You Win

Standard

“Alright, you win.”

Paul watched her body shrink; she knew a trick when she saw one. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so thoroughly finished with her misbehavior.

”Wait! I was just teasing!” Edith said, somewhere between pleading and defiant.

“No, you were looking for trouble. Guess what?”

”I wasn’t!”

”You were. And now you found it.” Paul retrieved his implement bag from the hall closet as he spoke, glancing at the canes in the back briefly but just as quickly dismissing them. Those wouldn’t work today. Maybe tomorrow, when she was feeling sorted and would fight to be still for him. Yes, definitely tomorrow.

For now, he put the bag on the table and began to rifle through it, purposely letting the various wooden implements clank as he dug for what he wanted.

“You don’t have to,” she said softly as he pulled out a heavy wooden spoon, considered it and then her, and replaced it.

”No, I don’t have to. But you made me want to, little girl. Don’t you worry about that.”

She blushed furiously. He knew she wanted to defend her behavior, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

”No, don’t you worry about that at all,” he said again to himself, pulling a bathbrush from the bag and feeling its weight in his hand. With a glance in her direction, he set it on the table and began to zip the bag up again.

”Paul! I don’t need that!”

”I think you do. And that is a decision I get to make. You only get one decision, and you chose to misbehave. Everything else is up to me.”

She whimpered in a way he had grown used to but still enjoyed. He had finally learned to keep from grinning at her discomfort; it sent her into a dark rebellious place that they didn’t need to visit today. Instead he put his bag away, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “Come here, young lady.”

”Paul…” she said hesitantly.

”Do you want me to count?”

”No, I want you to put the bathbrush away!”

”One.”

She growled and stalked over to him, arms crossed and glare firmly in place, until she stood at his side in her pajama pants and overlarge t-shirt. “I hate this.”

”You don’t hate it yet,” he said confidently as he patted his lap and then moved his arms out of the way, “but we’ll get there.”

She groaned as she got into position, settling herself over his lap and bracing her hands against the floor. He let her fidget for a moment before adjusting her to his liking. He hadn’t quite been able to break her of the habit of taking most of her weight off of him in this position, but he let it go. She wouldn’t be able to keep her toes or fingers down after a minute.

He began to wrap his left arm around her waist, then decided to yank her pajamas down first. She might fuss regardless, but she liked the way a spanking felt over the thin flannel and he didn’t want her to like any part of this.

”Paul!” she said predictably, but she made no attempt to grab them. That was a habit he had broken and with much sacrifice from her thighs. He patted her blue undies firmly a few times, and then began to spank her in earnest.

Almost immediately, one of her hands found a chair leg to grip and her calf muscles strained to keep her feet down. He spanked her rhythmically, sometimes concentrating on one cheek and then the other, sometimes alternating, but keeping his cadence steady.

”Paul? Paul!” she said as her other hand danced up from the floor, briefly dallied by her hip, and made its way back down. He contemplated snatching it up, but instead decided to let her keep trying. It would be back. He could always catch it then.

”Yes, Edith?” he said conversationally and increasing the force behind his swats a bit. He didn’t intend to be gentle with the bathbrush later and wanted her thoroughly warmed up. “I believe this is what you wanted.”

”I didn’t!” she said stubbornly, and now that she couldn’t see him, he did smile.

”Of course you did, Edy. You could have asked me for a nice spanking. Or even a not so nice spanking. But you wanted to be in trouble.”

”No!” she said, her hands both officially lifting off the floor to grab the lower rung of the chair.

”Oh yes,” he said, still laying into her with hard swats and no breaks. “It’s been too long and you thought you missed the butterflies that come with it.”

”Paul, stop!” she yelled, but there was a whine in her voice now, and she finally broke and threw her hand back to cover her quickly swelling bottom.

”I don’t think so, little girl,” he said, easily catching her wrist and pinning it to her side. He had been waiting for that hand.

He adjusted her underwear, tugging them up a little so her cheeks spilled out, completely accessible.  He reached over to the table and grabbed the bathbrush, then used the business end to tap her bottom several times.

Her reaction was immediate, as he knew it would be. “No don’t! Don’t I’m sorry! Paul!”

She fought uselessly to free her wrist from his hand as she spoke, but he just kept on tapping the solid wooden implement against her hot bottom.

“I think you even thought you would miss the feeling of this mean old bathbrush, but I bet you don’t feel that way now.” The taps were getting harder as he spoke, now carrying enough weight to make her bottom jiggle with each impact.

”I didn’t! I don’t! I’m sorry I was a brat!” she said, and the first real swat landed as her sentence ended. He didn’t go back to taps after that. He held her wrist, and brought the brush down hard and steady as she yelled and he spoke over her.

”You were a brat. Or at least you were acting like one. Like a brat who needed a hard spanking. One like this.”

She squealed and kicked, occasionally apologizing but mostly just yelling. When her feet got too out of control, he hoisted her up and over his left knee so he could pin her legs between his.

He watched her bottom take on the glossy sheen of a genuinely hard spanking, and listened as her pleas turned to dry sobs. Sometimes tears came, too, and sometimes they didn’t. He didn’t pay much attention either way. They didn’t necessarily signify what she needed or wanted, and be never demanded them. She needed it to hurt more than she would enjoy, and they were getting there fast.

He paused to readjust her again, bending her body almost in half so her bottom was stretched and seemed to blend seamlessly with her thighs in a way one would have sworn was impossible, having see her stand before.

”Almost finished, little girl, and then we will not have any more bratting the rest of today, or tomorrow. Do you understand me?” He brought the brush down hard.

”Yes sir,” she screeched. And he brought it down a second time.

“I’m serious. You end up over my knee again and I’m picking up exactly where we left off.” Two swats, right in a row.

“I won’t! I won’t I won’t.”

”You just make sure you are paying attention. And maybe next time your memory won’t be so short.” With that he finished up, six more hard and satisfying swats to her bruised bottom.

She shrieked through all of them, and kept whimpering even after he set the brush down with a clatter back on the table.  He held her there, rubbing her back and delicately floating his fingertips over her bottom and thighs. When she had calmed down, he guided her up, then back down to sit in his lap, her sore bottom dangling between his knees in a familiar position of comfort.

She threw her arms around him and said pitifully into his chest, “Why?”

His brow furrowed and the briefest moment of insecurity settled over him as he answered, “Because you needed it, sweetheart.”

”I know but why did I need it?! It’s not fun or good!” she wailed, face still presses up against him.

He relaxed into a small laugh. “That I don’t know, Edy. That I do not know. But I’m glad I get to take care of it when you do.”

She sniffled and curled her body into his a little more. “Well. Me too, I guess.”

He smiled and continued to rub her back, thinking about how fun it was going to be watching her sit for the rest of the day.

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Meanwhile

Standard

Danny glanced across the table at his brother, who was finishing his third or fourth cocktail of the night.  They were at a dinner where their parents, Simon and Elaine, would be receiving an award for a paper they had written the previous year, along with some of their colleagues.  The boys were spending a long weekend with them, both to celebrate the accomplishment and Ben’s recent return to the state.  He and Danny now both lived just a few hours away from their childhood home.

He was trying to catch Ben’s eye, but had a feeling he was being purposefully ignored.  Although Ben was excited for his parents, he had come to the dinner begrudgingly and now seemed to be intent on drinking his way through it.  He had, of course, been charming as he and Danny had shaken hands with a dozen professors and many of their partners, answering the same questions about their lives and jobs over and over again.  Danny hadn’t particularly loved it, either, but they saw how much their parents lit up as they introduced them to person after person.

Ben finally looked in Dan’s direction, and Danny raised an eyebrow and then looked pointedly at the drink in his brother’s hand.  Ben shrugged noncommittally and raised the glass to his lips once again.  Danny nodded thoughtfully to himself.  It was going to be one of those nights.  At any other event, he would have dragged his little brother from the table.  Tonight, he just hoped that Ben would keep himself together until after the meal had ended.

