The Bad Girl Shuffle

"Shorts, down to your ankles," He said in a gruff, uncompromising voice.

I stomped my foot in protest and stared at him. He didn't even blink, not that I was really expecting it. What he did do was lower his chin a notch, rest a hand on his waist and sigh. His finger pointed at my shorts and then at my ankles. I shook my head, he huffed.

"Now," He said, impatience resonating in his tone.

I looked from him to the man sitting on our couch. He was a neighbor. Not even a friend or family, just a neighbor we didn't even know that well. I shook my head again. Our neighbor grinned and chuckled. I wanted to run out the door and never look back.

"If I have to tell you again, you'll regret it," He said.

Our neighbor leaned back on the couch and folded his arms across his chest. The grin on his face and the tilt of his head left nothing to imagine in regards to his opinion. His eyes were focused on my shorts. I scowled at them both, realizing I had no choice in matters. My thumbs hooked into the waistband of my shorts and in a quick motion, I dragged them down my legs to rest around my ankles. I folded my hands in front of me hiding as much as I could while my face burned with embarrassment.

"Better," He said, nodding approval. "Now you can shuffle on over to the closet and fetch the paddle."

Resignedly, I began the careful act of walking across the room with my shorts restricting every step along the way. It felt ridiculous, which was obviously the point. There was no reason to keep my shorts on at all, save to humiliate me as I moved about. I glared at the closet as if it were responsible for the red shame emanating from my cheeks.

As I reached for the door handle, he said, "The big one, with holes."

I glared back at him over my shoulder, eyes widening at the realization of his intentions. He said, "That's right, I'm not just going to give you a spanking. I'm going to blister your butt."

My tongue had a strong desire to respond. Fortunately, my brain had a stronger desire for survival. I turned away from him and reached into the closet, lifting the large, hole ridden paddle off its hook. Holding it in front of my nakedness, I slowly shuffled across the floor back to the place of misery, standing before him and our neighbor. I stared at the floor and although I was hopeful, I can't say I was surprised when the floor failed to open up and swallow me. What did surprise me was him sitting down on the couch and starting a conversation with our neighbor while I was left to stand there, facing them with my shorts around my ankles and a paddle in my hands.

Their conversation droned on long passed the point of any interest. That I was uninterested when they began is irrelevant. If you were left standing half naked in a room with them, I think you would agree, the only point of interest was when, where and how the paddle was going to be applied to my posterior. Being left in the dark, I naturally fidgeted and imagined only the most horrendous of possibilities which had the unfortunate effect of brightening the blush on my cheeks and bringing a sheen of sweat to my forehead.

In a loud voice, he said, "I suppose we should get on with things."

Our neighbor shifted his position on the couch, securing a more comfortable viewing place for himself and said, "Yes, I'm sure the paddle will do more good in your hands than hers."

Chuckling, he replied, "I doubt she would agree."

Our neighbor said, "I'm not particularly interested in her point of view, are you?"

He took the paddle from my hands leaving them empty and said, "No, I suppose I'm not."

My gaze bounced between the two men as their conversation dragged. A mixture of anger and embarrassment graced my already reddened cheeks and my hands clenched and unclenched in fists. Saying anything to either of them was definitely not in my best interest, but their banter was almost intolerable. I cleared my throat, hoping to remind them I was in the room although, I cannot figure how they could have forgotten.

"Right," He said, turning his gaze to me, his smile morphing into a frown. "Step on up and bend down, hands on the cushion."

I looked into his eyes, forced a smile onto my lips and began the agonizing journey to the open cushion of the sectional his finger pointed toward. My shorts were like shackles, threatening to trip me up and send me crashing to the floor if I moved as quickly as I wanted. Our neighbors gaze bore into me deeper and deeper with every step forward. Bravely, I met his gaze with my own, flashing him the same antagonistic smile until my feet stumbled. Catching my balance and feeling like even more a fool, I focused the remainder of my energy on reaching the cushion while still standing. I stopped near its edge and leaned down, resting my open palms on its surface and inhaling silent strength, waiting for the inevitable crack of wood against my bulging bottom.

