Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Another short story

She was curled into her desk chair in what she thought of as her “writing position.”  It looked as though she sat cross-legged in her chair, then pulled her left knee up to her chest and wrapped her arm around it.  Often, as now, she rested her cheek against her raised knee.  Her attention was on her laptop screen, her only movement slow clicks of her mouse or rotations of the scroll wheel.  Her quiet reflection was interrupted by his call from the hallway.

“Elizabeth Nicole Huckleberry!”

Two quick clicks and her computer screen blanked.  In the same moment, her chair spun around and her stockinged feet fell to the floor.

“I wasn't doing anything!” the automatic response was tinged with worry; he did not use her full name if that were true.

He fought back a smile as he leaned on the door frame, “Perhaps not just now, though I have my doubts about that...  Regardless, I promised you a discussion about FetLife, remember?”

“Mike!  It's not my fault you're easily distracted!”

“That is no longer the point, young lady.  My office, now.”

She eyed him speculatively without saying a word.  Her stillness suggested she was considering her options – jump and run or try to wheedle her way out of whatever he had in mind.  He took the decision from her by taking the few steps to her side and grasping her ear.  With that motivation, he had no difficulty propelling her down the hall to his office.  When he released her to close the door, she stepped back and dropped onto the arm of a chair, rubbing her ear.

“That was hardly necessary,” she began, but changed her tactic upon seeing his face.  “Fine, we'll discuss it.  I'll sit here and you,” she waved a hand toward the couch, “sit over there.”

“Haven't I warned you about sitting on my chairs like that?  The arm was not designed for you to sit on.”

With a huff, she flung herself back into the seat, leaving her legs sprawled over the arm of the chair.

“If you want to lie down, we can have this discussion with you over my knee.”

“No,” the yelp was simultaneous with her change in position.  By the time he seated himself on the sofa opposite her, she had resumed her “writing position” in the armchair.

“Now, do you remember what I found on your profile when I first looked at FetLife?”

“Yeah, but I took all that off when you bit...uh, complained about it.  You've seen it!  No identifiable pictures, no personal information...why do we need to discuss it?”

“I've changed my mind.”  Before she knew what he was about he had pulled her from the chair and over his lap.  “We're obviously going to end up in this position anyway.  We may as well begin as we mean to go on.”  Once he was satisfied with her position, he neatly folded her pleated skirt over her back and began peppering sharp swats on her panty-covered bottom.

“I refuse to accept your 'no harm no foul' analysis, Lizzie.  You know better than to put that kind of information up on a website, don't you?”

“I was just playing...”

“Would it have been a game if someone from work had come across your profile?”

“Well, ow, they would have to have logged into the site to find it, right?  So maybe, ouch.”

“Would it have been fun if some stalker had all that information to find you?  Or blackmail you with?”

“I wasn't, ow, thinking of that.  Stop it – I've learned my lesson.”

“Not hardly, brat.  In fact, I think these are getting in the way of your lesson.”  The offending panties removed, he continued his steady spanking.

“Ah...  Mike...  Come on, I fixed it already!”

“The issue is not the current state of your profile; it's that you posted all that stuff to being with!  Plus, the profile was just the tip of the iceberg, young lady.  Do you give any thought to the groups your join or the comments you make?”

“Huh?”  She pushed up and twisted to look at him, seemingly oblivious to his continued smacking of her bare bottom, “What are you talking about?”

His eyebrow rose as he paused to consider his stinging hand, her red bottom, and her apparent lack of concern.  Finally, he shook his head and helped her up, “You can think about it while you stand in the corner.  I want you to think hard about how you would feel about experiencing all the things you talk so blithely about online.  Go on,” he turned her about and nudged her towards the corner, “you may get more than you bargained for, brat.”

She stood in the corner shaking a bit.  Not from the hand-spanking, which had been little more than a warm-up, but from her thoughts.  Her thoughts raced through the discussions she had participated in recently on FetLife.  Mike was right, she had been blithely discussing a number of things she was not keen to experience – certainly not all at once, definitely not right now, and maybe not at all!

Many of her discussion posts had been sparked from reading his stories, but she did not expect that excuse to get her very far.  Other posts involved things she had thought about, but never dreamed to actually attempt.  A few others were outliers – things she had no interest or intention ever to try.  Surely he would gravitate towards the material from his stories, she hoped, though even that would include a number of things she had not intended to experience today.

