The Retreat And Jessica's Toil

As some of you know, the end of the year holiday season combined with some minor computer difficulties to put me behind on a few things. I usually prefer to have stories done well in advance and pre-scheduled for posting, but of course that doesn't always work out. Fortunately, having some vacation time here in January has allowed me to get most things back on track. PicTales and Quest Five will continue on schedule without interruption and now I am getting back to work on two other projects I've had in progress since late last year. Can you tell I'm excited?

The first is the highly anticipated, The Retreat, a self-contained story, which can enhance the enjoyment and understanding of certain aspects within the Quest Five story. Neither story is dependent upon an understanding of the other, but for those who have been following Quest Five, you will recognize The Retreat as a related, but altogether unique story starring Jenny Beaumont, sister in law to Quest Five's heroine, Allison Beaumont. Jenny's involvement, albeit silent, in a scandal at Quondam Innovations involving the distribution of illicit images and videos depicting the corporal punishment (ie. spankings, corner time, embarrassing work assignments) of various employees, including those of Allison and her coworker, Kyra Jax results in an unavoidable trip to The Retreat. What happens inside The Retreat is best left to the story, but one can safely assume bottoms will be bared and bottom-reddening spankings will ensue. I am currently estimating an early February 2010 release date.

The second project is Jessica's Toil, featured above. Jessica's Toil is set in the aftermath of the American Civil War. Jessica, one of the many orphans of the war, is fortunate to gain employment in the household of a young master, struggling to restore his family's plantation to its former glory. Through a mixture of discipline and kindness, he teaches Jessica to want more from herself and for her life than can be gained as a simple servant and inevitably she falls in love with him. He might feel the same, but an arranged marriage to a spoiled and cruel young woman is perhaps his last and only chance to restore the plantation and his family's reputation. I am currently estimating a mid-March 2010 release date.

PicTales: Debt Correction

The honorable Judge Harold T. McKenzie, having pronounced sentence, tapped his gavel signifying the end of my courtroom drama. I stood beside my court appointed attorney, tears welling in my eyes, but thankful things had not gone far worse. It was better than jail time which had been my worst fear as the proceedings dragged my personal failures up for near public scrutiny. My attorney held his hand out to me as the courtroom emptied.

He said, "I realize you were hoping for a complete acquittal, but this was the best outcome we could really expect."

I shook his hand and said, "I know. It could have gone much worse and I really appreciate all your effort on my behalf."

He smiled and patted my shoulder in a patronizing fashion. "It's my job to do what I can and besides, I could tell from our first conversation you weren't the malicious sort. You just got in over your head and now you'll get the help you need to get back on your feet and most importantly, to stay on them."

Inwardly, I groaned in utter disagreement with his perspective, but outwardly I continued to smile appreciatively. There was no point in antagonizing the man and regardless of the outcome, I could not fault him in his efforts. "Thank you," I said as we parted ways in the hall outside the court.

I waited in the clerk's office for over an hour before my paperwork was finally processed. The judgment, printed on pink paper, felt heavy in my hand and reading its bold, black print opened a nervous pit in my stomach. The instructions were clear and precise as one might expect and the consequences for not following them were equally clear and precise. I could appeal the decision, but I was under no illusions the results would be any more favorable and in all likelihood things would simply get worse. I tucked the paper, neatly folded, into my purse and left the courthouse behind.

Numb to the world, I walked on autopilot along the streets. I envied the people in their cars, driving along, oblivious to me and my fate, happy in their ignorance, enveloped in their own lives. Step after fateful step brought me closer to the address of my court ordered destination. It was a nice neighborhood, but in my state it felt dark and dangerous. I told myself jail would have been worse, but as I stood on the doorstep poised to knock, I was not completely certain I believed myself. Tapping my hand against the solid door, I shivered as a cool winter breeze swept over me.

The door opened with startling abruptness. On the other side, a stern man sized me up from head to toe. I inhaled sharply, trying to calm my nerves enough to introduce myself and explain why I was at his door. His judging eyes left me feeling small and insignificant. I said, "I'm—

"Nicole Parsons," He said in a brusque tone, "You're late."

I blinked in shock. "I—I came ah straight ah from the ah courthouse," I said.

"Don't just stand there," He said looking aggravated, "Take your shoes off and get in here."

Nervously, I complied with the order nearly tipping over taking my shoes off while standing. Carrying my shoes in my hand, I entered the house and found myself nearly nose to nose with another woman. She was holding her shoes as well and if possible, she looked even less happy. The man closed the door and locked it before turning his attention back to me.

