Hillhaven, the New England town she called home. Rather than be seen as a breath of fresh air, her progressive approach to dealing with troubled youth had been viewed with suspicion by the conservative agrarian community. Court referrals were even slow at first, but as her success grew so did the numbers of kids she and Sebastian hosted in the home she opened to wayward teens.

It brought Chloe a measure of satisfaction to succeed without an authoritarian approach, for nothing pleased her more than proving people like Sheriff Roark Wheeler wrong. She knew by the way he looked at her that he thought the same thing about her as everyone else did - that she was some sort of New Age rebel living the life of a single mother. But who was he to criticize. He was older than she was and - as far as she knew - unmarried as well. Of course, it seemed acceptable for men to be on their on in Hillhaven, but not so for women. They were expected to be paired up and docile. Well let them, Chloe told herself. She’d didn’t need a man. She’d take her independence over patriarchal protection any day of the week. Having been down that road, she knew it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be anyway.

Chloe spent the rest of the day working with the boys to put up Fourth of July decorations. She secretly hoped the cookout she’d planned for the Fourth would lift the spirits of the three boys who’d miss out on the festival, but she doubted it. The three sulked through the preparations and responded to her directions or questions with short responses or shrugs.

She was glad to see her bed that night, believing that the sunrise almost always brought better things. So when she awoke to a knock at the door and opened it to find Sheriff Roark Wheeler standing on her porch, Chloe didn’t consider it a good start.

“Is something wrong, Sheriff?” she asked, smoothing her long auburn hair over one shoulder.

“As a matter of fact there is,” he said. “May I come in?”

Chloe sighed. She felt a bit self-conscious, standing there in her nightgown, even though it was modest. “Let me change first,” she said and then, when she returned, opened the door. “Let’s talk quietly,” she said as he came in. “The boys are still asleep and these early hours are the only ones I get to myself. I’m sure you understand.”

“Certainly.” Roark followed her into the kitchen, admiring her long tangle of auburn hair and shapely figure through the knee length summer dress she wore.

“Sit down,” she said, and turned to make coffee. “Now, what brings you here?”

“There was a break-in last night at Mercers,” Roark said. Chloe stopped ladling ground coffee into the basket of the coffee maker.

“And what does that have to do with me?” she asked.

“Three description matching the three boys I returned yesterday were given to me,” he said.

“By whom?” she asked.

“By the innkeeper across the street.”

“Mrs. Futch?” Chloe snorted. “She’s a busybody who opposed the Sunshine House from the beginning.”

“Well still,” the sheriff said and stood. “Mrs. Futch said she saw boys matching that description running from the store at around 10 p.m….”

“At 10 p.m. those boys were here with me,” said Chloe hotly. “They have an alibi.”

“Alibi or not, I need to question them.”

“Bullshit,” said Chloe, raising her voice now.

“What’s up, Mom?” Sebastian had appeared in the kitchen door, trailed by two other boys.

“Nothing,” said Chloe. “Sheriff Wheeler was just leaving.”

“No, I wasn’t.” Roark stood and walked over, towering over Chloe. “I need to speak to those boys.”

“Fine,” Chloe said and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Charlie! Antwon! Roger! Come down here. Now!”

Overhead a thumping could be heard and then footsteps as the boys plodded downstairs. Stepping back, she allowed the boys to be questioned and then listened as their peers jumped in to confirm their alibis. All the while, Roark jotted down notes in his book.

Finally, Chloe stepped forward. “Got what you need?” she asked.

Roark looked down at his notes. “They have a solid alibi, that is, if no one is covering for them,” he said.

“I can assure you that no one is, but since you seem so intent on thinking the worse, I hope you’ll understand when I tell you to get the fuck out of my house.”

“Excuse me?” Roark wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Did you just curse me, young lady?”

“I certainly did, and I’m about to do it again if you don’t leave.” Stepping up to him, she jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’m sick and tired of people like you thinking the worst about these boys. It’s bad enough to have the unfortunate breaks these kids have had without it being assumed that they’re always the ones to blame when something goes wrong.”

Roark looked down at her, his eyes filled with warning. “I have a job to do, Miss Klein,” he said sternly. “If someone - even the town gossip - advised they saw these kids leaving Mercer’s I have an obligation to come over here and check it out. And speaking of being advised, I’d suggest you stop poking me in the chest.”

“Or what?” asked Chloe, laughing. “Are you going to arrest me for telling you what an ass you’re being?”

Suddenly, Chloe found herself being pushed down and over the table, her hands being taken behind her and snapped into cuffs. “No,” he said. “For assault. Miss Klein, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law?”

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sebastian stepped forward, but stopped when Roark held out his hand. “Short answer, I’m arresting your Mom, son. She can say whatever she wants, but she can’t lay her hand on an officer of the law.”

Sebastian stepped forward again as Roark pulled his mother up and pushed her to the door, but she stopped him. “No, Sebastian,” she said, her eyes pleading. “You let me handle this.” Then, to the boys. “I’ll be back soon. Until then, Sebastian is in charge.”

Sebastian, looking concerned, could only nod as his mother was led out and down the steps to the cruiser. Chloe couldn’t believe what was happening as she was pushed into the back and sat there, stunned and angry as the sheriff climbed in the front and drove out onto the road. After a moment, she spoke up. “This isn’t the way to town,” she said.

“No, it’s not,” he said. “And you’re not really under arrest. I just wanted to show those boys back there that you couldn’t lay your hands on me like that.” He glanced over the seat at her. “We need to have a talk.

He pulled onto a dirt road and then back into an apple orchard. The dew was still on the ground as he helped Chloe out of the car. Unlocking her cuffs, he removed them and took them off. “Let’s take a walk,” he said.

Chloe looked up at him nervously. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to come to a meeting of the minds about our disagreement. What you did back there was really stupid, Miss Klein. Those boys have had a rough time, I agree, but it won’t help them to mock authority right in front of them.”

Chloe glared at him. “I wasn’t mocking authority,” she said. “I was mocking you.”

Roark turned to her. “Is that what you were taught where you come from? That authority is only authority if it meets your expectations?”

“Something like that,” said Chloe.

“That won’t fly out here,” said Roark, feeling exasperated. “You keep this up and you’re going to end up with those boys getting in worse trouble, and you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

“I don’t have to listen to this bullshit,” said Chloe. “Especially coming from the keystone cop of some one-horse town. I’m going back. And no, I don’t need a ride. The walk will do me good.”

“Oh no you don’t. I’m not finished talking to you.” But when Roark reached out to grab Chloe’s shoulder, she turned and slapped him - hard. The motion surprised them both, and he could see in her eyes that she realized - finally - that she’d crossed a line.

This time when he grabbed her, she did not resist as he pulled her back to the car. “Great, she thought. I’ve done it now. I really have assaulted him. Silently, she cursed her temper and what she knew was an innate disrespect of men and authority. Chloe wondered what would happen to the boys - including her son - once she was convicted. But when they got to the cruiser, rather than putting her inside, Roark lifted her and slammed her down on the hood to face him.

“You got anything you want to say?” he asked.

“Before you really arrest me?” she asked, and tears of anger - at him and at herself - sprung to her eyes.

“No, before I offer you a deal.”

“Chloe blinked back the tears and looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of deal? Because I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, giving her a little shake. “It’s not what I have in mind. Something quite different, in fact. You can either go downtown and get booked or you can consent to me giving you what you really deserve - a spanking.”

“What?” Chloe was indignant. “You’re giving me a choice between hitting me and arresting me? And that’s supposed to be a fair choice? Fuck you!”

“Fine.” Roark pulled the cuffs out, but as he did, again Chloe was faced with all that she would lose.

“No. Wait!” He stopped and looked at her and she looked up at him. “Why? Why do you even want to do that?”

“To show you that sometimes it’s just the medicine defiant children - and adults - need. That limits and punishment aren’t the worst things in the world. Don’t tell me you don’t think you deserve something for the way you’ve handled this whole situation. We both know I was just doing my job.”

Chloe felt trapped. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t want to go to jail.”

“Alright then,” Roark said and - placing a foot on the bumper of his car - lifted Chloe up and over his knee.

For a grown woman who hadn’t been spanked since childhood, the situation was surreal, and then all too real as his hand began to spank her through her thin dress. Chloe kicked and cursed through the first five smacks, and then found herself whimpering and crying out. Roark, whose face still felt the sting from her slap, didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy as he worked to make sure her cheeks ended up sorer than his face did. Hiking his knee higher, he tipped her over a bit and began to slap her buttocks - hard - in an alternating fashion, ignoring the whimpers that dissolved into cries.

Chloe felt as if her bottom were on fire, and the added humiliation of knowing her kicking legs had hiked her short dress up didn’t help. The sheriff’s hand was spanking her panties now, laying painful slap over painful slap on a bottom protected only by thin fabric.

Finally, when her cries had dissolved into sobs and her bottom felt as if it were about to burst from pain, the sheriff stopped and lifted her to standing.

Chloe was a sobbing mess as she pushed the wet curtain of hair away from her face and rubbed her sore bottom through her dress.

“Now. When we go back are you going to have a talk with those boys about your behavior?” he asked. “Because the law is the law, young lady, even if you don’t agree with who it is or how it works.”

Chloe nodded as she worked to compose herself, accepting the handkerchief Roark handed to her. She looked so vulnerable and broken, with tears streaking down her pretty face that Roark couldn’t help but soften a bit at the sight.

“Look,” he said gently. “I know you think I’m a monster, but I’m not. You just need to understand that this isn’t California. The kind of attitude you’re used to exhibiting there can end up getting you and those kids in big trouble.”

“But I was right,” sobbed Chloe.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said gently. “It’s not always about being right. You can protest and riot on the left coast and get a slap on the wrist. Here things are different. This is a simple community with simple people. You can’t go smarting off at authority figures. And you sure shouldn’t be teaching your kids that, not if you want them to succeed.”

“The kids who’ve come through my program have succeeded,” Chloe argued.

“Yeah, well maybe they have,” he said. “But I bet the ones who have never saw anything like this, did they?”

Chloe looked away, her face red with shame. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. And even worse, while she wanted to hate him for spanking her, he was right about something else. The jarring experience of what he put her through had made her stop and think.

“Look,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned this whole thing is water under the bridge.”

“Does that mean you’re going to look for the boys who broke into Mercer’s?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “And what’s more I’d like it if you and your boys would be my special guests tomorrow in the VIP section of the Fourth of July festival.”

Chloe sighed and looked away. “Well, I would, but I’m not sure how I’d feel about doing that. The three you brought back yesterday are already pretty bummed out over missing the festivities.”

“Ah, they lost their points. I forgot.”

Chloe looked at him, irritated. “Are you making fun of me again?” “No,” he said. “I was actually going to ask you if you ever awarded points to the boys, you know, for unusual circumstances.”

“Like what?” Chloe sniffed.

“Like to make up for being wrongly accused. I’m thinking it’s only fair they get to go, so long as you’re sure they won’t steal any more fireworks in the future.”

Chloe managed a smile. “I think that can be arranged.”

Thirty minutes later, she was back home. Roark spared her having to answer questions by calling all the boys together to say he’d had a long talk with Miss Klein and felt the need to explain why he’d suspected the trio he’d brought home the day before of breaking into Mercer’s. Chloe took advantage of his having their attention to go upstairs and wash her face. She tried to put the spanking out of her mind, but the memory of it made her blush for some reason, for rather than feel affronted by the recollection she felt strangely reassured.

When she came downstairs, the boys were gathered around Roark, asking him questions about being a cop. Chloe was surprised to see Charlie showing the most interest, and even asking Roark if he could go on a ride-along.

“Mom!” Sebastian walked over. “The sheriff said we’re going to have front row seats for the fireworks tomorrow night. Is that true?”

“Yes,” she said, putting on a smile.

“Wow,” he said. “You must have made him feel really bad.”

Roark suppressed a smile at the comment and Chloe shot him a look. “No one made anyone feel bad,” he said. “We just came to a mutual understanding.”

The weather for the Fourth of July turned out to be perfect and the festival was the perfect outing for the boys. After a day of eating funnel cakes and soaking up sun as they listened to bands, Chloe, Sebastian and the other boys were joined on the grandstand by Roark, who’d changed into his civilian clothes.

“Casual wear for the holiday?” Chloe asked as he settled in beside her. She detected a hint of cologne as his arm brushed her. She blushed and then looked away.

“No,” he said. “I’m off the rest of the evening and it’s not often I get to entertain a beautiful woman, especially not one with so many children.”

Chloe laughed. “They’re not all mine,” she said. “Only Sebastian.”

“How long were you with his father?” Roark asked.

“Wow, you don’t waste time with the personal questions, do you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Since you decided to work on restraint I’ve decided to meet you halfway and work on being impetuous,” he said.

Chloe laughed. “That’s fair,” she said, although you might not like the answer. We were together about two months. I was young, in college and drunk. He was a nice guy, a friend with benefits, my best friend really. Until I got pregnant. Then he claimed I was trying to trap him and bailed.

“You didn’t try to track him down for support?”

Chloe shook her head. “No,” she said. “He didn’t want a baby and I had the option of ending the pregnancy. Everyone was doing it and I didn’t think it was fair to foist a child on him when I had a choice. It didn’t seem fair. Ultimately it was my choice, although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel sad that he never looked us up to find out what a great kid Sebastian turned out to be.”

“Yeah, he seems pretty awesome,” said Roark.

Chloe smiled. “What about you? Why aren’t you married like everyone else in town. Are you gay?”

“No. I’m straight as an arrow. I just never seemed to be attracted to the kind of women who were as dull as I am. I think I’m looking for someone who can keep me on my toes.” He glanced at her. “Someone who will be a bit of a challenge.”

The first fireworks went off, lighting up the sky. Chloe glanced over at Roark to see he was smiling at her. She smiled back.

“Hmm. That’s interesting,” she said. “I think I never married for the same reason. The kind of free spirited guys I thought I wanted turned out to be the kind that were good for making babies, not raising them.”

Another rocket whizzed into the air with a whistle and exploded in red-white-and blue starbursts.. Roark reached out and allowed his fingers to brush against Chloe’s. When she didn’t pull away he slipped her hands into his.

“Do you think of ever trying again?” he asked her. “Maybe with someone who’s a little more traditional?”

Chloe looked down and bit her lip. “Sometimes,” she said, moving closer so he could hear her above the cheering crowd. “Yeah, I do. Sometimes I think maybe someone I could lean on would be nice, especially if it was someone who still appreciated me for who I was.”

“Sometimes it takes someone a little different to ignite the spark that leads to something else,” he said, and they kissed as the sky exploded above them, raining down a shower of stars.

Beside them, the boys nudged one another and smiled.

Old Fashioned Day at the

State Fair

By Amity Maree

Old Fashioned Day at the State Fair

by Amity Maree

“You will do as I say, young lady, and you will do so with a smile on your face, or I will cut off your allowance, take back your car and your apartment. You will have to live on your means, not what I provide for you out of the goodness of my heart. As Governor of this state, I am trying hard to encourage people to attend our State Fair, and since it was my own personal suggestion to have Old-Fashioned Day, I expect my own family to participate in the contests and to have a good time! You will bake a damned pie and enter it in the pie auction, and you will sit and eat that pie with the young man who bids on it. Is THAT understood?” John Martin raised his voice to his daughter, something he rarely did.

“I don’t know how to bake a pie, Dad!” Liz looked her father in the eye.

“Then get your butt in the kitchen and learn. You are doing this, Elizabeth Lynn, and what’s more, you are going to spend the day at the fair having a great time.”

“And I suppose you are insisting that Eric bid on a pie?” she demanded.

“Of course I am. He said he would be happy to do so. He seems to have some respect for me and for the position I hold in this state.” When she rolled her eyes, he added what he considered his coup de grace, “Miller will be bidding, too.”

“Well, he’d better not buy my pie, Dad, that’s all I have to say. If you want me to go and act like Miss Suzy Sunshine for the day in my yellow gingham dress and straw hat, you’d best keep that bastard as far away from me as possible because I won’t be responsible for my actions if he is stupid enough to get within five hundred feet of me! Is THAT understood?” she demanded, getting to her feet and stomping from her Father’s office.

Elizabeth left the Governor’s mansion and ran to her car, easily outrunning the reporters who dogged her. She never spoke to them and she couldn’t understand why they persisted in following her. Theirs was a boring existence. Once at her apartment, she pulled through the gate and drove to her building and parked in her space. She was under a running shower in the next couple of minutes, trying to calm her famous temper. Why did she let her father guilt her into doing what he wanted? Yes, she loved her father, but how much did she owe him? All her life she’d been a little pawn in his political career, all the way back when he was elected Prosecuting Attorney in their county, to Representative, to Congressman, and now to his position as Governor of their state.

