Monday, February 28, 2011

The Winter Storm, Part 7

Through the steady onslaught of rain and the swish of windshield wipers, Miles spotted Jennifer. She stood on the highest point of a hill surrounded by nothing but grass and mud. Her arms were folded across her chest and she kept her gaze fixed on the flooded intersection below. Miles looked in the direction of her gaze and spotted the upper half of her car peeking out of the town’s newest river.
He swerved onto the wrong side of the road. Traffic was non-existent and the road was clear other than orange striped barricades blocking the way into the flooded intersection. The truck’s headlights illuminated Jennifer’s hill on the left side, water flowed in sheets onto the sidewalk and off into the street draining slowly into a backed up gutter. Miles realized she was oblivious to his arrival. He pulled to a stop next to the curb and honked the horn. She whirled toward him, her long hair slicing through the falling rain like a whip.
Even in the shadow of the storm, Miles could see the annoyed furl of her cheeks. His breath caught in his throat and his heart sent pangs of electricity shooting to his extremities. Her black dress was soaked to her skin. It adhered itself to her every curve like tight leather. For a moment, he forgot he was supposed to be upset with her. She stomped toward the truck, beauty and the beast rolled into one breathtaking body with one bad attitude.
Her march down the hill sent mud flying in every direction. Near the bottom of the hill, just short of the sidewalk, she slid on the slick grass. Her arms waved in the air wildly as she fought for balance. Miles shook himself from his adolescent stupor and grabbed the door handle, thinking only then of getting out to help her. But it was too late. She reached the sidewalk and found her balance without falling.
Secure in her footing, she paused long enough to throw virtual daggers from her eyes into Miles’ skull. He swallowed hard and reminded himself she was the one who had caused her misfortune, not him. He leaned across the compartment and pulled the handle on the passenger door, opening it for her approach. She hopped inside and groaned. With an exaggerated huff she slammed the door and shook her wet hair, sending droplets flying  like indoor rain.
“Nice of you to show,” Jennifer said while squeezing water from her soaked hair onto the center console. “Did you get lost or just drive slower than a fucking snail?”
Miles stared at the glitter of rain falling through the beams of his headlights. He had intended to wait until they were home, until she had a chance to dry off and calm down. If she had only contained her attitude, it would have gone better for her and for him, but that wasn’t Jennifer.  He knew what he had to do and he steeled himself for it. It wasn’t out of anger,  it was because if he let her, she was going to make him angry.
He slipped the transmission into park and stomped on the emergency brake. His fingers moved the wiper switch to off. They squeaked one last time, brushing away the drops on the windshield before disappearing below the top of the hood. He twisted the switch for the headlights, listening to it click twice before the beams faded to darkness.
In his peripheral vision he could see Jennifer watching him with curious eyes. He hit the lever on the back left of the steering wheel and pushed it up and out of his way. His thumb hit the release on his seat belt sending the material zipping back into the door frame and clanking when the buckle hit the stop. He turned in his seat, squaring his shoulders to face the woman he loved.
She stopped wringing the water from her hair and returned his stare. His lips quivered on the verge of words and she spoke before he could. “What’s your fucking problem?”
He sighed at her. His eyes fluttered closed and he took a deep breath, enjoying the honey scent of her perfume. Opening his eyes, he gazed at her, still struck by her rugged, wet-clothing beauty. A hungry smile licked his lips and he opened his arms to her, offering solace and a truce.
She looked into his eyes and inhaled the musky air of his aftershave. The corners of her scarlet lips turned upward, hinting of a victory smile. She slipped into his arms, pressing her hips into the console between their seats. Her breath warmed his stiff shirt collar and she tickled his naked neck with her tongue. He chuckled and she rubbed her wet bosom against his dry shirt. Her hands felt their way up his torso, stopping to massage his firm pecs. She sighed and nestled her head on his shoulder.
