Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.
I should have known goodbye wasn’t goodbye, that she’d stroll back into my life just as casually as she had strolled out. I should have, but I didn’t. It still hit like a punch to the gut to see her there, flirting with some young sap. He’d buy her drinks all night if she let him, and she would let him. She always let them.
She couldn’t see me, and I didn’t want to be seen. Not yet. She and I, we had unfinished business. If I had my way, it would be resolved tonight. I watched her from behind the bar, the bar I had been tending for months now, after fighting with the owner about it fiercely. He didn’t think it was proper, but I could mix a better than good drink and keep the patrons under control, and he needed that in a place like this. He didn’t think my pants were proper either, but here I was.
She didn’t wear pants, would have said it wasn’t proper herself, but she liked my look just fine and I liked hers. She wore a red dress tonight, red like her lipstick. Her laugh tinkled up over the piano keys and I found myself smiling. I served the boy drinks when she sent him to fetch them, and he really was a boy, just barely of age to be here at all. He was going to be mighty disappointed later, but for now he grinned as I handed him the martinis. On a whim I put three olives on a toothpick, plunked them into what I hoped would be her drink. She liked them dirty and so dry you could barely look at the vermouth before sending it out. I knew how she liked her liquor. I knew how she liked a lot of things.
The last time I’d seen her, things had been fiery. She’d found love letters. Old ones. Forgotten ones. Love letters in a shoe box from a woman back in the States, a woman with a husband and two children now, a woman I remembered fondly and that was all. But she was torn all to pieces about it, and in the end she left because of it. I kept waiting for her to come back, but she was stubborn. Too stubborn for her own good. She knew the letters were nothing, but she was scared of what was happening between us and she took the first excuse she found to run.
I’d waited up all night for her, but she didn’t come back. My thoughts chased themselves like dogs on a false trail, up one wrong tree after another. Worry, anger, hurt, resentment. Everything that could happen to that girl out in the world would cross my mind and I’d feel a panic rising up, then I’d remind myself that she was fierce and strong, no matter how delicate she looked. That would send me down an entirely different path, thoughts of what I planned to do to her when she came back. I’d make sure she didn’t doubt me so easily next time. She would know I belonged to her just like she belonged to me, and there was no two-ways about it.
That opportunity never came, though. She didn’t come back, not that night or the one after. And now here she was, laughing and flirting, acting as pretty and carefree as she had been the night I’d met her. I watched her pick up her toothpick, swirl it lazily around the glass. She turned, not quite looking over her shoulder, just keeping herself in a perfect profile as she opened her red lips and took the bottom olive in her teeth. It was sensual and deliberate, and I couldn’t look away. She knew I was watching. She must have known I was here, or had some inkling, and now she knew for sure. She always was a tease.
I was teasing her, too, I guess, hiding in the shadows like I was. It was the nicest thing I planned to do to her tonight, at least for a good while. See, I never blamed her for leaving. I was angry, sure, but she was a passionate woman. It’s what passionate women do. You don’t get to pick when the volcano erupts, and you’ve got to expect it at the wrong time some time. She was used to batting her pretty lashes at any man she saw and he’d just fall all over himself to do her bidding. She was royalty among us and she knew it, and it bored her.
I never bored her. I watched those same pretty eyes fill with tears, fill with longing, fill with whatever I wanted to see in them. I’d make her beg for the smallest thing and then still say no, just to hear her beg some more. We filled our nights with lovemaking, and sometimes our days, too. It wasn’t that I couldn’t be tender, but I made her work for it. Every time.
Tonight would be no different. I was already stripping her in my mind. I hadn’t seen her in six long months… there wouldn’t be a mark on her.
There had better not be, anyway.
I wiped down the bar, more to occupy my hands than because it needed cleaning. Slow crowd tonight. Not a lot of orders to fill. Too much time to watch the clock. Too much time to think.
I got off at 11. For all the arguments I’d won, I’d lost to working the late shifts. The boss couldn’t stomach me walking home at any later an hour and I can’t say I was keen on it myself. I handed off my rag to Gus. He’d shut everything down in a couple hours. I hung my apron by the door. I took a quick look into the lady’s room to color my lips and pinch my cheeks. When I wore lipstick, I chose to be dark, like wine too nice for a place like this. I couldn’t sling drinks with these lips. She always called them scary.
I waited in the back, keeping my eyes on her. I’d caught her checking on me a few times as the night went on, glances less subtle than she realized, once you knew what she was doing it. I watched until she grew nervous that I had gone, that her plan hadn’t worked after all.
It had worked, alright. She’d spun her web and I had fallen right into it. She had forgotten that I was a spider, too.
