No Other Way

I knelt on the bed. My hands and knees pressed into the firmness of the mattress, indenting its smooth surface. I could barely feel the light weight of the strap laying across the middle of my back. More obvious, was the elastic of my shorts pressing against my upper thighs, well lower than my waist where they were meant to reside. Drawing even more attention was the burning, red sting so recently imparted to my buttocks and the morning sunlight shining through the bedroom window, exposing them.

"Was it worth it?" He asked and I turned my head to look at him. I hoped the dried tears on my cheeks would give the illusion of the contriteness he expected. The question elicited memories of the previous night, bringing a faint smile to my lips. The short answer was most definitely a yes.

The moment had been long in coming. It might have come sooner had I set out to accomplish it, but such a goal was not mine. The spark of it could change everything going forward, even if the goal seems contrary to my best interests. Not that I expect anyone to understand, but the moment has its allure.

When he flung the door open, I felt the cold flash of terror washing over me. Even the warmth of being nestled within my covers fled. Not a word was spoke as he walked across the floor ignoring my fearful gaze. His hands threw open the curtains, inviting in the morning sunlight from which I wanted to hide. I threw a hand up to shield my eyes from the light and groaned as the previous evening's illicit activities shot throbbing pain through my still tired head.

He marched to the foot of the bed and stood staring down over me with scolding eyes. The flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach washed over me, leaving me trembling. He had made the threats on previous occasions and looking up at him, I knew the time for threats had come and gone. The hard line of his jaw was sign enough of his intention to follow through and I knew the time had come.

"Up," He said. The succinctness of his command resonated within in my ears indicating the relative shortness of his remaining patience. I blinked at him, my pouting lip protruding just enough to search out a tenderness in his heart, but unsurprisingly finding it absent. My breath froze in lungs and my mind emptied itself of all coherent thought leaving me with nothing more than emotion and impulse.

I hugged the covers closer to my body, seeking warmth and comfort, but there was none to be found. He reached out, snagging the foot of the covers in his hand and ripping them from me. Instinctively, I reached for them only to have them slip through my trembling fingertips and be thrown across the room from his disgruntled hand. I watched them sail through the air and morning sunlight, crashing against the wall and tumbling into a puddle of softness hidden by shadows.

He pointed to the spot on the wall above my bed. I had no need to look, but I did anyway. Sadness gripped me, my eyes began to water and nothing could make me look away. The strap hung against the barren whiteness of the wall. I knew what he expected, but my arms would not obey. The strap remained steady, unflinching, unmoving and his finger remained just as stubbornly fixed in place, pointing at the implement. Had I not intervened there might have been a cataclysm of untold proportions.

I reached up and took the strap from its home. It laid heavy in my hands as if it were almost sorrowful and laden with guilt for its purpose. I would have offered comfort, but there was little point because in his hands, there would be no comfort or comforting. He barely waited for me to offer it to him before taking it from my hands. I watched it fall limp in his hands and offered it a sympathetic smile before turning my attentions to him and his unflinching gaze.

His crooked finger pointed at the floor at the foot of my bed. I shook my head in protest, but the finger remained fixated on the spot on the floor. Dragging my feet along the smoothness of the floor, I approached the location indicated. The finger returned to his side and he stared at me as if he expected something more. I knew what he wanted, but I wanted to hear the commands from his mouth.

"Bend over," He said.

The resonance of his voice tugged at the corners of my lips, dragging out hints of a smile. I turned to face the bed and leaned over the foot board. My hands pressed against the mattress, my buttocks felt unnaturally pushed to protrude behind me. His hands came to rest against my waist, fingertips brushing against the skin of my stomach before gently pulling my pajama bottoms down exposing just enough of my bottom to make it feel like a target between my top and bottoms.

I enjoyed the quiet moment while he appraised the milky whiteness of my backside. The sunlight warmed the skin and relaxed my muscles. He waited, the strap held firm in his hand, and he stared as if he might have been having second thoughts about what he was going to do. Had I the voice to put words to the feeling pulsing through me, I would have nudged him onwards, but in the moment I was mute.

