Monday, May 30, 2011

Update for June 2011

It’s that time again. If you guessed that means I’m doing something different again, well, you know me too well and should probably take a break from reading this blog. Don’t worry, I won’t be mandating a break, in fact, for those who like visiting multiple times a week, I’m going to give you a reason to do it other than re-reading Monday’s post. Yes, you read correctly. ITS will now be posting more than one time a week. Isn’t that amazing? Just say yes, or nod your head and nobody gets hurt.
As of June 1, 2011 I will be posting a new part from my latest story, three, yes that’s right, 3 times per week. Start the fireworks, turn up the music, and dance like the world is going to end. If you’re into Rapture predictions, we’ve only got until October 21 and if the Rapture isn’t your thing, the Mayans only gave us until December 21, 2012, so in short, the end is near anyway. Okay, the world probably won’t be ending anytime soon, but that’s no reason not to throw a party when world altering events happen, like yours truly posting a full 3 days a week. It’s okay, you can jump up and down and it’s unlikely anyone will see you.
After very careful consideration and hours of debate, I chose three very special days of the week for this prestigious honor. Obviously, Monday had to be included. That’s been the day for some time in which hordes of spanking inclined readers congregate on ITS to enjoy the latest salacious words from my keyboard. And of course Friday had to be included as well seeing as that was the original posting day when ITS first began. For the third day, I flipped a coin, created a hugely complex algorithm, prayed in all four directions of the globe, consulted a psychic, trekked to the farthest corners of the Earth, and meditated while standing on burning coals. The answer seemed obvious and so I checked and rechecked myself until finally I settled on the humpiest day of the week, Wednesday.
To recap, ITS will now be posting three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. How long will this miraculous feat continue? If God knows, he isn’t talking, but if you ask me, and I know I’m not God or even a fallen angel, I would say it should last until the end of June at least. Why the end of June? Well the obvious answer, and the correct one by the way, is that I have a story all planned out and fitted perfectly for three days a week posting through the end of June.
For the insanely curious and anyone else who would just like to know, the new story is called When Becky Came. She’ll be arriving on June 1, 2011, although her own calendar might be subtracting 32 or 33 years. Don’t worry, she’s not a time traveler, just a brat. And we all know ITS readers love brats.
We’ll see how things go, how many people enjoy stopping by three times a week and reading the slightly shorter bits of story, and take it from there when it comes to July. So, please let me know if you love the new format, hate the new format, or just wish I’d shut up.

Hugs,
Ash

ps. Happy Memorial Day!

Monday, May 23, 2011

Choosing The Implement

Decisions, decisions. For the spanker the quandary can often be simplified by the offense committed, the number of times said offense has been committed and the attitude of the spankee in waiting. However, this is not the decision being discussed here. Today, the topic, and the choice, is when the spanker decrees it time for the spankee to make the fateful choice as to which implement will soon be impacting their very own buttocks. And should it seem a simple choice, then the choice has not been properly orchestrated.
The first step in crafting a truly difficult decision is limiting the options. Speaking purely in terms of a disciplinary situation, the spankee will opt for a wet noodle if the option is left on the table. For best results the spanker should select between two and three implements which the spankee will then have the pleasure of selecting one. If possible, the spanker should also avoid leaving a spankee’s preferred implement in the mix unless its selection can be discouraged in some manner that makes it less preferred than normal.
The second step is to ensure that the selection only makes a difference in the mind of the spankee and not in the effectiveness of the discipline. This is to say, not all implements are created equal and political correctness aside, they should not be treated equally. For example; Given an option between 10 swats from a small leather paddle or 10 swats from an oak sorority-sized paddle, the leather paddle would win out 9.99999999 times out of 10.  However, the decision can be complicated if the number of swats from the leather paddle are increased by triple and an additional stipulation of the leather paddle being applied to bare buttocks whereas the wooden paddle would be applied over clothing. On the other hand, a hole-drilled, blister-inducing wooden paddle versus a thick, welt-raising cane offers a relatively even choice. Either way, the spankee isn’t going to be sitting comfortably without an over-stuffed pillow.
The third step is to limit the time in which the spankee has to make the decision. A minute or two is sufficient in most cases although it can be an interesting dilemma to leave a spankee considering while serving a little pre-spanking corner time as well. The more time a spankee has to consider the options can be a good thing in terms of increased anxiety, but without a hard limit with consequences (like getting spanked from all) the spankee can effectively put off the decisions, in effect lowering their anxiety, until the spanker takes back control of the situation.
The fourth step is to keep the spankee guessing about the spanker’s intentions. It may comes as a surprise to some spanker’s, but if the spankee can be certain their choice will result in a lesser punishment, they will choose it. But, if the spanker never makes it clear whether the spankee’s choice will result in a spanking from the chosen implement or a spanking for the un-chosen implement(s), the spankee will further complicate their choice by considering the possible results. It’s best if the spanker avoids any detectable patterns in how they proceed following the spankee’s choice, but at the very least they should attempt to establish a pattern that goes beyond a mere three or four occurrences.
Giving the spankee a choice in implements is good way to engage them in the disciplinary process. When the choice is arranged properly, it becomes less about how little discomfort they can escape with and more about what they deserve. This type of thinking will erode much of the resistance a spankee might display and helps them to mentally assign the blame for the discomfort of the spanking on their own shoulders, where it belongs. Involving the spankee in the implement decision process is an especially valuable tool for spankees lacking acceptance for their discipline despite needs to the contrary. It should be noted that such individuals may initially need additional motivations (extra swats, harsher implement, longer corner time, less protection in the way of clothing, writing lines, exercises, chores, etc.) to push forward and make a decision.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

