Thursday, June 17, 2010

ITS New Again!

I’m sure you didn’t notice. It really isn’t obvious at all. I’m absolutely certain I’ll be telling you something you don’t know. You would never figure it out on your own. If you are blind that is....

Okay, so this post is about nothing more than how happy I am with the new look of Imagine the Stories. Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Huh? Huh? Huh? Come on you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone what you thought, unless you want me to. Promise. Swear. Cross my blog and hope it gets erased if I’m lying. Well, maybe not. I like my blog too much.

It took me most of yesterday to make it happen. The little things, like the HTML code for my custom gadgets on the sidebar, was enough to drive me totally insane. See the paragraph above if you need proof. But, in the end, not my end mind you, butt—um, but, I finally got everything to work more or less like I wanted it to work. That was no small task. I’m waiting for the applause. Come on, you can do better than that. Much better.

So, there is like some, uh, like cool, uh, like new features. Totally. It’s like blow my skirt off and whack me with a— oh no, that’s not right. Is it? No. Well, maybe. Anyway, new features, like (that’s like way too many ‘like’s in this paragraph isn’t it?) check out the bottom of the posts and you’ll find (I think, I hope, I don’t pray) check boxes where you can anonymously rate your feeling(S) about a post. It even works. That’s like so cool, hot right?

On the right, no the other right, there you go. On the right, I added some “buy now” buttons to the ebooks listed there. Okay, so just to avoid confusion, because confusion leads to chaos and chaos leads to something really, really, really bad (don’t ask me what cause I don’t know), the free ebooks are still free and even though the button says buy, you don’t actually have pay for anything. That’s cool, right? Okay maybe not so cool, cause it’s not exactly self explanatory, but it’ll work. Which by the way, if you haven’t read This Night Only or The Winning Goal (which was posted here on Friday, May 28, 2010) you should really download them and give them a good read. It’s free, it’s fun, it’s ah free. Did I mention free? Oh, and it’s fun.

For the very observant among you, there is something missing. For everyone else I’ll just pretend it was never here. Does that work for you? It works for me. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you can just stop reading here. Really. I mean it. STOP! If you’re still reading, I guess you’re one of those observant folks or just obstinate, either way what’s missing is the links to Quest Five, The Primrose Girls, and 12 From Oblivion in the My Stories section on the right. Quest Five is still accessible from the Recommended Reading List and I’ve decided to drop the other two from this list because they are incomplete stories and unlikely to be completed in the near or far futures. If you want to save the links to them here they are;

http://www.12fromoblivion.blogspot.com

http://www.primrosegirls.blogspot.com

I guess that’s about it for today. My keyboard has run out of letters from my speedy typing. I’m down to using my mouse to cut and paste words from elsewhere and it’s rather tedious. Not really, but I have done that before (mostly for being lazy and not wanting to put something down to type, like my lunch). My keyboard remains intact (it better be, I had to replace it not so long ago) and I continue to work away on my projects.

Today, I admittedly goofed off and played with my blog, but everybody needs a goof off day and besides, I’m graduating in just a couple days. I deserve to rest. I need to rest. Somebody mentioned graduate school and now I’m starting to feel like a permanent student. You know, one of those people who is smart enough to learn, but not smart enough to work. Oh, please don’t let me turn out so bad. I know, I know, you all have a thunderous solution to that problem. Of course, it won’t work because I’m sitting down.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

A New Series

Yesterday afternoon I posted the first in a series of short stories which will lead up to the long awaited release of The Retreat. That’s right, you heard—um, read correctly, the Retreat is coming to a blog near you. Well sort of, I’m not really sure if blogs can be considered near or far from anything without having any physical location to call their own. In reality, it will just be linked to from here, because it will be an ebook.

Are you excited? No? Well wait until you read these stories, then I’m sure you’ll be excited although maybe not in the same way I was meaning.