How could he ask her to do something she was so opposed to? Baking a pie, auctioning it and herself off to the highest bidder…!!! And even if that money was to go for a good cause, it was still flesh peddling, and she didn’t want to do it, even in a spirit of ‘old-fashioned fun’. It was degrading to women. Not all the men who would be bidding would be ‘safe’ and she could just picture one of them slipping a roofie in some poor woman’s drink and then raping her! Her father didn’t see it that way, of course, and thought she was being foolish. It didn’t surprise her that her younger brother was going along with it, either. Their Dad would be financing his participation and Eric was dependant on their father for his support, but she certainly wasn’t. It was HIS idea that she live in this particular apartment complex, and that she drive a fancy car. It all had to do with his image, not with her wants or needs. She should have told him ‘no’ and called his bluff. She should have, but she loved him, and she didn’t!

And, worst of all, she simply couldn’t believe that Miller Coddington would go along with her father and participate in a contest that was too sexist for words! He’d just better not bid on her pie or he would be sorry! she vowed. In fact, it would serve her parent right if she had a royal fit at the fair and it was splattered all over the newspapers. Maybe then he would stop involving her in things she wanted no part of! She fantasized about that and it brought a smile to her face when she thought of baking a pie that was truly awful and watching some unsuspecting reporter or lobbyist trying to eat it while sitting across from her. She would at least have a bit of her own back, she decided with a grin.

When Liz left her apartment a few minutes later, she didn’t look like the same woman. There wasn’t a trace of make-up on her pretty face, her hair was neatly pinned up on top of her head, and she was wearing scrubs. She drove a compact car, and left by the service entrance. She arrived at the hospital in plenty of time for her shift, and very few people there associated Elizabeth Martin, R.N., with Lizzy Martin, the Governor’s spoiled and pampered daughter. She didn’t take pains to hide the fact of her father’s identity, but the people she worked with knew her as a hardworking, competent nurse, and treated her with respect. She never brought politics to work, and when someone’s life was on the line, they didn’t want a nurse whose mind wasn’t on the job. Elizabeth loved her work, and she was good at it. He coworkers knew they could count on her, and she found that satisfying.

********************

“Coddington here,” Miller answered his cell without bothering to check the Caller ID. The odds were good that it was the Governor calling since very few people had this number.

“Lizzy agreed to participate in the pie auction,” John Martin stated without preamble. “That means you will, too.”

“How in hell did you talk her into it, Governor?” Miller demanded with a frown.

“It doesn’t matter. She agreed to bake a pie and put on an old-fashioned dress and come to the State Fair and join in the fun. Eric will be there, and as my Assistant, I expect you to come and bid on Lizzy’s pie. I don’t want her to have to spend time with some deranged idiot who wants to use her ear to get to me. You agreed, Miller.”

“That was when I thought Elizabeth still had a mind,” he muttered darkly. He snapped the telephone shut and powered off, not about to talk to anyone else right now. Why in hell did Elizabeth agree to do this? And he couldn’t believe the Governor had talked her into permitting him to buy her pie at the auction! The little brat didn’t even know how to bake a pie, and he wasn’t going to eat it, no matter who baked it. He would escort her out of the public eye, and once that was over, he was getting the hell out of there. The next time the Governor made a decision to promote an ‘old-fashioned’ anything, he was quitting his job. There was only one thing ‘old-fashioned’ that he would like to do at that fair, and that was take Miss Snotty Brat Martin over his knee and spank her soundly. If she gave him just one more good reason to do that, he would… And to hell with his job.

********************

“Come on down here and let me see how that dress looks on you,” John Martin growled. “Why do you have to be so cursed stubborn, Lizzy?”

“Maybe because you are forever asking me to do things I don’t want to do, Dad!” Elizabeth answered, opening the door of her old bedroom to yell at him. She came downstairs and shook her head when she saw how he was dressed. It was laughable. He had his hair parted in the middle and plastered down on both sides of his head. He was wearing old fashioned trousers with a white shirt and a brocaded vest, and he had arm bands on his shirt, and an old bow tie. “You look as ridiculous as I feel, Dad.”

“Thank you for the compliment. Now get your pie and let’s get to the fairgrounds. We need to go and have a good time so folks see it on the noon news and decide to come on out and have fun.”

“Where is Eric?” she asked suspiciously, not about to budge unless he was coming, too.

“He is in the limo waiting for us,” John felt like giving his daughter a smack on the fanny, but he wasn’t stupid enough to try it. She’d run right back upstairs and so much for the happy family at the Fair. If his well-thought plan worked today, he wouldn’t have to worry about Lizzy much longer. She and Miller would settle their differences and Miller could contend with her stubbornness. Whatever happened to set them apart could be fixed and they would get married. It would be good for his campaign when he ran for the Senate in a couple more years after his term as Governor was over. And who didn’t love to see a Grandpa holding a precious grandchild!

********************

It was difficult to smile and pretend she was having a great time when she wasn’t. Her Dad walked her around the grounds for hours to look at all the animals, and to visit with the concession stand owners. She congratulated winners and sympathized with others who didn’t win a prize. She rode a couple of rides and threatened to throw up if her Dad took her on another! He insisted she and Eric eat and eat, and he tried something at almost every food booth they stopped at. It was insane what the man was willing to do to promote the State Fair… and himself!!!

Liz couldn’t believe that so many women were taking part in the Pie Auction! The tent was packed to overflowing. Celebrities from all over the State, political figures, or members of their family, and some women who thought it would be a great time to be part of something like this and help raise money for Homeless Shelters had baked pies and entered them into the Auction. And, as predicted, single men were lined up to bid for those pies, some with their own money, and some with money provided by special interests groups or businesses who wanted to support the cause.

Liz had to admit she was pretty uneasy about this Auction, and having to spend time with whoever bid the most money for her. She knew her father wouldn’t be pleased if one of his political enemies bid just to get her alone and try and pump her for information, and then, there was the possibility that a reporter would bid for her pie just to write a piece on her. It would serve her Dad right if that happened, she decided with a wicked grin. The pie was purely inedible, and she’d made damn sure of it since she baked it herself. It wouldn’t make anyone ill, but she guaranteed they wouldn’t want another piece of apple pie again anytime soon. The only good part of the day so far was the fact that Miller Coddington was nowhere to be seen. The man was just as impossible as her father, but in his own unique way.

While the auctioneer’s voice droned on and on, Liz couldn’t help recalling her last night as Miller’s girlfriend. He’d wined and dined her, and they’d gone back to his apartment. Her father called with a serious problem that needed immediate attention, and Miller went upstairs to his office to take the call, leaving her downstairs She was convinced Miller was planning to propose to her that night, and she’d decided to say ‘yes’. She was in love with the handsome, well-educated man, and she’d also decided to say ‘yes’ to making love with him once he proposed. She was happy, and then her cell phone rang. There was an emergency at work, and they begged her to come in. Liz knew from experience that Miller could be tied up with her father for the rest of the evening, and she knew he would understand that she needed to go to the hospital to help out. She agreed she would be there ASAP, and then looked for a scrap of paper she could use to leave Miller a note. To her surprise, she found a note from her Father stuffed in the kitchen drawer where Miller kept notepads and ink pens. After reading it, she was furious. How dare her Father handpick a man for her? She wrote two crude and succinct words across the note and put it where Miller would find it. She refused his calls, and refused to discuss the situation with him. As far as she was concerned, they were through.

Finally, her name was called, and Lizzy had to step forward, a smile plastered on her face. The Auctioneer asked her what kind of pie she baked, and she gave the answer her Father insisted she give when he picked the kind of pie she was to bake. “Now, Lizzy, did you bake this pie yourself?” the Auctioneer asked teasingly. She knew better than take offense, and agreed that she did with a bright smile. God, her face hurt! The bidding was insane, and she didn’t have to pretend to be shocked. Who in their right mind would spend so much on a pie that wasn’t even edible? She started to feel a bit guilty. The bidding finally wound down to two men, and she recognized one as a reporter, and she didn’t have the first clue about the other man. She glanced at her father and when she saw his stony expression, she knew he wasn’t a bit happy. She didn’t know whether to be frightened or just cautious. As the auctioneer was about to rap the gavel on a final bid to the man she didn’t know, another voice was heard from the back of the room, doubling the amount. Lizzy immediately recognized the voice and she felt her temper bubbling, ready to consume her. The crowd cheered enthusiastically, and her father was all smiles. Damn him! He’d done it again! The gavel rapped, and she had no choice but pretend to be pleased when Miller Coddington offered her his arm. Of course the newspaper reporters were having a field day and their cameras were flashing repeatedly. It was no secret that she and Miller were a couple a few short months ago.

“Let’s get out of here,” Miller whispered in her ear while wearing a smile on his face. There was only one way to go, and they were led into a nicely roped off area where they were escorted to a cozy table for two. Of all the times for her father to take something she said seriously! The area was made secure by the State Police, and the little placard on the table thanked the couple for their generosity in taking part in the auction, and stating the secured area was provided as a precaution to insure safety for bakers and bidders alike. In short, the Governor believed Liz when she told him that some of the bidders might not be reputable, and it was a risk for a woman to go off alone with a man she didn’t know. None of the couples seemed to mind, and Liz would have been grateful if she was with anyone but Miller.

“I can’t believe you went along with this, Elizabeth,” Miller stated.

“I can’t believe you did either,” she countered.

“There are reporters everywhere,” he complained. “So help me, Liz, if this damn pie makes me sick, I’m going to turn you over my knee and spank you.” He used the provided knife to cut the pie into generous servings and placed a plate in front of Liz and then he served himself. It wasn’t until he popped a large forkful into his mouth that he realized Liz wasn’t eating, and was watching him with a smirk on her pretty face. The pie was so gross he wanted to throw up. His dark eyes watered and vowed retribution, and when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Liz picked up the ceramic pie plate and dumped the contents on his head before getting up to walk away! Cameras were flashing, no one wanting to miss the shot. When one reporter dared to ask, “Miss Martin, why did you do that? Did Mr. Coddington criticize your pie?” she stopped walking, gave the man a big smile. “My father is going to stop his matchmaking as of today. You may quote me on that.” That she’d made a huge mistake in stopping to speak to the reporter was evident when she was grabbed from behind and lifted off her feet. “Put me down!” she squealed.

“After that stunt? I don’t think so! You’ve needed a spanking for months now, and today you get it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Elizabeth was mortified at the very idea. “Miller, you’d better not do any such thing! Father will have your hide!”

“I don’t care. My letter of resignation is on his desk. And you are going over my knee!” He sat down at the table they were given, and in the next instant, Liz was lying face-down over his lap.

“Miller, no! I’m sorry I lost my temper! Please don’t embarrass me like this!” she begged of him. When his hand landed with a powerful smack on her bottom she realized he didn’t care if she was embarrassed. He continued to spank her, over and over, and she kicked and cried out in fury. “You bastard! You son of a bitch! How dare you treat me like this?” He spanked harder, and she felt every smack through the thin yellow dress and her panties.

“How dare you make a pie that tastes like garbage and let me take a bite of it and then dump the rest on me? I did nothing wrong, brat!” He continued to put some real effort into the spanking, causing her to gasp in pain. She wasn’t going to sit down for a month, he vowed.

“You let Father set me up again!” she accused heatedly, trying to squirm away.

“I never did that, Elizabeth,” he replied quietly, his hand halted in mid air.

“I found the damned note!” she was instantly angry.

“I know, and you wouldn’t give me a chance to explain. You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, Elizabeth Lynn.” He gave her another hard spank, and then, to her absolute horror, he stood up, still holding her, and tossed her over his shoulder. He whacked her butt when she protested, and then marched right past the State Police officers, who were gawking like everyone else, and carried her through the grounds, spanking her every step of the way to where his car was parked. He put her inside and warned her to sit put unless she wanted another walloping right here and now and on her bare fanny. Since they were followed the whole of the way there by the reporters, he was pretty sure the threat was enough to insure she wouldn’t run from him.

“I cannot believe you treated me like that!” Liz tearfully proclaimed, her anger giving way to feelings of hurt, as he maneuvered them off of the fairground and into local traffic.

“I cannot believe the way you’ve treated me for months now,” Miller told her. “I love you, Elizabeth, and you walked out on me and didn’t let me tell you my side of things. You found one damning note from the Governor and you didn’t ask me if it was true.”

She looked at him and saw the hurt reflected in his dark eyes. What if he was speaking the truth? “You’re right. I didn’t ask. So…? I’m asking now.”

“Your father wrote that note when you were still in nursing school. I told him you were too young to be seriously involved with anyone, and I told him that if he wanted me to work for him he was going to have to realize that my personal life was my own. I made it clear, and he agreed. I kept that damned note because it reminded me that I needed to remain true to myself and not get caught up in politics to the point it was all that mattered. I didn’t ask you out until long after that note was written, sweetheart,” he insisted. “And I fell in love with you before your Dad found out we were dating each other.”

“Truly?” she asked hopefully.

“Truly,” he insisted. He remained quiet then, driving them both to his house. He needed a shower and a change of clothing. They pulled into a gated community, and then he pulled into his garage. “Make yourself comfortable while I clean up,” he ordered.

Liz wanted to kick herself, but her bottom was too tender for that. It had hurt to sit on the warm leather seats of his car for the ride here, and she didn’t hesitate to reach back with both hands and rub her bottom to try and relieve the sting. She was feeling so guilty for not letting Miller explain, and like she’d wasted months of her life over nothing. Her father was always trying to manipulate her, but she should have trusted Miller enough to hear him out. She promised herself that she would never be that foolish again, if he were willing to give her a second chance… He might not be anxious to do that after the way she’d behaved the last few months, and especially after today! She’d dumped pie on him in public… and paid the price, she reminded herself, rubbing again.

“Rubbing your bottom after a spanking isn’t allowed, young lady,” Miller said firmly, coming up behind her and giving her another hard smack where she sat.

“Ow!” Liz whirled around to face him, her blue eyes wide. She quelled her immediate reaction to scold him for spanking her sore bottom again because she knew he had a right to be upset with her. She knew what she needed to say, and she rushed to say it. “I’m sorry, Miller. For today’s poor behavior, but most of all because I should have heard you out months ago when I found that note. I was so hurt that I didn’t see beyond my reaction to your feelings. Please forgive me. I do love you, and that hasn’t changed in all this time.”

“I love you, too, honey,” Miller admitted, taking her in his arms and holding her close. “However, we are going to have to deal with some consequences before we can go on. I don’t want to go through something like this again, and I have to know you won’t jump to conclusions and refuse to hear me out. That isn’t something I can accept, Elizabeth. Do you agree?”

Liz nodded. “I agree, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Will you accept the consequences?” he asked.

“Don’t you think the time we spent apart, hurting, was punishment enough?” she was serious.

“No. I need some very tangible proof that you are truly sorry and that you realize this isn’t an acceptable way to behave. I want you to go to the kitchen and bring me something to spank you with, and I want you to ask for your spanking. Will you do that, honey?” he asked, holding his breath. If she couldn’t accept discipline in their relationship, then it was best to know it now. He couldn’t live with a woman who wouldn’t be held accountable.

“That sounds so old-fashioned!” she whispered.

“Look at all the divorces today versus years ago, Liz. Old-fashioned works in marriages.” He gave her a hug of encouragement, and then watched as she walked into the kitchen and opened drawers until she found something he could spank her with. It was a bowl scraper and it looked like a paddle in its shape.

Liz was nervous as she came into the family room and held out the spatula to Miller. “I’m sorry I was so stubborn and didn’t give you the opportunity to explain, Miller. I judged you unfairly, and I agree that I earned punishment. Will you please spank me…? But not too hard!” she added the last imploringly.

Miller couldn’t help smiling as he drew her down over his knee on the large sofa. This time he pushed her dress out of the way, and then he took down her panties to bare her bottom, which was still reddened from the spanking he’d given her earlier for dumping the disgusting pie on him. He picked up the spatula once again, and started spanking with it. Liz’s skin was very tender and she cried out immediately, but she didn’t try to reach back or get up. He was impressed.

Elizabeth knew that Miller wasn’t spanking in anger or temper this time, but because he loved her. She was determined to accept the spanking, especially since it would put them on the same page once again and make things right. She would gladly suffer a very sore bottom to have her world righted once again! And, considering the fact that he was doing a thorough job of spanking her, she was going to be very sore! Her poor butt was on fire!