"Paperwork," He said, holding his hand out expectantly.

I fumbled in my purse and pulled the folded page out after a moment, handing it to him. He unfolded the page and read it quietly to himself, making nerve racking noises as he did. The other woman tapped her foot impatiently against the floor and managed to look angry, sad, frustrated, annoyed, and bored all at the same time. Instantly, I took a dislike to her as the kind of person I wanted nothing to do with, but given the situation, it appeared I might have to tolerate her for awhile.

"You've been living quite the extravagant lifestyle," He said in a scolding tone. I stared at the floor and chewed on my lower lip feeling utterly ashamed to have my poor choices highlighted by a total stranger and in front of someone else as well.

"Spending much more than you earn," He said, shaking his head like a disappointed parent, "Paying credit bills with credit, over-drafting your bank account, lying on credit applications, and the list goes on. You're nothing more than a thief."

I continued chewing on my lip, unable to look at anything higher than the rug beneath my feet. It was painful to hear my situation spelled out with such jaded eyes, but there was no longer any point in arguing my circumstances. The steps which had led me down the path of ruin were not the black and white versions of right and wrong the court and its representatives portrayed. One bad choice had led to another until the only way through seemed to stay on the path until the entire thing collapsed around me and left me in the deepest trouble of my life, not to mention the humiliation of being hauled before the court for all my friends, family and acquaintances to see the wreck my life had become.

He said, "As you know, you will remain in my care until your debts have all been repaid. I have secured employment for you and we will engage in weekly lessons, teaching you to manage your funds and live within your means. The house rules are simple; You will do as I tell you, when I tell you, where I tell you and how I tell you. Any deviation will be punished immediately and severely."

There might not be bars on the doors or windows, but beyond that difference I saw nothing different from a long jail sentence. At the wages, the court described, it will take me years to pay off my debts and until they were paid I was required to live with a court appointed chaperon and counselor. Tears spilled out onto my red cheeks as I shuddered at the humiliation of my new life.

"Do you have any questions for me?" He asked and I shook my head. A stern frown rose to his face and he said, "When I ask you a question you will respond with either a yes, sir or a no, sir."

His index finger slipped underneath my chin and firmly lifted my head until he was staring into my nervous eyes. Embarrassed, I looked downward even though my head was raised and I could see he was pleased with my reaction. I wished for the nightmare to end, but I knew it was far from over. Deciding to make the best of things, I said, "Sorry, sir. No, sir I don't have any questions."

"Better," He said and then stepped back to look at me and the other woman beside me. "You were both late in arriving and you shall be punished accordingly. At the end of the hall you will find the room the two of you shall be sharing. Go inside and remove your clothing, all of it, and put it away in the hamper. Then you can return to the main room and face the wall with your hands on your head. You will wait there until I'm ready to administer your spankings. "

I exchanged a frightened and shocked look with the other woman, but neither of us was brave enough to challenge him. He was in utter control of our lives and there was nothing to do but follow his orders. Still, it was unthinkable to have to present myself naked to him for punishment. Perhaps I could have walked faster from the courthouse to his doorstep, but I had made no other stops and for him to call my arrival late seemed unfair in the extreme. Much as I would like to complain though, I knew from reading the court papers, he was perfectly within his rights.

The other woman started down the hallway while I stood still dumbfounded by his instructions. I started to take a step when his hand grasped hold of my arm and bent me into him. With his other hand he delivered a vicious volley of spanks to my bottom. I squealed at the sudden sensations, having been years since I had a spanking, I had completely forgotten what it felt like. He held me tight and kept spanking until my butt was actually starting to feel warm and then he yanked me back upright and pushed my along down the hallway where the other woman was already on her way back out, naked as the day she was born and blushing like a ripe tomato as her hands tried to provide a bit of modesty.

"When I give you an instruction you will obey it immediately, am I understood?" He called to my back as I rushed toward the room. I paused at the doorway and wiped tears from eyes before turning back to him. "Yes, sir," I said.

Less than five minutes later I hurried back into the main room, stark naked and cold. The other woman was already in position against the specified wall, her hands resting on top of her head, elbows out to the sides. He was sitting in an armchair, his back to the wall reading a magazine as if completely oblivious to our presence. I scurried over to the wall and assumed my position next to the other woman. As I stared at the picture hanging on the wall and wondered if I would get used to the position by the time I left his care or if it would always leave me feeling embarrassed and ashamed.