Miles cradled her in his arms. She stared up at him and he leaned down, pressing his lustful lips against hers. He basked in the momentary satisfaction. Her happiness was almost enough to change his mind. His arms trembled with indecision. A fog of confusion drifted into her upward staring eyes. He knew the moment was at hand, it was then or never. He twisted her in his arms, pinning her face-down torso to his lap with his left arm. His right hand rested on her newly upturned rump, raised to a convenient height by the presence of the center console beneath her gyrating hips.
“Hey!” Jennifer said, her voice muffled by the close quarters of his pant leg and the car door. “Just cause I let you hold me, doesn’t mean I’m in the mood for a five dollar foot long.”
Miles slipped his hand down her legs until it reached the hem of her dress. His fingers pinched the drenched fabric and began the slow process of inching it up her legs and over her bottom. She struggled to reach behind herself, but found her arms were trapped between his body, the car door, and the steering wheel. She kicked against the seat and the passenger door. He peeled the dress up her body, scrunching it like an accordion above her hips until her legs were bared and her panties were fully exposed.
Miles stared at the exposed skin, perched on his center console. Her choice of black lace panties were provocative, inappropriate and exactly what he had expected. Beneath the lace, shining into his eyes, was something he had not expected and for a moment all he could do was stare. Glistening, red flesh swelled in contrast with the black containing it. He brushed his fingers over warm buttocks and lace undergarment. She flinched, contracting the muscles and hardening her soft, fiery globes.
“Funny,” he said, gently patting her bottom, “I don’t recall your backside looking quite like this when I left this morning.”
Jennifer said, “This isn’t funny. Let me up and take me home.”
Miles rested both his hands on the middle of her back. “Not until I get some answers.”
She tried futilely to push herself upright. “Don’t fucking start with me. If you weren’t so obsessed with making Daddy proud, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“And what mess is that?” he asked.
“Take a fucking guess,” she said, attempting to twist free of his hold.
Miles patted her bottom, until she laid still again. “Would it have anything to do with the redness back here?”
“Wow,” she said, crooking her head to look up at him and roll her eyes, “you must be a fucking genius.”
He raised his hand and solidly spanked each butt cheek once. “I want answers, not attitude.”
“I want a million dollars and a Porsche,” she said. “Sometimes, you just have to settle for what you can get.”
“Jennifer,” Miles said, staring into her eyes, “you can either tell me what’s been going on now, or you can tell me after I spank your bottom ten degrees hotter. It’s your choice.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. He raised his hand and delivered a flurry of spanks to her buttocks. Her eyes shot open wide and she squealed. He continued to spank as she kicked and squirmed.
“Alright, alright, alright, alright,” she said until he paused again. “I made a deal and took a spanking to keep you and your father from finding out I was behind in delivering the last batch of updates to Raven’s Gym.”
Miles delivered another half dozen spanks. “Now don’t you wish you had just told me in the first place?”
She shook her head. “Can we go home now?”
“Sure,” he said, “just as soon as you tell me what you are doing here.  Raven’s Gym is on the other side of town and this isn’t exactly on the way home.”
“I was on my way to Harper and Son,” she said.
Miles shook his head and raised his hand, delivering another round of spanks that left her squirming and breathless. “Wrong answer,” he said, “this isn’t even on the long way around. Do you want to try the truth or should I take your panties down?”
“I got turned around with all the fucking road closures and that’s the fucking truth whether you believe it or not,” she said.
“Alright, maybe I believe you,” he said, laying on a few slow swats with a lot of smack and wobble, “but that still leaves the big question. What have you been doing that’s gotten you so far behind in your work?”
She weathered his spanks in silence leaving Miles to wonder if she heard his question at all. The tension in her body assured him otherwise though, and as it grew in intensity, he determined it was the real piece of information she wanted to keep hidden. He increased the speed of his spanks and waited for the revelation to spill from her lips.
The words burst out from her in a rush. “I was trying to cover up for Rachel, but it got to be too much and I haven’t been able to get things under control since.”
“Rachel was fired a month ago,” Miles said, resting his spanking hand on her hot bottom.
“And I was covering for her for a month before that. I’ve been behind all that time and it’s just now catching up with me,” she said.
“You should have come to me,” he said.