~   ~   ~

They made it through, though not unscathed.  Ben grew clumsier as the night went on, spilling his drink across the table and nearly upending a platter when he leaned back into a passing waiter.  Though most people wouldn’t take notice, their parents had exchanged more than one worried glance.  Danny’s palms were itchy by the time the last speeches had finished and people began to stand.  Still, it wouldn’t have been a noteworthy night if it hadn’t been for the last ten minutes.  Ignoring Danny’s offer to help him step away from the table, Ben had walked away with the table cloth tucked in with the napkin he had clenched in his fist.  There were gasps around the room as he dragged an entire meal’s worth of dishes crashing to the floor.  Silence followed after, and then finally nervous chattering.

They made it home without further incident, where Ben immediately fell into a dreamless sleep and Danny laid awake, thinking about how he planned to handle the situation tomorrow.

~   ~   ~

The next morning, their father was predictably out of the house early.  Neither parent was at all equipped to handle confrontation unless it was a scholarly debate, and Simon knew his oldest was unlikely to let the incidents of last night go.  When Danny entered the kitchen, his mother was waiting for him with a cup of coffee– also predictably.  She hated confrontation as much as her husband; it was one of the reasons Danny had so easily assumed the role of a third parent in their home growing up.  Neither of them could quite bring themselves to challenge him when he began to intervene with their younger son.  It certainly made a difference that Danny assumed the least gratifying parts of helping raise him. And approve or not, they saw how well Ben responded and how close the boys had continued to grow.

Still, in Elaine’s eyes, Ben could do no wrong, and so she was waiting on Danny with a cup of coffee at the breakfast table.  He smiled at her and hugged her shoulders before he sat down.  “Good morning.”

“Hello, darling,” she said with a smile.  “Did you sleep well?”

“I did.  Did you?” he replied as he sat next to her and wrapped his hands around the large warm mug.  “And thank you.”

“Mhmm.  Your father’s gone on a hike, says he’ll be back around lunch.”

“I noticed his car wasn’t in the driveway before I came down.”

They heard movement from the floor above them; Ben must be awake. Elaine stood, going to pour another cup of coffee and humming quietly to herself.  She placed it at the table just as Ben came down the stairs, still rubbing his eyes as he sat.  She put an arm around him and kissed the top of his tousled head.  “Morning,” he said with a yawn.

“Good morning,” Danny said, somehow giving the simple greeting an authoritative quality.

“Daniel,” clucked Elaine disapprovingly, her arm still around her youngest.  “He’s only just woken up.”

“Yeah Daniel,” said Ben groggily, taking a sip of his coffee.

Danny sighed, but didn’t say anything.  Content that things were going to remain calm for the moment, Elaine smiled and asked cheerily, “What would you boys like for breakfast?  I can make French toast, or we have oatmeal? Omelettes?”

Ben’s face seemed to gray at the mention of all the food, and Danny raised his eyebrows at his mother– “See?” his expression said clearly.  She followed his nod at Ben and said hurriedly, “Maybe just some orange juice after your coffee.  That sounds nice.”

Danny rolled his eyes as she went to the refrigerator, and slid two painkillers he’d brought downstairs with him over to his brother.  Ben glanced up guiltily, then reached over to take them.  Before too long, the table was littered with empty mugs and glasses and Danny was tired of waiting.  “Alright,” he said, looking directly at Ben, “you need to get yourself upstairs.  I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“Awww c’mon,” Ben said, frowning and crossing his arms, “I wasn’t that bad!”

“He really wasn’t, Daniel, your father and I hardly noticed,” added his mother.

“You are both being ridiculous,” Danny said sternly, “Ben, you embarrassed the entire table, including yourself.”

Elaine sighed and put a hand on Ben’s arm as she appealed to Danny, “Benjamin really didn’t mean it, and I’m not upset.”

“Well I am upset, Mother.  And Ben and I are about to go upstairs and talk about why.”

Ben’s shoulders slumped; he recognized the steel in Danny’s voice and knew this was a done deal.  “Alright alright,” he said, pushing back from the table. “Thanks for the coffee and juice, Mom,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile and another side hug.  “Sorry I drank too much last night.”  He looked at Danny as he said this last part and gave a small shrug.

“I’ll be right up,” Danny said approvingly.  He gathered up the dishes while Ben left and his mother rose to pace the kitchen and ring her hands.  “Mom,” Danny said, stopping her pacing head-on with a hand on each of her shoulders, “I’m going to take care of him.  I promise.”

She took a deep, intentional breath, exhaled slowly, and said “I know you will.  I think I’m going to go work in the garden for a bit.”

Danny pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “Alright, I’ll come out and join you in just a little while.”

They parted, and Elaine went to grab her sturdy work boots and her wide-brimmed hat before heading outside.  Danny pushed the chairs under the table and made his way upstairs.

~   ~   ~

When Danny entered his brother’s room, Ben was sitting on the bed twirling a basketball.  He was still in his pajamas, and looked every bit the teenager he’d been the last time he had called this room home.  He put the ball down on his lap and sat up a little straighter as Danny walked in. Be’s expression was sullen, but Danny didn’t feel any sympathy for him as he thought about how embarrassed he had been last night.  He picked up the ball and set it aside.  “Up,” he said shortly to Ben.

Ben sighed dramatically but stood.  He felt guilty enough to accept a punishment, but it just wasn’t in him to do so gracefully.  Danny didn’t mind.  He knew Ben would be genuinely and deeply sorry minutes from now.  He sat on the bed like he had so many times before, and pulled his brother across his lap.

After a very brief warm up, Danny had Ben’s plaid pants around his knees; he began to lecture as his hand came down on the seat of Ben’s red and black underwear.

“You made several very poor choices last night, young man.  Tell me the biggest one.”

“Ow,” Ben said, “It wasn’t that bad! Ow!”

Danny began to put more force behind his swats as he said, “It was exactly that bad, Benjamin Kendrick.  And it was intentional.  That was a tantrum.  They asked for one night, and you were sulky about it.”

Ow, okay, I’m sorry!” Ben said as Danny kept spanking harder and faster.  In response, Danny paused the spanking and jerked Ben’s underwear down to join his pants.

“You’re lucky I don’t send you to the car to get the hairbrush.  I packed it just in case, and now I’m not sure I don’t need it.”

“Ow, you don’t!” Ben said earnestly, throwing his hand back to cover his quickly heating bottom.  Danny snatched his wrist up easily with his free hand and continued the spanking.  Ben’s bottom flattened with every painful swat.  Danny wasn’t holding back.

“You will apologize to Mom and Dad,” he said firmly.  “And you will behave yourself the rest of this visit.  I was unimpressed with your attitude last night, on top of your behavior.  I don’t appreciate being ignored.”

His palm slammed into the curve of Ben’s sitspots as he spoke now, and Ben squealed and struggled.  Something about this room made him even less stoic than usual– and Ben was never stoic.  Danny paid him no mind as he worked to ensure that his younger brother would feel this spanking well into the afternoon.

~   ~   ~

When he finished, Ben’s eyes were red-rimmed and he couldn’t help but rub his sore bottom as he stood and danced around the room.  Danny watched him for a minute, and then lifted his right arm, waiting for Ben to sit next to him.  Eventually Ben did just that, easing his way down onto the bed and leaning up against Danny for comfort.  Danny offered him kind and soothing words as he rubbed his back.  After several minutes, when they had stopped talking and were sitting quietly, they heard a loud buzz from the dresser at the foot of the bed.

Danny reached over, surprised to see “Oliver” flashing across his phone screen.  He showed Ben, shrugged, and answered.

“Hey Oliver, what’s up?  You’re on speakerphone.  Ben is here.”

“Hi babe,” chimed in Benjamin.

“Hey babe, hey Danny.  I’ve got little bit of a situation.  Do you have a minute?”  Danny looked at Ben, who nodded, and said “Sure.”  He put the phone down face-up on his chest.