Miller didn’t want to overdo the spanking, but he wanted to spank Liz hard enough that she knew how serious he was about trusting him in the future. He didn’t stop until her bottom and upper thighs were a deep, dark crimson, and even then he asked her some scolding questions and made her answer, giving her sound swats to her sit spots in between. “Do you feel spanked, Liz?” he finally asked.

“Yes, I do! I’m sorry, and I promise I’ll never run off like that again without giving you a chance to tell your side of things. It was so wrong, and most of all, I’m sorry for wasting so much time we could have spent together being happy! We can’t ever get that time back!” she cried.

“No, but we’ll make up for it,” he promised, raising her up to look into her eyes. “Will you marry me, honey?” he asked.

“Oh yes!” she agreed, kissing him tenderly.

“Even if it means a sore bottom when you earn one?” he wanted to know.

“Even if it means a sore bottom… as long as it really is deserved,” she said. “But, I’ll get even with you if you ever spank me and I don’t agree I earned it!” she promised, and he laughed.

“I love your sassy spirit,” he admitted as the doorbell rang and rang and rang. “One guess whose irate father is on the other side of that door…?” he offered. “Are you prepared?”

She shook her head ‘no’ and then giggled when he chuckled. “Better let Dad in…”

********************

“Governor, what do you have to say about yesterday at the Fair?” a reporter demanded.

John smiled. “Old-Fashioned Day was a great success. Fair attendance was at an all time high, and the Auction raised over a million dollars to be used for the homeless.”

“What about your daughter, sir?” the man persisted, and was shocked when the Governor chuckled.

“Well, my plan worked perfectly, and I hope the voters will excuse a father for using a public event to bring my daughter and her fiancé back together, albeit a bit unconventionally.” He smiled again and announced. “A wedding date has been set for December 20, and I’m thinking it will be a very old-fashioned, traditional wedding. I am already making plans to have the wedding right here… And, who knows, by next year at Christmas, we might have a little one to celebrate with!” He smiled again for the cameras, and once he was alone he snickered to himself. Yes, John, a good spanking was all your little Lizzy needed, and it was smart of you to set it all up. There was no way Lizzy would bake a pie without messing it up on purpose, and Miller isn’t the type to let her get away with acting like a brat… Old-fashioned days… old-fashioned spanking. Thank God for the Fair!

Teaching Abby

By Joannie Kay

Teaching Abby by Joannie Kay

Grizzly Flats

1870

Peter Cunningham woke with a smile on his face, and a sense of anticipation for the day ahead. It was the same feeling he got every year on the first day of school since he was a small boy entering the first grade and finally permitted to walk along with his older brothers, Micah and Caleb, to the school in town where his Pa held the job of Sheriff. His first teacher was a pretty young lady by the name of Miss Ellen, and Peter was enamored of school from the moment he saw her smile. He was a quick learner and graduated at the top of his class of four, and after a three year stint as a deputy to his Pa, who was by then a Territorial Marshal, Peter decided to become a schoolmaster. His brothers teased him mercilessly, but he studied and got his Teaching Certificate, and here he was, ready for his fifth year teaching grades one through twelve, still as excited as he was as a five-year-old on his very first day. His brothers might prefer sleeping on the hard ground and skipping meals while chasing after outlaws, but Peter was satisfied that his job was just as important as theirs, and he slept in his own bed every night!

Peter was at school early, writing his name on the chalkboard and making sure the room was tidy, although he knew before walking in that it was spotless from the cleaning he’d given it over the last several days. He opened the windows to let in the fresh air and made sure the water bucket was full and the dipper clean. Unlike other teachers he’d known throughout his lifetime, Peter didn’t feel it necessary to keep a paddle or switch or a strap hanging in full view of the students. He rarely felt it necessary to punish a student in that manner, and when he did, it was done privately and never in front of the other children. He preferred to use other means to discipline, ones that would educate. Of course there were exceptions, and many times he felt it was the parents who needed a good tanning, and his mind immediately went to Mimi Evans’ Ma. Mimi was spoiled and her Ma was the one doing the spoiling. He’d gone to Frank Evans and asked him to step up, but the man was afraid of his wife and it showed. If it was up to Peter, he’d give Mrs. Evans a tanning she’d never forget, but that was just a fantasy, and he knew it. He’d just have to be patient again this year, and hope that Mimi did some growing up over the summer months.

He smiled as he looked outside and saw the children starting to arrive. He recognized most of them, and sighed deeply when he saw Mimi showing off her new dress to a couple of other girls and then pointing and making fun of what they were wearing. George Barns pulled up in a wagon, bringing Georgie and his little sister, who was probably going to start school this year from the uneasy look on her face and the way George patted her back comfortingly. He spotted another little girl who didn’t appear to be hold enough for school, but her Ma was tiny, too, and she looked even more frightened than the child, although she was smiling reassuringly at the little girl as she held her hand.

Peter looked at his watch, and then went to the doorway and rang the bell to invite the children inside, and let the stragglers know they’d best hurry. He grinned as he spotted the Jefferson twins come on a run, their wild red hair sticking out in all directions in spite of their Ma’s attempts to comb it down before they left the house. Peter greeted everyone with a smile.

“Good morning,” he greeted the young mother, surprised to realize she couldn’t be more than twenty at the most. “I’m Peter Cunningham,” he introduced himself.

“Hello, Mr. Cunningham. This here is my little girl, Jenny. She’s in first grade.”

The poor woman had tears in her pretty green eyes. “Jenny will be just fine, Mrs.….?” He was embarrassed not to have her name.

“Oh…!” she blushed. “I forgot that part. I’m Mrs. Abigail Burnham.”

“Jenny will be fine, Mrs. Burnham.”

“She’s so little,” the woman barely whispered, and when she saw the question in his dark eyes, she answered, “She just turned five a few weeks ago, Mr. Cunningham, and she wants to come to school.”

“Good. I was anxious to go to school at your age, too, Jenny. Go on inside and have a seat at a desk toward the front of the room. I’ll be right along,” he smiled at her in encouragement. “Did you send her lunch or do you want her to come home at noon, Mrs. Burnham?”

“Ohhhh! I forgot to pick it up from the table!”

“No problem. Just bring it by at noon,” he said with another smile. She was going to burst into tears any second now, and Peter hated to see a woman cry.

“I will,” she agreed, then turned away and took off running for home. Peter looked after her, and then reminded himself that she was a ‘Mrs.’ He went inside and started the business of another school year, leaning down to whisper to Jenny that her Ma would bring her lunch at noon since she forgot it. Jenny gave him a trusting smile. He felt a lump in his throat and realized that he was going to have to be careful not to let himself show favor to the little girl, even though she already had his heartstrings wrapped around her tiny little finger.

********************

Abby was clearly shaken by the time she entered the small house she shared with her daughter. Her imagination was playing tricks on her, of course. She was upset over leaving her ‘baby’ at school for the first time, and she was looking for trouble where she shouldn’t be looking. Mr. Cunningham was a schoolmaster, and schoolmasters didn’t wear guns.

She immediately set herself to kneading the bread she’d set to rise earlier, and tried to keep her mind from wandering all over the place. What happened was over six years ago, and every time she let herself remember that horrible day she had nightmares. Abby didn’t want to wake her baby by screaming in her sleep, but it was no use. Her mind was going to go where it wanted and she was powerless to stop the memory. She’d sneaked away with Jamie Burnham, and while they were doing things her Ma would have switched her for doing if she’d known, men came to her home and accused her Pa of stealing from them. Pa put up a fight, but he was only one man against five, and they hung him and then turned on her Ma and older sisters. Jamie shoved her down behind the woodpile and ran to try and stop what was happening, but they hit him over the head and headed out. Only a few minutes later, the Marshal and three of his deputies rode in, chasing after the gang. They helped Jamie, but Abby was in shock. The only thing she remembered from that day was the kind smile one of the deputies gave her when he found her hiding spot and gently coaxed her to come out. They helped her and Jamie bury her family, and Jamie took her home and told his Pa that he was marrying Abby.

She shook her head and realized she’d probably ruined her bread, pounding it into a tough mass. She shook her head and threw it away, and started all over. Mr. Winks at the Mercantile was happy to have her fresh baked bread to sell and she intended to keep him happy by supplying him with as much as he needed. Just because the teacher had a nice smile didn’t mean he’d been at her folks that day!

********************

It was a rare moment of quiet in the schoolroom and Peter sat at his desk and watched his students as they all worked industriously on various assignments. He hated to send them out in the rain to go home. It was a nasty fall day, and he hoped that some parents would arrive to give the ones who lived farthest away a ride home. Sure enough, the buggy’s and wagons started arriving right on time, and he excused the kids early as parents came for them. George and Gracie’s Pa was taking home the neighbor kids, too, and Peter thanked him, glad the girls wouldn’t have to walk so far in the rain. The classroom was soon empty of all but one child, and Peter was surprised. It was unusual for Jenny’s Mama not to be here before school was let out; she never let Jenny walk to or from school alone. She didn’t mind if other children walked with them, but she, herself, was going to be responsible for Jenny. Peter had been shocked to realize that she was a widow at such a young age. Her husband was injured when he fell while building a barn, and died a few days later, or at least that is what Mrs. Burnham told Mr. Winks at the Mercantile and he passed on to Peter. He waited another five minutes, and when there was still no sign of the woman, Peter made the decision to take Jenny home and see what was wrong. “Jenny, you don’t need your reader tonight. You don’t have any homework,” he reminded the child.

“Mama needs to do her lesson,” Jenny looked up at him. “I’m helping her learn to read and I tell her everything you say to us,” she shocked him by saying.

Peter had come across other adults who couldn’t read, but it still bothered him each and every time. He quickly wrapped Jenny in the spare slicker that he kept at school for those days it came up with a rain and he was already there, and then he put on the one he’d worn that morning when it was just beginning to drizzle. Without bothering to worry what Abigail would think, he lifted Jenny in his arms and headed for her house, hurrying as quickly as he could. Something was wrong, and he could feel it to his very soul.

********************

Abby was growing more and more hysterical! The weather was so bad, and Jenny just had a small sweater with her. She should have been here ages ago, and perhaps she was in the house, crying because she didn’t know where her Mama was! Abby pounded on the door and called out for help again, but the wind and rain was making so much noise, no one heard her. They were all inside their homes, enjoying the warmth of the stove, and trying to stay dry! What would Jenny do when she couldn’t find her? Abby worried, and burst into tears of helplessness. She was frantic over her baby! She tried again to budge the stubborn door, but it wouldn’t move! She was trapped in the outhouse, and no one to hear her or miss her but Jenny, and she was only five years old! What if someone came and took her away!!

********************

“Mama isn’t here!” Abby’s lower lip trembled as she looked at Peter helplessly.

“I’ll find her, honey. Don’t worry. Can you be a big girl and stay here inside while I go outside and look around?” She nodded, but her big green eyes were full of tears. “Jenny, I’ll find your Mama, and I won’t stop looking until I do. Now be a brave little girl and I’ll go and look around outside.”

Peter knew something was wrong, but there was no sign of a struggle inside the neat house. He wondered if Abby twisted her ankle in the backyard, or something like that. He let himself out the kitchen door, and quickly scanned the yard. She wasn’t there. Then he heard pounding and Abby’s voice calling for help. He ran to the outhouse and saw that a large branch had fallen from a tree and trapped her inside. “Abby! It’s Peter. I’ll have you out soon.”

“Is Jenny all right?” she asked through the door, her voice frantic.

“She’s fine. I brought her home when you didn’t come to school. Now stay calm. There’s a large tree branch against the door. I’ll try to move it and get you out of here.” It took him a few minutes to move the heavy limb, but he was finally able to get the door open enough she could squeeze outside. “Let’s get you in the house, Abby. Jenny is worried about you.” Abby wasn’t dressed very warm either, and he immediately wrapped his slicker around her to protect her from the rain as they ran for the house.

“Mama!” Jenny cried out in delight when she saw Abby. Abby knelt down and hugged the little girl. “Where were you?” she asked.

“A big branch fell out of the tree and blocked the door to the outhouse when I was inside; I couldn’t get it open,” Abby told her. “I was so scared you would be afraid when you couldn’t find me.”

“Mr. Cunningham told me not to worry and promised he would find you, and he did!” she ran and hugged him next. “Thank you for finding Mama, Teacher!”

Peter gently rested his hand on her head. “You’re welcome, Jenny.” She was still wearing his oversized slicker and he suspected she had been prepared to keep right on looking for her Mama if he didn’t find her quickly.

“Look at you!” Abby smiled and then giggled. “You’re way too little for that rain slicker!” she started to help Jenny take it off.

“It’s Teacher’s. We knew something was wrong when you didn’t come to school for me, Mama, so he put this around me to keep me dry and carried me all the way here. I didn’t get wet, either, even my feet!” she said proudly, showing off the missing tooth in her mouth.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Teacher, but I’d be pleased if you’d stay to supper at least,” Abby decided it was safe to do that much. He’d done her a real kindness in making sure that her baby was safe, and fixing supper for him would be a kindness in return. Folks shouldn’t mind that or think it was bad of her.

“I would love to stay for supper, Abby. Thank you kindly,” Peter replied. “I don’t turn down home-cooking.”

“Do you have lessons for tomorrow, Jenny?” Abby asked.

“No, Mama. All done. Teacher said to leave my books at school since it’s raining and they’d get all wet. Can I go play now?” she asked.

“That’s a good idea,” Abby nodded, but she was more than a little nervous at being alone with the handsome teacher. He spent too much time in her dreams lately, and she didn’t want to think of anyone but her dear Jamie in that way. But, she was human, and it had been a long time since a man stirred her. She’d truly enjoyed the physical side of marriage.

“Abby, Jenny told me today that she is teaching you to read? Is that true, or is it a game you play with her to help her with her lessons?” he asked matter-of-factly, and as soon as he got a glimpse of the humiliation on her face, he had his answer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you; I only wanted to offer my help.”

“I don’t have money to pay for lessons,” she answered, her face as red and hot as could be.

“I didn’t ask you for money,” Peter answered quietly. “I offered to teach you read. Jenny is only five. She needs to learn at a slower pace than you do.”

“We’re doing just fine!” she slammed a skillet on the stove, willing her sudden temper away.

“I would be happy to spend some time each day working with you, Abby,” he repeated himself, unable to believe she was turning down his help. When she whirled on him with temper in her green eyes, he finally realized that her embarrassment was in reality anger. She was utterly furious, and he didn’t have the first clue why she should be.

“I’ll just bet you would! Well let me tell you, Mister, I’m not that kind of woman.” She shook a wooden spoon at him for emphasis, and he suddenly realized that she was refraining from hitting him with it by only sheer willpower.

Abby suddenly realized she wasn’t the only one with a temper when he got to his feet to tower over her. His dark eyes were blazing with an inner fire she’d never before witnessed. In fact, he very much looked like that Deputy Marshal she recalled from years earlier, just as dangerous, even without the gun belt. She swallowed hard and took a couple steps backwards.

“Young lady, when was the last time someone turned you over a knee and spanked you soundly?” he demanded. “Have I ever, even once, treated you with less than respect?”

“No,” Abby’s eyes filled with tears of shame. “And you ain’t… I mean aren’t going to now!” she held her own. “I won’t give no one no reason to talk and say I ain’t a proper Mama to my little girl!” she continued, and then realized that all she’d done was make the Teacher even angrier.

She gasped in dismay when he pulled the wooden spoon from her hand, and then he shocked her by reaching around her with his left arm to lift her off her feet and hold her dangling over one arm and then brought the spoon down on her bottom once, twice, and three times. Abby found her voice then. “Owwww! You put me down! Please! Please! I don’t want Jenny to see!”

“I cannot believe you would think I would treat you like that, Abigail Burnham!” Peter gave her another few spanks with the spoon, and just that quickly he dropped her on her feet as Jenny came running into the kitchen.

“What’s that noise?” she asked, and then her green eyes grew round as she spotted the spoon in her Teacher’s hand and saw the look on her Mama’s face. “Mama, you got a spankin’?”

Abby started crying, much to Peter’s dismay, and gave him a wounded look. “Young lady, don’t you dare blame me. All I did was offer to teach you to read. You’re responsible for acting like I was planning to… hurt your reputation,” he said, careful of his words.

“Teacher, you’re going to teach Mama to read! That’s wonderful!” Jenny exclaimed, and then she gave him a big hug. “Mama, Teacher is being nice. He didn’t know how mad and ‘barassed you get when you can’t read something. You shouldn’t’ve scolded him. And, Teacher, Mama is growed up and too big for a spankin’,” she explained with a serious expression on her face.”

“Miss Jenny, no little girl ever gets too old for a spanking if she needs one,” Peter said softly. “Now, you go on and play with your dolly while your Mama and I talk a bit. I think she wants to say ‘sorry’ now.” Jenny looked at him, and then at Abby, and decided it would be best to obey.”