PicTales: Breakfast Woes

"Perfect," I said, taking a last look in the mirror before bouncing off to the breakfast table. Dad was already nibbling on burnt toast, dripping with butter and cinnamon. The coffee pot finished dribbling the last drops into the pot as I entered the kitchen and I grabbed the pot, pouring Dad and I each a full cup. My little brother, Mike, slid into his chair and said, "Hey, where's mine?"

"You're too young," Dad and I answered in unison as I slid the pot back onto its burner.

"Am not," Mike said, sounding much younger than his 16 years.

I split my typical morning bagel in half, adjusted the heat settings on the toaster and pushed the lever down to get my breakfast going. I plopped myself down in my seat and grabbed for my mug. Dad shook his head at me and said, "That's not how ladies sit down."

"Lighten up, Dad," I said, and carefully sipped at my steaming mug. Mike smiled across the table from me and said, "Yeah Dad, she's not a lady."

Pretending to push stray hairs out of my face, I gave Mike the finger. He bristled pointing at me and I smiled, dropping my hand back into my lap before Dad could see. Mike said, "Did you see that? She just flipped me off."

"Ooh, maybe I should wash my hands out with soap," I said and Dad chuckled. I said, "I was just brushing some hair out of my face. Don't take everything so personally."

"Dad?" Mike said with an annoying whine to his voice.

"Act your age," Dad said, eyes flashing between Mike and me, "Both of you."

Mildly offended, I said, "I didn't—

Dad snapped his fingers and said, "Enough. Finish your breakfast and you," Dad pointed his finger at me, "Better watch yourself if you don't want a spanking."

Mike's eyes taunted me from across the table with his minor victory. I was tempted to stick my tongue out at him, but Dad was watching me too closely. Instead, I tossed my hair over my shoulder and turned to face Dad more directly, flashing him a smile complimented by fluttering eyelashes. I said, "I'm sorry Daddy. I know I shouldn't let him provoke me, but sometimes he can be so annoying."

"You'll be sorry if you don't straighten up," Dad said, obviously too annoyed to feel any sympathy, "Eat your breakfast."

"Yes, Daddy," I said with a sigh.

Dad dropped his toast to glare at me with narrowing eyes and said, "If I didn't know better I'd swear you were asking for a spanking."

"I'm pretty sure she is," Mike volunteered with an unabashed smile.

I stared at my annoying little brother through furrowed eyebrows, but managed to keep an innocent smile on my face for Dad's benefit. The toaster popped my bagel up at just the right moment to break the tension and I pushed myself back from the table, careful to not be abrupt. "Excuse me," I said, taking my plate to retrieve the hot bagel. On my return I took an extra second to make sure I seated myself in a manner Dad would consider more polite.

Dad was watching my every move and Mike was enjoying every minute of it. I nibbled at my bagel and did my best to ignore them both. Thoughts turned toward the day ahead and I remembered I needed to make an excuse for the afternoon so I could meet up with my boyfriend. I washed my bagel down with a long sip of hot coffee and turned a smile back toward Dad. I said, "I almost forgot to mention, I'm going to be a little later than normal this afternoon. I have a study group in the library after classes."

"Or maybe you are sneaking off to see Ryan," Mike said.

Startled, I turned my eyes to my little brother and wondered if he knew or was simply guessing. The self-satisfied grin on his face suggested he knew, but his silence suggested the only proof was the look on my face. I masked my surprised and probably guilty look with an annoyed, whatever frown and roll of the eyes. "I'll be home by five," I said.

"Who else is in the group?" Mike said.

I huffed and said, "Shut up twerp. I'm talking to Dad."

"Don't talk to your brother like that," Dad said picking his napkin from his lap and laying it on the table. "Besides, he asks a very good question. Who is in this group and why didn't you mention it last night?"

I stuttered a moment dredging up classmates I could safely use as an alibi. Swallowing nervousness I glared at my bouncingly happy brother sitting across the table. It was hopeless, I realized on some level Dad was going to see right through me, but still I had to try. I said, "Well, there's Sarah and ah Carla, and, and Bob—

"Enough," Dad said, "You're lying. Your brother is right isn't he?"

"No," I said.

"No?" Dad said with a dangerous glint in his eyes, "Why don't you get out your phone, we can give Sarah a call then."