The Fetching

The paddle, solid stained oak with a contoured handle and a three inch wide by fourteen inch long business end, hung from the wall by way of a small brass hook catching the leather loop extending from a tiny hole in the paddle’s handle. For guests it appeared a prominent curiosity in the home’s family room, where it rested on display. Few would mention it and fewer still would acknowledge its unconcealed purpose without the mask of humor. However, to the young ladies in residence the displayed paddle harkened no memories of joy or laughter. It served first and foremost to remind them of the consequences befallen to those who would dare break the house rules.
On the sad occasion a young lady did break the rules, she would be called forth to the study. Her hands would sweat clasped together behind her back while butterflies swarmed in her stomach. She would stand in the center of the room, head bowed in a sign of respect or at the very least, regret at being caught. The booming words of a well conceived lecture would rattle her ears and in some, elicit tears. And at the conclusion, she would be sent to fetch the paddle from the family room, knowing full well that upon her return it would be used on her quivering bare buttocks.
She blushes upon leaving the privacy of the study. Her lower half is already naked, exposed to the slightest glance of any in her path. A mere twenty paces to the paddle and twenty paces back to the study feel like miles. Each step may as well have been on hot coals for all the pain she feels dodging the judging stares, knowing smiles, and taunting snickers of friends, family, enemies, and strangers who line the fringes of her path. The paddle itself taunts her as she struggles to lift it free of the hook where the leather loop inevitably catches and refuses to let go easily. She will breathe deeply, tuning out the audience, focusing on the task without acknowledging the future it bodes. Only when her hands steady from their trembling will the paddle come free, but even then her heart beats with a shudder and pounds deafening blood into her ears. It is good though, because the final steps go quicker.
Finally, paddle in hand, she returns to the study and its privacy. She returns to her former place in the center of the floor. Her gaze fixes on the wood held in her hands and she lifts it out in front of her. The paddle is offered by gesture. Her throat constricts around the expected words and her mouth runs dry. The careful eye would notice the tremor in her outstretched hand, the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the glimmer of a desperate plea for leniency twinkling in her eyes. Silence settles on the room, on the entire house and she says, “Please, may I have my spanking now.”