Tension permeated every fiber of my body. My legs trembled in anticipation of the first swat and my eyes clenched closed only to flicker open when too many seconds slipped past without action. I took short deep breaths, bracing against the onslaught of discomfort the paddle would bring. Silence ruled the room as they savored my readiness, my embarrassed anticipation. Beneath my breath, I cursed them both and then, when my attention had only just faded from the prospect of the paddle's touch, it whooshed through the air and landed squarely against my bottom with an earsplitting crack.

Tears squirted from the corners of my eyes and I cried out in pain. My legs squirmed to the side as if moving my bottom after the fact would somehow alleviate the sting. Ripples of the paddle's force rushed through my body, leaving my flesh jiggling and bring fresh waves of shame to my face. Our neighbor watched in silence, his only comment a slight smirk at the edges of his lips. I dreamed of slapping it away, but the paddle interrupted, cracking against my bottom for a second time.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice manifesting itself from the compilation of pain and shame pulsing through me.

"Of course you are," Our neighbor said.

"Sorry isn't good enough," He said and swung the paddle again.

"Please," I said, begging for mercy as tears spilled like waterfalls from my eyes.

The paddle snapped against my bottom again and he said, "Give you more? Certainly."

"No!" I said between ragged breaths.

I sobbed hearing the swoosh of the paddle cutting through the air behind me. Its impact brought fire and sting, temporarily cleansing me of shame and embarrassment. My entire world consisted of the burning pain in my bottom and the wooden paddle delivering it over and over again. I twisted and squirmed, raising my bottom higher and lower, futilely hoping to avoid the next swat only to have it land with perfect precision.

"I'm really, really sorry," I said.

The slap of the paddle into my burning bottom was his reply. Apparently I was yet to be sorry enough. I clenched and unclenched my buttocks, hoping to alleviate even the smallest amount of discomfort. The swats continued, undaunted by my efforts. My head dropped as low as it could, my hair brushing against the cushion below. Sobs wracked through my body and all the tension abandoned me. I surrendered to the paddle's will, to the burning pain and the stinging shame.

He slapped the paddle against my bottom one last time and said, "Stand up."

I obeyed, tears streaming down my cheeks, arms and legs quivering with the effort. Sniffling, I avoided looking at our neighbor. I forced my breath back into a regular pattern, combating the sobs threatening to overwhelm me. All I wanted was to curl up on the floor and nurse my tortured bottom back to a cool pain-free state, but of course that was not an option.

"Turn around," He ordered and I obeyed. He held the paddle out toward me and I reached out, taking it from his hands. He pointed to the pillar behind him and said, "Over there and hold the paddle above your bottom."

I took a deep breath and shuffled toward the pillar. It no longer bothered me that they were both watching my every move. The whiteness of the pillar felt comforting, like an escape from the reality around me and my eyes drank into it. I raised the paddle behind me, resting it over my bottom and came to a stop only inches before my nose touched the pillar. Behind me, I heard him settle onto the sectional and resume a quiet conversation with our neighbor. Part of me wished they would leave, part of me did not care what they did or said, and part of me wondered why I keep finding myself facing this pillar with my bottom bare and burning.

Music Lesson

"Can you feel it?" He asked.

I stood stiff and straight, the violin tucked properly beneath my chin. My fingers held tight against the tension in the strings as I drew the bow across them. The notes whined in the air, the instrument vibrating against me, sending its echoes through my body. I felt all of it, but it was not what he was asking.

"No," I said, frustration creeping into my voice as I continued to play, "Am I doing something wrong?"

"Music is emotion," He said rising up from his perch behind me and standing close to my back. I could feel his breath on my neck, my skin prickling in response to his proximity. He said, "You play the notes perfectly, hold the rhythm without flaw, but there is nothing of you in this. If you want to be truly great, the music has to be more than the notes on the page. It must flow from your heart, not your mind."

"But how?" I asked, dropping the violin from my chin and holding it silent, dangling at my side.

"Your technique is not the problem," He said.

"I don't understand," I said, twisting to look at him behind me.