My body jerked, my eyes blinked and then I felt it. The lash of the strap against my bare skin rippled through my nerves, sending waves of warmth emanating outward to my extremities. I breathed just in time for a second lash to come crashing down. A scream might have escaped my lips, but it was only a natural response to the pain. It was not the strap's fault nor was it even his fault.

The strap continued to sing through the air. My legs began to kick in response and my breath grew more and more ragged with each successive lash. The burning discomfort began to pulse in sync with the gyrations of my body trying to avoid the next stroke. Tears dripped from eyes to the mattress below and as they did, guilt slipped away, replaced by a conviction to do better. Even in the moment I knew the conviction would last only so long as the burn and sting reminded me, but in truth I would have it no other way.

More Than Words

"You're unhappy," He said.

How astute of him to notice. The salad on my plate had grown warm and the lasagna cold. My fork picked at the congealed cheese and swept aside the limp green leaves as if a rearrangement could bring about new life. It was hopeless. We were hopeless and yet to look into his eyes, you would not know it. Maybe there was love still residing within, but love is not a thing of maybes.

"I'm tired," I said, meaning of him and of us, but knowing he would not understand.

"Are you?" He asked, his tone suggesting he believed something else.

With a sigh, I tossed my napkin from my lap on top of my plate and pushed myself up from the table. His eyes followed my every movement, but I no longer felt the thrill of capturing his attention. My hand reached across the table to collect his empty plate with the intention of clearing the table, but he grasped my wrist. My heart was tempted to pause in anticipation but hope had already left. I lifted my gaze to meet his and bitterness found its way to my tongue.

"Let go," I commanded, pulling away from him. His grip remained firm and again I said, "Let go."

"Talk to me," He said, his eyes pleading while his fingers remained tight around my wrist like an iron bracelet. I continued to pull against him.

"There is more to life than conversation," I said, the words spitting form my lips like a victim's accusation upon the guilty. His head tilted in confusion and I shook mine in disappointment. It was too much to hope he would glean understanding and folly to expect it.

"What would you have me do?" He asked.

"Let me go," I said and after the briefest of moments his fingers released me. I laughed and turned away from him. He would never learn.

But then, as I began to step away, his fingers wrapped around my arm and pulled me back. I gasped, flailing backward and would have fallen except he stood and steadied us both. Twisting around, I caught the glint in his eyes and I smiled, but not for him to see. He yanked me toward him again until I had no choice but to stand, body to body against him, my eyes daring to hope as they turned upward to glimpse his determination. I waited as a worm on the hook.

"Do you even know what you want?" He asked, his hot breath sifting through my hair and warming the top of my head. I basked in dizziness.

"Let go of me," I said, punching a fist into his breast, "you brute!"

Unfazed and laughing he said, "It won't make you happy."

"You wouldn't know how to make me happy," I said.

He shook his head and said, "You could have just asked."

"For you to have a heart, courage or a brain? I dare say it might be a bit too much to ask," I said.

"I know exactly what you need," He said.

I was tempted to believe, but there was a lack of proof leaving me in doubt. I said, "Could it be another conversation about the weather or perhaps we should talk of politics and religions until the wee hours of the night?"

"A conversation?" He said nodding his head as if lost in the details of a forgotten memory. "Yes, my father often called it that."

"More boring words from you or your father are not what I need or want," I said, hiding my smile in the folds of his shirt.

"Not all conversations go from mouth to ear," He said.

I looked up at him, his face suddenly masked in an unfamiliar sternness. It suited him well, but I feigned surprise and shock in his gaze. "Oh?" I said, as if I knew not what he meant.

"Some things are conversed better between palm and bottom," He said.

I gasped and tried to pull away once more. A smile tugged at the corners of lips and was fulfilled in the light dancing in his eyes. My skin tingled with welcome anticipation. The firm grip of his hand felt like a loving caress and my heart dared to continue beating. Hope burned within me like the light of a thousand candles beaming as happiness through my every pore.

"You wouldn't dare," I said.

