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."