Damn! Damn! Damn! Why can't my loser of a brother ever keep his big, stupid mouth shut?

"Kimberly Anne!" Dad said as I noticed he and my brother were staring at me with near open-mouthed shock. Then it hit me; I actually said my thoughts out loud.

I nearly knocked over my coffee cup pushing myself away from the table. Standing up, I backed away from the table and my clearly unhappy dad. My brother graduated from shock to laughter, but he was the least of my concerns because Dad's eye had me square in its sights and I already knew the next words coming. It wasn't fair, but it was going to happen and there was nothing I could do about it. Even running to my bedroom was only going to delay the inevitable.

"Apparently you really did want a spanking this morning," Dad said. I shook my head, but my voice was stuck in my throat. Dad probably wouldn't have listened anyway though, I mean it was definitely a little late to just say no.

Never taking his eyes off me, Dad said, "Mike, fetch me the carpet beater. It seems your sister is in serious need of a dusting."

Mike scrambled from the table all too eager to assist Dad. I backed away until the kitchen counter stopped me in my tracks. Dad closed the distance, placing himself between me and the rest of the house, in effect trapping me. I felt the color drain from my face as I pondered the immediate future.

I fluttered my eyelashes and looked as sorrowfully as I could at Dad. In a contrite tone I said, "I'll come home right after classes, I swear."

"I know," Dad said.

"I won't pester Mike," I said.

"I know," Dad said.

"I'll behave," I said.

"I know," Dad said.

"You don't have to spank me," I said.

"Yes, I do," Dad said.

"But—

"The only butt in this conversation is the one you are going to bare and put in position over that table," Dad said.

"I'm too old to get spanked," I said, crouching into myself and holding my skirt down as if it were going to fly up if I let go.

"Your brother is going to back any second," Dad said patiently, "It's up to you if you want to wait and pull your panties down in front of him, but you're still getting the same spanking whether you do it now or then."

I allowed my lip to quiver and tears to bubble in my eyes. "Daddy," I said.

"Do yourself a favor and get in position now," Dad said.

Hesitating with every step, I forced myself to walk to the edge of the table. I reached up under my skirt and carefully tugged my panties down to just below my bottom, hoping Dad would be kind enough to let them stay there. Leaning over the table I closed my eyes and resignedly flipped my skirt up and out of the way, exposing my bared bottom to Dad's view.

"Here you go," Mike said, from behind me and out of sight.

"Thank you," Dad said, "Now go stand over there out of the way and I don't want to hear a word out of you."

"Sure, Dad," Mike said.

The rattan implement patted against my exposed cheeks, gently making me aware of its presence. It was mostly quiet swishing through air on its path to significant impact, but as it clattered against my butt, I yelped for emphasis. It wasn't until the fourth impact that the burning really made itself known and by the fifth tears spilled from my eyes while my legs danced on the floor trying to weather the building discomfort.

"Hold still," Dad said, "Were far from finished."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I cried.

"You will be," Dad said, swinging the implement in the air once more. It slapped against my butt, making me cringe and gasp for breath as another wave of searing discomfort shuddered through me. "You will be," He said.

The carpet beater slapped down again and again as I held tight to the table, twisting and turning as best I could to avoid the impact without actually moving. It was hopeless and pointless, but I couldn't help myself. "No, please," I said, sobbing as my bottom pulsed with seemingly unbearable discomfort.

"Look at me," Dad commanded, holding the carpet beater firmly against my butt. I twisted to obey him with tears in my eyes and gritted teeth holding back childish pleas. "You'll come home right after school and we're going to have a long talk and if your attitude hasn't improved you can expect to be resuming this position. Am I understood young lady?"

"Yes, Daddy, " I said with tears in my voice as I wondered how I was going to survive sitting through hours of classes on those hard wooden chairs.

PicTales: The Windfall Calamity

Sitting on a bench alongside the main path, I was flipping through scribbled notes, trying to make sense of Professor Baichon's assessment of Christianity's role in the downfall of Ancient Rome. Autumn leaves scattered in the grass and along the path, crunching under the hurried footsteps of passing students when a gust of wind kicked them up into the air and ripped a page of notes from beneath my hand. I scrambled to grasp it before it was gone for good and in the process sent the rest of my notes into scattered disarray. A single note page in my hand, I watched the rest blowing away in the wind and felt like a fool. My cheeks flushed, certain everyone in the vicinity was watching me with amusement and then he arrived, gathering my mess from the wind and the grass with a friendly smile and helpful hands.