When she finally made her way up to the bar, I made sure the man behind the counter was distracted before he could serve her. The drunkards outside are easy to rile up, so I riled ’em. Gus was breaking them up when she came looking for him. She had to ask. I could see it in her face.
She was just out of sight of her companion, on purpose I was sure, at the edge of the bar. He was one of three patrons left this late, and they all seemed occupied. I left the back room where I had been watching and came up behind her. With shocking familiarity, my right hand wound up the back of her head, until my fingers were entwined in her locks. I closed my fingers and she was mine, a gasp escaping her lips before she could stop it. I felt her try to turn, and I tightened my grip. I made her face forward. I put my lips close to her ear.
“If you don’t tell that boy goodnight and follow me out the door, I’ll spank your bare ass right here in the bar,” I whispered. I tugged her head back. Forced her to look up. Emphasized that I was serious. I’m sure she believed me.
I meant every word.
I pulled her off the chair and pointed her back toward her table before I let go. She must have wanted to look back and see my face desperately, but she had her pride. I saw the boy’s face fall. Sorry, kiddo. Better luck next time.
Finally she turned around and we made eye contact. She was suddenly shy. She bit her bottom lip and her eyes were worried. I held out my arm and the fear ebbed. She reached me. She smiled. She threaded her arm through mine. “Fancy getting out of this dump?” she said to me.
“I’ve got some place quiet we can go,” I replied.
The walk was quiet. I thought I had a lot of questions for her, but I seemed to have forgotten them all. She might have felt the same way, but I couldn’t tell. I only lived a few blocks away, in an apartment too nice for a bartender. I didn’t work because I needed to.
I just liked that bar.
It was in the elevator that I decided to let her know how the night was going to go, if she had not already surmised. Alone and on our way to the top floor, I pressed myself against her, my breasts to her back. I wound my right arm around her body, under her right arm and up so that my forearm rested against her right breast and my fingers curled themselves delicately around her throat. I pulled her back so my lips were again speaking directly into her left ear.
“Strip. Find your spot. Stay in position until you are called.”
I felt the bob of her throat as she swallowed, a quick sensation against my fingers. Her hesitation meant she was contemplating rebellion, and my grip tighten just the smallest amount. There were nights she could put up a fight, a good fight, and we’d enjoy the struggle for power, even knowing how it would end. I wasn’t going to allow that tonight, and she’d do herself a favor knowing that early on.
“I will,” she said.
I slid my hand down, slowly, winding it back to my own body just as the elevator dinged. I slid open the doors, ushered her out as I retrieved my key from my pocket, and then we walked into my apartment and directly to the bedroom. The back wall was all window, covered now by a sheer cream colored curtain. It let the light in during the day and would be casting a magnificent silhouette of the sexiest woman in Morocco just moments from now. I tipped my imaginary hat to anyone lucky enough to glance up at this late hour. You’re welcome, neighbors.
I used to put her in corners, and still would if I had an inkling, but once I’d put her against the curtain on impulse, and her eye had gone wide with the command. “But the people–” she’d stuttered, and I was grinning wickedly before she could get the thought out. “If you didn’t want people to see you being punished, you shouldn’t have misbehaved,” I’d told her then.
I used the same line now, or something similar, and I knew her face was hot with embarrassment as she took off her dress, and then her slip, and then her brassiere. She knew that I wanted to remove her underwear myself and that I didn’t mind her heels. The white panties that clung to her round bottom were another sign of her scheming tonight. They appeared to cover a fair amount until one saw the intricate lacy pattern that left plenty bare. I knew she wouldn’t be caught dead out of the house in these if she wasn’t sure someone would be there to strip them off later. She was too proper about that sort of thing, would have considered it naughty.
I watched as she took her position, nose an inch away from the curtain, hands behind her head, red heels spread a foot apart, ass out. I took my time sorting myself out behind her, lecturing as I unbuttoned my cuffs and rolled up my sleeves. “You were gone too long, little girl. Much longer than I prefer.”
I found a clip for my hair and secured it at the nape of my neck. I wanted it out of the way. “I don’t like when my things disappear. Even when they are upset.”
I didn’t hold it against her now that she was here, but she’d want to atone for it or we’d be stuck on it forever. I knew my girl. And I didn’t need any encouragement to indulge her. I planned to enjoy every second. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Her knees shook a little. I was glad she was nervous. She said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
I opened the bureau and pulled out a leather paddle that was old and supple, and a thin whippy cane. I eyed her almost naked body and traded the paddle for a riding crop, then put both on the bed. “I’m sure you were sorry weeks ago. But you picked your pride over your happiness and sacrificed both for me in the process. And I just can’t have that.”
