A Second Chance

The house was bigger than I remembered it. I stood on the sidewalk listening to the echoes of days long past. My luggage sat on the ground beside me and the scent of freshly cut grass wafted in the air, tickling my nose. The taxi pulled away leaving me to the thoughts and ghosts of remembrance. It had been years, too many years, but I had not forgotten the important things.

I dragged my bags to the door, fumbled in my purse for the key and unlocked the deadbolt. Inside, the air was cool and filled with the musty odor of tumultuous memories. The floorboards creaked under my weight. I closed the door and looked around. White sheets covered the old furniture. Heavy drapes covered the windows. I flipped the switch and the lights flickered on with a haunting dimness. It was not quite the happy home it had been. The pieces were all where they belonged, but it was empty, abandoned. It was a feeling all too familiar and painful.

Beckoned by the echoes of better days, I ascended the central staircase. I turned to the right and faced my former bedroom’s closed door. The upper level moaned with my every step toward the room and the door’s hinges squeaked when I pushed it open. I pulled the sheets from the furniture, discarding them to a pile in the center of the floor.

It was all there, every possession I had left behind; The porcelain figurines marking the first sixteen years of my life, the plush friends I had often hugged and cried into, all of it remained in their familiar places. I sat on the bed and recalled the day I left; the fight, the tantrum, the shallowness of my youth. Tired, I snuggled against the pillows and my old, plush friends.

Come morning light, my memory had improved. Things were more the way they had been, but the house remained too quiet. I found my way to the bathroom I once shared, where the over-sized tub flooded back memories of long hours soaking in its silky confines. The soaps remained on the shelf by the door, illuminated by a trickle of sunlight from the window high on the wall. I stretched up on my tiptoes and slid the window open, allowing a cool breeze to whisper inside. The faucet handles turned with ease and my hands remembered the exact positions for the perfect mixture of hot and cold water. I poured in the lavender and watched the bubbles foam on the rising surface.

I slipped off my robe and night clothes, hanging them on the hooks behind the door. Cautiously, I dipped an experimental toe in the water and satisfied, I stepped entirely into the tub, sliding down until the froth covered me to my neck. I reached out and shut of the water. Comforted by the warm water and the familiar scent, I closed my eyes. Images drifted inside my eyelids; my sister’s smiling face, my nephew’s jovial laughter and my brother in law’s judgmental jaw. We had parted on such bad terms. It had been my fault, not theirs, but I had never told them. Now, they were gone and I never could.

A creak on the stairs, snapped my eyes open. I held my breath and listened for anything more. Beyond the quickened pulse of blood in my ears and the straggling drips of water droplets from the spout, there was only silence. I dipped my hands into the water, spontaneously splashing myself to wash away frivolous tension. My laughter rang out with a youthfulness I had thought to be long lost. I felt eighteen again.

The bathroom door burst open. I sat up, covering my chest with folded arms and turned my head to the door. The intruder stood there staring at me. I gazed back at him, speechless and confused. Stanley Roth was dead, just like my sister, his wife, and my nephew, his son. There had been no survivors of the accident. I had already lived through the nightmare of futile hope and come out the other side. He could not possibly be standing in the doorway. Yet there he was, wearing the same white polo shirt, the same black slacks, and the same familiar, disapproving expression on his face. It was absolutely him.

Stanley glared down at me, his voice all too real as he asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Go away,” I whispered.

I closed my eyes only to find him still standing over me when I reopened them. He grabbed my wrist. His grip was as solid and firm as it had ever been. He pulled me up until I was standing in the tub. I stared into his eyes through his black framed glasses and watched him look me over. He was exactly the way I remembered him. His dark, penetrating eyes still made my heart tremble. I would have tried to cover my nakedness, but experience assured me he would not have allowed it. Stanley liked to make me blush.

“This is what I get for taking you in?” he asked, waving his hand to accentuate my wet, soapy and naked body. “I ought to take the door off its hinges and then we’ll see if you still waste so much time in here.”

I tried to pull my wrist free of his grip to no avail. “I don’t understand,” I said.

Stanley scowled at me. “You don’t even know what time it is, do you? Your behavior is beyond ridiculous. I’m sick and tired of you disappearing up here and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

“The world exists,” I said while continuing to struggle against his grip, “but you don’t.”

He released me and I stumbled backward, nearly falling in the slippery tub. His hand sailed through the air, striking the side of my face. My head turned, stung by the impact. I gasped and blinked with tears burning in my eyes. It was a page from the past, turned, and apparently, turned back. The scolding words falling from his lips and the callous ones dripping from my poisoned tongue were old parts being played new again. It was our constant dance, each inflicting pain on the other with selfish disregard. Either of us could have ended it all with a kind word, but that was not our way.

Stanley wagged his finger at me. “You may be my wife’s baby sister, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to baby you. This is my house and I’m through putting up with your bad attitude and irresponsible behavior.”

“I’m a grown woman,” I said.

