Payday

by Carolyn Faulkner

Tell me, why did I have to listen to Jessica when she suggested celebrating payday at a male revue? Didn’t I know already that even though Trait was out of town on business, that just my guilty look would enough to get me a spanking? To say nothing of the fact that my paranoia factor was so high that I spent the entire evening waiting for him to come through the door, haul me over his shoulder, and drag me back home? So much so that Bubba Skinner himself could have been dancing naked infront of me and all I’d be able to do would be to push him out of the way if he blocked my view of the door! 

"Male revue," he snorted when I mentioned the possibility to him a month ago. He’d grabbed my upper arm to turn me toward him then pulled me roughly up against him. "I don’t go to strip clubs and ogle women, and I won’t allow you to go to a strip joint and drool all over men. Is that understood?" 

I pursed my lips into a pout. I honestly didn’t care much; it was the principle of the thing. Equality, and all that. Centuries of males drooling at half-naked women – the score needed evening, badly. "But – " 

Trait was loving, dominant, and stubborn but definitely not known for his patience. "Do I need to reinforce that rule on your little fanny, Angel?" His huge broad hand spread over my jean-clad butt, covering it almost entirely. 

I squirmed around in his arms, turning my butt against his taut stomach. "No," I answered quickly, not wanting him to get any ideas. Trait was always very ready to pull down my pants and lacy panties to spank me - always on the bare - if he thought I needed it, which he always seemed to. 

He buried his face in my hair. "God, you smell fantastic! Kinda makes up for the fortune you spend in perfumes!" He kissed the hairline under the heavy curtain of my hair, licking delicately enough to make me shiver with a sexual chill. His arms tightened around me. "You know, even after three loooooooooong years, you still drive me crazy, woman." Trait flipped me around to face him, then took my mouth passionately. 

Both of us knew this wasn’t going anywhere, as we were both on our way out the door. His lips pressed tenderly to my forehead. "Short putt," I quipped. When he kissed me like that I literally couldn’t see straight. 

"Brat." He turned me loose with a possessive pat on my butt. 

But here I was, a couple weeks later, just waiting to get caught. Did I have some kind of death wish? He was gonna kill me if he found me here . . . 

"Angie, you’re not being any fun tonight!" Jessica moaned, working on her third Grateful Dead. 

"Fun," I repeated in a monotone, leaning around a g-string clad cutie to keep a weather eye on the door. 

I could feel how Jessica was rolling her eyes at Lori, one of the other women from the office we’d come with. 

"I can’t believe I let you talk me into this." 

Jessica snorted. "I can’t believe Ms. Tell-Em-Like-It-Is at the office is so worried her husband is going to find out she had a night out with the girls. You’re whipped, girlfriend." 

Not quite, but how the hell did she know? "Am not," I replied articulately. "Trait doesn’t care if I go out; he just wasn’t thrilled with the idea of strippers, is all." 

"Uh-huh," the two of them said in unison. Neither one of them was feeling any pain, and I hoped I would fit into the same category after tonight, but I wasn’t at all sure I would! 

Finally, realizing it was kinda stupid to sit there and wait for the inevitable all night, I got up and handed twenty dollars worth of ones to Jessica. "Here. Stuff ‘em." 

Jess didn’t bat an eyelash. "You bet!" I shuddered to think where those bills were going to end up . . .

Driving home, I chided myself for getting so worked up. Trait was in Chicago, for crying out loud. Hadn’t I just dropped him off at the airport with a tongue-filled kiss goodbye before hurrying home to change and go out? What was I worrying about? How would he possibly find out that I’d disobeyed him?

The answer was that he ALWAYS found out. That was the tragedy of living in a small town in Tennessee. Everyone knew everyone else and everyone else’s business. Meadly made Peyton Place look like a major yawn in comparison. And Trait had lived there all his life. The chances were not good that my presence – even though I made the girls get seats in the back – went undetected. Some day, some time, my butt was gonna pay the price. Hopefully, that time could be postponed. Maybe even put off indefinitely, if luck was on my side. 

The house was dark as I drove the car into the driveway, and that was a good sign. 

Like a good, security conscious girl, I had my keys at the ready even before I got out of the car, and – miracles of forethought – had even left the outside light on, knowing I would probably come home late. I had the screen door blocked open by my body when it was lifted from my hip. 

"Someone’s in a heap of trouble," came the husky rasp from behind me. 

No robber or rapist is going to comment on what kind of trouble I was in, so I didn’t even have to look to see who was behind me. Trait followed me in, locking up behind us. I took off my London Fog all-weather coat, and hung it up in the closet to stand in front of him as he put his briefcase down next to the desk in the office. 

"Chicago?" 

"Bad weather," he growled. "Bad luck for you that I had a hunch and had the taxi driver go by that joint." 

Damn! I knew I should have had Jessica drive! 

I sighed and walked into his arms, knowing that regardless, I would have a warm reception. It had never mattered what I did when I misbehaved; his love had never been shaken. I always knew that if I walked up to him and put my arms around him, his brawny arms would naturally fall around my waist, holding me comfortably close. His lips nuzzled the hair away from my ear. "Why did you disobey me?" The question was posed with absolutely no anger in his tone. He was always more disappointed when I was "naughty" - as he so often annoyed me by phrasing it – than angry. 

"It was payday, and I wanted to go out with the girls tonight, and that was where they were going," I pouted, sounding whiny even to my own ears. 

