The Punishment Room

There was a coldness about the room. It came from the soft flicker of fluorescent lights recessed into the ceiling, from the dull white paint on the  upper walls and the gray-blue paper decorating their lower half. My obscured reflection staring up through the floor's polished sheen offered nothing of the warm reassurance I craved.  The clack of my heels against the wood floor echoed with the cold, hollowness of a cell. Most of all, the room was cold because of its vacancy, its loneliness.

My arrival was proceeded by the arrival of an equally cold message. Delivered via the company's intranet messaging system, it had filled the computer screen leaving no possibility it could be missed or ignored. My throat went dry, my eyes blinked and burned with the damming of trepidatious tears. Unable to clear away the message, I shut off the monitor and glanced guilty about the office. No one had noticed or gave any indication they had seen. I rose to my feet, standing on legs braced by trembling knees and forced myself to walk.

Brian Emmerson awaited me in the hallway. With a stoic face and dispassionate eyes he assessed me from head to toe. I imagined a checklist in his mind's eye and the silent ticking off of mark after mark against me. When his gaze crossed my own and eyes locked together, he gestured down the hallway to my left. I glanced to the right, briefly considering the prospect of fleeing out the exit. The warmth of daylight beckoned me, but Brian's eyes assured me of what I already knew; There was no escape.

At the end of the hallway was the room. Brian opened the door and I stepped inside with him close behind me. The door slammed closed and locked. I walked further into the room, feeling trapped. Brian followed me for a few more steps before stopping about a quarter of the way into the room. Though I chose to avoid looking at him, I doubt his gaze ever left me alone. When the wall would permit me no further distance, I stopped, reaching out and touching its cool surface. 

Tutor Me Hard

So like, physics was so not what I thought it was like. I mean, what the hell? Physics sounds like it is supposed to be like about the physical and the ‘ics’ which totally sounds like ‘exs’ which is just like one letter shy of ‘sex’. So like, physics was supposed to be about physical sex. I mean that is like a real science, right? Apparently, so not what I was thinking and that like made it super hard uh, difficult, there was like nothing hard in sight.

When the professor was like talking about attraction and opposites and poles and stuff it all, like sounded right on. I was totally on board. I mean opposites, dude, they attract and we all know it. Just take a look around, right? Everything was like totally cool and then somebody said ‘vectors’. I am like totally thinking about ways to approach, but it is not supposed to be all math and shit. Signs and co-signs were all totally cool too. I mean I’m a Libra and I would love to know all about my co-signs. Can you believe the professor had like the nerve to laugh at me when I asked?

I was like whatever after that. I mean, if even the professor is clueless why should I even care? Then there was like this problem cause I like failed the midterm and I like have to pass the moronic class to get my degree. Whatever! I would be like totally all for it if it were what it was supposed to be. I mean like sex is something to study cause we all have to do it in the real world and like nobody wants to come off as all inexperienced. This other stuff, well I do not think I will like ever have a need.

Enter the tutor, David Cooker. I call him Davey Cockett and he calls me Viola. It is like totally normal cause that is like my name, but he like blushes when I call him Mr. Cockett. Can you imagine why? Whatever. I just call him Davey mostly, but he still like blushes. So, he is like my tutor, and that is like a hard uh, difficult job. He is good though. I mean like he has taught me stuff and he is like a little cute in that geeky, all older dude sort of way. Opposite attraction and stuff I guess, but I would like totally do ‘physexs’ with him.

So there I was, standing outside his house on a beautifully sunny day. Davey has one of those small, two-level homes, that bachelors like love. Tile roofing, reminds me of Missions and like historical places and stuff, but it is like cool. Not much of a private yard or anything to it, but the shared grounds have like lots of plants and green things. I could totally live in a place like it, but anyway, I was standing there. My hand was poised to knock on the door while I was like thinking of excuses and reasons to give him. I mean, I like had a bad test report  to tell him about and I like did not want to cause he gets like red-faced about stuff like that. It is kind of cute, until he starts with that awful lecturing.