"You really shouldn't do this out here," He said, his voice gentle and scolding at the same time as he passed me the pages.

He was lean and muscular, but not in an extreme sense. His frame suited him and his face could have been chiseled from marble by a masterful Roman craftsman. Broad shoulders, straight and yet rounded with curves in all the right places, made him appear as dangerous as a Grizzly and gentle as a teddy bear. My hands froze in the process of grasping the pages he offered and my mouth hung open, words having become a foreign language I no longer seemed to understand.

"Are you alright?" He asked, resting a gentle, calloused hand on my shoulder.

I blinked and focused on the pages, forcing my hands to remember how to function. "Yes," I said, my voice a quiet whisper I could barely hear in my own ears. "Thank you," I said, overcompensating and shouting to the point he must have considered running away.

His hand left my shoulder, but he stayed. He knelt down in front of me, looked me in the eye, his hair fluttering in the wind and said, "I've found it's easier to study in the library."

Coherent thoughts began to trickle back as long as I did not look too closely at him. I said, "Yes, but it's not as beautiful."

"Ah well, Mother Nature can be a bit jealous though," He said, a glint of humor shining in his deep brown eyes, "As you've just seen."

I could find nothing to say worth saying and so I sat mute, hands straightening wrinkled pages and shuffling them as if to put them in order only I had no idea what order I was placing them in. He stayed right there in front of me, watching my every move, studying every twitch of muscle in silence, waiting for some sort of response from me. I forced myself to look at him in more detail. "No need to be shy," I told myself, but when our eyes met every impulse screamed for me to look away. I felt exposed, as if I were sitting naked on the bench.

"You must be new here," He said, sitting back on his heels. I nodded. He extended his hand and said, "I'm Ron."

Staring at my lap, I grasped his hand lightly for a moment and said, "Deanna." He nodded, dropping his hand to his bent knee. He said, "I'm taking you out to dinner."

I blinked. I glanced up at him. Was he serious? I stared back at my lap and my notes. Nothing made sense. I was supposed to say something, but nothing was coming out. I opened my mouth. I closed my mouth. I opened it again and discovered I only seemed to know how to utter the first half syllable of any word. It was embarrassing and my face surely conveyed as much.

"You can't say no," He said, "I did save your notes after all."

He was right. I did not want to say no anyway. "Yes," I said my will bowing to his. He nodded again and said, "I'll pick you up at seven?" I nodded. My hand found my pen and turned my notebook to a blank page. I scribbled down my address and tore the page out, folding it neatly before handing it over to him. It was impulsive and insane and undeniably intoxicating to give into the moment, like surrendering to the wind and being swept away.

The rest of the school day slipped passed in a haze. My thoughts giddily drifting to the evening ahead and the man named Ron. Never in my life had I ever felt so silly, foolish, exposed, and impulsive. It was all because of him, something about the way he walked and talked, the way he stood and knelt, like being in the eye of a storm and in control of everything. All the way home I thought of him and the perfect evening we would spend together.

Mr. Faulkner was still at work when I arrived home. It was his home actually, my parents, having known him for many years, arranged for me to stay with him while at school. His apartment was only a few short blocks from the college and he lived alone with a spare room. It was a convenient arrangement for all and my parents felt the better for having someone they knew looking after me.

I plopped myself down on my bed and smiled at the ceiling. I laughed out loud as the embarrassing memory of meeting Ron replayed itself. To think he would want anything to do with a girl like me felt like a dream, a glorious, romantic dream. Wedding bells rang in my head, the story was told over and over to children and grandchildren and every time it brought a smile to my face while Ron chuckled at my side. A perfect life, a romantic life, a—

"Deanna," Mr. Faulkner called from the living room. I turned my head to clock beside the bed and my eyes popped wide. I sprang to my feet, panic shivering through my veins. It was after five and I had wasted the entire afternoon in daydreams. Running my hands over my clothes, I tried to smooth away the wrinkles from laying in bed. I slipped on my heels and opened the bedroom door to find Mr. Faulkner poised to knock upon it. "There you are," He said.

I smiled, trying to act as if I had not been startled. I said, "I didn't hear you come in. I must have been lost in my studies."

"I see," He said, looking passed me into the room. I followed his gaze, looking over my shoulder and my eyes immediately fell upon the bed and the rumpled sheets. He asked, "Are you finished?"

"Yes," I said, knowing he would never let me go out if I said no.