“I’m not going to say ‘sorry’ to you! I can’t believe you struck me!”

“I gave you six swats with a spoon, and we’ll finish this spanking after Jenny is tucked in tonight. You crossed a line, Abigail. I won’t permit that.” Her eyes flayed him alive and he ignored her temper. “What can I do to help you with supper?” he offered.

Abby couldn’t believe that Peter still expected her to feed him, but it was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere, and she had to remind herself that she would likely still be locked in the outhouse without his help. She asked Peter to peel some potatoes, since he wanted to help, and she cut off thick slices of ham to fry. It didn’t take long to have supper on the table, and Abby couldn’t help but smile as Peter had Jenny giggling with stories of his brothers when he was little.

Once they were finished eating, Peter helped Jenny dry the dishes, and then he sat down and read a story to her from a book she’d been given by Jamie less than a week before he was injured in the fall. Once that was done, he asked for paper and pencils, wondering if there would be any in the house. Abby brought out a box that had belonged to Jamie. It contained sheets of paper, pencils, ink, and two pens.

“Will these do?” Abby asked anxiously, wondering what Peter was about.

“Yes, Abby. Now sit down. I want to see where we need to start with your lessons.” She immediately blushed and he saw a spark of temper in her eyes. “Abigail,” he warned, “I don’t know why you’re so angry, but we will be discussing this later.” He turned to Jenny, “We’re going to show your Mama how well you can write your letters, and then we’ll talk about the sounds they make. Abby, I want you to write the letters you know.”

Peter could see that she was struggling with herself, but with Jenny sitting right there she couldn’t very well make a scene. He’d planned it that way on purpose. By the end of a couple of hours, Peter knew what he needed to know. Abby knew exactly what Jenny knew and nothing more. She didn’t know how to read more than a few basic words that he’d already taught his first year students. He also knew that Abby was bright and intelligent and really wanted to learn.

“Are you going to teach Mama, Teacher?” Jenny wanted to know.

“Yes, I am. You’ve done a very good job so far, Jenny, but Mama is older than you, and she is capable of doing longer assignments. Pretty soon she will be able to help you study your spelling words.”

“I’d like that a lot. Gracie’s Mama helps her all the time,” she imparted, not realizing how much her words would hurt her own Mama.

Abby felt tears of shame sting her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. “Jenny, it’s time for bed now. You go and get ready, and I’ll come and tuck you in soon.”

“But, Mama, we have comp’ny!” the little girl whined.

“Jennifer, it is your bedtime and you have school in the morning. Now scoot!” Once her daughter was in her bedroom and couldn’t hear, Abby looked at Peter and said, “I think it is time for you to leave, Teacher. I don’t want anyone to think wrong of me.”

“Why would they do that? It’s early yet, and I’m not going to stay much longer. You go on now and tuck Jenny in for the night. We have some unfinished business to take care of, and I’m not leaving until we get some things straight between us.”

Abby looked like a little girl herself when she chewed on her lower lip and looked up at him with those big green eyes. She wanted to say something, but decided to go and check on Jenny instead, leaving him to sit there and decide what he should do next. He was worried that if he gave her the promised spanking she would end up afraid of him and refuse to let him teach her to read and write. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to permit the little redhead to accuse him of wrongdoing when it was the furthest thing from his mind. Finally, he decided he was just going to have to talk to her and if she offered an apology, he would be a gentleman and accept it… this one time.

Abby didn’t know what to do about the man in her kitchen. What would she do if he decided to turn her over his knee as he said he would? Jamie had walloped her a few times, and she’d had it coming. But, they were married, and a spanking always led to pleasure later when they made up. But, she didn’t think that the Teacher intended to stay for the making up part… not that she wanted him too! she quickly assured herself.

“You go to sleep now, Jenny. Mama loves you so much,” she tucked her in after her nightly prayers that always included her Papa.

“I love you, too, Mama,” Jenny yawned, and Abby smiled when the child was nearly asleep before she shut off the lamp.

Abby then squared her shoulders and went back to the kitchen, prepared to be firm and send the Teacher on his way. “I thank you for your help tonight, Mr. Cunningham,” she said formally. “I was so afraid for Jenny,” she admitted, “and it was very nice of you to take such good care of her for me. I want to thank you for offering to teach me to read, too, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t want folks to think bad of me.”

“Abby, you keep saying that folks will think bad of you; why should they do that?”

“Because you’re a man coming to my home. It’s wrong.”

“I’m not planning to ask you to pay me with your body for teaching you, Abby,” he stated clearly, trying to keep his temper calm.

“When men do anything kind for a woman, they expect something in return.” Abby knew those words to be a truth. Her own Mama told her that when she was old enough to get her monthly time.

“That’s it. I was planning to settle for a simple apology instead of turning you over my knee, Abigail, but that comment has earned you a spanking you won’t soon forget!” He snagged her wrist and pulled her down over his knee in the next second, and this time he didn’t spank over her skirts. He tossed them up, and decided to prove that he could even bare her bottom without taking her to bed in the next moment. Abby had a lot to learn about trust. His hand connected with bared flesh and Abby cried out in pain. “Not all men are out to take advantage of you, young lady.” He continued to spank her, his strong left arm holding her in place so she wouldn’t wiggle free and fall on the floor. He knew he was hurting her fanny. He’d only given her a dozen or so spanks, and her bottom was already sporting vivid red handprints, evidence of her fair redhead’s complexion.

“Please stop!” Abby begged him. “You’re hurting me, and I’m so embarrassed!” Embarrassed? She was mortified and doubted she’d ever be able to face him again!

“You ought to be embarrassed over the way you talked to me, Abby,” Peter spanked her again and again. “I offered help and you accused me of trying to force you into bed! The normal reply is, ‘Thank you, Peter.’ I’m not going to stop this spanking until I hear those words.”

“I am grateful you offered,” she cried. “Owwwww! Stop! I’m sore now!”

“You’re still not saying what I want to hear!” he spanked her sit spots and she tried to get away from him!

“Let me go!”

“Nope. Not until you agree to let me teach you,” Peter insisted. “I’m going to spank you until you get it through your pretty little head that I am not asking you to pay me for what I freely offered. I am a teacher; I want to teach you to read… NO strings attached!” He spanked her again and again, and her cries turned into sobs. He started to feel sorry for her, but realized she’d needed this spanking for a long time. “Abby, being stubborn is only going to earn you a longer spanking,” he warned.

“Please stop! I’ll agree! Please?”

“I want to hear a thank you…” he reminded her, giving her flaming backside two more hard spanks.

“Thank you for offering to teach me, Peter. Please stop spanking me now… It hurts too much,” she was sobbing.

Peter stopped. She’d had more than enough. Her skin was beet red and burning to the touch. He was gentle as he tugged her drawers over her stinging flesh, and then pulled down her skirts before lifting her to her feet. “There now, Abby. It’s all over now. I will come after school tomorrow and we’ll work on your lessons. I give you my word that I won’t say or do anything improper.”

She nodded, too upset to speak.

“Come here,” he whispered, and pulled her close to hold her while she cried. “It’s all over now, Abby. You just need to go on to bed, once you lock the door after me, and get some sleep. You’ve had a trying day, but tomorrow will be better.” She finally quieted and when she tried to pull away, he immediately released her. He gave her a smile, leaned down to gently kiss her forehead, and then left with another reminder to expect him after school the next day.

True to his word, he came after school and worked with Abby on her reading and writing, and then left as soon as the lesson was done. Most of the time, Jenny sat at the kitchen table with them. Eventually, Abby relaxed and came to believe that Peter was true to his word and wasn’t going to ask her to pay him with sexual favors. She did invite him to stay for supper a couple times a week, and Peter always accepted, but made sure that he left before it got too late.

“Teacher!” Jenny came crying to him a few weeks later. “Mimi is saying mean things about Mama!” He coaxed the child to tell him what Mimi was saying, and then went outside and brought the spoiled little girl inside.

“Do you know what you are saying, Mimi?” he asked of her and wasn’t surprised when she shook her head ‘no’. “Where did you hear this?” Again, he wasn’t surprised to hear the source was her Ma. It was long past time he dealt with the situation. “You’ll stay after school today, Mimi. I will be taking you home to have a long talk with your parents.” Mimi promptly burst into tears and Peter put her into the corner until she could calm herself.

After school was finished, Peter faced Abby and said, “It appears I misjudged a few people in this town, Abby. Mimi Evans overheard her Ma gossiping and repeated it to Jenny. I’m going to go and deal with it right now. May I come by after?” he asked, hating the wounded look in her green eyes.

Abby nodded. “I don’t blame you, Peter. You’ve been nothing but respectful to me.” She turned and hurried Jenny on home. She just knew she was going to cry.

Peter closed up the school and then said, “Come along, Mimi. We need to speak to your parents.”

“Am I going to get a whippin’?” she wanted to know.

“That is up to your Pa,” Peter answered. “But I will promise you this, I won’t tolerate your being mean to the other kids any longer. If you want to enjoy recess, then you will be nice to everyone. Is that clear?” She promptly burst into tears again. He just shook his head, wishing once again that HE could take a switch to her overbearing Ma.

“Mr. Cunningham?” Frank Evans looked up from the clock he was repairing, and then saw his daughter sniffling behind the teacher. “Is Mimi in some kind of trouble?” he asked, wiping his hands on a rag before getting to his feet to face the other man.

“Yes, she is. She overheard your wife talking to someone else and repeated it at school.” Peter was blunt as he told the man what was going on, and watched as Frank’s eyes narrowed in displeasure. It was his wife’s misfortune to walk through the door at that precise moment.

“Clara, were you aware that Mimi was eavesdropping when you were speaking of Mrs. Burnham last night? Do you realize that Mimi went to school and told all the other children, including little Jenny, what you said?”

Clara had the grace to look ashamed for all of five seconds and then she turned into the spiteful woman she was. “Well, it’s true! And a disgrace! A schoolmaster cavorting with a widow!”

“Mrs. Evans, there is no cavorting going on, and you are destroying a good woman’s reputation out of maliciousness. I am teaching Abigail to read, and Jenny sits at the table with us and does her homework. What on earth gives you the right to spread lies of that sort?” He turned to the other man and said sternly, “Frank, I’ve talked with you before about Mimi’s behavior. If something of this sort happens again, I will be forced to deal with Mimi myself in a manner I find befitting… Even though I think the matter would best be addressed through tanning the person responsible for the way Mimi behaves.” He turned on his heel and left the store, and it was obvious to one and all that the tall man was furious.

“How dare he suggest something so… vulgar!” Clara Evans was flabbergasted.

“Perhaps because it is long over-due, Clara,” Frank said quietly. He walked to the door and turned the closed sign, then turned the key, locking the door. He pulled the shades down and then said, “Mimi, go upstairs to your bedroom and stay there. I want you to think about how you would feel if someone said mean things about your Ma at school. I will be up shortly to talk to you about this.”

“Ma, I don’t want to go upstairs. I want my cookies and milk!” Mimi stomped her foot.

“Frank, our baby is hungry,” Clara started to take Mimi inside their living quarters, only to have her husband shake his head ‘no’.

“Mimi is going to her room right now, Clara.” He picked up a piece of leather strap and slapped it against his hand. He wasn’t looking at his child, but at his wife.

Clara couldn’t believe he was threatening her, but she wasn’t taking any chances. “Mimi, precious, you go on and go upstairs right now like Pa said. I’ll bring you some cookies in a little while.”

Mimi opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her Pa was acting different, and she didn’t want to make him mad at her. She took off running for her room.

“Frank, what has come over you!”

“Your impossible behavior, Clara. It’s time I take a stand. You are turning our daughter into someone that no one is going to want to be around in a few more years. And gossiping about Mrs. Burnham and the Teacher! For shame! You know that isn’t true! The man was ready to throttle you!” He came closer and took her arm to pulled her over to the stool he sat on to work at his high bench. “You are going to bend over this stool and pull up your dress and petticoats, Clara, for a sound strapping.” When she tried to pull away and protested, he gave her a little shake. “How would you be feeling right now if the Teacher punished Mimi for repeating what you were saying? What if he decided to thrash her in front of the class? Is that what you want? I guarantee that if I don’t take you in hand right now, our Mimi is going to come home crying. Mr. Cunningham has talked to me two other times, Clara. I spoke with you each time, and talking didn’t work. Now you’ll bend over and we’ll see if a strapping will help you see reason.” Frank was done talking. He helped Clara over the stool, and after a few hearty licks that he told her didn’t count until she did as she was told, she pulled up her skirts and Frank gave her a strapping that was long overdue and left her too sore to sit down for the next several days. He then told her that she would be walking Mimi to school in the morning and apologizing to the Teacher and to Mrs. Burnham. Her refusal cost her another strapping on a very sore backside, but by the time it ended, Clara was begging to make her apologies.

********************

“I see,” Peter said calmly, doing his best to keep himself calm. “Abby, I thought we settled this once before, weeks ago. Have I ever said or done anything to make you think that I wasn’t keeping my word?” Peter demanded. She shook her head ‘no’. “Then why do you want me to stop coming by? I will admit that you’ve made so much progress you really don’t need me as your teacher, but I’d hoped once you were confident in your ability to read and write that I could start courting you. I hoped you were feeling the same attraction for me that I am for you… Am I wrong?” When she didn’t answer, he reached out to grasp her upper arms and give her a little shake. “Am I wrong, Abby?”

“No, but… I don’t want folks to think I’m not a fit Ma for Jenny,” she cried out.

“You’re the best mother I know, Abby, and it makes me furious to hear you put yourself down all the time.” With those words, Peter pushed his way into the house, took her arm and led her into the seldom used parlor. He took a seat on the large sofa and then pulled her down over his lap and started spanking her rounded bottom with his hard hand. “You are not going to talk this way about us again, Abby. I have come to love you… and your daughter… and I want us to get married. You need to tell busybody’s like Clara Evans to stuff a sock in it!” he scolded, and continued to spank her while she drummed her feet on the sofa. “I want to know why you are so sensitive to what other people think and why you always feel they’ll call you unfit to be a mother. I’ve not heard one man or woman in this town criticize you for anything.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” she wailed, and felt him flip up her skirts in the next second. “Noooo!” she cried out as he spanked even harder. “Stop it, Peter. Oh, please don’t! Jenny will hear!” she begged him to let her up. He didn’t.

“I want answers right now.” Her drawers were next, and Abby knew he meant business. He spanked hard and she was sobbing and promising to talk to him if he would only stop spanking her. Peter picked her up and flipped her over to sit on his lap. “What makes you worry that people will think you so bad?”

“Because I am,” she whispered so brokenheartedly that he was truly shocked to realize she believed it about herself. “Mama told me it was wrong to go off with boys, but I did. I went off with Jamie and we did things. Jamie brought me home and I knew I was going to get a switching, but bad men had come while I was off with Jamie and they killed Pa… they hung him, and then they killed Ma and my sisters. Jamie made me hide and went and tried to stop them from hurting them, but they hit him over the head and he was unconscious. They rode out on Pa’s horses and then you and your Pa and brothers came,” she said with certainty. “You were a deputy then.”

“Yes, I remember,” he frowned. “I found you hiding behind the woodpile, and finally was able to coax you out of there. You were so scared. Jamie said he was going to take care of you,” Peter urged her to continue, knowing there had to be more.

“Jamie took me home and told his Pa he was going to marry me. His Ma had a fit. We were just kids. She didn’t want no part of it, but Jamie said his child was going to have his name, and that settled it. But, his Ma never forgave me. She said I was all sorts of bad things and wasn’t fit to be a Ma. Jamie finally took me away from there, but she came when he died, and tried to take Jenny from me. She said I wasn’t fit because I let Jamie touch me before we were married. I packed up Jenny and ran away from there as fast as I could so she couldn’t find me and take my baby. I am a good Mama, and I won’t ever do those things again… not if it costs me Jenny,” she proclaimed. “Mrs. Evans sees me for what I am. Nice women aren’t supposed to like doing those things, but I…” she broke off in embarrassment.

“Mrs. Evans is not a nice woman,” Peter said firmly. “She is a loud-mouthed, evil, gossip who doesn’t care who she hurts if it makes her look better. She needs a sound spanking and put in her place. Now you listen to me, Abby. You are the sweetest woman I know, and one of the things that attracted me to you in the first place was the way you care for Jenny. You are a wonderful Mama, and Jenny is one of the best behaved children I’ve seen in five years of teaching school. I give you my word that no one is going to take Jenny from you. They’d have to go through me first, and since you know my background, you know that they’d have one heck of a time doing it. I will protect you with my life, Abby. I love you,” he said simply.