Monday, May 16, 2011

Fetching The Implement

It may hang on a nail or a hook. Perhaps it is displayed in prominence like decor on a wall or a knickknack resting on a shelf. Or maybe it hides behind a closet door, inside a cupboard, or lays innocuously inside a drawer. Wherever it is, it is not in the hand of the one of who will use it nor the hand of the one who will receive it. It must, therefore, be fetched by one or the other. We are of course speaking about the dreaded implement.
The fetching of the implement is a time-honored tradition in many households. While the location of the implement and the implement itself may vary greatly, the miscreant in these homes is always well aware of its existence and locale. And they know without doubt when the time comes, they will be sent without hesitation to bring it forth. From their own hands it will be offered to the one who will use it. It is an act of ceremony, respect, and obedience.
A spanker may have many reasons for having their subject retrieve the implement for their spanking, but few would argue that above all, the act sets the tone of what is to follow. The spankee who fetches their own implement may do so under protest and yet in the end they have cooperated and when the implement leaves their hands for the hands of the spanker, the spankee has in effect given their consent. This act’s importance cannot be overstated because it establishes an acceptance of the forthcoming spanking, perhaps reluctant acceptance, but acceptance nonetheless. It is therefore understood between spanker and spankee that once the implement has been fetched, a spanking will ensue and the time for arguing and resisting has passed. In essence, the fetching of the implement sets an atmosphere of calm, controlled, and planned discipline.
The procedure itself may have a near infinite number of variations. Some of the popular possibilities include;
    • Fetching the implement prior to corner time and keeping it until called forth from the corner.
    • Fetching the implement prior to a lecture which ends with the implement changing hands.
    • Fetching the implement just after a lecture and leading immediately into the spanking.
    • Fetching the implement just after corner time and leading immediately into the spanking.
    • Fetching the implement in an altered state of dress. (ie. bottom bared, wearing undergarments only, bare foot, naked, etc.)
    • Fetching the implement by way of crawling to and from its location.
    • Fetching the implement and returning it to the spanker, balanced on the spankee’s head.
    • The spankee may be required to ask permission to fetch the implement.
    • The spankee may be required to ask for their spanking before completing delivery of the implement to the spanker.

Often, though not always, the fetching of the implement is reserved for a singular implement in the spanker’s repertoire. In these cases it is typically one of the more fearsome choices such as a large wooden paddle or a thick cane, but it can truly be anything from an ordinary cooking spoon to an elegant hairbrush and beyond. Whatever the choice, the spanker can rest assured their spankee will view the implement they are sent to fetch as noteworthy. Perhaps it is because of the tactile connection established by holding and carrying it or maybe it is due to the extended contemplation of the impending spanking while traversing the distance to and from the implement’s home. Though it may not be the most severe implement choice available, if it is the only one they are ever sent to fetch it will take a special place in the thoughts of the spankee as a thing to be avoided.
In general, sending the spankee to fetch the implement of their spanking heightens anticipation and enhances acceptance. Those spankees who are given to fits of resistance will benefit the most from this ritual while none will suffer adversely from the added benefit of longer contemplation prior to the first spank. For spanker’s, the extra time is useful to collect thoughts, calm any agitation, and focus on the specific goals of the coming discipline they are about to impart on their spankee.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Motivating Factors