"Excellent," He said, backing up into the living room. "You can catch up on your chores tonight then."

I had completely forgotten about my chores. My eyes opened wide, gazing around the apartment and calculating the hours it would take to complete all the chores he expected. It was the worst part of his agreement with my parents, I rarely had time for it and yet I was expected to keep up with the cleaning and my studies. Fortunately Mr. Faulkner was flexible with the chores when it came to my studies, but I was not so sure he would be for a date. Still, I had to try.

"I have a date," I said. Mr. Faulkner raised an eyebrow at me and asked, "When?"

"At seven," I said, biting my lip.

He said, "Tonight?" I nodded and he said, "You'll have to reschedule."

My chest tightened making it hard to breathe. I swallowed and blinked at Mr. Faulkner. "But," I said.

"I will meet this boy and know a few things about him before you go anywhere with him," Mr. Faulkner said, crossing his arms. "And you haven't done any chores in over two weeks, constantly using your studies as an excuse to avoid them. I may not be as strict as your parents, but I certainly won't have you galavanting around, ignoring your responsibilities."

I said, "His name is Ron and he'll be here at seven. I'll do my chores tomorrow, I swear. Right after school even."

"You aren't going anywhere tonight and that's my final decision," Mr. Faulkner said, assuming a stern stance I recognized all too well as unalterable. "You give this boy a call and tell him you can't go out tonight and if you really intend to go out with him at some point in the future you can invite him over for supper on Saturday and I'll have a nice talk with him."

"It's not fair," I said, stamping my foot down. "I never get to go out and he's going to think I'm a total freak if he has to talk to you just to take me out for dinner."

"You are about three seconds from a trip over my knee," Mr. Faulkner said.

"You can't spank me!" I said, folding my own arms and glaring at him.

In retrospect, I probably should have phrased my objection a little better. Mr. Faulkner took one giant step toward me and nabbed my earlobe between his thumb and finger. I tried to pull away for about a second before deciding it was much too painful. He guided me, forcefully to the couch and the next thing I knew I had a closeup view of the carpet. It's just a wild guess, but I think he had a closeup view of my skirt.

Mr. Faulkner grabbed the hem of my skirt and flipped it up onto my back, exposing my silky black panties to his view. His hand gently patted against my panties as my brain processed my situation. I tried to roll off his lap, but his other arm had me pinned firmly in place. There was no escape as the gentle pats stopped and his hand rose high in the air only to come crashing down with a loud, earth-shattering slap. The impact wobbled through me causing all my fleshy parts to ripple and then came the first tingles of stinging warmth emanating from my upturned bottom.

His hand rose into the air again and he said, "I can,"and his hand came crashing down on my pantie-clad bottom, "and I will," hand rising again, "spank you," his hand slapped down, "whenever," his hand rose, "I see fit," his hand landed on my bottom. As if to prove his point, he began spanking at a more earnest pace.

I kicked and squirmed trying to break free from his hold as the warmth and stinging intensified. My efforts were not even enough to slow his spanking pace and if anything he spanked harder. Accepting the futility of struggling, I stopped squirming, although I could not prevent the occasional kick of my legs as his spanking hand found all my most tender spots. I changed my tone to that of a repenting, sorrowful girl and said, "Please, Mr. Faulkner, I'm sorry. I'll be good. I'll do my chores."

"I know you will," He said, but he kept on spanking. "While I've got you here," He said, spanks continuing to fall and tears glistening in my eyes, "There aren't going to be anymore excuses. You will do your chores everyday from now on and if you don't you'll be right back in this position. Understood?"

"Yes," I said in defeat, knowing I would promise anything to get him to stop.

"Good," Mr. Faulkner said, his hand still slapping against my bottom, surely covering every square inch of sit-able surface. "Now, there is also the matter of lying to me. I won't tolerate it and you know and I know, there was no studying going on in your room this afternoon. You were a lazy brat and took a nap, weren't you?"

I suffered through a dozen more hard spanks before deciding there was no point in denying the truth. I said, "Alright, yes, I took a nap. I'm sorry."

His hand stopped spanking and came to rest on my hot bottom. It was definitely a relief, but I could not help squirming a little as the heat seemed to continue to build. He said, "I'm very disappointed in you Deanna. A big girl like you should know better than to slough off her responsibilities and lying as well, that's completely unacceptable behavior. Obviously you will have to be punished."