So, what exactly are these stories about? The easiest way to describe them is, back story. Essentially, this series of short stories will give a little insight into the characters populating The Retreat and even a few hints about what The Retreat is actually like. I am not going to spoil the fun here and reveal lots of scraps, but I will drop some names and from there you can look forward to their stories.
  1. Daphne Tate & Earnest Little
  2. Jenny Beaumont (Readers of Quest Five should recall this name.)
  3. Helen Tate
  4. Daphne Tate & Troy Higgins
  5. Paige Porter
  6. Norman Moody
  7. Linda Wallace & Brad Keller


Following the final story in this series, The Retreat will make its opening debut. I know it has been a long time in coming, the idea first entered my head last October or thereabouts. My sincere thanks to all the patient readers, who have stuck in there waiting. If my opinion counts, I think it was definitely worth the wait. The Retreat, is a very exciting and satisfying story and I can hardly wait to share it with you all.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Hot, Cold & Spanked

Sweating is for pigs, air conditioning is for angels, and I am an angel. When it is over a 100 degrees outside you can damn well bet this angel is turning the air on inside. Especially when I am expected to slave away over a hot oven, baking sweet little cupcakes for my brother’s idea of a charity event. Do you know what ‘Green’ energy is? I sure as hell do not and I would bet you anything my brother does not even know, but it is the latest and greatest message around. There is nothing like jumping on the bandwagon just to hear yourself playing the fiddle with a broken twig and a banjo on your knee.

If you have never baked 500 cupcakes at the same time, I seriously suggest you never do. I mean really, do you have any idea how large the oven would have to be? Okay, I am not that dumb, but baking 100 cupcakes is a lot of work and doing it five times over is a lot of work times five. Now, if you happen to have a sadistic brother living with you and he happens to take great pleasure in making you do ridiculous things, like baking cupcakes in absurd quantities, there are a few things you can do to make things go smoother;

Turn on the CD player, but make sure you load your CD’s first because sadistic brother music just sucks. Next, wear a comfy outfit that is both hot and cool. Skip the shoes, cause standing in shoes only makes you want to stand on cupcakes as they come out of the oven. Turn on the air, crank down the thermostat as low it can go and dance like you just turned 21. Trust me, it makes the day palatable and then you really do not care when your chocolate cupcakes come out looking like marble cake or that you will need an inch of frosting to raise the top of the cupcake above the edges of the baking cups. Last, make sure your sadistic brother is gone while you are doing all of the above and that he does not make it home before you are done. If you screw up on this part, heaven will not help you, angel or not.

Robert, a.k.a. my sadistic brother, walked through the front door, shivered, set his sights on me and asked, “Why the hell is it so cold in here?”

I shrugged from the kitchen and said, “Maybe because it’s hot as hell outside.”

Huffing and puffing, like a big bad wolf, he slammed the front door and marched to the thermostat in the hallway. He stared at it. His hand gyrated in the air while his face turned devilishly red. I think I saw horns coming out of his hair, but that could have just been his ears poking through. He probably counted to ten, his face returned to the pale color of normality and his hands steadily grabbed the thermostat, ripped it from the wall... Okay no, he did not rip it from the wall, but he did turn the air off, which was just as bad.

He marched over to me and said, “You’re baking.”

I fluttered eyelashes and said, “Why yes, yes I am.”

“It’s a miracle you didn’t blow a fuse,” he said.

I nodded, pursing my lips and said, “I think you’re the one about to blow a fuse.”

“Do you even have a brain in that head or is it all just hot air?” he asked.

Scowling at him, I said, “I’m not the idiot who thought it was a good idea to bake 500 cupcakes on the hottest day of the year.”

“They’re for a charity and you could at least be charitable while baking them,” he said.

“I am being charitable. I’ve spent my whole day doing nothing but baking and decorating your charitable donation. You’re the one not being very nice here,” I said.

“They’re for a Green Energy event,” he said.

I shrugged, saying, “So?”

“Do you know what irony is?” he asked.

Rolling my eyes, I said, “Your hand on a bad day?”

Would you believe he did not even smile? I mean really, what is with the all serious expression? You might think he was constipated or something. I know I was wondering about it, but then it got a little icky thinking about whether he had sat on the toilet anytime in the recent past. He really needs to lighten up, take a laxative and sit on a public toilet. I probably should have made the suggestion when he first suggested I would enjoy baking his cupcakes.