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The others filed out of the conference room. Their smirks and hushed commentary left little doubt they knew what would occur behind the closed door once they were safely gone. Amelia ignored them, choosing instead to stare at the plain finish of the table top. The grain flowed naturally from left to right and the surface felt cold and smooth beneath her folded arms. She raised her eyes when the door slammed closed leaving her alone with him.
Mr. Kingsley opened the matching cabinet on the far wall. He glanced back toward Amelia and said, “Turn your chair around and kneel on the seat.”
She looked at the back of his head, turning too late to catch his eye. The moment had been building for three weeks. Unspoken arguments circled around behind her eyes while she debated whether to obey or leave. In the end, she pushed back from the table and stood, turning her chair around so that its cushioned back rested against the sharp edge of the conference table. She felt foolish kneeling on the seat. Her hands grabbed on the top of the chair’s back, growing clammy and damp with sweat.
He closed the cabinet and turned around. Amelia tried not to look at the paddle in his hand and instead focused on the open collar of her boss’ shirt. Even without a tie he exuded professionalism and confidence. It was the set of his shoulders, the lack of passion in his cheeks and the straightness of his back that made him seem bigger, taller, and more powerful than he truly was in reality. She saw an imposing figure of authority looking her over and judging her. He was more than a man and she trembled in his presence, even without the paddle in his hand.
“Lift your skirt,” Mr. Kingsley said.
Amelia swallowed the last remnants of saliva in her drought stricken mouth and looked away from her boss. The filtered sunlight shining through the drawn white shades became a conical spotlight illuminating her embarrassment for his eyes. Her knees trembled in the seat cushion and her fingers stiffened until they felt mechanical. She let go of the chair back and tugged the hem of her skirt upward, exposing her naked thighs and pink panties to his view. The mere act transformed her physically and mentally from a professional sales associate to a naughty little girl.
The leather felt cool through her panties when he held the paddle against her buttocks. She leaned forward until her hands rested flat on the table and the chair back pressed firmly against her tummy. Outside the door, she imagined her coworkers listening to the silence and straining to maintain that silence in hopes to hear the crack of leather warming her flesh. The wait for the first swat pooled anxiety beneath her palms. She looked at the white wall in front of her and watched the unmoving gray shadow that was her tormentor, her boss.
He withdrew the paddle from her buttocks. She held her breath. He whisked the paddle forward until it snapped, impacting her bottom. She blinked at the sound. Her held breath puffed out of her open mouth. The undulating wave of force from the paddle’s impact coursed forward through her body dissipating via her fingertips into the table top. A moment later she clenched her buttocks feeling the first tingles of warmth.
She watched the shadow on the wall as it delivered each spank. Four more swats fell, each building on its predecessor. The tingles turned to sting beneath her panties. In her imagination she pictured fireworks exploding on the pink skin of her bottom in various and random locations just as if it were the black canvas of a night sky on the fourth of July. The flashes of fire begged to be snuffed out by the frantic rubbing of her hands, but she knew such an act would be futile until the spanking was over and even then it would comfort her mind more than her bottom.
Mr. Kingsley said, “Lower your panties.”
Amelia raised herself straight with a deep breath and an exaggerated push off the table. She reached down and grabbed the waist of her pink undergarment with her stiff fingers. Her hands felt foreign to her own flesh as they dragged the silky material downward off her irritated skin. She pushed her panties down her legs until the bunched around her knees at the seat of the chair and then she leaned forward again.
The leather felt even colder hovering against her naked skin. The rush of air conditioned office air sent a shiver up her spine interrupted by the paddle crashing into her protruding buttocks. She gasped surprised by the increased sensitivity of her naked skin. Her eyes clenched shut riding out the wave of fire shooting through her nerves. The pain faded with the echo of impact and he raised the paddle again.
The final four were delivered with the fury and fire of a grand finale. Amelia barely found time to breathe in the spaces between the spanks. Her bottom burned hotter with each successive strike turning from pink to red. She ground her hips against the chair back and pressed her palms tight against the table allowing the acts to distract her from the discomfort and the count of strokes fallen. Though it stung and burned, she weathered it without tears and fuss.
Mr. Kingsley stepped back from her and held the paddle loose in front of him. “It’s over now.”
Amelia straightened once more. Her hands drifted behind her to hold her hot bottom and she looked to her boss summoning the will to meet his gaze. She asked, “Now what?”
He chuckled. “Now you pull your panties up, pull your skirt back down and get back to work. Hopefully, this week you’ll manage to do better than last place.”
She dropped his gaze for a moment. It was embarrassing, perhaps more than the spanking, that she had been the worst performing sales associate for three weeks in a row. She looked up into his eyes again. “And if I don’t?”
He raised the paddle and swished it through the air, clapping it against his open palm. “Then we’ll be repeating this next week and I might just have to think up something more embarrassing to get you motivated.”
Amelia blushed and looked away. She would never admit it to him or to anyone other than herself, but there was a part of her that was tempted to test the boundaries and see what he would do about it. If only she could read his true thoughts behind his stern eyes, she would know if he wanted to explore those boundaries as well. Instead all she could do was guess. She pulled her panties back into place and smoothed her skirt back down before standing. As she walked out of the conference room, she could feel the eyes of her coworkers turned on her, but most of all she could feel the eyes of her boss on her buttocks. She sat down at her desk, feeling the tingles of the spanking surge under her weight and wondered how hard she’d have to try to come in last place for a fourth week.