Staring at the carpet I blinked back tears and said, "But you just spanked me." He chuckled, but I can not imagine what he found to be so amusing. My bottom was going to be stinging for hours.

"That was for your attitude and talking back to me," He said, giving my bottom a few more stinging pats. "For sloughing on your chores, I'm going to let you off with just a week of being grounded."

"Grounded!" I said, objecting to the very thought.

He said, "Yes, for the next week you may go to school, but you will come here straight after your last class and there will be no TV, no music, no telephone, and no internet. You will do your studies and your chores and if you have any time left over you can read a book or stand in the corner. I'll leave that last part up to you."

I seethed at the floor. There was no point in arguing with my bottom so easily accessible to him, but it did not mean I agreed with him. To appease him though, I said, "Yes, Mr. Faulkner."

He said, "As for lying, I think we'll have something rather special for that. Of course you'll be spanked daily for the duration of your grounding, but I think you need something a little more shameful to properly impress upon you the disappointment I feel."

"I'm sorry," I said, hoping the sound of remorse and tears in my voice might persuade him stricter measures were really unnecessary.

Seemingly unfazed, He said, "I'm going to give you some very specific instructions and when I let you up you are going to follow them precisely. Any deviation, any complaining, any resistance, will only force me to discipline you more and I don't think either of us wants that. Do we?"

"No, Mr. Faulkner," I said, unable or more likely, unwilling to imagine what he had in store for me.

"Good," He said. "When I let you up, you are going to take off your skirt and place it on the coffee table. You will then take off your panties and place them on the table. Next, you will take off your top and place it on the table. Last, you will take off your bra and place it on the table as well. That is how you will be attired while you are in this apartment for the duration of your grounding. You will dress and undress right here in the living from when you leave and return from school."

As the ramifications of his instructions hit home, my eyes could have rolled out onto the floor. In shock, I said, "But I'll practically be naked. That's so embarrassing!"

He patted my bottom again and said, "It's meant to be. Hopefully, it's almost as embarrassing as your behavior." He loosened his grip on me and patted my bottom a bit harder again. "Now get up and do as your told or it'll be two weeks."

I rolled off his lap onto the floor and nursed my bottom with my hands as I climbed to my feet. Objections were screaming in my head, but his warning was clear and I no longer doubted his resolve to follow through. After delaying as long I dared, my hands went to work undressing myself while he leaned back on the couch and watched the show. Tomatoes, beets, radishes, and cherries had nothing on my face as my bra fell down my arms and joined the rest of my outfit on the coffee table. Mr. Faulkner did not even have the common courtesy to pretend not to be staring as I stood exposed to his wandering eyes. My arms snaked around me in a futile attempt to hide nipples and pubic hair.

Mr. Faulkner glanced at his watch and said, "You better give this boy a call and reschedule for him to have dinner here with us next Saturday and then you can get started with your chores."

"I can't." I said, fighting down panic.

"What do you mean, can't?" Mr. Faulkner said.

"I don't have his number," I said, "He's coming here to pick me up."

Mr. Faulkner tilted his head at me, as if wondering if I was lying or not. He said, "Well that wasn't too bright of you was it? You may as well get started cleaning here in the living room and when you're done you can make us some dinner. I might as well have my talk with this boy tonight."

"But Mr. Faulkner..." I said, praying he was not seriously thinking of inviting Ron into the apartment while I was naked.

"Stop complaining and get to work," Mr. Faulkner said, relaxing into the couch, "If this boy is the right sort, he won't object to a naughty girl with a red bottom."

Pictales: Pretty In Pink

He's got that look. You know the one where he might as well be wearing a neon sign that says, "Superiority Complex." Sure, he never got sent home from school or even a nasty note home to Mom and Dad, but he's not perfect. I ought to know, I've shared a bathroom with him all my life and he still hasn't learned to put the seat down when he's through. I'm not even going to tell you about the messes he leaves behind, cause that's just gross.

"How did you get that shirt anyway? I know I heard Dad tell you you couldn't have it," He said, gazing up and down the length of my semi-nude body. Hot blood rushed to my face as a mixture of anger and shame washed over me. My hands started to slip from their station keeping behind my head at the reflexive impulse to cover my naked sex from his eyes. He wagged his finger at me and said, "Uh-uh, keep those hands up where they belong, bad girl."