The Spanking Days of Summer: He Was Wrong

There was a smugness about him and I rebelled to it. He sat behind the desk, a cheap aluminum signet of his position with a laminated wood finish decorating its top. The cushion torn chair supporting his significant stature creaked and groaned with his every move. I sat across from him in a straight backed, straight legged, aluminum framed chair with a coffee brown cushion matching the desk’s laminate. My arms crossed in front of my chest. He stared as if he thought his eyes would intimidate me into submission. He was wrong.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, nodding at my purse laying open on his desk.

I kept quiet. The room felt too secluded and his intensity left me uneasy with regards to his intentions. He had in fact grabbed me and dragged me. No one had interfered because he wore the uniform of an official security guard. The assumption was simply made by our respective appearances, but appearances can be deceiving. Were he the guard he purported himself to be, he would have lifted the handset from his almond colored phone and called the police. Instead, he tore my purse out of my hands and dumped its contents on the desk between us. He was wrong.

“I’ve seen your kind before,” he said. “Spoiled little rich kid with too much time on your hands and not a clue what discipline means.”

You might think he would look at my driver’s license spilled out onto his desk. If he had, he would have realized I was an adult, my eighteenth birthday having past only a few days earlier. His eyes were too busy staring at me. I shivered as much at the cold air flowing out of the overhead vent as the repulsion of his gaze drifting over my curves. My bandeau tube top and jean shorts were starting to feel like a bad idea under his leering eyes. He leaned back in his chair, smiling as if he had won some crucial battle. He was wrong. 

Broken Vase, Bared Bottom

Franny throws the best parties. Everyone knows it, but to actually get invited to one was the event of my year. You see, Franny and I went to school together and we were such good friends we could pass each other in the hall and never know it. Back then, I really did not care, but these days, who you know is a little more important and knowing Franny is good for my career. That is where Craig fits in; He used to date Franny, but now he dates me and somehow he managed to stay friends with her. Talk about good fortune.

“Are you ready?” I asked Craig, standing in his living room.

He said, “Give me five minutes and we’ll be out the door.”

I shrugged. Usually it is me we are waiting on and he is not very patient at those times, but I figured a little good behavior now could buy me a little lateness later. I turned my attention to his bookshelf. He collects all kinds of crazy things, knickknacks and random books on everything from Vampires to Ancient Chinese Weapons. A vase caught my attention with a horribly, ugly arrangement of silk flowers sticking out of it. I lifted it off the shelf and musingly turned it in my hands trying to figure out if the flowers were permanently attached or something he added.

Would you believe the thing fell from my hands and smashed on the floor? I stood there staring at it. The shards on the floor, the dust rising from the scene and the reverberating noise of the crash replaying itself in my ears, all told me it was real. I blinked, I pinched myself, I stomped my foot on the floor, but nothing would make the disaster retract itself. That is when I heard his footsteps.

“What the hell happened?” He asked.

I looked at him and the mess on the floor. There was no good answer to his question. I shrugged and stared at the floor. He stepped closer to the mess and pointed at it on the floor. I shook my head. He stood there staring into my eyes, blinking at me. I shrugged again.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” He said.

I said, “I don’t know. It just fell.”

“Since when do things fall off my bookcase and end up three feet from where they were sitting?” He asked.

I shrugged and said, “Now?”

“I don’t think so,” He said, “and you certainly know that’s not what happened.”

I said, “I was just looking at it and it slipped.”

“And you couldn’t say that in the first place?” He asked.

I shrugged.

“That’s what I thought,” He said, shaking his head at me. “You know I ought to give you a sound spanking for lying to me and a bare bottom spanking for breaking my vase.”

I nodded and said, “If you think it would help.”

“I do,” He said.

I fluttered my eyelashes at him and said, “My bottom is all yours.”

“It will hurt,” He said.

“Aren’t spankings supposed to?” I asked.

He sat down in the nearby chair and pointed at his lap. I took baby steps to his side and looked down his lap with mock horror. He grabbed my arm and pulled me downward until I leaned into the force, throwing myself onto his lap. His hard hand patted my bottom. I purred in appreciation.