“Come here, Lizzie.”

She obeyed the summons after taking a quick breath, as she was relieved to leave the corner and her thoughts behind.  He patted his lap and she made a face, “Come on, Mike, you already spanked me!”

“Not nearly enough, brat, and you know it.  But no, sit here a minute.”

She sat on his lap just as though she had not had a sound hand-spanking minutes before, though she did wiggle a bit.  Deprived of her usual position, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and pulled her arms close to her chest.

“You aren't going to do all, all those things I've written about, are you?”

The rumble of his laughter surprised her, “Goodness no, Lizzie.  We haven't hardly enough time for all of them.”

“Ok,” her relief was obvious, but her thumb slipped between her teeth for a moment before she said, “What are you going to do?”

He watched her as she chewed on her thumbnail, waiting until she squirmed before he answered, “First, we are going to discuss the general tone of your posts.”  When she regarded him speculatively, he added, “And your word choice.”

“Ah hell, Mike.  You can't expect me to use perfect grammar online.  And what's the matter with my word choice?  It's just that, choice, isn't it?”

“I certainly can and do expect you to be aware of how your writing reflects on you, Lizzie.  Poor grammar suggests a lack of intelligence or education...neither of which you are deficient.  And you've just demonstrated the word choice I'm talking about, young lady.”

“But it's just online...”

“That just now, Lizzie, was demonstratively not 'just online.'”

She muttered a response that sounded remarkably similar to another of those four-letter words.

“Elizabeth Nicole,” Mike said sharply, “Do you want to repeat that so I can hear it?”  At her frantic headshake, he continued, “And I don't believe  I would be wrong in saying that I am not the only person to discuss this matter with you, am I?”

She looked away and shook her head.

“Tell me, then, what have others tried to break you of this habit?”

“Mostly spanked me,” the response was uttered just above a whisper and around the thumb she worried at with her teeth.

“On your bare bottom?”

“Um huh, and on my palms.”  She tucked her free hand under her armpit as she made the admission.

Mike ignored the unspoken attempt to downplay the second punishment method.  Instead he pulled her hand out and traced the palm lightly with his fingers, “Whose idea was that?  And what did he use?”

“Miss Chris,” came the quiet response, though Lizzie's voice was altered by suppressed laughter as she added, “She used a tawse.”

“No marks?” he took her other hand, gently removing her thumb from her mouth, and gave the palm a similar inspection.

“No, but it hurt like a son-of-a...I mean, it really hurt.”

“And yet you persist...”

“I do not!  See how I just didn't?”

He shook his head, “Simply amazing.  A college education, a J.D. - you're a licensed attorney, even – and your vocabulary begins and ends with four-letter words.”

“Does not!  You're just being mean.”

“I haven't even begun to be mean, young lady.  That will wait until after your switching.”

“My what?  You can't!”

“Of course I can.  You don't want a caning instead, do you?”

“I don't know, do I?  I'm not in the position to compare the two.”

At that he laughed, “Which haven't you tried, then?  You write convincingly enough about both.”

“I am well read,” she said, neatly avoiding the question.

“If you aren't going to tell me, you may end up with a comparison.”

“That's hardly fair – obviously whichever you do second will be worse!”

“Both it is, then.”

“No, no, no!  Mike, please!  I was only teasing.  I've never been switched.”


“Honest, Mike...please.  Canes are easier to travel with, I guess.”

He lifted her off his lap and fished a pocketknife out of his pants.  She took it with a quick, “Was that what I felt?  I thought you were just happy to see – ow!”

“Get going, brat.  You had better pick out half a dozen or so – since we are experimenting here.”

“Half a...six?  Are you out of your mind?”

“No more than you are, Lizzie.  You are the one digging the hole when you are already plenty deep...”

“But Mike...I dunno what I'm supposed to be looking for...”

“You are well read, remember?  I have every confidence that you can pick out something appropriate.  Now go,” he pointed to the door, “If I have to pick them out, I will use every last one until it breaks.”

As she opened the door, he heard a distinct “Fuck that” from her lips.  He could only roll his eyes and shake his head.  Lizzie pushed buttons, enjoyed the consequences, pushed a few more buttons, and generally came out grinning; but he knew that if he pushed himself, she would sit carefully for at least few hours.  And while she was always affectionate and grateful after a spanking, the further he pushed her, the greater the reward.

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