Oliver began to speak again.  “So Emma called me last night…”

 

 

Low Tolerance

Standard

“Oliver. Oliver. Hey. Can you hear me?”

”Emma? Hey, what’s up?” Oliver pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the time. It was close to 11pm. “Everything okay?”

”I don’t know. Is it? I can’t go outside and check.”

Oliver furrowed his brow, trying to make sense out of what his friend was saying. Before he could respond she was talking again.

”Oliver. Oliver! Shhhh.”

”I wasn’t saying anything. Emma, are you… are you high right now?”

She errupted into giggles, but they stopped almost as soon as they started. “Oliver. Can you come over here?”

He rolled his eyes, but said “Yeah, I’ll be there in just a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”

”I’m not! And Oliver! Don’t tell Danny.”

”Just sit tight. I’ll be right there.”

Oliver put his phone in his pocket then stood for a minute, hands on his hips as he thought about what he should do. Danny and Ben were out of town, visiting their parents for a long weekend. He walked to the bedroom and threw together an overnight bag. Might as well see what was happening before he made any decisions.

~   ~   ~

He had to ring the bell three times before she answered, and when she did it was with a conspiratorial air. She grabbed his hand immediately and pulled him inside to the couch. “Oliver,” she said, making intense eye contact, “I wanted to be good at smoking weed so I tried to practice but now I think it was a bad idea.”

Oliver just stared at her for a minute, unsure of how to respond, then said “What did you smoke? Just weed?”

She nodded solemnly at him and replied, “I asked my friend and she gave me a joint just like we had before but this time we weren’t packing so no spankings.”

Oliver blushed, and thought Emma might be wrong about that. There was no point in talking about it now though. Instead he asked, “Are you feeling okay? How much of it did you smoke?”

”I was scared before but now I feel better. And sleepy.”

”And how much did you smoke?”

”All of it. I’m an over-achiever. Can I go to bed now?”

Oliver smiled and shook his head, amused at her. “I think that’s a great idea. Let’s get you ready.”

Emma flopped back against the couch and said “I can just sleep here. I like it here. This is a good couch for sleeping.”

“I don’t think so, miss Emma. Let’s get you upstairs,” Oliver said as he stood.

”Hmph,” she said, pouting, which made Oliver raise an eyebrow at her. “Noooo, don’t look at me like that! No looks.”

”Then quit fussing and get up, little girl. I’m gonna crash here tonight.”

”Duh, you can’t leave me like this. Danny would murder you,” she said, giggling again.

”I think you have plenty to worry about without throwing me in the mix. Are you going to behave yourself and let me put you to bed?”

Emma heaved a long dramatic sigh, but in the end said simply, “I guess.”

”Good choice,” Oliver said as he extended his hand and she took it. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

~   ~   ~

The next morning, Emma came downstairs to find Oliver making eggs in the kitchen. “Hi,” she said sheepishly, climbing up onto one of the stools by the kitchen counter and putting her hands around the glass of orange juice he’d set out for her.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said as he took the pan off the stove. He turned, giving her a smile as he dumped the yellow scrambled eggs on to two plates. “How are you feeling?”

”Pretty good,” she said. “I slept really hard.”

Oliver let out a laugh as he put a plate in front of her and then handed her a fork. “I bet you did. A whole joint by yourself?” He stood across from her as he took a bite.

She blushed and kept her eyes on her plate as she scooted her eggs around. After a minute Oliver said, “You gonna eat those or just rearrange them?”

She took a bite, swallowed, and glanced up. “Are you gonna tell Danny?”

Oliver gave her a scrutinizing look. She kept eating, trying to be good. He finally said, “How do you think Danny would feel about your little experiment?”

She stuck her lip out and stabbed a bite of egg. “It depends on if he knows or not. If he doesn’t know about it, he won’t have any feelings about it.”

When she glanced up again, Oliver was giving her a look that made her gaze drop right back to her plate. She took another bite to avoid having to look up.

”You can talk to Danny about it, Emma. And you can be grateful I don’t spank your butt before he does. I probably should.”

She squirmed in her seat. “Oliveeeer,” she whined. “Stooop.”

He picked up his empty plate and waited for her to take her last bite before grabbing hers, too. “Stop what?” he said, “Telling you what you already know?”

”Hmph. He wouldn’t punish me for the same thing twice.” An idea formed in her brain as she spoke. “Actually…” she said hesitantly, watching Oliver close the dishwasher and turn to her, drying his hands on a towel.

”Yes?” he said.

”Would you?” she said, blushing furiously but keeping her eyes up.

“Would I what?”

”Would you… take care of it?” She didn’t think she had ever blushed harder in her life.

Oliver leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, contemplating her. “You think I’m gonna be nicer than Danny, huh?”

”No!” she squeaked, even though that was exactly what she had been thinking. “I just hate waiting.”  That part was also true; she wasn’t sure she could carry this weight in her stomach until Danny got home on Monday.

Oliver continued to contemplate her. “You know I won’t be nice either. I don’t think you made an especially wise decision.”

Emma frowned and played with the condensation on her glass of juice. “You and Ben smoke all the time, though.”

Oliver nodded. “We do, pretty regularly. But we also know how much, and how it makes us feel. And you could have called me earlier last night. We could have smoked together if that was what you wanted. I don’t think it was about that, though.”

Emma made a face, scrunching up her nose. “How do you know what it was about?” she said.

”Call it a hunch,” Oliver said, but his tone had changed. He stood up straight and gave her a look that made her insides squirm. “Do you have a favorite corner?”

”Oliver! No one has a favorite corner! Do you have to do that part, too?”

”I sure don’t,” he replied. “I’m doing it because I think you need a little time to think about why you were home alone last night, trying to hide something that you‘re now telling me you’re allowed to do.”

Emma huffed. “Well maybe I am allowed to do it.”

”Would you like your mouth washed out, too?”

Her eyes went round. “No sir,” she said quickly and without thinking. She’d never called Oliver sir before, but she had also never had soap in her mouth and she wanted to keep it that way.

”Good. Go find a corner, please.”

Subdued, Emma climbed down from the stool and went to a corner of the living room which, while not her favorite, was certainly familiar. She put her hands behind her back obediently, hoping that Oliver was wrong about being mean like Danny, but worrying that he wasn’t. He wasn’t wrong about her motivations. She shifted her feet as the guilt she’d been avoiding settled in.

When Oliver called her out a few minutes later, she was in a very different headspace. Though she still hoped that Oliver would be more lenient than her boyfriend, she knew she deserved to be punished. She walked over to where Oliver sat on the corner of the sturdy glass coffee table. She noticed a wooden spoon sitting behind him and groaned. “Is it too late to wait for Danny?” she asked tentatively.

”It is,” Oliver replied. “The spoon was actually his suggestion.”

Emma’s lungs seemed to freeze. “You talked to him?” she said, her voice much higher than normal. Heat rushed up her neck and face.

”Mhmm.”

”Oh,” she said, unable to utter any more syllables after that.

“He pointed out that his hand didn’t seem to do the trick last time. Let’s get this taken care of. Over my lap, please.”

Emma practically dove into position, ready for Oliver to stop looking at her face. He pulled her pajama bottoms down, then adjusted her yellow underwear so they covered her bottom.

He began patting her backside as he spoke. “I can’t believe that after the trouble we were in just a month ago, you are messing around again.” The pats morphed into swats, and those swats were becoming harder by the second.

”You are not in high school any more. Weed is not something you need to become ‘good’ at, as you said last night.”

“I know, I know Oliver!” Emma said, pushing her palms against his thigh and kicking her feet. His hand was so stingy and he spanked so fast that she couldn’t catch her breath. He began to concentrate on her sit spots.

”You knew before you started this whole thing, which is why you waited until Danny was out of town to do it.”

Emma strained against Oliver’s grasp, trying to keep her feet out of his way but barely succeeding. He continued lecturing over her pitiful grunts and heavy breathing.