“You don’t mind that I was married before?” she asked shyly.

“No, I don’t. I respect that you loved Jamie, and I hope I’ve given you time to get to know me enough to know that I would never harm you in any way. I’ve been hoping these last few weeks that you might be discovering some tender feelings for me as a man?”

Jenny nodded. “I am, but I didn’t dare to hope you would feel that way about me, too. I’m not smart like you.”

“Do you want another spanking?” Peter asked, outraged.

“No, I never want a spanking again, unless we can make up afterwards,” she shocked him by admitting.

Peter looked at her and then grinned. “I’m thinking that maybe I’ll wait until after the wedding to spank you again, Abigail…” He chuckled when she blushed.

He was pleased when she snuggled close on his lap. “I don’t want to wait a long time to get married, Peter. I’m sure of my feelings, and I don’t need a long courtship. I lay in bed and think of you, and I’m sure that Jamie would approve of you. You’ve already proved over and over that you love Jenny, and if you feel the same way about me as I do you, then we need to be together soon.”

It was a long speech for Abby, and Peter kissed her lovingly. He put her on her feet and then called for Jenny and gently asked her how she would feel about having a new Papa. She threw her arms around him and said she’d been hoping he would love her and said she’d promised God to be very good if He let Mama fall in love. Peter felt tears spring to his eyes, and he noticed that Abby was just as emotional as he. He announced they were going out for supper and he walked them to the restaurant in town and told the waitress they were celebrating.

By the next day the news of their engagement was all over town, as was the news that Clara Evans couldn’t sit down! Mimi was responsible for telling everyone that her Pa used a leather strap on her Ma (she’d been peeking, of course), and other than walking Mimi to school that morning and giving stiff apologies to both the Teacher and Abby, Clara wouldn’t show her face anywhere. It was humiliating for her to know the entire town knew about her punishment.

The wedding was simple, but most of the town attended, and both Abby and Peter were stunned when they were invited to a reception following. They hadn’t a clue that everyone was putting together a party to celebrate their marriage. One lady asked Peter and Abby how they fell in love, and Peter was proud of Abby when she said, “Peter learned from Jenny that I couldn’t read or write. We never lived near a school when I was a child, and I didn’t have a chance to learn. Peter offered to teach me, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Jenny wanted her Mama to be able to help her learn her spelling words like Gracie’s Mama,” she gave the other woman a smile, which pleased Irma. “Peter gave up a lot of time to teach me, and never asked a thing in return. How could I help but fall in love with such a wonderful man?”

Something Familiar

By Robin Smith

Something Familiar by Robin Smith

“Witches ‘neath a gibbous moon

Dance amid the harvest sheaves,

Casting spells with witches’ runes

Celebrating Hallow’s Eve!”

Bedelia swayed in time with her own chanting, her arms upraised and bare legs flashing as she drew out a spiral with her steps. Her eyes were closed, but she savored the thought of how she knew she must look—her lean body silhouetted in swathes of filmy fabric, black against the blazing backdrop of her fire. Her fingers, snapping and flicking at the air, would be casting long, dancing shadows on the wall. Her hair would be pouring down her back like a river of flame.

She looked, she knew, every inch of her the witch she was.

“Every witch from maid to crone,

Sing the ancient rites arcane!

And never your solo state bemoan

But raise a chorus for Samhain!”

Bedelia twirled around several times to let the echoes of the ritual chant fade away in preparation for the traditional Samhain song. “Woo-hooo, witchy woman, see how high she fli-i-ies! Woo-hoo, witchy woman, she got the moon in her eyes!”

She’d been around for three hundred years, and in her opinion, the Eagles never did a bad gig.

Bedelia felt so good, she let out a peal of her best cackling laughter and, watching from his perch on her mantle place, Impus joined in with his chirping, birdlike giggles. She opened her eyes, but kept dancing, twitching her hips and crooking her finger at Impus in a sly come-on. The diminutive familiar squeaked and leapt to the lampshade to chide her, but when she turned around in her lazy (but alluringly evil) bump-and-grind, his long tail flicked out and smacked her through her skirts.

She giggled and stopped dancing long enough to check on her bubbling brew. Hard cider, cinnamon, real nutmeg, and rum. Bedelia helped herself to a steaming ladleful, and a second, in case the first got lonely. Then she picked up her mug and started scooping cider into it, humming. Only the best rum….

The doorbell rang.

Bedelia stared at the door over the top of her ladle with an expression very near to that of surprise. She could hear giggling on the other side, and furtive whispers, and the shuffling of little feet.

She and Impus exchanged a glance. Of course, she’d known that trick-or-treaters MIGHT happen along, and she was even prepared for it, in the same theoretical way she’d prepared for it every year since they’d commercialized it into a holiday, but this was the very first year Bedelia had actually lived in a neighborhood with the necessary population of juvenile celebrants.

Bedelia plunked the ladle back into the cauldron and headed for the door as Impus scurried beneath the sofa. She picked up her hat with one hand on the way, and with the other, caught up the larger of her two bowls of individually-wrapped candy bars. She nudged a moving box out of the way with a nod and a flex of mental effort and braced herself for human contact.

The door opened on a bevy of little children: two superheroes, a fairy, and a green m&m, all with little plastic buckets in the shapes of various cinematic monster heads. She gave them all two pieces of candy, ooh-ing aloud and privately thinking wistful thoughts of days when costumes had been, if not less commercial, at least scarier.

As they were leaving, a little boy in a vinyl Power Ranger’s costume and a cracked plastic mask came up the walk, skulking to one side as the four larger children scampered away. He climbed her stairs and looked up at her from behind his hand-me-down mask as though he half-expected to be ordered off her lawn. After a moment, he held out a scuffed pillow case and said, “Twick or tweat?”

Bedelia set the candy in her arms aside and picked up the smaller bowl to offer him. Snickers bars—or that’s what they looked like, anyway—with a couple of lollypops thrown in for color. He selected one after very careful scrutiny, but then hesitated, and looked back over his shoulder at the harried-looking woman who waited on the sidewalk, bouncing a baby-sized bundle on her shoulder.

The Power Ranger looked back up at Bedelia. “Can I haff one for my mama?” he asked.

“Yes, you may.”

He took a second piece and dropped them both into his pillowcase, and Bedelia didn’t think he could see the faint greenish flash as they vanished. His mask was thin and cracked at the chin, but it did a good job of blocking his peripheral vision. He turned and climbed back down her stairs, and Bedelia watched him go and wondered in what way her spell would work on him and his family. A green flash usually meant money.

“Just one more house,” the mother said, and tossed Bedelia a nervous smile, as though she feared disapproval. “It’s a cold night.”

“But a lucky one,” Bedelia answered with a smile.

“I hope so,” the mother said, following her Power Ranger down the sidewalk. “It’s lottery night.”

“Oh good,” Bedelia said as she closed the door. “It’s so nice when the people that deserve to win, do.”

Impus chirped at her inquiringly but Bedelia only shook her head and opened her arms. Her familiar sprang up her side and rubbed his head on her chin, encircling her slim throat with his tail and purring. She purred back as she crossed the room to her cauldron, where she drained her steaming mug and started to pour herself another over the chittering censure of the creature at her shoulder.

“Ah, hush you,” she told him fondly. “Samhain comes but once a year.”

The doorbell rang, and Bedelia sent it a reproachful look. “Pity it has to be the same night as Halloween,” she added. “How many children do you suppose there are in this town?”

Impus leapt down and hid in the sofa cushions as Bedelia scooped up her candy dish again. She turned around and had taken one step toward the door before the meaning of the faint light above it had fully sunken in. Bedelia paused, cocking her head to one side, before slowly continuing on.

Her ward was glowing, one of the many wards (over every door and under every window) that protected her house against harmful intent. She made sure to stand well back in the entryway when she opened her house.

There were three tall teenagers on her doorstep—all boys, as far as she could determine beneath their voluminous black robes—and all three in identical rubber masks. White, clay-like, screaming or smiling, their false faces leered at her as unpleasantly, she was sure, as the real ones beneath.

“Well, now,” Bedelia said thoughtfully. “Aren’t you scary.”

She did not proffer her candy dish, nor make any gesture which could be construed as an invitation. They did not appear to have bags, anyway.

“Trick or treat,” said one of the boys, causing the other two to giggle. He reached into his robe and brought out a sock, heavy with something, and moved it through the air as though he meant to be menacing. There was a faint sound of plastic crinkling, a distant sulphurous odor.

“What’s the trick?” she asked, putting her bowl down.

That obviously wasn’t in the script. The three shuffled a little before their leader answered, “You don’t want to know.”

“Ah.”

“And you really don’t want it smearing up your front door or getting poured into your car.”

Bedelia nodded, as if this were truly helpful to her. She said, “What’s the treat?”

“I got your treat, baby,” said another boy, and the third said, “We got a exclusive rate tonight. Twenty bucks. Halloween special.”

“And this actually works?” Bedelia inquired, raising one eyebrow. “I mean, people actually pay you?”

The three seemed taken aback, had to look at each other to rally for an answer. “Shut up and give us the money,” the big one said. “Or you get what’s coming to you.”

“You know, I really think it’s true what they say,” Bedelia remarked, wrinkling her nose at this thuggish threat. “TV really does rot your brains.” She stepped back as though preparing to close her door on them.

The smallest boy surged forward, either to follow her into the house or maybe just to block the door with his foot. But of course, as soon as the toe of his sneakered foot crossed over her warded threshold, he was blown back and off the porch, knocking his two companions sprawling and crashing into her azaleas.

Bedelia folded her arms and cocked her hips and smiled. Halloween was a relatively new holiday, but children, now….children never changed, and teenagers were the most predictable of the bunch. Not once in three hundred years had Bedelia been surprised by a teenager.

And she wasn’t surprised now. Whether they believed their friend had encountered a freak gust of wind or taken a sudden interest in gymnastics and horticulture, they obviously didn’t believe Bedelia had anything to do with anything and they still believed they had the advantage of her. But since one of their own had fallen, for whatever reason, they unified with the same instinct as any lower pack animal and attacked.

Whump. Whump. Two more bodies in the bushes. Honestly, she’d just pruned those azaleas last week.

Bedelia cast a swift eye left and right, but the streets were, for the moment, clear.

She supposed she could leave matters as they stood. The three teens would wake up in a few seconds, wander around for three or four minutes as their brains rebooted, and then be free to peddle themselves off with only a slight gap in their memories and the faint taste of copper in their mouths. Perhaps they’d make their way home, believing they’d passed out on her front lawn, and swear off the evils of drink forever. More likely, they’d simply continue their little criminal wave elsewhere in the neighborhood until someone less resourceful and more law-abiding than Bedelia called the cops.

‘Oh, why not?’ thought Bedelia with a sudden thrill of malicious glee. ‘It is a night for tricks, after all, and I’ve been just terribly well-behaved for an astoundingly long time. And this, this will be a treat for me.’

She crooked her finger and the three bodies were lifted like marionettes on invisible strings. They whisked up the stairs and into the house when Bedelia beckoned. She was cackling as she closed the door.

* * * * *

Exactly five minutes later, the door opened and three boys wearing cheap black robes and carrying white, rubber masks emerged. They looked a little puzzled, and their eyes were somewhat glazed, but they were coherent enough when they turned around and said, in rough harmony, “Goodnight, Miss Bedelia.”

Bedelia, leaning against her doorjamb, waggled her fingers at them for goodbye, smiling a smile of evil mischief, and then crossed her arms over her chest to watch them go. It had taken only a minute to find the proper ingredients, and by that time, the boys had been staggering stuporously around her parlor, bumping into moving boxes and knocking things over, and really, the hardest part of the trick had been getting them to sit down long enough to drink their cider. By the time their mugs were mostly emptied, they ought to have had enough of their senses back to remember where they lived, and they seemed confidant as Bedelia escorted them to the door. They wouldn’t remember her tomorrow, of course, but for tonight, they were perfectly well-mannered little beasts.

And if they stayed that way, they probably wouldn’t even notice her little trick. She didn’t know whether to wish for that or not. Not that Bedelia would ever encourage hooliganism…but it seemed a waste of an awfully good trick if they behaved themselves….

Bedelia shut the door, and with a sing-song couplet sealed and sound-proofed her house, and then set a gentle dissuasion against further visitors. It was her first encounter with trick-or-treaters and really, she’d enjoyed herself immensely, but it was rather tiring. Still chortling to herself, Bedelia unwrapped and popped a bite-size Milky Way into her mouth.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?”

Bedelia bent double with surprise, choking on her chocolate, and spun around to see Impus—the real Impus—filling the parlor doorway. His claws curled and flexed on the entry stones, his powerful body rippled in the embers of the firelight and was made jagged with the outlines of his double mane of stubby spikes. The cape of his wings made a feathery flapping sound as he fanned them, and his tail rasped over the floor as he coiled it around his haunches. His eyes were twin moons, narrowed with disapproval, and they were all that was visible of his face in the shadows of his sweeping horns.

“Um…heh heh…? It was just a harmless little prank,” Bedelia said weakly. “A joke really. They might not even notice.”

“I NOTICE,” Impus growled, and eased forward two long strides, bending to put his massive face on level with hers. “I NOTICE THAT YOU ARE NOT ANSWERING MY QUESTION. WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“It was a matter of self-defense,” she protested, switching tactics as she backed up before him.

His eyes narrowed even further, if that were possible. “I FAIL TO SEE HOW. YOU ARE SAFE WITHIN THESE WARDED WALLS, AND THE ADVERSARIES LAY UNCONSCIOUS WITHOUT BEFORE YOU CHOSE TO…DEFEND YOURSELF.” Impus advanced on her.

“Oh, but it…it’s nothing really. Less than nothing.” She affected a nonchalant little laugh, just to show how much nothing it was. “In fact, it was just a simple memory spell.”

Impus tipped his massive head slowly to one side, until only one glowing eye was visible to her. “HOW CAN IT BE,” he mused, as he continued to pace, unhurried, after her. “HOW CAN IT BE, THAT AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, YOU STILL SHOULD NOT FULLY APPRECIATE THE NUANCES OF FAMILIAR ID TRANSFERANCE? I DO NOT ASK THINGS OF YOU BECAUSE I DO NOT KNOW, BUT BECAUSE I WISH YOU TO ADMIT THEM TO ME.”

Of course she knew about familiar id transference. Of course she knew all about familiar id transference. What she knew, Impus knew—every thought, word and deed—and that included knowing just what had gone into those three cups of hot cider.

“THINGS YOU CANNOT ADMIT,” Impus continued in his low, musing growl, “GENERALLY PROVE TO BE THINGS FOR WHICH YOU OUGHT TO ATONE.”

“That’s a very good point,” Bedelia said, nodding seriously. “And it brings up a very relevant issue that—Look over there!” She whirled and ran.

The thick lash of Impus’s tail whipped around her waist, tugging a squawk from her as she flew back and into his hands. She kicked as she was spun through the air and turned tail up over her familiar’s broad knee. His great arm pinioned her waist; his tail locked both her ankles together. He left her hands free to struggle with him if she wanted to, for all the good it could do her. After three centuries, Bedelia knew better than to hope to win her freedom that way.

She struggled anyway. She even tried a few chants, although the hopelessness of this, too, had long been proven to her. “Spirit of stone and sky and sea, bind and hold my enemy! Spirit of sun and moon and star, come and…oh, I give up. You win, you big bully.”

“DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT WOULD WORK?” Impus asked. His hand, hard as iron and large enough to fully cover his target, rested heavily on her squirming bottom.

“No,” Bedelia admitted, already breathing hard from her brief flurry of escape attempts. Her magic couldn’t work on him any more than his could work on her. There was that pesky familiar id transference again. Bedelia had noticed over the centuries that Impus seemed to benefit a lot more from it than she did.

The weight of her familiar’s hand lifted for a second before it slapped back down over her thinly-protected bottom, sending Bedelia into a frenzy of mindless struggling before she could control herself.

“Oh please oh please oh please!” she wailed, and Impus punctuated each ‘please’ with a swat until she forced herself to be silent, stuffing her fists in her mouth to keep from sobbing.

“IT ANNOYS ME,” Impus said, drawing up her skirts and laying his palm over her bared and already-aching bottom, “THAT YOU WOULD SO SOON JEAPARDIZE YOUR HOME AND MINE WITH THIS JUVINILE TRICK. BUT IT GRIEVES ME, MY BELOVED OWN, THAT YOU WOULD PLAY AT DECEIVING ME.”