Monday, May 2, 2011

The Winter Storm, Part 16

Miles escorted Jennifer into his old bedroom and closed the door. He sat on the edge of the bed while she remained standing, chewing on her lip. There was no doubt in Miles’ mind that she was beautiful. Even the flaws she would see in the mirror, looked amazing to him, but the things she had done and the way she continued to act toward Rachel were not attractive or beautiful. They were ugly and they left him wondering if being with her was a mistake.
He looked up at her and said, “If I’ve learned anything today, it’s that the way things are between us is going to have to change.”
She frowned. “What do you mean ‘change’?”
He swallowed his doubts. “I mean, I will not tolerate you lying to me, hiding things from me, and above all, I will not tolerate your attitude toward Rachel.”
“She’s a bitch,” Jennifer said.
“And so are you,” Miles said. “I have to fire you after everything you’ve done, there is no way around that. The question I have left is whether or not our relationship is going to move forward or end right here.”
Tears filled into Jennifer’s eyes. “You’re dumping me? On a fucking day like this, you are going to fucking dump me? You’re a goddamn bastard!”
“It’s up to you really,” Miles said, “either we can end this thing or you’re going to have to accept going over my knee from now on whenever your behavior calls for it.”
Jennifer wiped the tears from her cheeks. “That’s it?”
He nodded.
She stepped forward and dropped herself down on his lap, pushing her butt up as a promising target. “What are you waiting for?” she asked.
Miles chuckled. “That went better than I was expecting,” he said and raised his hand. A clap of thunder outside echoed his hand impacting her fleshy cheeks. From there, he settled into a routine that complimented the patter of the rain against the bedroom window.
A while later, they returned downstairs, Jennifer exhibiting a bright red bottom and tear-stained cheeks, as they entered Mr. Bennett’s office. Michelle’s phone rested on the desk next to the larger telephone and plugged into the computer. On the computer screen, embarrassingly clear pictures of a naked Jennifer being strapped by a shirtless Brody were cycling through in a slideshow. Miles walked around the desk and sat in his father’s chair.
“Are you ready?” Miles asked, looking up at Jennifer, still standing on the opposite side of the desk.
She nodded. “Might as well get it over with.”
Miles picked up the desk phone and dialed the local police department. When a clerk answered he asked to be transferred to the internal affairs division. It took a few minutes on hold, Jennifer paced the floor in front of the desk, but finally a detective answered. Miles gave the short version of the story— Brody, a traffic enforcement officer at the DMV, had blackmailed his girlfriend into submitting to his personal sexual whims in exchange for not losing her drivers license.
The detective listened politely, but Miles could tell the man was skeptical. He handed the phone to Jennifer and she proceeded to fill in all the gory details. There was much, Miles wished he had never heard and having heard it, he couldn’t keep his blood from boiling in pointless anger.  Once her story was complete, the detective asked for evidence. Miles sent the email with all the pictures. It was embarrassing for him to contemplate the number of people who would see those photos and therefore his girlfriend stark naked, but of course it was nothing compared to the humiliation she had to be feeling. The detective received the files almost instantly and even from across the desk, Miles could hear the change in the man’s tone. Brody was finished.
“Are you alright?” Miles asked, as Jennifer hung up the phone.
She nodded. “I’m probably going to lose my license you know.”
“And you went through all of that just to avoid it and now it’s for nothing,” Miles said.
Jennifer smiled and rubbed her red backside. “Well, not exactly nothing, seeing as we’re finally moving our relationship forward.”
Miles raised a questioning eyebrow.
Jennifer laughed at him. “You don’t think I’m going to let you spank me and not marry me do you?”
“Are you asking me to marry you?” Miles said, wide-eyed.
“No,” she said, “that’s a man’s job, sort of like taking a bitch like me in hand.”