“You were already mad at me over getting her fired,” Jennifer said, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “How could I possibly tell you I was behind in my work because of her too?”
“I was not mad at you,” Miles said. His hold on her softened. “Rachel is the source of her own problems, she always has been. Dad and I don’t blame you.”
Jennifer looked up into his eyes. “You really aren’t mad?”
He shook his head. “I’m disappointed you didn’t tell me before you ended up getting a sore backside from a client, but I’m not mad.”
“Can we go home now?” she asked with hopeful eyes.
“Just as soon as we make sure you never lie or hide things from me again,” Miles said.
“I won’t,” she said.
Miles slapped his hand down on her buttocks. “I want to be certain.”
The spanking had her burying her head against his leg in seconds. She kicked and squirmed. Her breath turned ragged under the constant slapping of his hand. Sniffles echoed up from the floorboard. Her buttocks grew hotter with every smack of his open palm. He watched the tension fade from her body and admired the undulating waves rippling beneath her flesh in response to every impact of his palm.
She surrendered to the moment, to the spanking, to him.
He stopped the spanking. His hand tingled on the verge of numbness and he knew it was enough. Her sniffles were muffled by the seat and car door, but he knew the sounds of sincerity wracking from her lungs. He lifted her gently upward and she twisted wrapping her arms around his neck. She rested her head on his shoulder and he wiped away the tears on her cheeks with a brush of his finger. He kissed her cheek.
Her lips and eyes pouted. “That really hurt,” she said.
He whispered in her ear. “It was supposed to.”
“Meanie,” she said and punched his chest with a closed fist and so little force that he barely felt it.
He smiled and kissed her again. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
“No,” she said without hesitation.
Miles lifted her from his chest and sat her properly into her own seat. Properly that is with the exception of tugging her dress back down. If she cared, she showed no sign of it on her face. He reached across her and pulled the seat belt to fasten her securely in place. She turned her head away from him and stared out the window.
A knock on Miles’ window startled them both. Outside in the rain, a heavy set man in a police uniform was leaning down and looking inside the truck. Jennifer blushed dark red and grabbed at the hem of her dress, trying to pull it down past her panties. It was a nearly impossible task with the seat belt in place.
Miles rolled his window down. “Morning officer. Is there a problem?”
The man glanced down at himself before looking back to Miles with a sloppy smile on his face. “I’m not an officer, just with traffic enforcement. The names Brody,” he said and offered his hand to Miles. “We’ve got flooded streets all over town and even the locals are getting turned around. I was just checking to see if you and lady here were in need of assistance?”
Miles shook Brody’s hand and glanced at Jennifer. She was still struggling with the hem of her dress while glaring daggers in Brody’s direction. Miles raised an eyebrow, but she wasn’t paying attention to him. He turned back to Brody.
“I know my way around,” Miles said. He nodded his head toward the flooded intersection. “That’s my girlfriend’s car floating down there. We were just having a little discussion before heading home.”
Brody leaned inside the truck enough to get his forehead out of the rain. His eyes wandered to Jennifer’s exposed panties and his lips hung open in a loose grin. She blocked his view with her hands, but he kept looking anyway. He said, “If I were a betting man, I’d say you learned your lesson today. Am I right little lady or am I right?”
Jennifer’s red face grew darker and her lips puckered in an angry frown. Miles expected a bit of venom to spew from her lips, in fact, he was almost looking forward to hearing it. Instead, she glared in uncharacteristic silence, until Brody winked at her and pulled his head back out of the truck.
Brody grinned at Miles. “Well don’t let me keep you out here. It’s probably best if you head on home and stay there cause what I’m hearing is the real storm hasn’t even hit yet. Can’t quite imagine how bad it’s going to get.”
Miles nodded. “Yeah, home sounds like a good idea.”
Brody’s gaze lingered on Jennifer as Miles rolled up the window. The storm continued to rage outside. A bolt of lightning lit the sky, giving the clouds an eerie platinum glow. The patter of falling rain slipped into silence and the truck reverberated in tune with the roar of thunder rolling off the clouds. Miles kept his eyes on Brody until the man finally turned and walked away.