“Please,” she began, starting to turn, but she caught one look at the expression on my face and adjusted herself quickly, back in position. I picked up the crop and popped it quick and hard on her left cheek. “I did not tell you to turn,” I said as I snapped it down again, this time on her right cheek, “and it is too early to beg.” I walked around her, watching her face as I continued to bring the sharp little rectangle down, scattering the swats all across her lace-covered backside and thighs, sometimes letting lighter ones dance around her hips and the front of her thighs. I watched her face tighten along with the muscles all up and down her body as she took in the pain. “Take three steps back,” I said, and she complied.
I walked a full circle around her, letting my eyes roam and the end of the crop trace a path around her belly. I felt my body react to the sight of her, but ignored it for now. We would have time for lovemaking. Now was time for repentance. When I was behind her again, I tossed the riding crop away and reached up, grasping her wrists. I guided her arms out and then bent them again as I placed her hands firmly on the small of her back. I kept them secured with one hand while the other tangled itself in her hair again. I pulled her back toward the bed, making her walk backwards. She hated feeling clumsy and out of control, and stumbling back on her heels would make her feel both.
I released her at the bed, then walked around to stand in front of her again. She glared at me. I looked into her defiant eyes and smiled. She couldn’t stay defiant long, not looking down at me fully dressed and her past halfway to naked and already warmed over with more to come. I looked right into her pretty eyes as I reached down and unbuckled my belt. There were plenty of reasons for a woman to favor pants, and it had been worth the ridicule for me just about as soon as it was my own choice to make. I discovered the pleasure of removing my belt as a nervous woman watched early on, and it quickly became my number one reasons. I liked the way she bit her lip more than I liked pockets and riding bicycles. I liked the sound it made when I slid it through the loops, and the loud clink in the quiet room as I folded it over.
“Turn around,” I said, and boy did I like the way she looked when she did that. She put her perfect legs together and bent, placing her hands on the bed. I stepped to the side and steadied my arm, tapping the belt lightly across the roundest part of her waiting bottom, and then I brought it down. She wiggled her ass in those lacy underwear and I brought it down again. I kept bringing it down, lick after lick on her poor heating backside. She fidgeted and squeaked but kept her hands and feet planted. I relished the smacking sound, the way the leather whipped down and striped her.
I could have kept going like that all night if the desire to strip her hadn’t overcome me. I tossed the belt on the bed beside her, then slid my fingers under the band of her white lace lingerie, sliding them slowly down her hot round bottom, down her thighs, squatting to bring them to her ankles. “Step out,” I said, and she did. I lingered down there, looking up and enjoying everything I saw. She realized what I was doing and shuffled her legs together without thinking, embarrassed. I stood, put a steadying hand on the small of her back and inserted my right foot between hers and kicked them wide apart. “That wasn’t a wise move, now was it?” I teased her.
“I didn’t mean–” she began, but I hushed her with the crack of my palm on her now exposed ass. “Doesn’t matter and you know it. This is the price you pay for disobedience.” I hadn’t planned to use my hand much but the curve of my palm felt so wonderful against the curve of her bottom that I brought it down again. I stepped to her side and wrapped my arm around her waist so I could spank her sincerely. She kept those red shoes nice and far apart, though her knees kept bending and I could hear her breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts. My palm stung as I brought it down, and I liked the feel of it. I let my hand curl around each cheek and let my fingertips dapple the inside of her tender thighs.
“Pick up the belt,” I said when I was finished, intending to complete the whipping I’d started. It lay limp and tangled on the covers beside her hand, but she bent forward and took it daintily between her teeth, letting it dangle as she twisted to deliver it to me. She was being cute, and I grinned in spite of myself. She always knew how to get me.
I had it doubled back over in no time, but this time I swung it lazily down, letting it whap across the span of her bottom. I kept going for a long time, steadily, slowly, patiently upping the ante every minute or so, bringing the belt down harder and harder, but never faster. She began to shift her weight from foot to foot, a little twitch here and there, which gave way to a bend in her knees. A little harder, and I knew every inch of her ass was on fire as each lick overlapped layers and layers of swats.
“Please,” she finally let out, but I didn’t give any indication of how much I liked hearing that. I began to put my entire body into the swing and soon that “please” was followed by an “I’m sorry,” which I ignored, too. She was going to feel this spanking well into the week and she was going to remember it forever. I needed to make some things clear once and for all, for her sake and mine. I continued to crack the belt down as I saw her twisting the blankets in her manicured hands. Finally, when the exertion was causing my own breath to come up short, I stopped. The silence was abrupt and jarring, but broken quickly by the clinking of the belt buckle as I dropped it on the floor and said “Never again.”