”You’re officially grounded from smoking, alone or with anyone else.”

”But Oliver—“ she said between wiggles, but he spoke over her.

”Danny’s decision. Which I fully support. If you can’t be responsible with it, you don’t need to do it.”

”But I feel left out,” she whined, and Oliver stopped spanking her. He rested his right hand on her bottom and rubbed her back gently with his left.

”Emma, you don’t have to enjoy everything. It doesn’t make you less fun or more fun. It doesn’t make us not want to hang out with you. Do you understand that?”

”I guess,” she said miserably, and Oliver gave a low hum of disapproval before using both hands to pull her underwear down, exposing her already sore bare bottom.

She moaned and kicked her feet, which earned her a swat to each thigh. “Keep those down, Emma. We aren’t finished. I need you to be a whole lot more sure first.”

Next she felt the cool wood of the spoon and she reached over to grab a fistful of Oliver’s pajama bottoms with her right hand while her left braced her against the floor. He didn’t wait long before he was spanking her with it, sharp and stingy swats all over her backside. She kicked her legs from side to side, but kept them out of the way; she didn’t want her thighs to match her bottom.

She was beginning to regret a lot of things as the spoon fell— asking her friend for weed, for starters. Smoking by herself, for another. And asking Oliver to be in charge of her punishment was currently at the top of her list. He kept Ben under control, for goodness sake! Why had she thought he would be a pushover?

“Let me tell you about my tolerance,” he said as the spoon made contact again and again. “It is very low when it comes to these sorts of antics. You are sweet and fun and funny, and that is all you need to be.”

He laid the swats on hard after he spoke, but only for a moment before he stopped spanking her. Her eyes were wet as she felt him rest his forearms across her back, and she released his pants leg to swipe the back of her hand across her face.

”I am really glad you called me when you got scared last night. And I hope that any time you’re in a situation where you feel scared, you’ll call one of us. Even if it means a sore butt for you.”

She squirmed, both embarrassed and pleased at the praise. He set the spoon down with a clatter on the table and patted her bottom with his hand.

”So, we are clear that you are grounded? And why?”

”Yes, Oliver,” she said meekly. She didn’t care if she never smoked weed again right now. He had been right earlier— she didn’t even enjoy it. And now she wasn’t going to enjoy sitting for the rest of the day.

He pulled her underwear and pajama bottoms up, then had her get up as well. She did so but then immediately sat in his lap, throwing her arms around his neck.

”Shhh, it’s alright,” he said as he rubbed her back. She just needed to be held for a few minutes, and she was happy with how comfortable she felt letting Oliver take care of her. Even if he was, most decidedly, mean. She actually smiled into his shoulder, thinking about commiserating with Ben when he got home.

”Alright, miss Emma, we better go call our boyfriends. I need to let Ben know you survived. He was very worried. You did survive, right?”

Emma giggled and sat up, nodding as she said, “Mostly,” and then, “thank you.”

Oliver smiled and hugged her tightly. “You’re welcome.”

Curfew

Standard

The clock on the dash says 1:23.

You’ve been sitting in the driveway for fifteen minutes, inexplicably white-knuckling the steering wheel and trying to work up the courage to go inside.  You hoped on the drive home that they might be asleep, that some miracle might have occurred to knock them both unconscious moments before curfew, but that isn’t the case.  The house is dim but the living room light is on.  They’re waiting, and it probably isn’t earning you any points just sitting here in the dark.

It suddenly occurs to you that he might come drag you out of the car, and that finally motivates you to unwind your fingers and unbuckle your seat belt.  You step out of the car, locking it as you walk toward the door, two clicks and a loud beep beep.  Even the jingle of the keys seems to echo in the quiet night.  You almost whimper when the door opens, because you know how this is going to end before it even starts.

The tv is on but the volume is muted.  You shut the door and immediately lean back against it, your bottom pressed against the wood and your lip between your teeth.  They’re both home, both awake, and both looking at you.

“How nice of you to come home,” he says, standing and putting his hands on his hips.  He doesn’t question where you’ve been or why you’re late.  He doesn’t care about either.  If you had a good excuse, you wouldn’t have been sitting in the driveway.  She looks even angrier than he does, and your gaze is drawn to the hairbrush she holds.  She notices your eyes widen and says, “I promised you this would happen if you were late again this month, and here we are.”

Your knees feel weak; you press your weight up against the door for support.  “Get over here, now,” he says without sympathy, and then, “I will see to you in your bedroom, after.” His fingers delicately brush the top of the thick leather belt he wears.  Now you really do whimper, looking to his eyes and then hers for any sort of leniency, but you find none.

Growing tired of your hesitation, he takes a step toward you and you startle, then practically run toward them.  You don’t want him swatting your thighs before the spanking even starts.  You wish you could dive over her legs, but she stops you with a look.  Pants down first. She never wastes time on jeans. You can’t help but glance at him as you unbutton and unzip and wiggle free of the denim.  His arms are crossed and he looks… envious?  Oh god, he wanted you first.  Of course she won that battle, though for you it was a lose-lose from the start.

The look in his eyes makes you feel like prey, so you throw yourself over the waiting lap as soon as you’re allowed. You feel her arm encircle your waist and she adjusts you on the sofa to her liking.  She pats your bottom a few times, cups each cheek for a second, and says “I cannot believe how disobedient you were tonight.  After we just talked about this.”  You tighten the muscles of your bottom in anticipation.  You can’t believe it either.  You’re not even sure how it happened.

Her hand lifts and comes down again with a loud smack and she doesn’t stop there.  Somehow her stinging palm and narrow fingers manage to cover your entire bottom as she spanks you, leaving no spot untouched for long.  You yelp and wiggle, try to calm down but she isn’t giving you any time to recover or process the pain. Occasionally she uses her free hand to pull the muscle and fat of your backside taught, and then she concentrates on tender crease between your thighs and bottom.

It is during one of these painful volleys that you finally cry out, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” and you know immediately that this was the wrong thing to say.  She keeps your skin stretched and molds her hand to the same spot, harder than before and you squeal. She does it again to the other cheek. She is relentless. You yell out, “Please!”

”What do you mean, you didn’t mean to?” she says, apparently not willing to be distracted from your initial outburst. “What effort did you make? Did you take any steps to make sure you didn’t miss curfew again?”

You kick your feet, a muffled drumroll on the couch cushion, another “I’m sorry” passing through your lips before you can stop yourself.

”I didn’t ask if you were sorry,” she says, and her voice is so hard that you keep making small mewling sounds, even when she abruptly stops spanking.  You reach your hand back, fingers spread, and lightly touch the hot skin of your round bottom.

You yelp and pull your hand away when a sharp swat lands on your thigh, then you scramble in place as your underwear are jerked down abruptly.

“I asked what steps you took to be good, and I would rather not repeat myself again.” She starts spanking your bare skin and your soft sounds become louder and soon match her cadence. You reach out to grab the small pillow wedged in the corner of the couch, clutching it tightly.  You don’t know what she wants from you. You really did just lose track of time.  You weren’t trying to be bad.

”I don’t know what you mean!” you say, knowing this won’t make her happy but damn sure unwilling to make her ask a third time.

Sure enough, the pain increases as she puts the full and formidable strength of her arm behind the swats. Your cries go up an octave but her voice cuts through them effortlessly. “Did you ask your friends to help you remember to leave?”

”Ahh! No, no ma’am.” Thinking about that makes you blush. What if they asked why it was so important?

”Did you set an alarm on your phone?”

Your face gets even hotter, and your legs seem completely out of your control as they wiggle under her hand.  Well that would have been a good idea. You didn’t even think about that. “No, ma’am!” you manage to reply.

“Did you even have it in your mind that you needed to watch the clock, especially after our last talk?”

You had been thinking about it!  But you can’t even make yourself answer because now you’re thinking about how you were just over her knee a week ago.  How are you here again already?