Robert said, “Irony is the fact you used enough fossil fuel based energy to power an entire metropolis for a week while baking cupcakes for an event designed around the concept of conserving energy and developing renewable sources for that energy.”

“Whatever, the fact of the matter is I was not going to slave over the hot oven in a 100 plus degrees,” I said.

“I never said you had to, but why don’t you use your head? The house did not need to be cooled to 55 degrees,” he said.

“As if it could be?” I said, cocking my head to the side. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know. I just wanted the air to keep running so the house didn’t turn into an oven.”

“Mission accomplished!” Robert said, throwing his hands into the air. “You turned it into a freezer instead.”

“You’re not even going to thank me for all the work I did for you, are you?” I said, shaking my head at him.

“Thank you? I don’t think so. What I ought to do is make you sell these tonight with a red hot backside,” he said.

“And maybe I ought to tell Dad what a jerk you’re being. What do you think?” I said.

Robert grabbed the kitchen phone and held it up to me, saying “Let’s call him together. I wonder what he’ll think about the icebox of a house you created today?”

I glared at him. He really needs to lose that smugness sometime. I swear, if I could wipe that smug grin off his face just one time, I would be happy forever. He always manipulates me into going where I should not and then he drops his nasty net on me. I should have seen it coming, but then so should have Eve when that delicious red apple dropped in her lap.

“Fine,” I said and he hung up the phone. “You win. You always win. I’m sorry I didn’t bake myself with your stupid cupcakes. Are we good now or do I need to lick your boots clean too?”

“You actually think our conversation changes anything?” My sadistic brother asked.

“Well no, no I don’t, but I was hoping you might leave me alone to finish decorating these cupcakes before I decide I would rather see you wearing them,” I said.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said and I replied, “I doubt it.”

“I think you should join me in the living room,” he said.

“And I think you should pay me a thousand dollars for doing your baking, but it’s not going to happen,” I said.

“I think that’s the first thing you’ve been right about all day,” he said. “You are going to join me in the living room, if I have to pick you up and carry you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I said.

“Keep trying my patience,” he said.

“If you insist,” I said.

“Move it!” he said, turning devilishly red all over again.

I stomped my way to the living room. My sadistic brother followed, eyes all aglow, horns bursting through his dark hair and a red, pointed tail dancing behind his back. His breath was so hot and heavy you could see it floating in the air like frost on a cold morning. Well, maybe not, but you get the idea. He was mad, pissed even, and the entire object of his anger was me, but angels do not judge. We simply glide along with the currents and hope our presence is enough to elicit the better side of men. It is usually futile though.

When I stopped in the middle of the living room, he said, “Now, you are going to get the spanking you so richly deserve.”

“But it’s not my birthday,” I said.

“Go ahead,” he said, “keeping cracking jokes, but in the meantime, you are going to strip off those clothes.”

“And you’re going to stand on your head,” I said.

He marched straight up to me, yanked my top open and said, “Strip now or I’ll do it for you.”

I realized he was serious. Something about the total lack of emotion in his face made it obvious. Most people, angels in my case, would have stomped out of the room, fled the house, and begged their Daddy to protect them from the big, bad, satanic wolf. The problem with that theory is sometimes, Daddy is an even bigger and badder satanic wolf. He would definitely blister my bottom for the air conditioning thing and he would most likely use a belt or some other heavy implement that would leave me unable to sit for a couple of days. Big, bad, brother wolf is not quite up to heavy implements. So like any good angel, I chose the lesser evil.

Undressing in front of my brother always feels wrong. I mean I would rather not undress in front of anyone. My boobs are not particularly eye catching, my body’s curves are far from perfect and my legs are way too skinny. If I was a little more perfect, maybe I would like being naked in front of people, but even then, my sadistic brother would remain an exception. As things are, it is a little too revealing that I am far from perfect. And to think, he thought I did not know about irony.

Stripped to my bra and panties, I gave a last pleading look to the sadistic bastard. He was unmoved, as all sadistic bastards are unmoved by pleas for mercy. I reached up behind me and unfastened my bra, allowing it to slip from my chest, exposing my small breasts to his dispassionate gaze. The floor seemed much more appealing to look at and so I stared downward, gathering the courage to take my panties down.