A sob escaped her throat. I stepped up and ran my hot fingers up her thighs and across the bruised skin of her bottom, and she moaned and shifted her body even at the gentle touch. “You hear me?” I continued. “Never. Again.” I swatted her hard.
“Never again! I promise. I swear. I’m yours,” she said desperately. I swatted her other cheek and said “Again.”
“I’m yours!” she said, her body rocketing forward. I found myself unsatisfied, and decided to turn and grab the oval hairbrush that stayed on my nightstand. I threw my left arm around her waist and secured her body against mine roughly before bringing it down hard and repeating, “Again.”
She screamed and said “I’m yours!” as her heels finally left the carpet, so that I supported much of her weight. I was filled with adrenaline and more than capable of bracing her body against mine, and I didn’t hesitate to repeat the entire process. I kept at it, offering her less and less recovery time between each command and answer. When she reached her right hand back on the tail of an especially loud and pitiful cry– “I’m yours!”— I threw my foot up on the bed frame and pulled her body over and across my knee. Her hands were splayed on the bed still as her stomach pressed against my thigh. Her feet now dangled helplessly and the skin of her bottom was taught.
“Again,” I said sternly, followed with the wooden hairbrush kissing her skin once again. She kicked her feet, frustrated with her sudden helplessness, and I brought it down again and harder and she screeched and answered finally. I began to lay into her, determined to spank every last ounce of resistance out of her, and her feet began to kick in earnest as she cried out over and over again, “I’m yours! I’m yours! I’m yours!!!”
I didn’t stop until her crying made it too difficult to make out her words. I tossed the brush and looked at her bottom, listening to my labored breath and her tears as I traced the bruisy lines that had formed in patches across the delicate skin of her backside and thighs. “You’re mine,” I said finally, and another large sob shook her.
I shifted her body again, releasing her wrist and patting her at the bend of her hip so that she took her own weight and slowly resumed her position: arms and legs straight, ass out, feet spread. “Good girl,” I said. I walked around the bed, grabbing the cane and placing it in front of her as I bent over, putting one hand on the bed to support myself and using the other to tip her chin up. Her mascara was running, making her beautiful eyes look smoky and sad. I watched a tear drip off the tip of her nose as she looked up at me. “Twelve,” I said, and she groaned and shut her eyes tight. I didn’t say anything, but I hardened my expression and waited for her to accept it. When she did open her eyes and look into mine, she cringed and then said meekly, “Yes, ma’am.”
I nodded, standing and picking the cane up again. I returned to the other side of the bed and readied myself, tapping it lightly against the top of her bottom. She whimpered but I brought it down anyway, hard but not near as hard as I could, and not at the top of her bottom– it landed perfectly across the crease of her thighs and backside. There was an audible increase in her crying and it took her almost thirty seconds to get back into position. I brought it down again just a bit higher, and again. The sixth lick was at the top, and you couldn’t see any new marks on the canvas of her bottom, but I knew how much they hurt.
The seventh swat was searing, much hard and in the same spot as number six. She buried her face in the blanket and stomped her left foot against the floor several times, trying to take the pain. I made my way down, each stroke matching one from before, but she took them all and I was proud of her for it. I put the cane back in the closet, then grabbed a handkerchief from my night table. When I was across from her again, I leaned down and rested my elbows on the bed, extending my hands toward her and pressing my forehead against hers. She latched her arms around mine, both of us gripping each other for a moment. My nose became wet from her tears.
Eventually I loosened myself, though I kept holding onto her with my left hand. With my right, I gently dabbed her face, watching the white hanky became smeared with her tears, black makeup, and red lipstick. Then I folded it over, exposing a still fresh back side of it, and tucked it into her palm before gently urging her forward. “Lay down, baby,” I said, and she scooted forward and let her belly lie on the bed. I stroked her hair as I reached past her to grab a small container of scented lotion from the beside. I crawled onto the bed and sat beside her, cross legged, so that my knees pressed up against her side. I dipped my fingers into the cool white lotion and then brought them to the hot skin of her backside. She winced as I smeared it, and pressed the handkerchief against her mouth.
I cooed over her, rubbing her back and praising her. Eventually I put the lotion away and laid down beside her. She put her head on my chest and wound her arms around me, throwing a leg across mine. I held her tight to me, both of us laying wrong-ways across the bed and not caring. It felt good to be holding her again. I kissed her forehead, and felt the soft way her lungs rose and fell against my body. I gazed down at her naked body and swollen ass and bruised thighs, carefully positioned to not touch the bed at all. An ache for her settled into my body, but I ignored it. There would be time to sate that need as well. This… she… had been worth waiting for. I knew she would make it up to me when she drifted out of this beautiful lazy space she floated in now. I knew it would also be worth the wait.