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.