Robert was not in a waiting mood. He grabbed my arm and dragged me with him to the couch. Sitting down, he pulled me over his lap and walloped my backside with the flat of his hand. It may not have been irony, but it was iron-like. My fat wobbled, my muscles tensed and my nerves screamed about the sting and heat emanating from my less than perfect butt. His hand pounded my buttocks like they were a pair of bongo drums. I remained mute and stoic against the discomfort, hoping it would end sooner than later.

I got all excited when his hand stopped slapping my butt around, but that faded quickly when his fingers slipped inside my panties and tugged them down my legs. It was no surprise when his hand resumed its drum playing a moment later. I did yelp though, but that was entirely a result of the increased sting imparted by said hand. Kicking and squirming, my bottom got roasted and rosy red all at the same time.

When I started to sing, and we are not talking opera, he increased the rhythm. Sparks were flying at every impact of his hand against my bottom. The air in the house heated ten degrees and kept climbing, but for some reason my nipples remained hard as rocks. I gave up kicking and squirming because it was getting me nowhere and a light sheen of sweat was threatening my forehead. As I am still an angel and not a pig, this was entirely unacceptable. Robert was sweating up a storm, but that was to be expected.

He stopped for a second time and lifted me up off his lap. I was torn between desires to hold my burning butt cheeks and cover my nakedness. My sadistic brother would allow neither. He raised my hands to rest on top of my head, pushed my elbows until they pointed straight to my sides and marched me to the corner in front of the bookcase. Taking a step back from me, he looked pointedly at my bottom and whistled. I swallowed the commentary threatening to put me back over his lap.

“I don’t know about you, but I definitely feel better now,” Robert said.

Looking back at him through the space between my arm and shoulder, I said, “I am so not going to your charity thing tonight.”

He laughed and said, “Not only are you going, but you are going to be delightful and sell those cupcakes just like you promised.”

“You can spank me all you like, but you can’t make me go,” I said.

He said, “I think we’ve already demonstrated what I can make you do, but if you need another example, you can push your luck and see if you end up selling cupcakes with your bottom still bare.”

Frustrated, I said, “Fine. Can I get back to finishing them now?”

“No, you are going to spend some time staring at nothing and thinking about your behavior first,” Robert said. “You can also think about this; I sent Melissa Fineman to the Retreat today, because she pulled one of your typical stunts at work.”

“Daddy would never let you do that to me,” I said.

Robert laughed and said, “Daddy has been begging me to send you for the last year, Daphne. If you don’t get your act together real soon, I might just decide he is right.”

Friday, June 11, 2010

My Red Maid

The estate was palatial, sitting on the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the vast Pacific Ocean. I swerved my way through the curves leading to the family estate, top down, wind flapping my shirt collar. Father would not have approved. He always hated my driving from the day I got my license, but those days are long gone. Now, the estate is mine as well as the family business and the fortune its operation have acquired. He is still around mind you, he has just hung out the gone fishing sign and tossed me the keys to everything that mattered. I can live with that.

Walking through the front door, I was greeted by the sounds of gunfire. I considered dodging for cover, but then I realized it was only the television. The quality of my father’s sound system is indisputably the best available and the surround sound feature really makes it like you are actually there. In the television room, I found Elaine, our housemaid, feet up on the sofa, enjoying John Wayne on the 80 inch plasma. I sat on the arm of the sofa and waited for her to realize she was not alone.

“Shit Jacob,” She said, propping herself up, “When the fuck did you get in?”

“You wouldn’t need to ask if you were doing your chores instead of fantasizing about Johnny,” I said.

“If you were half the man he was, I wouldn’t need to,” She said.

“Do the chores or fantasize?” I asked.

“Both,” She said, “I’m sure he was enough of a man to do his own chores and take care of a woman properly.”

“I’m sure he was, but I don’t recall you being my woman,” I said, “and you’re paid to do the chores.”

“Two grand a night and I’m all yours,” She said, with a wink.

“Not even if you looked like Julia Roberts,” I said.

“Yeah, I can’t figure why Richard Gere needed to pay for it anyway and worse, why he would go for skank like her,” Elaine said. “Hell, I would have paid him.”