Turning to Jennifer, he asked, “Do you know that guy?”
She shook her head and looked out her window. “I think he might have gone to my high school.”
“But you’re not sure?” he asked.
Jennifer shrugged. “He looked a little familiar, that’s all.”
“He seemed a little odd,” Miles said.
Jennifer stared out her window. He shook his head, knowing she was keeping something from him. Whatever it was, he decided to pursue it later and turned his attention back to the truck. The steering wheel dropped back into place with a thunk under the weight of his hands. He flipped on the headlights and revved the engine before slipping the transmission into drive.
With a quick glance  in his mirrors and at Jennifer, he pulled away from the curb and turned the truck around to head back the way he had come. The rain had stopped, but his instincts told him Brody was right about the storm;  It was far from over and the worst of it remained ahead.
“You up for seeing my father?” he asked.
She remained silent, staring out the passenger window.
He said, “Cause we should really figure out what were going to do about the Harpers.”
She looked back toward him. “There’s nothing to figure out. I’m not going to let that bastard Julian lay a hand on me and if I have to quit to be sure of it, then I quit.”

Monday, February 21, 2011

The Winter Storm, Part 6

There were the stares and giggles. Nothing was too obvious or direct, but it was there, the same way the squeaking of rubber soles on the tile floor was there; in the background permeating everything. Michelle kept her head up as she weaved through packed hallway toward her second period class. No one would dare laugh at her face.
A cold hand dropped onto her shoulder. Michelle twitched, shaking free of the offending limb and twisting her head to look behind her for the source; Aimie Andrews. Their eyes met and Michelle exhaled, shaking her head briefly before turning back to her original course.
“You’re pissed,” Aimie said, taking pace next to Michelle. “That’s a good sign.”
Michelle cocked her head sideways and lifted an eyebrow. “It is?”
“Yeah,” Aimie said, “it means you haven’t turned into just another Cody cock whore. Or at least, I hope not?”
“You call yourself a friend and have to ask?” Michelle puffed on hot air and quickened her pace.
Aimie grabbed her arm, forcing a slowdown. “Hey, what do you expect? The dweeb has been spreading rumors all morning and you haven’t said jack to anyone. It’s not like you haven’t been hanging with him and everybody saw his paws all over you on Wednesday.”
Michelle waved a dismissive hand at her friend. “Cody think he’s far more relevant than he actually is and some of that comes from people like you putting way too much importance in what he says. Trust me, he’s irrelevant.”
Aimie shook her head. Spotting a free area to their left she tugged Michelle along with her through the thinning crowd. They stood in front of a maintenance door in a void created by the lockers on the adjacent wall. Across the hallway, the door remained open leading into their shared second period English class.
“He may be irrelevant,” Aimie said, “but your reputation is not. You can’t just let him trash you.”
Michelle laughed at her friend. “He’s only trashing himself, but it’s just going to take a little bit before he, and everyone else, figures it out. Besides, I still need him to remain stupid for a few more hours.”
Aimie shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I should have known you had scheme going here. So, what is it?”
“Ask me next week,” Michelle said and turned toward the open classroom door.
Aimie grabbed Michelle’s arm again. “Hang on a second. If you aren’t all pissed over Cody, then what’s up?”
Michelle turned back toward her friend. A flush of embarrassment warmed her skin and she looked at the sign on the door behind Aimie to avoid looking into her eyes. “Nothing.”
Aimie’s head tilted to the left. “Nothing? Bullshit. What’s going on?”
The crowd in the hall was getting noticeable thinner. Time was running down on the passing period. Michelle glanced behind her at the open door. “We should go.”
Realization dawned in Aimie’s eyes. “You’re in trouble.”
Michelle’s eyes opened wide. “How would you know?”
“Cause it’s like written all over your face,” Aimie said. “So?”
Michelle sighed and turned her full attention back to her friend. “I didn’t get my Civics done last night.”
Aimie laughed. “That’s all? Damn, I didn’t do my English homework and it’s the third time this month I’ve missed. You’re worried about one time in Civics?”
“It’s not Civics I’m worried about,” Michelle said.