Bedelia gripped his strong thigh, blinking her tears away, as the echoes of those words wormed into her heartsick soul. She’d been run out of towns before, although not since coming to America, and she didn’t think she’d mind having to do it again for the privilege of a first-class prank, but lying to Impus…why HAD she done that? Why did she KEEP doing it, even when she knew better? “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“HOW SORRY?” he asked, tapping one claw on the high curve of her left cheek.

Bedelia closed her eyes tight, her instincts of self-preservation at war with her heart. Impus would never be anything but fair with her, but even one blow from his huge hand was too much. Still, if she tried to short-change herself on discipline, he’d only take it as a sign that she needed extra lessons in honesty and good conduct.

And the worst part was, she really was sorry and she knew how many swats she had coming to her for trying to hoodwink her familiar. She knew to the exact number, and it was a very high number. She chewed her lip, new tears welling up in anticipation. “Fifty times sorry,” she said brokenly.

Impus patted her once, rumbling his approval and his appreciation of her compliance, which was not a whole lot of comfort to her now. Then he began, and even though Bedelia knew the number, she couldn’t restrain her cries or her frantic struggles. Each thunderclap of impact, each blistering crack of his palm sent her into new gales of remorseful wails. The pain was blinding, flashing brilliant behind her eyes. The sound was deafening; all her world was the stroke of his hand and her screams. She couldn’t keep a count—each new blow slapped the other clean away as she pitched and howled against his side.

At last, he came to the end and stood her up, catching her chin to look her in the eye. “ONE-HALF YOUR MISCHIEF IS SO ACCOUNTED. ONE-HALF YOUR PENANCE REMAINS. COME TO ME WHEN YOU CAN TELL ME WHAT YOU DID.”

He released her, but combed his claws through her hair before turning and squeezing himself back through the doorway into the parlor.

Bedelia watched him go, rubbing as much as she dared at the burning proof of his punishment, and feeling sorry for herself amid a great swell of affection for him. He hadn’t always been there, but from the moment they had found each other, he had been her protector, her companion, and her guardian.

Sorcery was a dying art in these enlightened times, and interest rekindled by the efforts of those like J.K. Rowling was perhaps not intended and anyway, grossly inaccurate. The coven to which Bedelia had once belonged had dwindled and dwindled and finally split up for good more than two hundred years ago. Since that time, what few friendships Bedelia maintained were increasing long-distance in nature. Oh, there was e-mail, but it wasn’t really enough. It was hard to hold a moot in a chat room, especially the public ones, where people kept asking what you were wearing.

Impus was more than just her guide to the living magic that surrounded her, he was her friend. He was the other and best half of her—he completed and perfected her. He loved her, and asked only for her obedience in the very few and extremely reasonable rules he had set over her, the prime directive of which was not to provoke the mundane humans.

Bedelia went into the parlor, head bent and hands clasped before her.

“NOW,” Impus rumbled, watching her approach and drumming a talon on the carpet. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?”

Bedelia couldn’t help glancing at the three mostly-empty mugs on the coffee table, but she still didn’t feel very guilty. “It was a joke,” she insisted weakly. “I just stirred a little charm into their drinks, so that if they were bad or, you know, not nice, it would come back to them.” Bedelia toed at the floor, unable to meet her familiar’s piercing stare. “As a rash.”

He waited.

“On their foreheads,” she admitted.

He growled once, low in his throat.

“That spell out the word that best describes them.” Bedelia threw out her arms in a last-ditch effort to win leniency. “Oh, Impus, it’s harmless, really! The spell won’t last more than three weeks, and they won’t know how they got it or even remember me! It’s completely harmless! Remember that time I made it rain fish on the Mayor of Grange-on-the-Woad’s head for a week? This is nothing like that!”

Impus grunted.

Bedelia shrugged a little, dropping her arms to her sides and playing with the hem of her witchy skirts. “It’ll just be a little rash…and it might even improve them.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “CAUSE AND EFFECT, YOU MEAN.”

She brightened. “Right!” And then blinked. “Wait a second, no—”

“COME HERE.”

“It won’t hurt them!” Bedelia wailed. Her hands were pressed over her throbbing backside, but her feet carried her to him.

“I KNOW YOU WOULD NOT HURT A YOUTH, EVEN DESERVEDLY,” he said, taking her arm firmly. “BUT YOUR ACTION DOES NOT HAVE TO DO HARM IN ORDER TO CAUSE HARM TO RETURN ON YOU. THREE HUNDRED YEARS SHOULD HAVE BEEN ENOUGH TO TEACH YOU THAT SMALL TOWNS DO NOT NECESSARILY REQUIRE EVIDENCE OF WRONGDOING IN ORDER TO PERSECUTE A STRANGER.”

“Well…well, no.” Bedelia chewed her lip.

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I BEEN FORCED TO MANIFEST THAT I MIGHT SAVE YOU FROM SUCH PERSECUTION?”

“Six or…I think, seven times.”

Impus leaned in even closer. “AND HOW WOULD SUCH A MANIFESTATION LIKELY BE RECEIVED IN THIS SMALL TOWN, IN THIS LATE AGE?”

Bedelia slowly took her hands away from her bottom. “Okay,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. “Okay, now I’m really sorry.”

He drew himself up to what was very nearly his full height, his horns scraping across the flocking on her ceiling, and made a gesture both dreaded and painfully familiar—he drew a circle with his finger in the air. Bedelia, her stomach twisting nervously, turned around and gripped the arm of the sofa, bracing herself as much as she was able.

Contrary to what she had once believed, the first swat after a brief respite is not the worst. The second is. Bedelia withstood the initial blow of her familiar’s stony hand, but the second broke her resolution to remain silent. The drumming of flesh on flesh seemed to flow together into a single roar even as the blows themselves began to stand out with increasing sharpness, until she could still feel the imprint of his hand overlaying itself on her bottom.

Her cries became howls, until the relentless pace of his arm drove the breath out of her, and she disintegrated into strengthless sobs, no longer fighting to be still, only sagging forward on the arm of the chair and writhing in place, just a little, until it finally stopped.

Impus gathered her up and cradled her against his broad chest even before the heat of the last blow had faded into the hornet-sting of a spanking’s afterglow. She dug her hands into his shoulders, pulling herself as close as she should, as small in his dark arms as a child. He crooned to her, a wordless purr of security and love that she felt rumbling through her bones as well as tickling at her ears. He was tireless and he held her effortlessly while she cried herself out.

“ALL RIGHT?” he asked, nuzzling at the nape of her neck.

“All right,” she sniffled.

He set her gently on the floor and she stepped back, groaning and holding her skirts up around her waist. She had her eyes shut, but she knew when Impus returned to his more diminutive form when she heard a hollow bang—the rush of air clapping as it filled the space he had occupied between one instant and the next. Bedelia rubbed helplessly at her hurt, preferring the pain of her hand over the sting of air alone, but had to giggle a little as she looked at the three empty mugs on her coffee table.

She glanced back over her shoulder, wiping at the last of her tears with one knuckle. “It WAS pretty funny, though.”

Impus leapt to the lampshade and chattered at her, but he was a whole lot easier to ignore when he was only eight inches tall. Bedelia, groaning and chuckling at the same time, went down the hall, pausing every few feet to peer at half-unpacked boxes, until she found her toiletries and in particular, a pump-bottle of lotion. She didn’t know how much of its power to soothe was all in her head, but a handful of cold cream gingerly applied was still head and shoulders above the days when she had to either sit in a brook or mince around and wait for the heat to die down on its own.

She returned to the parlor, still trying to hold the silky flaps of her skirts off her bruised bottom, to find Impus struggling to pour a dipperful of cider into her mug.

“Oh, you wonderful little fetch, you,” she sighed, and scooped up the mug, Impus and all, to take a deep swallow, not drinking so much as pouring it straight into her soul for warmth. Impus hopped first to her shoulder, and then to the mantle, where he hunkered down, looking curiously smug, the very tip of his tail twitching like a stalking cat’s.

Bedelia smacked her lips as she took a breath at the half-way point, and then finished off the cup. “One of my better brews this year, if I do say…so…so….” She stammered to a halt as she saw the white gleam of yet another mug hidden to one side of the sofa.

She bent and lifted it out by the crook of its handle, and turned it to see the few amber drops of cider still collected at the bottom. Bedelia turned very slowly and stared at the mugs on the coffee table behind her…specifically, at the TWO mugs on the coffee table. She looked down at the mug in her hand, and then up at Impus.

Impus chirred.

Bedelia dropped the mugs and ran to the hall, where she slapped her hands to either side of the mirror there and stared in horror at the rash spreading across her smooth brow, darkening into letters that spelled out NAUGHTY in old Gothic script.

The soft scrape and heavy tread of talons brought Bedelia spinning around to see Impus, again in his large form, leaning against the wall with his huge arms folded and his fangs showing in a grin.

“YOU KNOW, YOU WERE RIGHT,” he purred. “IT WAS PRETTY FUNNY AT THAT.”

Thankful

By Sullivan Clarke

Thankful by Sullivan Clarke

“So what are you saying?” Marco stood looking at me as I fidgeted nervously under his gaze. “Are you saying you want out of the relationship?”

“It’s not that I want out,” I said. “I just need a break, is all. You’re too strict, Marco.” My hand dropped subconsciously to my bottom as I spoke. Through my jeans I fancied I could still feel heat rising from the skin of my buttocks, although I knew that was ridiculous. It had been more than 24 hours since Marco had turned me over his knee and spanked me.

Even now I couldn’t argue that it was entirely undeserved. I knew the rules. Hell, I’d helped Marco come up with them. If I was out for the day I was to leave my cell phone turned on. If I changed my itinerary I was to call him and let him know. But what had I done? I’d turned my cell phone off after deciding to hit the mall with Lucy. And I hadn’t even told Marco I was going because I knew what he’d say, which was that I didn’t need another pair of shoes.

I remembered when Marco and I had first decided on a DD relationship. It had been the happiest day of my life. Ever since I was an adolescent I’d dreamed of a man who would be not just a life partner but sort of a guardian, binding him to me with loving limits enforced by regular trips over his knee.

I’d been guilty of my feelings, terribly guilty. But after a series of failed adult relationships with weak metrosexual types I finally went after what it was I really wanted - a strong salt-of-the-earth construction worker. A Latino man. A real man raised with ultra-traditional values he intended to carry on in his own home.

The idea of DD didn’t seem so unusual to Marco. When I’d broached the idea to him, in fact, he’d looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Why do you act like this is such a weird setup. It seems perfectly normal to me.” Then he admitted he’d thought several times of spanking me and only stopped himself because he feared I’d react in the typical modern-woman way by calling him a brute and leaving him.

When he realized that was something he need not fear, Marco took to spanking like a duck to water. And I took to spanking like I took to chocolate, luxuriating in it as part guilty pleasure, part necessity.

Then the honeymoon of our DD relationship ended the day I got a spanking I didn’t want. I remember it well, the day I clearly crossed the line.

Marco had promised to help me paint the kitchen after the ball game. In the seventh inning I laid out all the equipment, brushes, paints, rolling pin, tarp. But when I went to fetch Marco the game was tied.

OK, so there’d be eight innings. I could live with that. And I did. But nine, ten and eleven? I couldn’t live with that much of a wait. When I whined to Marco, he pointed out that it was just Saturday afternoon and that the game couldn’t go on forever. Besides, he said, he was off all weekend and with the Monday being a holiday we’d have more than enough to paint the kitchen.

But that wasn’t good enough for me. I’d waited all week to do this and to me, when Marco said “after the game,” that meant after seven innings. With a scowl, I marched over, snatched the remote from his hand and turned the television off.

“No, Marco,” I said. “We’re not waiting another minute. We’re painting the kitchen now.” I turned as I spoke, arms crossed, a 5’ 4” sentry guarding the television from my 6’2” mate.

“Kelly.” It was one word but it carried the warning tone that I had grown used to - the one that made my stomach flop with the wonderful pleasure pain of reassuring fear. But this time the tone annoyed me. Usually, when I disobeyed Marco, I knew in the back of my mind where it would lead because I wanted to go there. But right now, I didn’t want a spanking. I wanted my own way.

But there was one problem. When it came to domestic discipline, Marco did not have an “off switch.” His traditional values were instilled long before I came along, and long before I broached the concept of wife-spanking he’d already decided it was a good plan. What was a lifestyle choice to me was real life to my no-nonsense husband.

“Kelly, I’m telling you just one more time. Turn the game back on and wait for me in the kitchen. If you don’t you’re getting a spanking. One…”

Oh, great. Now he was doing the counting thing. Usually the counting thing was OK. If Marco got to three, the normal ten licks I’d get for a regular spanking would be multiplied by thirty. If he got to five, fifty. He’d never had to get to five. The most I’d ever gotten was thirty and that was enough.

But today I wasn’t interested in the counting game.

“Screw this, Marco,” and just as he said, “three,” I threw the remote across the room. The plastic cover popped off, sending the batteries rolling across the hardwood floor where it crash landed.

I heard one word - “five”- as I found myself in Marco’s strong, blue-collar grip.

“No!” I screamed.

“Yes!” he countered, and the next thing I knew I was in that familiar facedown, over-the-knee position I’d dreamed of so many times before I’d met this man. But this wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare - a nightmare of enduring a spanking I didn’t want, which was something I’d never considered.

And God, oh, God it hurt so bad.

With other spankings I was always able to maintain the sort of control one invariably has when one is planned or even psyched up for something. But this was so different. The initial swats, delivered over my blue jeans - the ones who usually elicited small yelps - drew loud screams this time. I tried to calm down, tried to become one with my submission and with the pain itself, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. The punishment that had always been a painful comfort was now something separate and apart. I couldn’t get my mind around it, couldn’t get on top of it. And when Marco’s strong hands began to pull my blue jeans and then my panties down, I felt a fear of the man I’d never before felt.

“No, no, no!!!” I screamed. But Marco ignored me.

“You’ve only had five!” he said.

Five? Just five? He was lying. He was wrong. I just knew he was. I was sure I’d had at least ten. If I only had five that meant I’d have 40 more to go.

“Don’t fight me, young lady!” Marco warned, using words that before this day had made me thrill to hear them, especially when spoken with that thick, sultry accent. But now I was afraid because I did indeed feel like not the young lady I romanticized myself to be over his lap but the young lady he saw me as, a child-wife getting her comeuppance.

He easily restrained me, pinning my arms, and within moments went to work on the bare skin of my bottom. His hand never lost its cadence once he found it. Right buttock, left buttock, right buttock, left buttock, right, left, right, left…The only thing that varied was where on my buttocks he hit me. Sometimes it was high, just by the top of my cleft. Sometimes his hand would seem to slam down into the entire center of my buttock. Other times - and these were the worst - he’d level a series of slaps at the tender skin of my “sit spot.”

By the time he was finished I felt beyond spanked, I felt scorched. And I was more than willing to let him watch his game.

“You’re lucky you didn’t completely break this remote,” he said. From the corner where I stood I watched him pop the batteries back in and snap the cover in place over them. He walked over to where I stood.

“You,” he said, shaking his finger in my face. “You must learn patience. Now off to bed with you. No supper tonight.”

“The paint..” I sniffed. “The tops are off the cans.”

“I’ll put them back,” he said. “And if you are a good wife tomorrow we paint.”

So I went to bed where instead of basking in my usual post-spanking pleasure-pain, I just cried. My heart was truly broken from what I realized was my first real spanking. My mother had always said, “Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.” Well, I had. And now I wasn’t sure I wanted it after all.

Now, here I stood, just a day before Thanksgiving - a day after my second “real” spanking - ready to throw in the towel. I was miserable. Utterly and completely miserable. I felt like a failure and a fool. Here I was, having what I thought I wanted and realizing - just as my mother had said I would - that this man wasn’t right for me.

“How can you say I’m too strict when you told me that this is what you wanted?” Marco looked hurt and perturbed.

“I--I don’t know!” I cried. And I didn’t. How could I explain to Marco that I’d wanted the PG-13 version of DD, the type that just carried the suggestion of reality without getting too real. I felt horrible, as if I’d misled him and misled myself.

“We could just take a break from the spanking,” I said hopefully. “You know, just impose a disciplinary moratorium on the relationship. Until I can sort out whether this is what I want.”

Marco frowned and crossed his muscular arms. “We could,” he said. “But you forget that there are two of us and I like the way things are set up. I don’t spank you when you are a good wife, Kelly. I only spank you when you are a bad girl. If you don’t want spankings you should just be good. But this is the way things are going to be here. If you don’t like it, then you’re right, you need to leave and decide if you want to come back.” He opened the door. Through it I could see the tidy lawn surrounding our modest bungalow home, the little white fence I’d insisted on having, the olive tree - stout and sturdy - standing beside it with impatient planted at its base.