“You couldn’t have paid him enough to look your direction, let alone spend a day with you,” I said, “Especially since you don’t like to work.”

“I like work just fine,” She said, “as long as other people are doing it.”

“How on earth did you convince my father to keep you around all these years?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” She said, giggling.

“Probably not, but you do realize he is no longer running things,” I said.

She sighed saying, “Yes, and now you’ve finally got your chance to make your mark. Are you going to start by firing me?”

“Maybe lighting a fire under your backside, but I think I’ll keep you around for now, unless you’d rather not work for me,” I said.

“That depends,” She said. “Are we still going to be friends or are you going to turn into an asshole like your father?”

I shook my head and said, “That depends, are you going to be friendly when I ask you to do your work?”

“Hell no,” She said. “You’ve known me long enough to know that.”

I laughed, “That’s what I thought.”

The phone rang. Crossing the floor to answer it, I said, “Maybe you could at least pretend to do some chores.”

“What’s the fucking point?” She asked, shutting the television off and stretching.

I answered the phone and Elaine left the room, heading off for parts unknown. It was easy to pretend she was going to do some work, but I knew better. On the other end of the phone, my administrative assistant filled me in on a brewing client crisis my father had decided to ignore or dump in my lap, or both. Either way it meant leaving for the office and possibly a trip across the country before nightfall. Hanging up, I went in search of Elaine.

She was standing on the staircase, holding a feather duster in one hand and her nose in the other. I laughed at the cloud surrounding her head and she stuck her tongue out at me. That she started coughing a moment later only increased my laughter and her displeasure, seemed entirely appropriate. Apparently, she disagreed.

“It’s not fucking funny,” She said, gagging on dust.

“No, but it is funny,” I said.

“Ha ha,” She said.

I said, “See, even you agree.”

“Bite me,” She said, cocking her head to the side.

“Maybe later,” I said, heading toward the entry. “I have to go back to the office and I might need to take a trip tonight. Please take care of my laundry and prepare an overnight bag for me.”

“I’ll think about it,” She said, as I walked out the door. “Have fun.”

My business meeting went smoother than expected and I returned to the estate a mere three hours later with no need to venture off on a business trip. Elaine was relaxing in the lounge with a friend of hers from the local area. Neither bothered to get up when I entered the room, nor temper their conversation. I suspect they expected me to leave them in privacy, after all it is only my family’s residence. Why would I think I had free reign of it?

Elaine said, “You wouldn’t fucking believe it. I was coughing and wheezing for an hour. No shitting. I must be fucking allergic to dust and he just thought it was fucking hilarious.”

Her friend said, “Damn, what an a-hole. I can’t figure these rich fuckers anyhow. I mean what the fuck, they can’t clean their own house? How fucking lazy do they have to be?”

“Good evening, ladies,” I said, although by the sounds of things there were none in the room.

Elaine said, “Shit Jacob! How long you been standing there?”

“Just got back,” I said. “I see you’re making yourself right at home.”

Her friend said, “Hell yeah. Your place is the shit.”

I glanced at the floor hoping I misunderstood. “I tend to think of it as a little better than a local dung heap,” I said.

“Right on,” Her friend said, “That place don’t have half as good of liquor as what you got here.”

“Yes, but they have much larger flies,” I said.

“Dude, you’re funny,” Her friend said.

“I’ll be here all week,” I said. “The question is, will you?”

Elaine said, “I thought you were going on a trip.”

“I was able to step aside and avoid stumbling,” I said.

“Huh?” Elaine said.

“I’ll be staying in town,” I said.

“So like, I have the place to myself?” Elaine asked.

I shook my head, “I’m staying,” I said.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Elaine asked.

I said, “I thought I did.”

“He’s just like his fucking father,” Elaine said to her friend, “always complicating things that don’t need to be.”

Her friend said, “Toss back a tall one, dude. Then you’ll be seeing how simple the shit life really is.”

“Silly me, I’ve always aimed a bit higher than the shit pile,” I said.

“You got to relax,” Her friend said, “Great expectations just lead to great disappointments.”

“Whatever you say,” I said nodding to them, “I’m going to retire for the evening. Goodnight.”