“I think you’ll know I’m serious in a moment,” He said and I replied, “Ooh.”

The first slap of his hand tingled like electricity sparking against my skin. I pushed my bottom up to meet his hand and he settled into a rhythmic smacking of my backside. I groaned and grunted as the sensations increased. It was nothing like the hairbrush spankings my mother used to give when I was a naughty girl. Craig’s hand was imparting as much pleasure as pain.

He paused and said, “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Would you prefer I cried?” I asked.

“I’d prefer you at least acted like you were sorry,” He said.

“I thought you were punishing me for lying,” I said.

“You’re right. I guess I’ll just have to step this up a bit,” He said.

His hand turned into a cast iron skillet. Okay not really, but the next spank felt a lot like it had. The analogy really held as he continued spanking at that level and my bottom began to burn. I bet you could have cooked a steak on that skillet in less than a minute. Craig just kept going. I squirmed and twisted, even yelped a few times but all for not. He was particularly displeased when I reached back in a futile attempt to protect my backside from his onslaught.

Shoving my hand away, he said, “What do you think you are doing? I told you this was going to hurt and I meant it.”

“Okay, okay, I get it already. I’m sorry,” I said.

He pulled my dress up, exposing my panties to his view and as if that was not enough, he pulled my panties down too. I tried to stop him, but he easily brushed my hand away. Squirming on his lap, there was nothing I could do except wait until he was finished with me. My vision was full of the broken pieces of the vase on the floor and I was honestly starting to feel really bad about it.

Craig resumed his cast iron spanking efforts with gusto. I kicked, I pleaded, I offered sexual favors, and he laughed and spanked and kept on spanking. Every once in a while he would pause and pull my panties down a little farther until he eventually took them off me completely and tossed them to the floor. I held back the tears threatening to come, despite the frustration and helplessness of being trapped on his lap with my bottom on fire.

He stopped and said, “Now, what happened here?”

Frowning, I said, “I broke your vase.”

“And?” He asked.

I shrugged. He spanked my bottom another dozen times.

“And?” He asked again.

I said, “And you spanked me for it.”

He said, “Good now you can get up and go stand against the wall while I finish getting ready.”

Sliding off his lap, I reached back to check and see if my bottom was really ablaze. Against all odds it remained in place and flame free. It was however, hot to the touch and stinging more with every second that past. I climbed to my feet and grabbed my poor bottom with both hands, but they did nothing to assuage the discomfort Craig had imparted. He led me to the wall and placed my hands at my head. It was a familiar enough position; Mom used to make me stand like that, bottom bare and burning too. I guess some things never really change.

New Covers

The Retreat and The Spanking Days of Summer each got a new look today. Not that a book should be judged by its cover, but we all know it happens every day. The better the cover looks the more tempted we are to see what hangs on the pages inside. Hence, cover making is a stressful process for an author like myself. How do I convey the essence of what is inside my book with an arrangement of images?

I dabble with artwork a little and it can be a lot of fun. Still, this kind of work is more hobby than trade to me. I have had a little bit of success and I have to say, I am happy with the two new covers. Moving photos around, cropping images, fading them all together and adding titling around really is not that hard. Making it look good is a bit harder. You will have to tell me what you think because I am obviously too jaded to judge my own work fairly. Of course, for me it represents something I have imagined with the stories I am telling and those little bits are still mostly a secret to all of you.

Writing is definitely more my cup of java and on that note,  The Spanking Days of Summer is progressing nicely. I am not firm on a release date quite yet, but I am shooting hard for the first weekend in July. Just to get you in the mood, here are few tidbits:

• Summer Pratt is the central figure of the story.
• Summer has gotten herself into some trouble in her hometown and her parents have pushed her off on her Aunt Lillian and Uncle Howard.
• Summer's Aunt and Uncle live in a small town called Oakville.
• Summer takes a liking to a bad boy, Jimmy Smythe and the first thing he does when they meet is smack her bottom.
• Jimmy's father owns the local hardware store and he makes oak paddles. Somehow I doubt they are for canoes.