The time for words had come to an end. He spun me around and his fingers unzipped the back of my dress. I might have liked to resist a little, but fear held me still. If there remained even the slightest doubt in his mind, he might stop and my heart could not bear the disappointment if he did. I shivered as his hands brushed aside the straps and the garment fell to a puddle around my feet. Slowly, lovingly, he stripped me naked for his eyes' pleasure and I basked in the attention. His hands explore every inch along the way and when all was done, he pulled me into him, greedily tasting my lips and breathing my breath. He pulled away leaving me hungry and lusting for more.

Adorned in nothing more than jewelry and heels, I walked with him to the couch. He lifted the leather swatter from the side table, a gift from his parents' travels, never used except as a trinket set out for display. It swished through the air between us, letting me know what he intended. I raised an eyebrow, but did not object.

"Sometimes the hand needs a little help," He said in explanation.

I knelt on the open end of the couch and waited. My body was exposed to his every whim and he took his time, drinking in the view with laughing eyes. He knew what I wanted, what I needed and he enjoyed making me wait. I would not beg for it, but I could not keep my body from doing it through the bumps of anticipation along my flesh, the shallowness of breath drawn through my lips, or the twitching of my buttocks. Gently, almost lazily, he slapped the leather against my bottom producing nothing more than screaming cries of frustration.

I turned toward him and wagged my finger in the space between us. He shrugged, his arms waving out beside him and said, "What?"

"If you're going to spank me, " I said wagging my finger, "you damn well better do it right."

He said, "Just remember, you asked for it," and the leather came swishing down leaving in its wake the beginnings of a warm sting and a warmer glow.

Gift of Love

The box was plain white with a single strip of pink ribbon holding it closed. A single red rose, long stem and vased in a glass bubble, sat next to the box on my nightstand. There was no card, no certain way to identify the sender, but I knew. The ribbon came undone with ease and the top slipped off the box with a careful flick of my fingers. My eyes widen with excitement seeing it laying there, encased in pink tissue paper. I was almost afraid to wrap my fingers around it, to lift it from the safety of its wrappings.

I checked the bedroom door, making certain it was closed. My fingers twisted the rod to the blinds, closing off the view to and from the outside world. I slid open the top drawer of my dresser, watching the woman in the mirror. She looked nervous, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she lifted her nightgown from the drawer. Staring back at me she pushed the drawer closed with gentle force and turned away to the bed. I laid the gown on top of the comforter and slowly slipped out of the day's attire, my eyes wandering back to the white box on the nightstand.

The box called to me from the nightstand, but I resisted the temptation, slipping on my gown. I pulled back the sheets, rearranged the pillows and sat on the bed. It was just within reach, the box and the rose. A creak in the floor outside my room sent flutters through my stomach and my head snapped toward the door. I waited, hands sweating in my lap, breath shallow in my throat and blood pulsing in my ears. The house grew quiet and I grew calm. He was coming, but not yet.

My attention turned back to the box. It lifted from the stand with ease, the weight barely perceptible to my hand. The box rested in my lap, the contents cushioned like a precious jewel and my fingers brushed against its cool surface. Tenderly, I lifted it from the box and cradled it in my hands. I moved the box away, discarding it until later when I would return the gift to its pure confines and conceal it within the white obscurity.

The wood was smooth and polished, feeling like glass against my fingertips. I turned it upside down to examine its flat back and admired the handles curvature, ensuring a comfortable grip. A short length of rope, tied in a knot, penetrated a smooth hole on the end of the handle. The brush was meant to be hung in plain sight, an ordinary everyday item to the untrained eye. It was much more to me.

For the casual observation it was a simple bath brush. The bristles would never be doused in soapy water. They would never scrub dirt from my skin or scratch an unseen itch on my back. The smooth wood and flat back were the useful particulars which had caught my eye and his. It would attract no unwanted attention, no veiled comments or taunting teases from family, friends or guests. It was the perfect secret, concealed in plain sight with plain purpose to mislead all except those who knew, all but him and me.

I held its solid form in my hands. My eyes closed with pleasant, tantalizing dreams. My ears twitched imagining the sound it would make, whistling through the air. Muscles tensed, waiting for the inevitable smack against tender flesh. The warmth of safety, caring, and loving spread throughout my body. Fire burned like passion from my buttocks. Sweat beaded on my forehead. With rapid, shallow breaths I shuddered, completely consumed.