“Later, dude,” Her friend said, and Elaine raised her empty glass to me as I backed out of the room.

I walked off, heading up the stairs to my private suite. Inside, I found my bed piled three feet high with my laundry. The sheets were rolled down to the foot of the bed and hanging down to the floor. I considered taking a picture, after all it was a sight you do not see every day. On closer inspection, it became obvious the clothes were at least washed, but the wrinkles alone would almost negate the fact. I headed back down to the lounge.

“Dude,” I said to Elaine’s friend, “I think it’s time for you to ship out.”

“But there’s still an unopened bottle of scotch,” Her friend said.

I said, “Elaine, we need to talk and I doubt you want an audience.”

She looked up at me and shrugged, saying “Whatever. Head off. I’ll catch you later okay?”

Her friend looked between us and said, “Sure, whatever.”

With her friend gone, Elaine started closing up bottles and straightening the mess they had made. I said, “I thought I asked you to take care of my laundry today.”

She said, “Yeah and I told you I’d think about it.”

“You’re the maid,” I said.

“You’re very observant,” She said.

“You’re supposed to do the laundry without my asking,” I said.

“That’s the problem,” She said, “You messed everything up cause you had to ask.”

“So, if I hadn’t said anything you would have done it?” I asked.

She said, “I did do it. It’s all on your bed.”

“I noticed, it looks like you took a lot of time to pile it up as high as you could,” I said.

She smiled and said, “You noticed my effort? I’m impressed.”

“I’m not,” I said. “You’re going to go up there right this minute, iron everything perfect and put it away like you should have done hours ago.”

“I will not,” She said. “It’s after my work hours. I’m going to bed.”

“You’re a live-in maid, you don’t have after hours,” I said.

“I think the labor board would disagree with you,” She said.

I said, “There’s a much closer board that won’t agree with you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” She said.

I said, “Not only would I, but I will if you don’t get your sassy tail up to my room this minute.”

She said, “I’m not that kind of maid.”

“You’re not any kind of maid from what I’ve seen,” I said.

“Now that’s just rude, I expect an apology if you expect me to do any more work ever,” She said.

I sat down on the sofa and said, “You can either get over my knee or get out of my house.”

She said, “In your dreams.”

“It is my house and you will do one or the other this instant,” I said snapping my fingers at her.

“Make me!” She said.

“You asked for it,” I said, grabbing her arm pulling her over my lap.

She squealed from the very first slap of my hand. When I slipped my fingers in her her pant waist and eased them down, she squealed even louder. I smacked her red pantied bottom and she kicked and squirmed like the overgrown brat she was. My hand enjoyed the silkiness of her underwear, but I realized only a bare bottom spanking would have the desire effect.

Pulling her panties down, I said, “I like this red on your bottom. I think I’ll have to apply it directly though.”

“Stop it!” She screamed, kicking her legs, “What are you doing, you sick bastard?”

“I’m giving you the spanking you so richly deserve,” I said, reapplying my swinging hand to her bottom.

The room echoed with the clapping of my hand with bottom. Elaine provided a constant rhythm of thumping with her toes kicking the floor and a melody of squeaks, reminiscent of fairy tale birds singing. If it weren’t for the occasional curse word flying out of her mouth, I could have imagined I was spanking a poor princess. Why did they not make good cartoons like that showing all the young men how to handle their princesses? Oh well, live and learn, I suppose.

I kept up the walloping until her legs tired of kicking and then said, “Are you ready to put yourself over my lap for a proper spanking now?”

“I can’t take anymore,” Elaine said, sobbing.

“You could always leave,” I said, “but if you do, you will not be welcome back.”

“You’re a real bastard,” She said.

“I cannot control what you think of me, but while in my employ, you will keep your opinions to yourself unless I ask for them,” I said.

“Or what?” She said, twisting to look up at me.

“Or you’ll find yourself in this position more often,” I said.

“Fine,” She said, “I’ll take care of your laundry.”

I nodded and said, “I thought you might see things my way. Now stand up.”