He turned his back to me, looking at the rack on the wall behind the door. “I’ll believe that when you start acting it.”

My legs splashed in the water as I backed away from him until the wall and tub would allow me to go no farther. “You don’t even know me. It’s been years.”

Stanley looked over his shoulder at me. “Stop with the nonsense. You’ve been living here for six months and just because I didn’t see much of you in the two years prior, doesn’t mean I don’t know you. I’m married to your sister after all and believe you me, she had some of your same selfish tendencies when I married her.”

He turned back to the wall and said, “Now, you were supposed to pick up your nephew from football practice an hour ago, but you forgot, just like you always do. To top that off, the kitchen is still a mess from your breakfast. Of course, I’m sure you’ll promise to clean that up later because there is always a later when it comes to anything you should have done.”

I recalled the incident with clarity and the repercussions that followed. It had started us down a slippery road from which we had never recovered. I looked at Stanley’s turned back and considered the possibility fate was giving me a second chance, a chance to make things right. He turned to face me with the heavy strap lifted off the rack and dangling from his fingers. Trepidation surged into my throat and my limbs trembled.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I’m sure you are and if not, you will be soon enough,” Stanley said. “Turn around and bend over, because we both know you’ve earned this.”

He was right and probably more than he knew. I turned around, pushing myself away from the wall with my hands. My feet slid smoothly on the silky wet surface of the tub. Water dripped from my skin and the window’s breeze brought with it a chill and goosebumps. I leaned over, laying my hands on the tub’s lip and bracing for the imminent strapping. Stanley took his time, taking up position behind me and aiming the two-tailed strap at my wet and naked buttocks.

My eyes fluttered closed. I bit my lip and wondered if I would soon awake in my old bed to find it was all nothing more than a dream. The strap whistled as it cut through the air. At the loud slap of leather crashing against my wet bottom, my eyes sprang open and wide. I blushed scarlet knowing the open window would carry the unmistakable sounds of my spanking out into the neighborhood. A second strike of the strap left my bottom burning in sync with the double lines left by the strap’s two tails. Stanley waited for the echoes of my yelps and the strap’s impact to fade into silence before sending the strap singing anew.

He took his time striping my backside with red welts from top to bottom. I yelped and splashed in the water after each stinging impact. Against the incredible odds set by inflicted pain and protective reflex, I held my position. It was different than that first time when Stanley had been repeatedly forced to put me back into position.  I had not wanted to accept it then, but with years of regret weighing over me, I had a new understanding of the discipline’s worth. My distaste for the pain was easily outweighed by my need to make amends. Tears dripped from my eyes into the tub’s soapy water. It was cleansing, just like the sharp sting emanating from my heated, damp buttocks.

Stanley concluded the spanking and dangled the strap next to his leg. “Stand up and face me.”

I turned to him and wiped the tears from my cheeks. Our gazes crossed and I felt his observance of the real sorrow gleaming through my eyes. His own eyes softened with forgiveness and unabated love. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment under his gaze, just like they always had. I looked down at the floor and his feet, still wondering how it all was happening and if it would last. It felt real, my bottom burned with the proof of solid reality.

“If you start acting your age, we won’t have to do this again,” Stanley said.

I nodded.

Stanley handed me a towel. “Dry yourself off and get downstairs. That kitchen won’t clean itself and we’ve got guests coming in less than an hour.”

I took the towel and stepped out of the tub. The towel was more abrasive than soft against my burning buttocks, forcing me to dab at the water rather than rub. Still damp, but no longer dripping wet, I hung the towel back on the rack. Stanley stood by the open door watching me. Though his eyes made me self-conscious, his intention was more likely to ensure I did not slip back into the tub pretending it was all a bad dream. That is what I would have done long ago, but not now. I stepped closer to him, intending to grab my robe. It was my reflection in the mirror that caught my eye and froze my hand. The face staring back at me was of my eighteen year old self.

“Stop wasting time,” Stanley said with that old familiar edge in his voice.

“Sorry,” I said and reached for my robe.

I descended the stairs with Stanley right behind me. The front door swung open and my nephew walked inside followed by my sister. They were all back. It was just like it had been, before I had ruined everything. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and shared that ‘freshly-spanked-and-deserved-it’ look with my sister. Unlike before, I gave her a wry smile, letting her know I was fine. I made my way to the kitchen where my mess still waited to be cleaned. However it happened, it felt like a second chance and this time I was going to do things right.

Time For An Update, Again

I know nobody noticed, but did you know Summer is not available yet? Well, let’s clarify, Summer has indeed arrived, temps in the upper 80’s to mid 90’s are a sure sign of that here in sunny, southern California. The Summer I’m referring to though is the one I’m writing called The Spanking Days of Summer. Although I might arguably say those have even arrived, but that’s another story for another time. Anyway, Summer, The Spanking Days of Summer, the story, the one you’re all waiting for with baited breath and twinkling eyes of curiosity, that story, isn’t quite ready yet. Should I apologize or just bare my bottom, touch my toes and take my medicine?