This time it does seem to be a rhetorical question, though. She stops spanking and picks up the hairbrush, the arm around your waist gripping you tighter and hoisting you up a little.

”No no please no!”

Oh god, is that your voice? It has to be, but it sounds so pathetic. You don’t dwell on it though because she picks up right where she left off, but now it’s wood she’s wielding. “Ow ow ow,” you say over and over again, barely able to keep yourself on the couch.

She’s relentless with the hairbrush, and you don’t know how you’re going to make it through this. “I promise it won’t happen again! I promise! I promise!”

”You promised last time. This time I want you to mean it,” she says harshly, and she’s right, you did promise last time. You meant it then, too, though! The hairbrush hits the spanking-equivalent of a homerun and you howl, but it doesn’t stop her. You start to understand what she said about meaning it. You’ll set alarms from now on. Tell your friends. Just stay home. Whatever it takes to keep your bottom safe from this awful hairbrush.

”I mean it! I swear I mean it!” you squeal, throwing your hand back again despite the risk to your fingers, and she does narrowly miss them. You know because she growls and grabs your wrist and then you find out how nice she’s been so far. Your fingers grasp at nothing, unable to block the hairbrush against her grip on you.  Frantic, your other hand tries for a moment to sneak between your bodies and save whatever little bit of your backside might be left, but it’s fruitless.  The only thing you accomplish is making her mad enough to trap your legs between hers, and then you are done for.  You can’t do anything except for wiggle and wail and take the spanking she wants to give you.

She doesn’t speak for a while after that, just lays into you.  Eventually there’s no place that feels better or worse; your thighs, your sit-spots, your poor swollen bottom… everything aches and she doesn’t even slow down when you start crying in earnest.  She does begin to speak again, though.

“This is not how I wanted the evening to go.  I was so disappointed when midnight came and went and you weren’t home.  I was counting on you to be good.”

Oh no.  You didn’t know you could feel worse but now you do.  “I’m sorry,” you choke out again, burying your face into the crook of your elbow, and this time she says quietly, “I believe you.”

You sob your way through a dozen more swats, the hardest yet, and then she stops and you hear her toss the hairbrush away.  She releases your wrist and you allow your arm to fall limply beside the couch, hand resting on the floor.  Her fingers comb gently through your hair and massage your shoulders, while her other hand runs softly across and around your tender bottom.

“When you agree to our rules, there will always be consequences for breaking them.” Her voice is calm and kind, so different than it was moments ago, as she continues speaking and touching you. You find it more difficult to unhide your face than you would if she was still spanking you.  “But the severest consequences will always come when you don’t even try.  You don’t fall into obedience, little one.  It takes effort.  It takes intention.  Can I expect to see more of that from you in the future?”

You nod into your arm and then yelp and jerk your head up as her hand unexpectedly makes hard contact with your bottom again. “Yes ma’am!” you say, “Yes ma’am. Sorry.”

”No more sorries for me tonight,” she says, somehow sounding as docile as a kindergarten teacher and as firm as a British headmistress all at once.  She guides your head down, so you’re facing the room as she continues to play with your hair and occasionally brush away stray tears from your cheek.  “Save them for upstairs.”

”Ohhhh,” you moan. Oh no. You can’t take any more spanking. Your bottom hurts so much, and you forgot he was up there waiting.  You wonder how long she’ll let you lay here, soaking up the brief respite across her lap, but it’s like she can read your thoughts.

”Time to make things right,” she says.  You groan and bury your face again, and you swear you hear a light chuckle in her voice as she says, “None of that.  You have amends to make.”

How can she be amused?  She’s heartless. Except you don’t really feel that way at all.  You slide to the floor, careful not to let your backside touch anything, and wrap your arms around her, face pressed against the soft roundness of her stomach.  She kisses the top of your head but unwinds your arms much too soon for your liking.

You never even saw him leave but you feel his absence as you look up at her and frown, your cheeks still damp and your eyes filling again. There is a tenderness in her face that was missing before, but it would be a stretch to say you find sympathy there.  You stand, beginning to pull up your underwear but she swats your hands away.  Embarrassed, you place them obediently on the top of your head while she pulls the thin fabric up over your backside. She taps your calf, indicating the jeans are staying off, and you step out of them gratefully.  It will be embarrassing to go up with your bottom so clearly punished, but the thought of denim against your skin is much much worse right now.

She folds them and then hands them to you, and the simple act of having to carry them upstairs before the rest of your punishment makes to you feel small. A sniffle escapes, but she says, “Go on. I’ll see you in the morning.”

”If I make it until morning,” you say mournfully, and she tells you that you will make it until the morning and you’ll survive the rest of the day, too, though sitting comfortably will be out of the question.

Your mouth falls open, and you squeak out “yes, ma’am,” because you don’t know what else to say.  The walk upstairs is longer than usual.  Your backside already hurts so much that you don’t even want to touch it.  Your bedroom is to the right, and the door is ajar; light filters out into the dark hall.  You whimper quietly and look to the left. A mirror hangs at the end of the hallway and you make eye contact with yourself, or at least the pitiful version of yourself that resides there. You glance down and wince. Wow. Your bottom is visibly swollen. You reach down and tenderly prod along the edge of your underwear. The slightest pressure from your own fingertips makes you groan.

”Taking your time once again?”

You jump about a foot and turn away from the mirror. He’s standing in the doorway of your bedroom, his silhouette defined and terrifying.  You scurry down the hall, head down and holding your breath. You know he’s going to swat you when you walk past him and he does not disappoint or hold back. It propels you forward several steps, and then you stop in the middle of the room, holding your jeans awkwardly in front of you.  He walks around you, until he is between you and the bed.  He raises an eyebrow at the jeans, and you clutch them a little tighter, but only for a second, then you put them neatly on the dresser.  You return to your spot, eyes glued to the carpet, feet barely able to stay still, and painfully aware of your lack of pants.

He circles you slowly, and you hear the clink of his belt buckle as he undoes it. Suddenly there is a whoosh of cool air on bare skin—he jerked your underwear down!  You resist grabbing for them but barely, redirecting your hands to cover your face instead. You hear an echoed sound from the cave of your palms and realize it’s you making the noise.  You force yourself to put them back at your sides before he scolds you for it.

His fingers glide over some of the damage, places you know are already bruising.  He pulls them back up, then walks in front of you again.  “She did a number on you, didn’t she?” he says, not unkindly, standing with his hands on his hips and his open belt dangling loosely.

”Yes, sir,” you stammer, unsure of how else to respond.  He grabs the buckle end and whips the leather through the loops, fast and easy and with obvious skill. He’s done this many times before.

He folds it into his hand, then with his free one reaches out and tips your chin up to look at him.  You clasp your hands nervously behind your back as he searches your face.  You aren’t sure what he’s looking for, but you see plenty in his face.  Disappointment. Resignation. Concern, even.  He apparently finds what he wants in yours after a moment because he steps back and removes his hand, though you keep your head up and do your best to look at him.

“Don’t expect me to be lenient because you have already been spanked tonight.  You and I are not square.”

You swallow and nod your head, tears welling up again as it really settles in that you let him down.  He guides you to the bed, and you place your hands on the white duvet cover.  Again your underwear are tugged down, exposing your punished backside, and another whimper escapes. You know you’ve earned this but it is still taking all of your willpower not to run for the door.

”Can we wait until tomorrow?” you say in a small, hesitant voice.

”That sounds reasonable,” he says, and you’re so surprised that you don’t move. Good thing, because a second shock follows, as the thick leather belt he’s been holding lands sharply across your backside and you shriek, “But you just said—“

Another lick lands and you hush; you may be confused but you aren’t dumb. Your knees tremble but otherwise you stay very still.

”Are you telling me,” he says as he delivers another searing lick, “that you don’t appreciate it when I agree to a certain time table and then completely ignore it?”

He follows with half a dozen more fast and hard swats and your eyes are filled with tears again immediately.

”Does it feel good to have your expectations mismanaged like that?” he questions, and another round with the belt.