Patting her bottom one more time, I released my hold on her and helped her climb to her feet. Her bottom was a mere pink, several shades lighter than her red panties, but the blush on her face and the genuine tears on her cheeks, were compensation enough. I knew her well enough to know it would not last unless I pushed a little farther though.

“So, you’re staying?” I asked.

She nodded, wiping tears from her eyes and nursing her bare bottom.

“Then you agree to do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it and keep your opinions to yourself?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Good,” I said. “Now you are going to strip--

She gasped, eyes widening like saucers.

--everything off and then you will go upstairs, iron my clothes, neatly take of everything in its proper place, and then come back down to the kitchen and stand against the wall with your bare red bottom on display until I’m ready to send you off to bed. Understood?”

She glanced at the door then back to me and tugged her pants and panties down her legs stepping out of them and tossing them onto the coffee table. Covering herself for a moment against the wall, she found the nerve to lift her top off and throw it to join her other things. Wearing nothing but her bra and nylons she looked to me for mercy.

“Everything,” I said.

Her face turned bright red and she unfastened her bra, throwing it to the table. A moment later she rolled her nylons off her legs and rushed off up the stairs. I followed her, to make certain she would do a good job of course. Elaine lifted the mountain from my bed and carried it back down to her work area. She ironed well into the night and when I woke in the morning she was standing by the kitchen wall, hands on her head, naked bottom still displayed. My clothing was so well tended, I am thinking I might have to permanently alter her uniform. I wonder if Elaine would voice an opinion about it?

Thursday, June 10, 2010

School Spankings

When I write about school spankings, I have a tendency to shy away from anything not college related. Personally, I just don’t like the idea of the publicly ran school system spanking. The college environment is much different, because it allows the creation of a fantasy environment not touched by the walls of everyday reality. For the most part, real colleges don’t delve into the spanking arena which makes the story safe for exploring all kinds of situations.

Another plus to the college environment is the student (aka spankee) is old enough to choose for themselves if they want to go through the disciplinary situation that is created or run away. Of course since I’ve created the character in the first place, I make the choice for them, but that is entirely irrelevant. The point is, the college school environment makes for a great setting where the story is free to explore institutional style discipline without the boundaries typically required by the school type spanking stories. I like this because when I write stories, I like to be able to follow the story wherever my characters want to take it and sometimes that is a very strange place.

What is not so great about the college environment is the lack of routine and structure most college’s employ in their operation. When a student can choose not to attend class, not to do their course work, fail tests, and hang out on the beach all day, the story can quickly lose its footing. Why would a student about to get an embarrassing spanking in front of their class even go to class under those rules? They wouldn’t, unless they were shooting for that embarrassing scene in the first place. Some people / characters are all for this kind of thing, but most of the characters I create have a healthy desire to avoid such things. Meaning, they will hang out at the beach if they had the choice, I know I would.

The easiest way to fix the problem is by adopting a structured environment of enforceable rules which dictate the students’ actions in a way that requires them to face consequences even when they would rather not. Although, in some ways the environment can feel more like a high school at this point, it is still representative of a small portion of faith-based private colleges. That allows an aspect of realism into the story, but small enough that I can still wander through the story with a minimum of disruption. Really, the lines drawn between fact and fantasy are irrelevant because the story from its inception is fantasy, but it is nice to have that feeling which suggests even though the events are fictional, perhaps the environment is real. It makes the fantasy palatable and just a touch more exciting.

What remains is the ability to pull the reader from their reality and suck them into the fantasy I’ve created. Maybe that could be said in a nicer way, I by no means suggest that readers suck or should be sucked, but it is important that while reading a story they can suspend their disbelief and become a part of the fantasy. This is of course the most difficult challenge every author faces and it is because individually we draw our own lines at what we will believe and not believe. As an author all I can do is create a consistent environment that follows its own rules without variation. If I can do that, then I have created a fantasy which should not disrupt from itself and if you dare to step inside, you might just lose yourself, for a time, in the characters and their stories.

The Spanking Chronicles of Cedar Lake: For the General Assembly is just such a story and it is available now for immediate download at Lulu.com.

ps. Don’t forget to stop by Imagine the Stories, tomorrow for my weekly short story. This week we have a housemaid with more attitude than cleaning skills. I wonder what happens to her?