While you are considering that loaded question, I’ll plead my case. What do you mean my times up? How could you have decided that quickly? This so unfair! Can you see me stomping my foot and pouting? Is this what you want? Are you happy now? Don’t answer that.

All kidding aside, I haven’t been able to focus on Summer quite the way I intended to and it has fallen behind. I’m still working on it though and while its progress is much slower than I would have liked it is making its way through the various stages of writing. There have been more changes, more rewrites, more characters, and more spanking going into Summer than I originally planned. As far as it goes, that’s a good thing.

What’s really great about The Spanking Days of Summer, is that the story is more than just about a few bottoms, bare, clothed, or otherwise, getting reddened, it’s about people making choices, right or wrong, and dealing with the consequences, and in Summer not all consequences lead to sore backsides.

I’m still incredibly excited about telling this story and bringing it to all of you. Hopefully you can forgive my slow progress and will still enjoy it when I finally come to the conclusion of the process. In the case of stories like Summer, the process of writing the story is more than simply sitting down at the computer and typing away. It requires careful planning to ensure all plot lines are neatly tied up, that characters stay true to themselves and that the setting remains consistent throughout. I had to go to the trouble of drawing a town map if you can believe it. Even after all the planning and all the writing is done, the story still isn’t complete though.

In order to bring you the quality of story you deserve, the pages have to be edited and read and re-read until I am confidant the story is of the highest quality I am capable of producing. I don’t do enough of that with my casual postings on this blog and sometimes when I re-read a story on here I get pretty embarrassed by the mistakes I’ve left behind, but that’s the price of producing large quantities of material in a short time. When it comes to the effort of producing an ebook I want it to be as good and as perfect as I’m capable of producing.

On another note, coming this Friday, July, 23, 2010, I have a rather unusual short story scheduled for your enjoyment. It is, simply put, the oddest story I have written for Imagine the Stories and I am quite certain there will be mixed reactions to it. As a warning, let me say the story is a bit dark and reminds me more of things I wrote in the past than my current efforts. Still, I think the story has redeeming qualities and is in fact an interesting exploration of the question that has yielded so many great science fiction stories; What if?

Until next time, happy reading, happy spanking, and happy Summer.

The Spanking Chronicles of Cedar Lake: Uniform Lost

I woke up realizing three things; My name was Maggie Blake, I was on the couch in Adrian’s apartment, and I had very little time to get back to Cedar Lake if I was going to make it to my first class. Technically, I was not even supposed to be off campus, but if I made class in time it was doubtful anyone would notice. The real problem was when I sat up on the couch and realized the only part of my uniform, only clothes for that matter, still on my body were my panties. I blame Adrian.

Scurrying about the apartment, I searched for my mysteriously missing uniform. Not remembering even taking it off was mildly concerning, but that was a question best left for another time. I found my bra lodged between the side arm and cushion of the couch I had slept on. The rest of my uniform was completely absent. Snapping my bra in place, I found Adrian sipping coffee in the kitchen.

“Where are my clothes?” I asked.

Adrian finished sipping with a smirk on his face and said, “Where did you leave them?”

“I never took them off,” I said.

He looked me up and down and said, “That seems highly improbable.”

“Cute,” I said flashing him an irritated smile, “I have class in a half hour and I’ll get whacked if I’m late. So game over, I need my uniform, now.”

Adrian stood up from the table and said, “I’ll help you look, but I swear, I didn’t touch it.”

I said, “Someone took it off me and it wasn’t me.”

He said, “I don’t think any of my friends would do that.”

“Whatever,” I said, “I don’t care just as long as we find it like right now.”

Together we spent the next ten minutes tearing his apartment apart. We turned up my skirt hanging in his closet, but the rest remained in hiding. I glanced at the clock. If I did not leave in the next five minutes I would be late and if I left in the next five minutes without my blouse, socks and shoes, I would be whacked. The situation was quickly developing into a no-win scenario.

Adrian said, “Why don’t you put on a couple of your spare things and I’ll drive you over to your dorm where you can grab a uniform from your room. We’ll find this one later when you aren’t stressing out.”

I said, “If anybody sees me in that top, I’ll get whacked. That’s why I keep it here.”

“It’s a chance sure, but if you don’t get to class on time it’s a certainty. Your choice, but I’d take the chance,” He said.

“Fine, give it to me,” I said, holding my hand out toward him.

Handing the gray tank to me, he said, “Even if it does go bad, at least you’ll look cute.”

“You really don’t have a clue about my school do you?” I said, pulling the tank on and tucking it into my skirt.

“They just like to keep you girls on your toes,” Adrian said.

I shook my head laughing, “Boys too, Adrian, boys too.”

“Yeah, but I bet they whack a dozen girls for every boy that gets it,” He said and changed the subject, asking, “Are we still meeting up at the game tonight?”  

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.