“Then what?” Aimie asked.
“If my dad finds out,” Michelle said, “it’ll screw everything up.”
Aimie shrugged. “So, don’t let him find out.”
“If that was possible it’d be great,” Michelle said, shaking her head. “The problem is you know Wolfe will assign after school detention and that means I’ll miss my ride home this afternoon.”
“Make something up. Tell your dad you stayed after to do extra credit work with Mr. Wolfe,” Aimie said.
“That’s a little too bold,” Michelle said with a laugh. “If my dad didn’t believe me and call Mr. Wolfe, he would not only find out I lied, but also why I lied. No, the truth is the only way out of this is to get the work done somehow between now and third period.”
A flicker in Aimie’s eyes made Michelle look over her shoulder. Nick was walking along the corridor with post-it marked textbook in his hands. Michelle watched as he passed and turned left into the teachers’ lounge. She scowled at his absence.
Aimie cleared her throat with a shallow cough. “I see.”
Michelle’s eyebrows raised as she turned back to her friend. “What?”
“Nothing.” Aimie shrugged.
Michelle cocked her head to the left. “You’re really getting on my nerves today.”
Aimie nodded. “Aside from Cody, that seems to be the rule of the day.”
“Be a bitch on your own time,” Michelle said and turned away, taking a step toward the open classroom door.
“Normal girls kiss the guys they like,” Aimie said, “and save the castrating for the bastards. You seem to have it backwards.”
Michelle turned back around on her heel and stepped up close to Aimie. “I wasn’t trying—
—to castrate Nick?” Aimie asked, tossing her brown curls off her shoulders. “I’m sure you fooled everyone, including Nick, this morning with your little stunt in the hall.”
Michelle squared her shoulders and stared down at Aimie. “That’s none of your damned business.”
“Then maybe you should have had your little spat in a more private place,” Aimie said.
“Look,” Michelle said, backing down a little, “it’s not what you think.”
Aimie shrugged. “So it’s got nothing to do with him being jealous as hell over the display you put on with Cody this week?”
Michelle sighed. “No, I asked for his help with my Civics problem and he refused.”
“Because of Cody,” Aimie said.
“No!” Michelle shook her head. “He... just forget it okay?”
“Uh uh.” Aimie shook her head. “Out with it.”
Michelle stared at the maintenance door. “He wanted to spank me before he’d help.”
“And you said no?” Aimie blinked wildly.
“Of course I said no.” Michelle stared down at her friend.
Aimie continued to blink. “You like him, right?”
“Not at the moment,” Michelle said.
Aimie scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re crazy about him. So, what you’re going to do is as soon as second period is over, you’re going to run, don’t walk, and find Nick. Then you are going to get down on your knees and beg the boy to put you over his lap everyday for the rest of your life or as least for the next week and if you’re really lucky, he might still help you with your homework problem.”
“You’re delusional,” Michelle said.
Aimie laughed. A shadow fell over the two girls from behind Michelle. They fell silent, noticing the hallways was nearly empty, except for them and the shadow. Michelle turned toward the source and looked up to see Mr. Wolfe, smiling down at her.
He said, “If I’m not mistaken, you ladies should be rushing off to class.”
They both straightened and lowered their gazes respectfully. “Yes, sir.”
“Off you go then,” he said with a wave of his hand before continuing on his way toward the teachers’ lounge.
The bell rang marking the end of the passing period. Michelle and Aimie barged through the door, scrambling to get to their seats before the final shrill fell into silence. Mrs. Rixford singled Aimie out with a stern gaze and a disapproving shake of her head before turning to her lesson plan on the podium.
Mrs. Rixford spoke to the classroom at large, flipping the page on her planner. “Pass your homework to the front and open your books to page 137.”
The classroom rustled to life. Books were opened, homework pages were torn from spiral notebooks and gossip was spread with the passing of each page toward the front of the room. Collecting the pages, Mrs. Rixford stopped at the front of the row seating Aimie and Michelle. She thumbed through the pages and cleared her throat, fixing her gaze on Aimie.