Michelle laid on her stomach atop her neatly made bed. She hugged a pillow to her chest and propped herself up. Her hands travel beneath the folds of her school skirt and gently lowered the white cotton beneath it, exposing her pink buttocks. The worst of the discomfort had already faded away leaving only the color and occasional sting of a well-spanked bottom. It was a small price to pay and certainly far less than either Rachel or Jennifer had received.
Her fingers touched the delicate flesh, probing for warmth and sting. Memories of the days spankings came fluttering back into her head. The exhilaration of embarrassment and shame flushed her body with tingling warmth and then the image of Nick floated behind her closed eyelids. Her thoughts kept turning back to him and their morning fight. She should have said yes.
Before she could think better of it, she grabbed her phone from the floor beside the bed and dialed Nick’s number. The phone rang three times and she was just about to hang up when he answered. She hesitated considering what she should say or if she should just end the call.
“Michelle?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “I wanted to—
Nick said, “Hey, it’s okay. I just heard about Cody. I didn’t know, I guess hardly anybody knew, but I should have known you weren’t into him like that. I’m sorry.”
Michelle blinked at her telephone. “What are talking about?”
“Cody,” Nick said. “Haven’t you heard?”
“No.”
Nick said, “He came out to everybody in the locker room this afternoon. It was like he was suddenly free, he was practically jumping up and down, trying to show everyone pictures of what he likes.”
Michelle laughed. She hadn’t expected to learn if her plan had worked or not until Monday at school.
Nick continued, “I guess he’d just got these nudes from some guy he was really into. Too bad for him someone in the administration found out and they walked in while he was showing off the pics. I hear he’s going to be suspended for a week, having porn on his phone and all, but you know I never figured him for gay. I guess I should have considering how badly he treats the girls at school, but I just thought he was an asshole.”
“He is that,” Michelle said, still laughing. Not only had she seen to it that Cody’s reputation was trashed, apparently he’d helped complete the image and got himself suspended on top. It couldn’t have gone better if she’d planned it. Then again, she did plan it.
“So look,” Nick said, “I’m sorry about acting all jealous. We’re not even going out so I really had no right and it’s pretty obvious to me now you were trying to help Cody and not betray his secret. I feel like a complete dick, can you forgive me?”
“It’s not all your fault,” Michelle said. Telling him the whole story was out of the question, because even if he understood, he would probably not approve, but she couldn’t have him thinking he was to blame for everything. “I haven’t made things easy and I was way out of line with my attitude this morning. If you forgive me, I’ll forgive you and we can move on.”
There was silence.
Nick said, “I’ll forgive you but I’m not so sure I want to move on quite yet, unless you’re telling me you just aren’t interested.”
Michelle laughed. “That’s not what I meant. Of course I’m interested. Why else would I be calling you?”
“I don’t know,” Nick said.
“Do you still want to go out tomorrow night?” she asked.
“I thought you were grounded?” he said.
“I managed to get my Civics done even without you, remember?” she said.
“Ah, that’s right. So, seriously tomorrow night?”
“The storm supposed to have past by then,” she said.
Nick said, “Okay, but I swear if I show up and you’ve changed your mind, I’ll spank you right on your own doorstep.”
Michelle laughed. “Deal.”



Rachel walked toward her bedroom hearing footsteps trailing behind her. At her doorway, she spun around and said, “Are you following me?”
Richard stopped in his tracks, grinning at his naked sister. “As a matter of fact, yeah.”
“I’m not much in the mood for company,” she said, turning away and stepping into her room.
“Sure,” he said, “but you owe me.”
She turned back to him. “I don’t think so.”
“A deal is a deal,” he said.
“Right,” Rachel said, “but Dad let me off for the running.”
“Nice try,” Richard said. “If you recall, I didn’t specify whether it’d be for running down the stairs or something else, I just said I’d get Dad to keep you naked for the weekend.”
“Then why did we run down the stairs this morning?” Rachel asked. “I could have just flown under the radar all weekend and won.”
Richard laughed. “I seem to recall you mentioning that you were too old to get a spanking.”
Rachel recalled her morning assertions that she could get away most anything because she wasn’t a teenager anymore. It should have been true or at least she thought it should have been true, but then her mother still hadn’t gotten around to treating her like an adult. Of course, adults don’t make foolish bets with their little brothers either, or do they? “I didn’t say I was too old.”
“Yes, you did,” Richard said, crossing his arms and narrowing his gaze on her.
Rachel sighed. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You lost.”
“Really?” Richard said, blinking. “Are you or are you not grounded in your birthday suit for the weekend?”
“That’s beside the point,” she said.
Richard laughed and pointed at her breasts. “No, those are the points.”
Rachel glanced down at herself and quickly wrapped her arms over her cold nipples. “You’re real proud of yourself aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Richard said, “you were the one who said it wouldn’t happen no matter what I did, but looks like I proved you wrong.”
“Fine,” Rachel said, “this wasn’t exactly our bet, but if it makes you feel better, you won. Okay?”
“So does that mean you’re going to pay up?” Richard asked.
Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed. “Sure. What do you want?”
Richard said, “Well I was going to ask for your computer, but considering what you’ve been up to with that jerk, Julian, I think I have a better idea.”
She frowned at her brother. “What?”
“Just stay away from him. Don’t call him, don’t visit him, don’t email him, don’t even wave at him. Stay away from that bastard and we’ll be square,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” Rachel said, “I don’t plan on ever talking to him again.”
Richard left her alone. She closed her bedroom door and walked to the window. The curtains were still drawn and the blind pulled up. Outside the storm was finally easing. The heavy raindrops were nothing more than a mist and the darkest clouds were rolling out into the distance. Tomorrow there would be sunlight and blue skies, but even though the storm would be gone, its aftermath would remain. The damage done would need repairing, fences would need mending, bridges would need rebuilding and the debris would need clearing. And when it was done, things would be as they were and different, new and better.


The End.