A knock on the door snapped my eyes open. The dream faded from view and the bedroom door solidified into reality. From the door, my eyes drifted back to the brush, still resting delicately in my hands. I took a single deep breath and caught a hint of rose in the air bringing a smile to my lips. Love was in the air and he was waiting just outside my door.

PicTales: The Rumor

Three pages of neatly stacked white paper waited on the desk. Four problems posed on the first page and three on each subsequent page comprised the entirety of the test. Ten problems, twenty minutes, two minutes per problem equals plenty of time provided you know the steps to solve the problems. It was this last part which proved to be the real problem. Hence, one large problem spread over three pages, ten problems and twenty minutes equals not enough time and one, strike that, two red and sore backsides.

I stared and blinked at the white pages. My mind remained blank, remarkably blanker than the paper sitting before me. Repeatedly, I sharpened my pencil followed by twirling and fidgeting of the same pencil in my sweaty hands, my thumb inevitably snapping the sharpened graphite from its soft wood shell. I shifted from side to side in my seat.

Time ran out. My pencil fell flat. The pages remained as they were, crisply stacked, neatly blank. Trepidation churned in my empty stomach. I watched his slow, precise movement through the classroom. His steady hands collecting and stapling each student's exam into individually identifiable packets. Row by row, desk by desk, student by student, he collected the final results, without pause. His eyes saw everything and nothing. My foot tapped impatiently, nervously, beneath my desk. I hoped he would not notice, I anticipated he would.

The rumors were well spread. They come from sources both reputable and not. He did nothing to dissuade the believers and nothing to convince the cynics. It was all very private, very hushed and yet the rumors persisted. Soon, I would know the truth or at least suspect it with more certainty than I had before. Fate had been tempted and all that remained was for fate to take the dangled bait.

I listened to the hum of the overhead florescent lights. The gentle sound calmed my heightened nerves. I questioned my sanity. Deliberately sabotaging myself was far from the smartest thing to have done. We had discussed it in detail, searched for alternatives and in the end we had arrived at the same conclusion. It was the only way and we would of course do it together so there would be corroboration for our newspaper article. We believed there was safety in numbers, the risks were worth the rewards, but sitting at my empty desk, waiting for the consequences, I wondered if we were wrong.

His eyes bore into me. It felt as if he knew all my secrets as he kept us after class. The room emptied. Our fellow students filed out the door with smirks firmly plastered on the male faces and our own sex surreptitiously giggled at our imminent fate. The door slammed itself closed with as soft hydraulic hiss, feeling more like the metal clang sealing a prison cell. I sat tensely still in my desk attempting to appear relaxed. He leaned back in his chair, a faint upturn at the corners of his dry lips and his hands folded in his lap beneath the desk, out of view. My friend shuddered, looking away from him and seeking strength to persevere within my eyes. If only I had it to share.

I felt my chest heave with every breath, his eyes enjoying the rippling of my white cotton blouse. Excited by the attention, by the movement, my nipples hardened and my face blushed with embarrassment. He smiled as if he knew my every thought, every impulse and there was a greediness to his eyes as they shamelessly wandered over my school uniform. The standard length of my skirt, seemingly too long when I fastened it in place in the morning, now felt revealingly too short. I felt the cool kiss of circulating air against my thighs. My knees clamped together, desperate to hide even the slightest glimpse of anything beneath my skirt.

He strode across the front of the classroom, his gait fast and deliberate. His fingers firmly grasped an unbroken length of white chalk. I watched, paralyzed by apprehension. He drafted the problem, the first on the exam, with inhuman precision on the green board. Finished, he tossed the chalk back to its home with careless disregard. His body swung around on polished heels to face us, his eyes darting between us, making his preference known as they lingered on my bosom.

"Solve it," He said. His voice was brusque, his tone stern. His gaze fell to his wrist watch. "You have one minute."