There were a few things I could have said to him. "None of your damn business," or "Go to Hell," or "Pervert!" But I thought it might be in my best interest to stay silent. It's not like he really wanted an answer to his question in the first place. He just likes the sound of his own voice, especially when he's got a captive audience and with my pants and panties around my ankles, I really don't think I'm going anywhere.

"It really doesn't matter anyway," He said waving his hand dismissively at my top. It took all my self control not to roll my eyes toward the ceiling. I'm guessing the effort must have shown on my face because his grin widened another half inch as his stare refocused on my blushing face. He said, "Hot pink is definitely your color, sis."

From the moment I was pulled out of class, I had regretted wearing the top. I knew I was playing with fire, no pun intended, when I slipped it on this morning, but I thought I could get away with it. Who knew the University was such a stickler for the dress code? Not me, that's for sure. Trouble aside, I liked the top right up until he had to go and make that awful pun. Now, I'm wishing I had never even seen the damn thing.

"So, I've got all of Dad's implements laid out," He said, nodding toward the desktop and the small table just behind me. I'd noticed them on entering Dad's office, but after fifteen minutes of less than gentle pats from his hand, I just assumed they were for show. He couldn't seriously expect to use them on me, could he? He said, "What do you figure Dad would use? The cane? You did directly disobey him when you bought that shirt. Or, maybe the big paddle, it does seem fitting since you managed to get yourself sent home from school."

Enough's enough, right? I've learned my lesson; Don't wear wild clothes to school. Time to pull my pants and panties up and go change my clothes before Mom or Dad get home and see my top. If they see me wearing it, then taking the spanking from him was for all for nothing. Well not nothing, but I'm not counting his amusement. Do you think he can tell I'm not buying his implement bluff or does he really think I'm scared?

"I'm thinking four with each of them and then you can take that shirt off and stand in the corner until Dad gets home. I'm sure while you're there you can think of something to tell him as to why you got a spanking from me," He said, obviously tickled by his own idea. Take a good look at my face and I promise you won't find any amusement there. That's right, I'm not amused. Absolutely no way I'm going to take my top off in front of him, pants and panties are bad enough. There is just no way he's going to see my boobs. I don't care what he does, what he says, it's not happening. He said, "If you think I'm being unfair, we can always call Dad."

He might be bluffing. It's possible. Not likely, but possible. Dad's let him spank me before of course, Dad was also present and supervising or maybe teaching? No, no, I don't want to consider that possibility. I'll call his bluff. Dad will be mad, but I won't have to take my top off— Oh that's not right, Dad will flip when he sees this top and he'll make me take it off anyway and my brother will still be around to watch. Damn! Double Damn!

"What should I start with?" He said, undoubtedly reading the resignation on my face. "I wonder if a paddling hurts more after a caning or if a caning hurts more after a paddling. What do you think? I guess we could check it out both ways. There are two paddles and two canes after all. Little girl paddle first?"

I really hate it when he calls me a little girl. He thinks he's so big and so mature and that gives him the right to call me, "Little." I don't think so! Alright so the whole pants and panties down, spanked bare bottom thing doesn't help my case much, but that's his fault too. You know? Oh he was talking about the paddle when he said that? Oops, well just forget what I said then okay? And give the top thing a rest too. I know he didn't make me wear it to school, but he didn't have to blackmail me over it.

"You know why Dad calls it the little girl paddle?" He asked, clearly not caring whether I did or didn't know. "He calls it that because when he paddles big girls with it, they miraculously turn into sweet little girls. I don't think four swats will be enough to do the trick, but I bet if I plant them just right, you'll cry like a little girl."

With a little effort I'm pretty sure I could wobble my lower lip and let a few tear drops fall from my eyes. I wonder if he'd think I had enough if I did that. My butt is certainly hot enough after his hand spanking and the only reason I'm not dancing around the room grabbing my blazing backside is because I thought he'd only make things worse if I acted like such a baby. Maybe I read him all wrong?

He glanced at his watch and said, "I guess we better get this over with. The guys will be here any minute and I can't have you messing up my plans for the afternoon, can I?"

We can't have tha— Wait! Did he just say, "Guys?" Coming here? He can't be serious, right? He wouldn't. He's my brother. Brother's don't do that to their sisters, do they? No of course not, he's trying to scare me. It's just another little bluff. Like I said before, he loves the sound of his own voice and the way he's going he'll never shut up and get down to the business of spanking. I'm a little torn on that one, wish he would, hope he doesn't, but please let this be over before Mom or Dad get home.

Oh my God! What was that noise?