I sighed. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Why had I insisted on something without thinking it through? Why had I wanted DD in the first place? What was I going to do? One thing was for sure, I wouldn’t be able to make a decision standing there with a man determined to stay the course. So, picking up my sweater and car keys, I walked out the door.

“I’ll be at mother’s,” I said.

I cried all the way there, of course. This was supposed to be my first Thanksgiving with Marco. I’d even already set the turkey in the fridge to thaw. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be cooking, not skulking back home to stare at my mother’s smirking face, which is exactly what I saw when I walked in.

“I knew it,” she said. “I knew it. What happened? Did he hit you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mother,” I said, turning away so she wouldn’t see my blush. I’d have rather pulled out my own eyelashes than have told her what had happened. Mother had made a life’s work out of emasculating my father; she’d drop dead of shock if she knew I’d actually asked Marco to spank me. “We just had a fight, that’s all. I need to stay here for a couple of days.”

“You should stay for good if you ask me,” she said. “Of course you’re welcome, even if you don’t care enough about me to tell me what happened.” She stuck out her lip in an exaggerated pout, which I ignored. When she realized I wasn’t going to give her the skinny on what had gone down with me and Marco, she turned away.

“William!” she screamed. “William!”

“Yes, dear?” my father’s tired voice floated in from the other room.

“I forgot the cranberry sauce,” my mother yelled. “Go out and get it before it’s all sold out!”

My dad shuffled in obediently and took his coat. “Do you want to go, Kelly?”

“No,” I said. “I think I’ll stay.”

“OK,” my dad said with a wink, and walked out the door.

In truth I’d have liked to have gone with him, but was afraid if I left the house I’d miss Marco’s call. But Marco didn’t call.

“No, that was a telemarketer,” my sister Carrie said when I asked her who was on the phone.

“And you should be glad. I don’t know why you want that guy anyway. Looks aren’t everything! Brittany! Brittany! Put down Grandmama’s snow globe. I’m not going to tell you again!!”

As my sister rushed off to extricate the snow globe from the clutches of her three-year-old, my mother picked up the mantra.

“Carrie’s right, you know,” she said, snapping green beans as she spoke. “There were any number of eligible guys you’ve turned down to date that construction worker….guys who are going places.”

“Mom, I’m not sure if clawing your way up to middle management is ‘going places,’” I said, growing increasingly defensive of the man I’d just recently abandoned. “Marco may not be in the corporate world, but he’s a darn hard worker and he makes good money.”

“Don’t snub middle management.” Carrie had returned with a snot-nosed Brittany, who was still fretting over being denied her shiny plaything. “If it weren’t for Raymond’s middle management bonus we couldn’t afford our new membership to Glenn Springs.”

My mother brightened. “You got into Glenn Springs?”

“Tennis courts, pool and all!” Carrie said, plopping Brittany down and handing her a cookie. The child considered the cookie and began to cry, forcing Carrie to speak over her. “Of course, Raymond wanted to join the community club to save money, but it’s like I told him, the *better* families belong to Glenn Springs. Besides, I deserve something nice to do on the weekends after taking care of Brittany all week. She’s a handful.”

As if on cue, Brittany began to wail louder.

“Geesh,” Carrie said and walked to the kitchen door. “Ray!! RAY!!”

A moment later my beleaguered looking brother-in-law walked in. “What is it, honey?”

“I need you to take Brittany,” my sister ordered.

“But honey, I drove all the way here,” Ray protested. “Nine hours straight. And that was after getting up with her last night. I really need to get some sleep.”

“And you’ll get some!” my sister snapped. “You can sleep when the men take their nap after dinner tomorrow. But right now I’m trying to talk and I can’t hear myself think over this child.” She picked Brittany up and thrust her towards her dad. The little girl began to kick, landing a solid blow in Ray’s pot belly. He exhaled in an oomph but took the child just the same.

“Congratulations on the Glenn Springs membership, Ray,” my mother said as he struggled to keep hold of the tot.

“Oh, that,” Ray said. “That was her idea. It would have been better to join the community club and put the rest of the bonus in Brittany’s college fund. There would have even been money left over for those new golf clubs I wanted, but Carrie…”

“Don’t start, Ray, OK?” My sister slammed down the potato she was peeling. “ First of all, you don’t need new golf clubs. Your old ones are just fine. A membership in that club will be a better investment in Brittany’s future than putting the money in her college fund. She’ll be meeting the right kinds of people, and it’s who you know, right mama?”

My mother nodded. “Listen to your wife, Ray. She knows what she’s talking about.”

Ray, beaten, slunk from the kitchen.

“The key to a successful relationship, Kelly, is knowing how to assert yourself to your man. Men think they know what’s best, but they don’t. It’s up to us to show them the error of their ways so that things work out for the best.” She turned back to my mother. “Mom, did I tell you that Glenn Springs has a spa? Their cucumber facials are to die for…”

I listened to their voices droning on and on as I looked through the kitchen door. In the living room, Ray sat bouncing Brittany on his knee.

“I want mama!” the little voice wailed.

“Mama’s busy,” he replied. “Just leave her alone.”

Ray picked her up again and I could see that his eyelids were heavy. The man really was tired. And stressed. And apparently unhappy. I looked at my sister, still sitting there, still droning on about the amenities at the Glenn Spring spa. If she treated him like this in front of family, what were things like at home?

“For heaven’s sake!!” My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. She was holding a can of the cranberry sauce my father had bought, scowling angrily at the label.

“WILLIAM!!”

“Yes, dear?” My father’s tentative face was in the doorway now.

“Does this look like Del Monte brand?” My mother jutted the can inches from his face.

“No, it’s Libby’s,” my father replied. “They were out of Del Monte.”

“They? Who’s they?” My mother was practically yelling now.

My father’s shoulders slumped. “The market dear. They were out at the market.”

“Oh, so you just went to one.” Mother was tapping her foot now. “Go back out to the other markets and get me Del Monte.” It wasn’t a request, but a statement. And my father, with a sigh, turned towards the door.

“See,” my mother said to Carrie. “They don’t know what to do unless you tell them. If you don‘t tell them they just do what they want.”

“And what’s so wrong with that?” I asked. I’d watched and listened to this for as long as I could stand without commenting. “What’s so wrong with your using Libby’s so dad doesn’t have to go back out in those crowds at the store?” I turned to Carrie. “And what’s so wrong with joining a less expensive clubs so Ray can buy clubs with the bonus he earned while you sit around on your big ass?”

I didn’t give them time to answer. “You know, I think I made a mistake coming here,” I said, grabbing my sweater and car keys. “But I should thank you both for one thing. You’ve proved to me that directing the play means it’s going to have a happy ending.”

I didn’t walk back outside, I ran. And once outside, having realized that my Datsun was blocked in by my mother’s Ford Escort and my sister’s minivan, I gauged the distance back to my house - eleven blocks - and decided it wasn’t too far to run, even in the dark.

I’d been in track in high school, running for ribbons. Now I was running for an even more important prize - the future with the man I loved. The neighbors, I’m sure, thought I was crazy as I cut through their back yards and alleyways, setting their dogs to barking and tripping at least two car alarms in my path. But finally, I was home, standing in front of the door I’d walked out of early in the day, all my uncertainty gone.

I banged on the door. “Marco!!” I cried. “Marco!!”

The house was quiet and for a moment I was afraid he’d left. But then I heard his familiar footsteps as door opened. He didn’t say anything, just stood there.

“Marco,” I said, and began to cry.

“Kelly,” he said. “Baby.” And he grabbed me and held me tight. He looked out “Where’s your car?”

“I left it,” I said. “I left it at mom’s. But that’s not important. We can get it tomorrow. Right now I need to tell you something.” I was talking very fast, tripping over my words. Marco put a finger to my lips but I took it away, clutching it with both hands.”

“Marco, I was wrong. I was so wrong. I wanted you to be in charge but I realize now that I wanted to be in charge. I wanted you to spank me but only when I wanted it. But I realize now that that’s not what I want. I do want you to be in charge. Even when it hurts. Because being away from you hurts so much worse.”

Marco looked down at me, his face sympathetic. “Are you sure, baby, because for this to work we both have to be happy.”

“Oh god, Marco, that’s just what I want to hear,” I said.

He picked me up then, picked me up as easily as if I were a small child and carried me to our bedroom. I started unbuttoning his shirt even before he laid me on the mattress and began to undress me. We were naked in minutes and when he fell between my legs I gripped my thighs around his waist and guided him inside of me with my thigh muscles, something I knew he loved. He was large and hard and virile, thrusting into me so hard that the bed rocked. Then he stopped, withdrew, turned me over and gave me three sensual smacks on my bottom. They hurt, but in a good way.

“What’s that for?” I pouted.

“That’s for making me think I was going to have to eat Thanksgiving dinner alone,” he growled.

I smiled and turned back over, welcoming him again into my body. “You’ll never have to eat a Thanksgiving dinner alone as long as I have anything to say about it,” I purred. And I meant it. This was to be the first of a lifetime of Thanksgivings with the man I loved. And I was thankful. Very, very thankful.

A Spanking for Christmas

By Rebecca Jacobs

A Spanking for Christmas

by Rebecca Jacobs

“I’m going to spank the everlasting daylights out of you, Tessa Marie Jacobs McKenzie!”

“You just go right ahead, William Peter McKenzie, and see if I care!” the tiny blonde put her hands on her hips and glared up at her husband in pure defiance. “You might be able to make me cry and say ‘sorry’, but I’m telling you right here and now that I won’t mean it!”

“Tess, we agreed to stay out of the middle of this mess with Mike and Nellie…!” Bill ran his hands through his light brown hair in pure exasperation.

“No, we did not!” Tess stood up to him. “You dictated that we would stay out of it, but I never said I agreed with you. I didn’t agree, and I set out to fix things.”

“It isn’t your place to interfere, woman!”

“And why not? Can you think of two people any more suited for each other?” she demanded, her blue eyes flaming.

“I can’t think of any two people more likely to kill each other on sight!” he replied, his voice angry and sharp. “Good God, Tessa Marie… there’s a blizzard out there tonight! That blasted cabin is isolated in the middle of nowhere. The phone will go down, there won’t be any electricity unless Mike can get the generator to run, the roads will be impassable for at least three or four days…!” he roared.

“I know,” Tess smiled. “It’s the perfect plan. By Christmas morning, they’ll be madly in love again!”

“It’s insane. They’re mad as hell at each other, and this plan of yours has probably cost us two dear friends. I warned you not to meddle, woman.”

He took several steps in her direction, and Tessa’s blue eyes opened wide. “Now, Bill, what if it all works out? What if Mikey and Nellie come together in the spirit of Christmas? You know that Christmas has a special magic…” she backed up as far as she could, forgetting the Christmas tree was there until one branch poked her thigh.

“I know that I said ‘no meddling’, wife, and you meddled… Hell, you meddled to the point we’ll likely have a funeral to attend, and see another friend in prison for life.”

“You think Mikey will kill Nellie?” the blue eyes went wide with horror at the thought.

“Unless Nellie kills Mike first,” was his reply. “No matter which, you’ll be getting a nice sore bottom for Christmas, Tessa Marie.”

“Christmas isn’t until Thursday!”

“That’s right, and you are getting a spanking tonight, and every night until you’ve apologized to the both of them in person with me standing right there to hear each and every word.”

“But, Bill…!!!! They’re both planning to stay there through the weekend!”

“Which means you’re going to have a very sore butt, doesn’t it?” he stated firmly. “You disobeyed me and meddled in Mike and Nellie’s personal business, Tess. You put both of them in a situation that is bound to be difficult, if not downright unpleasant, and a very sore bottom is the consequence you face for meddling. You take that little butt of yours right into our bedroom, young lady, bare it, and stick your nose in the corner. You are going to have plenty of time over the next few days to regret your actions.”

“No, I won’t, Bill. Sometimes the end does justify the means… and if getting spanked every day is the price I have to pay for getting those two back together, then so be it!”

Tess flounced off to the bedroom, and seconds later Bill heard the door slam shut. “Some Christmas this is going to be,” he muttered darkly. He walked over to the window and looked outside. The snow was already several inches deep, and didn’t show any signs of stopping. They were calling for at least twelve inches here, and up at the cabin, they would get twice that amount. Bill closed his eyes and said a prayer for both Mike and Nellie. Both of them were used to snow, but the driving conditions up there had to be next to impossible. Bill tried the telephone at the cabin one more time, and was greeted with the same busy signal. The phone was definitely down… and it would be several days before he and Tess would know the outcome of her meddling. In the meantime, she was going to find sitting difficult. Bill headed for the bedroom, a determined expression on his face.

********************

“It can’t be much farther,” Nellie squinted her eyes against the swirling snow and concentrated on keeping her vehicle on the winding road. She spotted a light up ahead, and was shocked to realize it was coming from Tess and Bill’s cabin. She smiled in genuine relief. It would be just like Tess to call ahead and have someone go in and leave a light burning, and take the winter chill off the tiny cabin. She pulled up, and shut off the engine, then leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and took a deep breath. Driving up here was the absolute worst. There were times she considered stopping, but knew if she stopped, she’d never make it here for Christmas, and she was determined she was spending the holiday alone so that she could ignore the day and all that it implied. She was alone this year. Alone with nothing but her memories, and all they did was make her cry, and she was through crying! She brushed the moisture off her face with her gloved hand, then threw open the car door and was pelted with the swirling snow.

She tromped through the white stuff, and gasped when it got inside her boots. Why oh why hadn’t she opted for the Bahamas? She filled her arms with as much as she could carry, and then trudged to the door. She reached for the handle, and nearly lost her balance when the door was pulled open from the inside.

“What the hell?”

Nellie’s brown eyes went wide in shock! She’d recognize that particular deep voice anywhere, anytime, anyplace! “YOU!” she screamed angrily. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“I could ask you the same!” Mike Cassidy’s dark eyes snapped angrily. “Give me those before you fall flat on your face.” He reached out and grabbed the bags from her hands.

“You give those back!” she demanded, attempting to take them. He merely lifted them higher, and she couldn’t reach them… Not when he stood a full 6’ 5” in his bare feet, and she couldn’t even make 5’ in a pair of heels! Not to be outdone, she pulled back her foot and kicked him on the shin. “I said give them back!” she screeched angrily when he howled in pain.

“You’re still impossible, I see! What are you doing here, Nellie?”

“I’m spending Christmas here… ALONE! That means, you get your sorry butt out of here, and you do it right this minute NOW!”

“No way! I’m spending Christmas here. I asked Bill, and he said it was okay. I’m staying.”

“Well, I asked Tess, and she said it was okay. You are leaving!”

“No, I’m not.”

Nellie had heard that tone of voice before. He wasn’t budging, and there was no way she could make him budge. That meant one thing. “Fine. I’ll leave. I hope you choke on the groceries,” she added, turning on her heel.

“You aren’t leaving. The roads were impossible when I got here two hours ago, and they’re worse now.”

“I’m not staying here,” Nellie replied, stepping outside. She heard him curse, but she ignored him and headed for her car. Once she was inside she would drive away and sit in a snowdrift for the night. She didn’t care! But, she was NOT staying in that cabin with one Michael Andrew Cassidy! The man was purely impossible! She tugged on the door, and managed to get it open. She climbed in, and put her key in the ignition, only to have a large arm reach inside and turn it off, jerk out her keys, and thrust them into a deep pocket.

“I said you are not leaving.”

“Give me back my keys, Mike. I’m not staying; you can’t make me stay; if you try it, I’m going to hurt you… real bad!” she promised.

“Nellie, you’re all sass, but you don’t have the butt to back it up!” he said with a grin. “Now get your fanny out of the car and inside.”

“No.”

“Fine. Have it your way!”

In the next instant, Mike pulled her from the car and tossed her over his broad shoulder. She promptly hit his back as hard as she could with her fists, and in the next instant pain exploded across her left cheek as he reached up and slapped her butt. “OW!” she howled.

“No hitting, sprite!” The old nickname popped out of his mouth before he could recall it, and Mike wanted to bite his tongue. She wasn’t his sprite any more.

Nellie was breathless by the time he carried her inside and dumped her unceremoniously on the sofa. “You make me so furious, Michael Cassidy!”

“The feeling is mutual, Nellie, but do us both a favor. Keep your fanny planted on this sofa while I get the rest of your things from your car. If I have to haul your butt in here one more time tonight, I’m not going to be nice about it.”

Nellie watched him with a wary eye as he went outside once more. If she had any pride at all she’d get up and lock the door! But, he wasn’t even wearing a coat… and, try as she might, she didn’t hate him enough to let him freeze to death. Still, she wasn’t about to let him find her sitting meekly on the sofa! She jumped up, and looked for something that would make a good weapon to brain him with…!