I looked to my friend. She looked to me. We looked to him, uncertain of what he expected. Impatience spread from his eyes to his cheeks and his thin smile faded. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the chalk board in the corner. "Forty-five seconds," He said.

Together, we scrambled for the board. The chalk snapped in half as we each grappled for it. I willed my brain to recall the lessons. I stared at the board as fear consumed me and left my mind a blank. My friend's shaking hand dragged the chalk across the board in an attempt to do something, anything. Her method was erratic and nonsensical. Desperate, she scribbled an answer beneath the problem. Knowing she was wrong, I ridiculously hoped she was right.

"Time is up," He said. His lips lingered in the air between our ears. The smile returned to his face. He shook his head gently from side to side looking at the bad math written on the board. Grabbing my friend by the wrist he gazed deeply into her eyes, silencing even the barest thoughts of protest before they reach her quivering lips. Turning his attention briefly to me, he said, "Your friend will buy you one more minute. I suggest you make the most of it."

I watched in horror as he led my friend away to a nearby desk. He pulled the bench out and sat down with her standing nervously in front of him. Her eyes expanded in fear as shook her head pleadingly. His hand patted the top of his lap and with an almost friendly smile he pulled her to him. Unable to focus, I looked on as she allowed herself to be laid over his lap, her skirt riding up to expose the vulnerable white flesh of her thighs. He slapped his hand down onto the flimsy material of her school skirt. Her body shuddered with the impact, legs twitching behind her. He slapped her butt again.

"Unless you want to be next, you'll solve the problem," He said, pausing in his spanking just long enough to look at me.

I stared mutely, watching him lift the hem of her skirt and toss it high up on her back. His hand rested atop her exposed black panties. In a methodical circular motion he rubbed the silky material of her panties and the reddening skin they were meant to protect. Her hand resting on the floor by his foot, my friend looked up at me. The spanking resumed, his hand bouncing from cheek to cheek. She kicked and squirmed on his lap. He held her in place and gave no respite. I forced myself to turn away and make an attempt at the problem posed on the board.

Too soon for me, the spanking stopped. The loud slaps of his hand against her cushioned flesh echoed into silence and I felt the glare of his steel gaze on the small of my back. I dared not turn around to look. The chalk remained unused in my hand, the board as vacant of a solution as my brain a logical thought. I listened to the sounds of my friend clambering to her feet. The snap of elastic followed by my friend's moan elicited an image of lowered panties and a tucked up skirt. Unable to resist the urge, I glanced back to see the reality.

"It seems you wanted a turn," He said, his cheek brushing against my hair and his breath warming my earlobe and neck.

My eyes slipped closed. I inhaled a deep breath and shuddered from head to toe. His hand grasped the chalk from mine and tossed it aside into the tray. Firmly grabbing my wrist he pulled me along with him on the short journey to the empty bench. My friend watched without a word. Her hands slipped behind her to rub away at her burning, bare flesh. He sat down and pulled me close to him.

"Two minutes," He said, pointing at the chalkboard and looking at my friend.

I gasped at the length. She scurried to the board. In a daze, I laid over his lap. Nothing felt real, not his hand resting on my skirt, nor his hardness pressing against me from below. The first slap of his hand against my bubbly flesh sent ripples through my body. I blinked at the floor. The second slap echoed in my ears. My eyelids lowered and I focused on the growing tingle. The ripples of his spanks continued to flow through me, waves of pain overlapping with terse excitement.

The rhythm of spanks ceased. Stillness washed over me. His hand lifted my skirt and tucked the hem into the waistband. The coolness of his hand rubbing against my heated buttocks sent a shiver coursing through my spine. Pushing my butt against his hand, I moaned for more. His fingertips slipped inside the elastic of my panties and slid them over my inflamed skin and down my twitching thighs. He rested a gentle, supportive hand on my back and enjoyed his unobstructed view. I wriggled my naked backside in the cool classroom air. His palm patted approvingly against the curve of my right buttock.

"Up," He said, pulling me from my resting place on his lap.

The two minutes he promised my friend were far from over. I waited nervously, standing in front of him. His eyes wandered the length of my body, appraising me and my form. I held my breath. My muscles tensed. He smiled with greedy eyes. I glanced at my friend's back. Frantically she worked away at the problem on the board, ignoring everything happening behind her. He shook his head at me.