"Oh, it’s gonna be payday, all right, for your cute little butt. But you knew it was wrong, after I’d told you not to go." I shook my head "yes." Trait cradled me tightly in his arms, and I leaned into him, loving his physical strength, as well as the strength of his love. "Well, Baby, you should know better than that, shouldn’t you?" 

I hid my head in the curve of his neck, not wanting to admit that I should have behaved better, but he wasn’t going to let me get away with that, either. His strong fingers forced my chin up, so that I had to look at him. 

God, he was gorgeous! Short black hair feathered back from his face, parted on the left, bright blue eyes that shone with humor and intelligence – usually. Full lips, light tan, ruddy complexion, 6’2", built like a brick shithouse – what the hell did I need a male revue for? All I had to do was get him some music and a couple of g-strings . . . 

Trait had no idea why I was standing there grinning in his arms, but the idea of him doing a striptease was so out of character for him, that I almost chuckled. His expression was sobering, as was his tone. "Do you think this is funny, little girl?" 

"That’s not what I was thinking about!" I squealed as he lifted me and carried me down the hall. 

"Well, let’s see if I can help you keep your mind on your naughty behavior, hmmmmm?" 

"Trait, no! I don’t wanna spanking!" Like that was going to stop him in his tracks. 

He put me down on the bed, then sat down next to me. "Take down your pants and panties, and lie over my lap." There was no hope for it, I knew. Trait was never deterred from the prompt, efficient delivery of a thorough spanking. Kinda like the Post Office. Neither rain, nor storm, nor dark of night, etc, etc, etc. "Wait, get the paddle first." 

I blanched - crap, that thing HURT! – and moved very slowly to his bottom dresser drawer. 

The warning came as expected, "Sometime before Y3K, Angelique Marie Richardson." 

My full name! Son-of-a –why, oh why, do I do these things to myself?! 

Finally settled penitently over his big lap, skirt fold up around my waist, panties and pantyhose hanging around my ankles I got lecture # 4375 on – and I quote -  "Obeying- the-rules-he-has-set-down-for-me", subheading B: "I-don’t-make-these-rules-just-to-hear-myself-talk." Do you get the idea I’ve heard this one before? Chapter AND verse. Could recite it myself, if I had to. Unfortunately, I’ll never get the chance to use it on him. 

But I do have to at least appear to be paying attention, which is the reason why he spanks or paddles during the lecture. It assures my full attention, let me tell you – when I’m not screaming. Some time, he’s going to get wise give me a quiz afterwards, then I’ll be in for it again. 

Trait always starts with a warm up hand spanking. Considering the size and breadth of his hand, it’s almost as bad as the paddle. One stroke covers almost the entire surface of my bottom. But he also spanks down the backs of my legs. 

"If I tell" SMACK "you not to go somewhere" WHAP "then you’re not" SPANK "to go there." SLAPSMACKSPANK. "Don’t you" SMACKCRACKWHAP "just agree with me" SMACKSMACKSWAT "then go and do what you want, young lady." 

"Owwwww no I won’t! I’m sorreeeeeee!" 

SLAPWHAPSMACK. "You’re going to be sorry in a minute, my girl." His hand raps against my bottom in a military tattoo of pain. Kicking my legs never helps, but that doesn’t stop me from having to try to avoid the rapid descent of his harsh, callused palm. 

After thirty or so smacks with his hand, he reached for the paddle, and "got down to business." The paddle hurts me so much I can’t even think, but that doesn’t keep him from lecturing me, making me feel even worse with his disappointed tone of voice. "I don’t ask very much, Angelique Marie," SLAPSMACKWHAPSPLAT. "But I do expect you to obey me when I tell you not to do something." SPANKWHACKSMACKSLAP 

I couldn’t even answer at this point, because I was too busy screaming and sobbing. By the end, I was literally wailing in pain, not even trying to get away anymore, just lying there over the tree-trunks of his thighs in abject misery until its all over and I’m forgiven. 

After he spanked me, Trait helped me to the corner of our big bedroom, putting my hands on my head, and arranging my skirt up so that my bright red bottom stuck out like a beacon behind me. "Now, you stand there and think about how naughty you’ve been, young lady." Still not forgiven. I knew by the tone of his voice. 

Sobbing, hiccoughing, and still moaning from the hot stinging of my butt cheeks, I could hear him moving around the room, putting the paddle away and opening and closing dresser drawers. I don’t know how long he made me stand there, but I knew better than to look around to try to see what he was doing. 

Finally, he came and had me step out of my underwear, then helped me into my favorite old terribly unsexy nightgown, that looked like something the grandma in the Big Bad Wolf story would have worn. It covered me from just under my chin to well past my toes. Trait led me over to the bed and handed me a wad of Kleenex so I could blow my nose and wipe my eyes, then he bent down and put warm socks on my feet, because he knows how cold they get. 

The electric blanket was already on to warm the bed when he tucked me into my side, then came around to join me from his side after dousing all the lights. I was still sobbing softly. Oh, all right. I admit I was milking it a little, but that was a terrible spanking. And he didn’t have any need to know how tough my butt really was. So I cuddled up next to him, warm and safe as he kissed my forehead. "I’m sorry I had to spank you, Love." It was so cute. He hated to make me cry. He didn’t mind inflicting the pain, mind you. It was the crying that got him. Figure that. 

"I’m sorry I went out when you specifically told me not to." 

"Good girl. See that you remember this in the future, hmmmm?" 

Oh, yeah. I’ll remember it, all right. 

Now, where does one buy a g-string?

Copyright© March 2000