”No, sir,” you cry out, fingers clutching the bedspread, palms sweaty with the effort as he repeats the process again.

”Does it feel like I respect your time or concerns?”

”No, sir!”  You hate this, you regret everything, you just want to go back in time and be good.

”Does it feel like I respect you?”

“No, sir, I’m so sorry,” you sob.  You didn’t think of it like that before but of course he’s right.  They didn’t arbitrarily give you a curfew.  You needed one, and they gave it to you, and you selfishly ignored the time and energy they spent monitoring your behavior.

His hand comes to rest lightly on your back, a small comfort in the middle of your renewed misery, and he says gently, “I know you didn’t mean to.  I know you didn’t think about it until it was too late.  In the future, though, you will think about it.  You will not be a passive participant in the choices that make up your life.”

You nod, unable to speak, and his hand runs up and down your spine.  You thought for a brief moment that this was just a punishment, a consequence for a broken rule.  Feeling his soft touch alongside his awful belt, you know that it is more than that. He wants you to be better. He expects you to be better.

”Time to finish up,” he says firmly, and his hand is gone again.  You groan softly but tangle your hands in the blanket further and dig your toes into the carpet. You’re determined not to move, to show him that you can be obedient and good.

He doesn’t make it easy.  The belt falls relentlessly, and you do bend your knees and lean forward and push backward.  But your hands and feet stay planted, and you hope that counts for something.  He doesn’t miss a spot, methodically decorating your bottom and thighs with stripe upon stripe.

Your stillness comes at a price—  you wail through the whole thing.  No more soft whimpers, but vocal cries through the pain. Just when you think you’re going to break, his hand returns to the small of your back.  You heave great breaths of air, trying to calm down.  You can’t help but let out a whine as you feel your swollen bottom pulsing with your quickly beating heart.

Teardrops have splattered the backs of your hands, and the comforter looks like a boring Jackson Pollock.  While his one hand remains a comforting weight on your back, the other hands you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.  As you mop up your wet face, he gently pulls your underwear back into place.

You’re still bent over and more tears splash down even as you are trying to clean up. Your bottom hurts so much! It’s never going to feel normal again. Ever.

He sits beside you on the bed and pulls you into his lap. Usually you protest that you are too big when he does this, but you can’t summon the energy this time, and you don’t feel very big anyway now.

He holds you while you cry, murmuring softly and rubbing your back and telling you that you are good and sweet and that he trusts you to be better, that he knows you can be.  His faith in you is overwhelming in itself, and you aren’t sure you are as good as he thinks. You’re sure you will do your best to get as close as you can, though.

When you’re calm, he gives you a few minutes to clean up and  change for bed, then returns to tuck you in.  You appreciate the comfort of the blanket, even though you know you will kick it off again the moment you are alone. Even the weight of the comforter is too much for your bottom right now.

You already feel dozy as he’s walking toward the door, where you notice her leaning against the frame, watching him put you to bed. You smile and she smiles back at you, then reaches over to flip off the light as he throws an arm around her and kisses the side of her head. They aren’t mad anymore. You sigh contentedly, and are half asleep before the door even closes.

Road Trip

Standard

“Out! Out of the car!!”

Danny watched Emma bang on the driver’s side window of the Pontiac behind which they had pulled over at a rest stop. Danny drove a U-haul at the moment, and Oliver was his road trip buddy for this leg of the journey across the country. Ahead of them, Ben had been driving Emma’s car.

They hadn’t planned to take a break here, so the boys were surprised when the blue car suddenly exited. Before the truck had even fully stopped, Emma was out of the car. Danny put the vehicle in park and cracked a window to listen, but he and Oliver decided not to interfere.

“Unlock it!” she yelled again, and Danny saw Ben shoot a reluctant glance at the back window before finally complying. He expected to see his girlfriend continue yelling at his brother without the glass shield, but she opened the backdoor instead.

“Oh!” he heard Oliver say beside him quietly. Danny nodded thoughtfully as he, too, saw the hairbrush in her hand— one Danny knew usually resided in the driver’s side backseat pocket.

Before Ben could think to lock the doors again, Emma had slammed the back door shut and yanked his door open. Danny could see Benjamin practically shrinking as she scolded him. They could hear parts of the lecture.

“…stupid risk… everyone on this highway… ego… what if they had braked? …keep yourself and me safe… totally uncalled for…”

She reached into the car and dragged Ben out by his ear, then commanded “Turn around. Around! …yes, now… no, I don’t care… you should have thought of that earlier.”

”Should we stop her?” Danny asked Oliver, his eyebrows raised at the scene unfolding before them.

”Is there any chance he doesn’t deserve it?” Oliver replied, and Danny gave a shrug of agreement.

He wondered when they would hear the whole story. For now what they saw was Ben’s mortified face, seconds before he turned slowly around and put his hands on the seat he had just vacated. Emma wasted no time before starting, immediately peppering Ben’s bottom with fast swats.

Moments later, he was standing again as Emma demanded he take down his shorts. He seemed to be fighting her a little more about this, even gesturing at the U-Haul with a surreptitious glance at the two men who usually disciplined him.

”Oh you want to talk to them about tailgating at 80 miles an hour?” Emma said loudly, clearly wanting the two men to hear.

Ah, Danny thought, and he could feel his expression hardening. There had been a stretch several miles back where they had lost the car, but he had attributed it to traffic flow. Ben looked over one more time after her question and flinched as he saw two displeased faces; he undid the button on his shorts and got back into position.

Emma yanked them down and immediately restarted her assault on his apparently very deserving bottom. Danny had to admit, he was as impressed as he was surprised. Emma was doing a thorough job. It was perhaps not the spanking he or Oliver would have delivered, but Danny felt sure that the effect was compounded by the embarrassing location. As far as he could tell, they were relatively alone and surrounded by 18 wheelers that afforded privacy from anyone using the main facilities. But still, he did not think Ben would all this an ideal location to receive a spanking.

Before too long, they watched Ben stand again, fixing his clothing before turning around and sitting again. His feet didn’t exactly dangle from the car, but he still looked more like a kid than a recent college grad. They watched as he handed Emma the keys and then sheepishly stood, walking around to the passenger side.

He spared no more glances at the U-haul, but Emma looked back. She shrugged as if to say, “Well, it had to be done,” and Danny grinned back at her before starting the truck.

He suspected Oliver might revisit the topic once they arrived at their Airbnb, but Danny felt no need to insert himself. He turned the radio back up as they pulled onto the highway. He smiled as he gave Emma plenty of room ahead of him. One more day of driving, and they would all finally be home.

Tonight Enough

Standard

“You know that I’m going to spank you tonight, right?”

Edith’s heart immediately began to beat harder and the air seemed dissipate from her lungs. Her eyes widened before her brow knit together and she scowled, then huffed, “I didn’t do anything!” They sat at the small dinner table together, having finished their meal a while ago.

”Who said you did?” Paul answered, nonplussed. “What does your statement have to do with my statement?”

Edith crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “Why—“ she began, and then she waited for the silence to stretch and for Paul to begin responding to say loudly over him, “—are you like this?”

He gazed at her for a moment and then casually put his hands behind his head, fingers interlaced, and said “I promise whatever spanking you think you want to earn right now will be worse than the one I was planning. Make good choices, Edy.”

She glowered, but kept her mouth shut for the moment. She had given him the power to punish or spank her as he saw fit, but she still struggled with it when he decided to do so.

He watched the conflicting emotions flicker across her face and decided not to make her wait.  He scooted his chair back, stood, and walked behind her. Without a word he lifted her chair just enough to move it well away from the table. “Hey!” she exclaimed, swaying a bit and regaining her balance. “You said tonight! It’s still evening!”

”I just decided it’s tonight enough for me,” he said, stepping around and offering his hand to her. She crossed her arms and seemed to shrink as she tightened her body and looked away.