"You've been a bad, bad girl," He said, waving his index finger in my direction. I stood mute.

"Take it off," He said, his eyes scanning over me from head to toe. My eyes grew wide with apprehension. Nervously, I asked, "What?" The answer was blatantly clear, expressed by the look in his eyes. I trembled, waiting for the words he would voice, confirming my worst fear.

"Everything," He said.

The single utterance sent a tingle of panicked excitement shooting through my veins. My face burned bright and hot, images of standing naked flooding before my eyes. His own excitement pressed hard against his slacks. He sat waiting, unabashedly grinning from ear to ear. I squirmed in his spotlight, embarrassed by his groping gaze.

In mild protest, I said, "But you can't."

"With a single call I can have you placed on academic probation," He said.

I said, "My parents won't care."

"Are you certain?" He asked and I nodded emphatically. "That is unfortunate however, I can say with certainty your scholarship most certainly will mind."

My eyes widened with horror. The rumors were all true. He was manipulative. My fate rested in his sinister hands and he knew it all too well. He levied the threat with practiced ease, drawing me into his trap and snapping the cage closed with the only way out, jumping through the hoops of his devious little maze.

"That's right," He said smiling wider by the second, "they'll cancel your scholarship. So you see, you will do anything and everything I tell you to do from this moment on."

I looked down at myself. My hands raised themselves, shaking with outrage and defeat. The buttons on my blouse slipped undone, one by one. The clasp on my skirt came free with a pinch and the flimsy material fell to the floor around my feet. I slipped out of the stiff cotton blouse and let it fall as well. His eyes swept over the newly exposed flesh, anxious for more. I made him wait, removing my shoes and socks before slipping my lowered panties off my legs and then lastly unclasping my bra to fall atop the pile of discarded clothing at my feet.

He stood up and brushed my hair back behind my shoulders ensuring himself and unobstructed view of my breasts. His hands brushed over them, exciting my nipples once more and sending a shudder down to my toes. Taking a firm hold of my arm he guided me to the front desk next to chalkboard. He pushed me down onto the narrow bench where the edges of the hard wood bit into my spanked flesh. I forced myself to breath through the shock.

He slapped a blank test down in front of me. I stared at the problems and wished I had taken a few minutes to study the formulas the night before. My friend glanced back at the sound of his tapping finger on the desktop. Her eyes bulged before she quickly turned her attention back to the board. I looked up at him and his devious smile.

"You have ten minutes to finish the test and if you don't get at least half of them correct, I will cane you," He said, his eyes glancing to the cane hanging off the chalkboard's tray on the last word. The horror of sitting naked, taking a test with a burning red backside, paled in comparison to the new threat. Panic constricted my throat and my mind remained empty of answers and the path to them. All I could think about was the cane, innocuously hanging off to the side, waiting to be used on my naked butt.

"Class dismissed," He said, waking me from my daydreams and bring a fresh flush to my cheeks.

My classmates rumbled from their desks toward the exit as I scrambled to pack up my book and notebook. I caught his eye looking at me and pretended not to notice. The door closed behind the last of my classmates. He came to stand next to me, the two of us alone. I could feel his eyes looking through me, feel his breath washing over me.

"Sit down," He said.

Nervously I looked up at him. His face was impassive. My breath caught in my throat and I trembled, complying with his instruction. We were alone, utterly, completely alone. I stared at the desk and hoped the rumors were...

"I'm very disappointed in you," He said.

Soap*A*Mint Gum

Imagine: A stick of gum, no different than typical chewing gum, but instead of spearmint, wintermint, or grape, it is flavored to taste like soap. Now you have a carry anywhere, use anywhere, safe and simple way to curb behavior ranging from backtalk to cursing. No mess, no hassle unless of course you count the hassle of convincing the naughty one in question to put the stick of gum in their mouth, but then you could always tell them it was a stick of gum to correct their bad breath.

Fortunately this is part of my faux product series and as far as I know such a product does not actually exist, but imagine if it did.