Mike ducked his head to the right when he came inside carrying the last of her things. He’d known she would throw something at him. He had experience in dealing with Nellie’s blasted temper. “I’ve always thought your temper needed some mending, and I would strongly advise you not to push me right now,” he scolded, dropping her bags in front of him, then turning to shut and lock the door tightly against the wind. “You can pick that up that book, little girl, and put it back on the table where I left it, or…” he turned to look at her, “…you can get that cute little fanny of yours spanked soundly, and then pick it up.”

Nellie looked at Michael in surprise. He’d made references to spanking before, but this was the first time she actually believed he might be serious. She debated on whether or not to pick up the book. Did she really want to test him? Did she really want to know if he would really spank her? No, not any more. Now it didn’t matter. They were finished. It was over. She sneezed. It caught her completely by surprise, and was followed by another.

“You’re catching a cold!” Mike announced, his voice full of concern. “I’ll bet you haven’t been taking any vitamins, have you?” he asked accusingly. “And I’ll bet those darn silly boots of yours are full of snow, too! Take them off right now!” he bossed.

“I’ll do as I please! You stop ordering me about, Michael Cassidy!” Nellie sassed.

“Why does everything have to be an argument with you, Nellie? You’re about as prickly as they come.” He picked her up again and sat her on the sofa. She tried kicking at him when he reached for her feet, and he gave her a totally wicked grin. In the next instant he’d pulled her off the sofa, and over one bent knee. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, Sprite!”

Nellie gasped as Mike’s large hand landed on the seat of her snow dampened jeans. “Ow!” He continued to spank her until her bottom was on fire, and then he seated her on the sofa once more. This time when he reached for her feet she held perfectly still and let him remove them.

“Just what I thought. Your feet are soaking wet, Sprite. Let’s get you into some dry clothes, and I’ll make you a hot toddy.”

“You spanked me, Michael!” she whispered tearfully.

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t listen to me,” he warned. “You go and change into something warm while I fix you that toddy.”

Nellie was too shaken to argue with him. Why now? Why now? She asked herself. When they were together, he never once turned her over and spanked her, not even when he should have. Lord knows, she’d given him plenty of reasons… plenty of chances to prove he loved her as much as Bill loved Tess. Instead, he’d opted for silence, or storming out of their house until he cooled off and she calmed down. But now, her poor bottom was burning. Now, when it was all over for them! Tears leaked from her eyes as she stripped out of the wet clothing and put on dry, warm sweats and a pair of heavy socks. She found her tissues and blew her nose, then ran a brush through her flaming red hair and braided it loosely into one thick plait.

Mike had her toddy all ready when she walked into the other room. “You sit here, Nellie, and I’ll wrap you up with this to get you warm.” He held a soft blanket in his hands, and Nellie didn’t protest as he tucked it around her, then handed her the mug. She sipped the hot drink, and had to admit it was delicious. “Thanks, Mike. This is great.”

“You’re welcome, Sprite,” he smiled, taking a seat on the floor in front of the fireplace. They were silent for a while, then Mike said, “Neither of us are going anywhere for a few days, Nellie. We’re snowed in. The telephone is out, and we’ll have to use the generator when we need electricity. There’s plenty of wood to burn, so we won’t be cold… and since we both brought food, we’ll be okay…”

“I’m not worried, Mike,” Nellie said truthfully. “I just needed to be alone this Christmas… I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known that Bill promised you the cabin.”

“I couldn’t face people this year either,” he admitted, his voice husky with emotion. “This was always a special time for us.”

“I didn’t put up a tree,” she admitted.

“Me either.”

The silence took them again, and the warmth of the fire along with the rum in the toddy relaxed Nellie to the point that she fell asleep, and her dreams were pleasant ones. She dreamed that she and Michael were together again, and snuggled in bed, and she didn’t want the dream to end. She didn’t want to wake up and find herself alone in her tiny apartment on the day before Christmas. She wanted to dream away the last few months, and pretend just a little bit longer that she and Michael were still in love with each other, and that he didn’t find her an “impossible-to-live-with, headstrong, temper-tantrum-throwing little brat”. But, she did wake up, to find Mike’s strong arm wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her against his body spoon fashion, and she wasn’t imagining that he was poking her soft bottom with the same need he always had early in the morning. A part of her wanted to wiggle her bottom against him, and wake him slowly, like she used to do. And, another part of her was outraged at waking up in bed with him when she clearly had no memory of how she got here…

At that particular moment, Mike opened his eyes, and scooted to his side of the bed. “Oops. Old habits, Sprite. Sorry.”

He was ‘sorry’? Nellie’s pride was wounded, and she responded in the only way she knew how. “I might have known you would try to take advantage of me, Michael Cassidy! A true gentleman would have slept on the sofa!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Nellie, that sofa is a loveseat, and it isn’t big enough for someone your size to sleep on, much less me. Like it or not, we’ll share the bed while we’re here.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

“You just try it, Sprite,” Mike growled, then gave her a meaningful look. “Well, just like old times. Feet haven’t even hit the floor yet and you’re tearing strips off my hide.”

“Guess you’re lucky you don’t have to put up with me any more then!” Nellie flounced from the bed and hurried to the bathroom. She would not cry in front of him. She wouldn’t!

Mike watched her stomp into the little room and felt the palm of his hand itch. He didn’t know how either of them would survive the next few days. But, one thing was certain, there was no reason for him to hold back now. If Nellie didn’t curb her tongue, he was going to take her over his knee and warm her backside. He was through being patient.

When she came out, he went in, and by the time he came out, she was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast on the gas stove. “Something smells good,” he sniffed the air.

“I’m making your omelet,” she admitted self-consciously.

“It smells wonderful,” he smiled. “I’ll pour juice.” He thought it was strange that they automatically adapted to their leisurely morning ritual after so many months apart. They’d both enjoyed these special mornings, and he’d loved listening to Nellie sing as she padded around their kitchen. She was humming now, and it made him smile. “It wasn’t all bad, was it, Sprite?” he asked in a low voice.

She turned to look at him, a startled look in her brown eyes. “No… Most of it was special and good, Michael.”

That was something, at least! They ate, and Nellie asked about Mike’s work. He filled her in, and then wanted to know how her job was going. She admitted that she’d quit, and watched as his eyes filled with hurt.

“You quit? After all the times I asked you to, and you refused? Then, once we parted, you quit…just like that?”

“You were right. I should have quit a year before I did… I couldn’t see that until after I moved out.”

“You stayed in that job because you were being a stubborn little brat,” Mike told her.

“Yes, I was,” Nellie agreed, then got to her feet and started clearing the table. “I wonder if the water is hot yet?” she wanted to change the subject.

“I should have turned you over my knee and paddled some sense into you!” Mike muttered, more to himself than to Nellie, but she overheard him anyway, and looked after him in surprise as he walked over and took his coat off the hook.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously.

“Bringing in more wood. You do the woman’s work, and I’ll do the man’s job!” he grinned at her, his dark eyes sparkling. If there was one thing Nellie hated, it was being told to do ‘woman’s work’. He got the expected reaction, and walked out the door laughing at her indignant expression.

Nellie’s feigned outrage turned into a grin, then to a smile as she pondered his words. “Yes, Michael, you should have spanked me… Why didn’t you?” she whispered, then attacked the pile of dirty dishes.

Michael made trip after trip, and stocked enough wood to keep them warm for a couple of days. It was still snowing outside, and Nellie knew she’d have to mop up the floor when he was done. The last time he came inside, he was carrying a tree!

“What is this?” Nellie asked in surprise.

“A Christmas tree, Sprite. I thought we should have one…” he looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction. It would either be a huge mistake, or he would get a smile… He was hoping for the smile.

“Oh, Michael… What a lovely idea!” Nellie’s eyes sparkled. “We’ll have to improvise on decorations.”

“We’ve got all day,” he put the tree where he thought it should sit. “How is this?” he asked.

“Perfect,” she agreed, then slid the wooden rocker over to make a bit more room.

“We’ll have to let it dry a bit… I brushed off most of the snow, but it’s probably going to make a puddle,” he predicted.

Nellie had a project, and Mike grinned when she put him to work searching for anything and everything they could use to decorate the tree. They laughed over some of the ideas he came up with, but Nellie had to admit she was impressed when he fashioned an Angel for the top of the tree out of a cardboard roll and toilet paper. They bent pipe cleaners into ornaments, and Nellie popped popcorn for them to string. They sat side by side on the loveseat to do this, and Nellie couldn’t resist asking, “If you wanted to spank me so many times, why didn’t you actually do it?”

“I was pretty damn sure you’d leave me if I did,” Mike answered, and then he asked a question of his own, “Did you want me to spank you?”

“Maybe… I don’t know.”

“What does that mean?”

“There were times I thought you should, but that doesn’t mean I really wanted you to.”

“When did you think you deserved it?” he wanted to know.

“When I threw your Grandmother’s teapot at you and shattered it. I felt so bad, so guilty… I was so out of control… and I was wrong. I knew it, too, but I couldn’t back down and admit it to you,” she confessed. “There were other times, too, but that one still makes me hurt.”

“We were fighting about your job, I remember,” he nodded. “I left the house… stayed at my folks’ house that night.”

“It was the beginning of the end,” Nellie said sadly. “I couldn’t face you… knowing that my temper was ruining everything between us. Even Tess was shocked at what I did, and she was positive that Bill would have spanked her for a week if she’d done something that awful. That’s when I started wondering about us.”

“Wondering in what way?” Mike asked, knowing how rare it was for Nellie to open up and share her innermost feelings.

“I wondered if you loved me as much as Bill loves Tess. Surely, if you did, you would have put a stop to the tantrums and temper. And you wouldn’t have walked away every time we argued.” Nellie closed her eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and decided to admit all of it. It would clear the air, and give them both closure. “I even picked fights for the last month, trying to provoke you into doing something. You spent more and more time away, and I finally gave up and left. The fighting was destroying us both, and I couldn’t live there any longer. I do owe you an apology, Michael. The breakup of our marriage was all my fault. I’m horrible to live with...” she said the words that would free them both.

“It takes two people to make a marriage work, Nellie, and two people to let it fail.” He leaned over the bowl of popcorn between them, and kissed her on the cheek. “Peace?”

“Peace,” she smiled.

They decorated the tree, and Nellie managed to make them some Christmas fudge. They ate their dinner on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, and Nellie had to admit that she was happier than she’d imagined possible. This was the Mike she’d fallen in love with and married, and the man she still loved with all her heart. He brought them each a glass of wine, teasing her for packing a couple bottles along with her provisions for the long weekend, and they settled in together, content.

“I have a present for you, Sprite, if you’ll accept it?” Mike looked into her eyes and smiled.

“But I don’t have anything for you!” she protested.

“Yes, you do,” he argued, then held up a hand to silence her. “I have a strong hunch that our little friend Tess set us up, Sprite. I think she realized all along what the two of us have been too stubborn to admit… We still love each other, and neither of us wants to get a divorce…? Am I right?” he asked.

Nellie was touched by the vulnerability in his dark eyes. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Michael, and no, I don’t want a divorce. I just don’t want to hurt you any more…” she added truthfully.

“If you accept my gift to you, then I don’t think that we’ll have to worry about your temper any more.”

Nellie’s stomach clenched as she realized where this conversation was heading. Michael was going to spank her! No! Was he? Certainly not…?

“I’m going to do what I should have done the very first time you had a tantrum, Sprite. I’m going to give you a spanking, and it won’t be a playful one, either. You’ll cry real tears, and you won’t sit comfortably for a day or two. It will be an expression of the love I feel for you, and it will carry with it the promise that I will spank you from now on each and every time you deserve it. There will be no more tantrums, throwing things, and no more walking away in our marriage. Your gift to me will be placing yourself over my knee, and accepting this spanking with love, and promising me that you will accept my love for the rest of our lives, even if that love is expressed on your cute little fanny with the flat of my hand.”

Nellie’s eyes filled with tears, but they were tears of happiness and joy. She loved this man so much she was nearly bursting with it. “I’ll accept your gift, Michael,” she rose to her knees and leaned over to kiss him sweetly on the lips, then she straightened. “Will you make love to me afterwards?” she asked hopefully, her hands going to the snap and zipper on her jeans and undoing them.

“You can count on it, Sprite,” he promised. “When you’re all through with the pouting, we’ll go straight to the making up part.”

“Good. I’m a bit scared, you know. Yesterday was my first spanking, and it really hurt, even through the jeans…” She pushed the jeans and her panties down her legs to bare herself to him.

“Spankings are supposed to hurt, and this one is going to be a lot longer and harder than those little pats I gave you last night,” he warned.

Nellie placed herself over his thighs, glad of the comfy, soft rug beneath them on the hard floor. The heat of the fireplace felt good, and she was determined to take this spanking without a lot of complaining.

“I do love you, Sprite,” Mike said softly, and then started spanking the bottom offered up for his hand. He started out with light pats, and gradually increased the severity until Nellie was crying out each time his hand connected with her reddened flesh. He made sure to color each cheek, and then his hand moved lower and spanked her upper thighs. Nellie cried, but she held herself in place, and accepted what he wanted to give. “There will be no more temper tantrums, will there, honey?” he asked.

“No, Michael!” she promised.

“And if there is?” he asked. “What will happen?”

“You’ll do this,” she said.

“What is this called?” he asked. “I want you to tell me, Sprite.” He continued slapping her bottom hard, wanting her complete acceptance.

“You will spank me, Michael.”

“Yes, I will. And why will I spank you?”

“Because you love me?” she asked, and then said “Owwwww!” when his hand found the tender sit spot. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Owwwwww! That hurts!!! Ohhhhhhhhhh… it hurts, Michael!”

“Good. It’s supposed to hurt,” he said, continuing to spank her sit spot until she was sobbing and lying limply over his lap. He realized she’d had enough. “Is your guilt all gone, honey?” he asked, giving her another hard spank on her right cheek.

“Yes, Michael. I’m so sorry… and I promise I won’t ever throw anything again.”

“I promise this is where you’ll be if you do,” he swatted her a couple more times, then raised her up to sit her on his lap. “It’s all over now, Sprite. You’re right where you belong now, safe in my arms.”

Nellie cried, but when her tears were spent, she felt loved, safe, protected, and at peace. She wanted nothing more than to feel Michael’s forgiveness, and he was more than willing to satisfy her needs, and his. It was a magical Christmas…

********************

Tess was growing more and more concerned as the day passed with no word of Nellie and Mike. She’d tried Nellie’s cell phone at least a hundred different times, and she was pretty darn sure that Bill was trying Mike’s too. Neither of them were answering, and she very much feared that Bill was right. Her meddling had cost them two good friends, and no amount of spankings was going to make up for that!

“Tessa Marie,” she heard Bill calling to her, and took a deep breath. There was no hiding from him. It would only make things worse.

“I’ll be there in a moment, Bill. I’m folding a load of towels,” she replied, and wasn’t a bit surprised when he came to find her in the laundry room. “I’m almost done,” she hoped he wouldn’t think she was defying him. Her poor butt was already sore enough, and another spanking on top of the five she’d had already was going to be miserable. She’d cried before the third smack last evening, and she just didn’t want another spanking tonight…

“When you’re done, you go on to our room and get ready for your spanking.”

“Bill, please…? I’m so sore already. You know I can’t sit… Isn’t it enough? Please?”

“I meant what I said, Tess. Until you apologize to both Mike and Nellie in person, you will be spanked. Have you done that yet?” He already knew the answer, and she did too. “I’ll let you chose the implement tonight.”

“I hate to choose…” Tess whined, and then jumped when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it. You finish those towels, then go and get ready for your spanking.” Bill’s voice was firm, and Tess knew that arguing with him would make things worse. She folded the last towel, and decided to put them away in the morning.

“Tess!” Bill called. “Come in here!”

Tess was relieved to have a reprieve. She hurried to see who was here, especially at this hour. To her surprise it was Nellie and Mike, and they were both smiling. She let out a squeal, and Nellie gave her a big hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Nellie whispered in her ear.

“Looks like you were right, Tess,” Bill was grinning ear to ear, more relieved that he cared to admit.

“Tess, honey, thank you so much,” Mike leaned down to kiss her on the top of her head. “Nellie and I knew it was late, but we wanted to let you know that we’re grateful to you. It was the best Christmas ever.”

“I got exactly what I wanted for Christmas!” Nellie looked up at Mike and smiled, knowing she was loved, and that this magical Christmas was just the beginning of a lifetime full of love.

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