”Edy,” he said, his voice full of warning.  She groaned and still refused to look at him, but finished the frustrated sound by unwinding her arms. Her hands paused a moment to grab the chair and he could see her knuckles tighten around the edge of the seat as she summoned the will to take his hand.

She did it, though, and he smiled and said “Good girl.” She immediately began to pull away, so he sat quickly and used his weight to pull her forward and across his lap. She didn’t feel like a good girl yet, didn’t want him to see her that way. She needed to earn it. He knew how to make that happen.

”Paul!” she yelled as her stomach hit his thighs. She always said his name like that when she was angry, like some sort of ward against whatever he had planned.

”Edith,” he responded conversationally as he flipped her dress up to reveal her pink boyshorts with tiny white polkadots. She kicked her legs but he ignored them as he adjusted her position.

She hated it when he manhandled her, so he took the opportunity whenever he could. He wanted to push her, get this brewing tantrum out before it became any bigger and she earned a real punishment. Neither one of them wanted that but it was the path she would take if he didn’t stop it early.

Her underwear did little to cover her round bottom, at least in this position. He liked not waiting for her to give him a reason to spank her. She hadn’t even been terribly bratty today, though he could tell her temper was fragile. He had already planned to spank her though. He was in a mood himself.

”Alright, young lady, let’s see if you can mind your manners well enough to keep this short and sweet.” He was provoking her and they both knew it. It didn’t stop it from working.

”You are the WORST,” she yelled at the floor. He chuckled and lifted his hand, bringing it down with a loud smack. She gasped and struggled and he pulled her in closer as he continued spanking and she continued yelling and kicking.

”Paul! Paul!! You can stop. I get it,” she said a minute later. She was finding it harder to choreograph her movements: she wanted him to feel how strong she was but the involuntary jerking of her legs made her feel weak.

”What do you get, little girl?” he asked, his steady hand never wavering.

”I won’t have an attitude!”

”You didn’t have an attitude. I could tell you were in a bad mood, but you haven’t been rude or bratty.” He said this as casually as if they were talking over coffee instead of her over his knee.

She pounded his thigh with her fists, just hard enough to make her presence known, and he responded by spanking her even harder. She shrieked and attempted to wiggle off of his lap. He kept her easily in place as he continued to put much of his strength into his right arm. After several dozen swats, he began to speak again.

”I’m spanking you because I want to spank you. I think it will make you feel better and more relaxed after, but that is just a bonus. I think you’ll be snuggly and subby and especially well-behaved after, and I like those things, too. But that is not why.”

He never slowed down as he spanked her, never lessened the power behind the swats, but she managed to stay mostly quiet as he talked. She liked what he was saying; it made her stomach flipflop to feel so out of control.

”I’m spanking you because I like the way you fit over my lap. I like the noises you make. I even like the way you kick and wiggle, although if you don’t tone it down a little, I’m going to reach over and grab a spoon.”

“Sorry! Sorry,” she said, and he could hear the hardness slipping out of her voice. She wanted to be still for him, if she could and if it was what he wanted. She tried really hard, and he didn’t make it easy. He wanted her to feel this well into the night and maybe tomorrow morning, so he put extra effort into her sit-spots and the tops of her thighs.

He enjoyed finding his rhythm, loved the feeling of his stinging palm and her hot skin and her weight against his legs. He liked that he didn’t have to worry about whether she liked it or not— and that in itself was good for her.

By time he was finished, there were raised striations along her thighs and her bottom practically glowed. He flipped her dress back down and allowed her to stand. She jerked the thin fabric back up so she could rub her sore backside, rocking onto the balls of her feet as she did so.

”Oh that was mean,” she said, but her glare had a twinkle that had been missing before.

”Was it?” he said, shaking his hand out a little.

”And I hate you,” she said, finally letting her dress fall back down and trying to right herself.

“You do?” he said, grinning at her.

”No, I don’t,” she said just as casually. “Thank you.”

Paul smiled even more broadly. “You are welcome, Miss Edy. You are very welcome indeed.”

Moving Day

Standard

Emma looked at her feet as she shuffled into the living room in a straight line between Oliver and Benjamin. The three of them stopped alongside the wall, in front of a long defunct fireplace and surrounded by boxes and scattered rolls of packing tape. They turned obediently about-face in the room’s center. Emma bit her lip nervously as she watched Danny move his arms across his chest and survey the three young adults. They’d been packing silently in separate rooms for over an hour. Danny didn’t want to deal with them until they were sober.

Emma glanced at the clock still on the wall and cringed. She couldn’t believe she was sobering up before three in the afternoon. She’d only gotten high a handful of times in her life, and never in the middle of the day and definitely never when she was supposed to be doing something else. It had just seemed so serendipitous, coming across the rolled joint in a glass on top of the refrigerator as she packed up the kitchen.

She’d brought it to Ben with a smirk, and his eyes had lit up mischievously. A friend had left it as a goodbye present for him, and he’d forgotten all about it.

“Oh this is going to make packing so much less boring,” he’d said, and Emma had laughed, assuming he was joking. He hadn’t been, though, and she had to admit that the idea of getting a little stoned sounded fun. She frowned as she thought about what Danny would say. He was out running a few errands, getting more boxes and grabbing take-out for them to eat later. Ben had just graduated, and he and Oliver were moving across the country, back to where Danny and Ben had grown up. They would all be in the same neighborhood now, and Danny and Emma were there to help pack up the UHaul and tow it west.

It had been like Ben could read her thoughts and he quickly said, “Let’s ask Oliver! OLIVER!!!” He yelled his boyfriend’s name suddenly, making Emma cringe and then glare at him. Oliver made his way into the living room from the bedroom and was quickly brought up to speed. Emma had honestly expected Oliver to put a stop to it then and there, but she had underestimated how persuasive Ben could be. She shouldn’t have been surprised; he was Danny’s brother, after all, and Danny could charm the pictures off a wall.

At least Oliver was also worried about Danny’s reaction; it was his first thought, too. Strategy one for Ben was teasing his boyfriend– “Oh come on, you aren’t scared of Danny, are you?” to which Oliver replied with no hint of shame, “Of course I’m scared of him.” Ben had rolled his eyes and Emma had giggled, but she’s also gotten butterflies in her stomach. She was on the same page as Oliver. Ben had switched tactics immediately, instead trying to convince them that Danny wouldn’t care anyway, and he did have a point… or at least, it had seemed like he had a point at the time.

“He seriously won’t! We’re not driving anywhere or going to a fancy dinner or any of the stuff that would get him worked up.”

Ben was probably right about that. If they’d all taken a hit or two and gone back to work, Danny likely wouldn’t have cared. But of course that wasn’t how it had worked out, or they wouldn’t be on the receiving end of an impending lecture, or an impending… Emma didn’t want to think the word, as if somehow that would bring it into being more quickly.

It turned out that it had been a very generous friend who had left the joint, and after only a hit or two of the strong stuff, the three lightweights caught with the giggles. Whatever ideas they had about continuing to work were out the window like the smoke they were blowing.

~   ~   ~

Emma was jerked out of the recent memory and out of line at the same time. She yelped and hopped as Danny’s left hand connected with her seat half a dozen powerful times. His right hand, which had pulled her forward by her bicep, gently guided her backwards and back to her spot. A hot blush rushed up her body, and she could feel the heat radiating off of her face. Her eyes pricked with tears— not at the swats (though she could still feel them), but at the embarrassment of being caught distracted and punished for it in front of the boys.

She dragged her wet eyes up to meet her boyfriend’s face, swiping at the tears quickly as she did so. His eyes were firm but not without sympathy, which helped her meet his gaze. “Pay attention to me please, Emma. You’ve had plenty of time for your own thoughts. Now you get to hear mine.”

“Yes sir,” she said quietly.

On Emma’s right stood Oliver, who had his hands behind his back and nervously rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He was blushing almost as much as Emma, and would later tell her that Dan had said her name three times before swatting her. Ben stood to her right, his arms crossed defiantly in front of him. He alone seemed unsorry, and was more upset by the quick reprimand than she was.