"Have you ever been in love?" He asked.

My face flushed pink with embarrassment, my gaze drifted downward, away from him and I said, "Of course."

"How did it feel?" He asked.

I raised my eyes to meet his and asked, "To be in love?"

"Yes," He replied and I shrugged saying, "I don't know."

"Were there butterflies?" He asked, wrapping his arms around me and gently caressing my stomach, through the thin material of my top.

"Yes," I said, exhaling.

"Was there excitement?" He asked, his hands wandering to my bosom.

I nodded, unable to speak.

"Did you burn for him?" He asked, his hand traveling downward to my hips.

I closed my eyes and pressed back against him. His body pulsed against mine. Every nerve tingled with electric passion. His breath felt like a cool summer breeze on my neck. My arms trembled and the violin felt suddenly heavy in my hand. A smile found its way to my lips and the frustration faded away, replaced by temptation.

"Yes," I said, answering him at last.

His hold loosened and his hands fell away, leaving me flustered and confused. He took the violin and bow from my hands, casting the instrument aside. Nervous, I turned to face him, but could not meet his eyes for more than a second at a time. Tears or laughter would have eased the tension between us, neither was forthcoming.

"Your emotions are raw, inexperienced," He said.

"I'm not an innocent," I said, my cheeks growing hotter.

"No one is," He said, whispering in my ear. "You must learn to call upon your emotions at will, focus them and allow them to flow through you and into the music."

"But how?" I asked and he replied, "I will teach you."

"Take them down," He said, taking a step back from me and pointing at my jeans.

"But I didn't do anything," I said.

"You're not an innocent," He said, mocking me.

I looked up to find a devilish grin on his face. My face flushed hotter and I resigned myself to complying with his demands. He had spanked me before anyway, although, never for such a contrived reason. My fingers obeyed and unclasped my jeans, slipping them down and leaving me vulnerable to his gaze and more. I bit at my lip, embarrassed, not because my jeans were lowered, but because all I could think about was his arms wrapped around me and his hands exploring my body.

He seated himself on a low stool, keeping his gaze trained on my blushing cheeks. My eyes danced between his face, his lap and the floor. He patted his knee, indicating he was ready for me to lay myself over his lap. I took a shuffled step toward him and leaned down toward his lap, until his strong arms took over, laying me against him. His hand caressed my bottom, easing me into a sense of safety and security.

The slap of his hand against my bottom jolted me from my dazed state. His spanks were not particularly painful, he was capable of much worse. He settled into a rhythm, alternating between cheeks and my bottom bounced to the tune. I stared at the floor, committing myself to take whatever he would give and without complaint.

"Do you feel the beat?" He asked, without pausing in his efforts.

"Yes," I said, appreciating the irony in his choice of words.

"And what else do you feel?" He asked.

"Your hand," I said.

"And?" He asked.

"Some pain," I said, although the sting was only minor.

"Good," He said, continuing to spank me in perfect rhythm. "Now listen to the music in your head. Feel the pain in tune with that music, in tune with the slaps against your cute, red cheeks."

I tried to do what he asked. My mind settled on a melody and I began to hum it aloud. The rhythm flowed through me and I could almost imagine myself twirling on a dance floor. His spanks complimented the tune adding a drum-like beat and my responsive gasps only enhanced the music further. We were dancing together, floating on a cloud with beautiful music connecting us.

A knock on his door brought the music to a grinding halt. His hand stopped its rise and fall, resting lovingly on my tender bottom. I blinked at the floor, saddened by the sudden interruption. He lifted me from his lap and stood to answer the door. I bent to raise my jeans back in place.

"Leave them," He said and I looked up at him with questioning eyes.

"It's merely an old friend of mine, come to visit," He said.

"But—

"He's seen it all before," He said.

I sucked in air trying to cool the hot blood rushing to my face. He unlocked the door and looked back at me before opening it. I resigned myself to the embarrassment and kept my silence. He nodded approvingly and then I felt it. The embarrassment, the shame, the approval, everything pulsing inside us was emanating in the silence, surrounding us in the room. It was as invisible as the air, but just as present.