Daniel stood very still, eyeballing each in turn as he considered what to say next. He noticed his brother’s defiant posture and focused his gaze in Ben’s direction.
“Do you have something you would like to say?” he asked.
Ben scowled and kicked at the old hardwood floors. “We still have plenty of time to get everything done.” He kept his eyes pointd toward the toe of his sneaker, glancing up at his big brother’s face only once and regretting it instantly. He doubled down on his sulky attitude, though, as he mumbled “You’re just mad because we did it without you.”

Emma felt her eyes rounding as she heard Ben talk. He was going to get Danny riled up, and they were all going to feel the consequences if he didn’t shut up.
“Benjamin,” came a voice from her right. She watched Danny’s mouth, which had likely been about to say same thing, close thoughtfully. She peeked up to see Oliver looking over her head at his boyfriend, his expression as stern as Danny’s. “Enough. Apologize.”

Emma’s eyes rolled over to Ben, who stood with his mouth gaping, looking like a fish out of water. He looked at Oliver, then at Danny, and back again. “But…” he whined.

“Now,” Oliver said, and Benjamin frowned prettily but said “Sorry, Danny.”

Oliver purposefully turned his attention back to Danny, standing as respectfully as possible and clearly prepared to continue being lectured. Danny nodded and said “Thank you,” though Emma wasn’t sure if he was talking to Oliver or Ben. She guessed both. Ben’s body seemed to visibly deflate as his shoulders sagged. His face lost the challenging expression he’d had as he fully embraced the pouting stage. She turned her attention back to Dan, who didn’t seem interested on dwelling on the exchange.

“You aren’t in trouble for smoking. With or without me,” he said dryly, and Benjamin had the grace to blush now. “You’re in trouble for completely abandoning the job we have to finish today. And you are in trouble for trying to hide it from me when I got back.”

All three of them squirmed at this. It had been an entirely useless attempt at deception. They’d reacted like a bunch of teenagers caught smoking in their parents’ basements instead of like three adults. Emma didn’t know what it was about getting busted passing a joint that made it feel so naughty. They’d heard Dan’s car pull up and had started fanning the room wildly with their arms, as if that would help anything, followed by a completely worthless attempt at acting normal.

Danny had been flustered. Flustered. She hadn’t known that was even possible before today. It hadn’t taken him long to recover, though, that was for sure. He seems to grow taller before their eyes. He wasn’t angry, exactly. Emma had seen angry. This was Danny at his most “oh, really?” as she called it in her head. He saw a problem that needed to be addressed, so here he was to address it.

“Did you get anything done while I was gone?” he’d asked directly, looking around at the half filled boxes and half emptied shelves. He held a plastic bag in each hand, filled with the sub sandwiches he’d gotten them for lunch. Which they still hadn’t gotten to eat.

Clearly they hadn’t, and she—

~   ~   ~

“Emma Grace,” Danny said, jerking her back to reality again. He looked so. mad. She couldn’t believe she’d let her mind wander again. He was going to murder her.

“Sorry, sorrysorrysorry!” she said quickly, as her hands covered her bottom. She resisted the urge to step behind Ben or Oliver, but barely. “I’m listening!”

”I think listening is proving too difficult for you right now. It‘s time for my hand to do the talking.”

Emma hated it when cheesy lines like that made her insides jump. Danny pointed to the corners behind them, one to the left and one to the right, and both currently emptied of furniture. “Oliver. Benjamin.” Emma took a step back. Oh, no. She was first.
Reluctantly, and with sympathetic glances in Emma’s directions, the boys turned toward their respective corners. Danny retrieved one of the old wooden chairs from the dining room and sat facing Emma. He held her in his gaze for a moment, his hands casually resting on his lap before raising one hand and crooking a finger at her.

She bit her lip again, a nervous habit that never seemed to relieve her nerves at all, and slowly shuffled to his side. He reached up, gently tipping her forward and across his lap. She wiggled a bit, settling herself, and he scooched her closer to his middle before resting his hand on her thighs, just below the hem of the dress she was wearing. She knew he wasn’t about to start spanking her that low but she still let out a worried moan. The hand slid up, pushing the thin material up her thighs and across her bottom to rest on the skintight black shorts she wore underneath. His right hand met the left, taking the bunched up material of her dress and moving it up and out of the way. Danny began to speak.

“You’re having an awful lot of trouble listening today, young lady.” The blush on Emma’s cheeks rose anew as he continued, “Not the best strategy for someone about to be spanked.”

”Dannnnyyy,” she whined, covering her face with her hands, effectively hiding from the floor. Her boyfriend patted her bottom affectionately, then adjusted his grip around her waist in a way she recognized.

Sure enough, the first swat cracked down seconds later, propelling her forward. Her hands fell from her face and landed in the floor, fingers splayed as she braced herself against the onslaught. Danny was methodical, covering every bit of her exposed bottom with his hard open palm. Emma was painfully aware of the boys in their corners and tried desperately to remain quiet, but it was a fruitless effort. She squeaked and yipped, unable to hold back her reactions as Danny spanked and lectured her.

”I expect better from you. I want you to have fun but we take care of our obligations first. And you had no business trying to keep up with the boys anyway, young lady. You know what kind of tolerance you have.”

This, for Emma, was the most embarrassing part. She felt like a kid, being reminded that she couldn’t quite hang with the older crowd yet. Danny was right, of course. He and the others all smoked more often than her, not that any of them were judging the others for it.

“You know better than to think you can get your work done and done well after you’ve been smoking.”

She did know better, and she felt like she shrank three sizes as he finished her spanking. As the last swats fell and he pulled up her underwear and shorts and began to rub her back, she knew her bottom must be glowing. He soon guided her back up to standing and stood as well, hugging her and kissing the top of her head. He didn’t wait long though before gently pulling away, cupping her face for a minute before pointing her in the direction of Oliver’s corner.

She stuck her bottom lip out, and he raised an eyebrow at her. That same pretty lip ended up in her teeth again and she turned and scurried toward the corner, but not fast enough to avoid one final loud pop to her now sore bottom.

She yelped and immediately covered her backside, looking back over her shoulder as she quickened her steps. “Come here, Oliver,” she heard Danny say, and she cast her eyes down as she saw him turn. She was so embarrassed by what had just happened and by what was about to happen that she couldn’t risk looking him in the face.

She saw his feet shuffle past hers as she plastered herself into the corner where he had been. She immediately jammed her fingers into her ears and shut her eyes tightly, though little good it did her. Within seconds she felt her wrists being grabbed and her arms being extended and rearranged, placed neatly on the small of her back. Then her dress was being lifted and clasped along with her wrists in one large hand, while the other came down sharply on her spandex shorts.

”Ow! Ow! Sorry! Sorry!” she squealed as he lit her up again.

”Show me how you stand in a corner, young lady,” Danny said behind her— too close behind her, in her opinion. No ill-will toward Ollie, but she wanted Danny back across the room as fast as possible. She snapped her feet together and clasped her hands loosely without moving them from her back when Danny released her arms. Again, her face radiated so much heat that she felt confident she could power a small appliance with the energy.

”Better,” her boyfriend said as she heard him walk back to the chair in the center of the room. “Now, Oliver,” he continued, and Emma could hear the jingle of Oliver’s belt. She cringed. Danny must be taking down his pants. “Let’s talk about some of the choices you made today.”

Unable to cover her ears, Emma heard Oliver groan, knew it was only a matter of time before—

Smack!

—the spanking started. The swats were loud and echoey from her spot in the corner, but not nearly enough to hide the grunts and yelps Oliver was emitting at regular intervals. Or Danny, as he scolded him.

“I expect you to make better decisions, young man. You are well-aware of the schedule we’re on, and what needs to be finished today. It was irresponsible, Oliver, and I expect better.”

The steady sound of Danny spanking what Emma knew had to be Oliver’s bare Read the rest of this entry