“Aimie,” Mrs. Rixford said, causing Aimie to twist in her seat to face the front of the classroom, “It appears you forgot to pass in your homework. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass it forward now?”
Aimie swallowed and blushed while brushing aside strands of her curly hair from her face. “Would you believe I already did?”
Mrs. Rixford’s chin dropped a quarter of an inch and her dry lips flattened. “If  you had it would be in my hand.”
“There must be some mistake,” Aimie said with a shrug.
Mrs. Rixford nodded. “Yes, such as for the third time this month you have apparently sluffed off the homework I assigned.”
“That would be a very serious mistake,” Aimie said, glancing around the room, “but don’t you think it’s more likely one of these jealous classmates sitting in front of me stole my homework?”
“No, I do not,” Mrs. Rixford said, “however, I do find it difficult to understand why you would even show up to class without your homework after the warning I gave you last week.”
Aimie shrugged. “Wishful thinking I guess.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Rixford said, “if you thought I wouldn’t follow through.”
“Well actually,” Aimie said, “I was watching this movie and with the rainstorm I thought it might just be possible you’d melt away long before class.”
Mrs. Rixford’s lips curled upward into a scary smile. “Too bad for you we don’t live in Oz.”
“So you admit you’re wicked,” Aimie said.
“Thoroughly,” Mrs. Rixford said, still smiling.
The silence in the room filled with the gloom of the storm raging outside. Michelle shuddered in her seat when the lights flickered in sync with a loud boom of thunder. The ceiling tiles rattled in their frames and the whisper of hot air being blown into the room through strategically placed vents added an extra heft to the air. Michelle looked around the room, but all eyes were on Aimie.
“How about,” Aimie said, “I do an extra assignment over the weekend and we call it even?”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Rixford said.
Aimie’s eyebrows lifted. “It is?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Rixford said, nodding. “You can do the assignment from last night, your homework for the weekend and an extra assignment, all due on Monday.”
Aimie said, “Uh, okay.”
Mrs. Rixford said, “I’m glad we’re in agreement. Now if you would join me at the front of the class for your swats, we can move on to other business for the day.”
Aimie blinked. “But I thought—
Mrs. Rixford said, “Enough, Miss Andrews. Get yourself up here before I have one of these young men drag you up here.”
Aimie adopted a frown and pushed herself up out of her desk. She trudged quietly to the front. Michelle watched her go, envying the quiet confidence that seemed to emanate from her. Around the room, anticipation hung on the faces of people that were supposed to be friends. Michelle realized it didn’t matter, anyone pulled to the front for a spanking was a spectacle and for the largest part, everyone was going to enjoy the show. The butterflies in her stomach reawakened, reminding her that it was only a couple more hours before she would find herself in the same position unless she found a way to get her own Civics homework done.
Mrs. Rixford held her hand out toward Aimie and said, “Remove your blazer.”
Aimie slipped it from her shoulders and allowed Mrs. Rixford to take it. Mrs. Rixford draped it over her podium and lifted the long wooden paddle from its hook on the side. She sliced it through the air, popping it against the flat of her hand and making everyone jump, especially Aimie.
Mrs. Rixford barked orders at Aimie while the class remained in tense silence. “Feet, shoulders width apart, legs straight, bend down and touch your toes. You’ll count each swat aloud and stay in position until I say it’s over. If you don’t, the previous swat will be repeated and another will be added on at the end. Understood?”
Aimie said, “I think I know the routine.”
Michelle looked around the classroom, anything to avoid looking at her friend or more aptly, the specter of her future self. The collective eyes of their classmates were focused on Aimie and Mrs. Rixford. Several of the boys sat on the edge of their seats, as if suddenly uncomfortable. Their lack of empathy felt colder than the storm wind blowing outside.
Still, Michelle could hardly blame them when she too was watching the scene unfold. It was like staring at the last chocolate in a box and knowing you shouldn’t, but all the while lifting it up to devour it in all its sinful delectableness.
Aimie widened her stance and slowly stretched herself downward until her fingertips brushed the tops of her polished shoes. Mrs. Rixford swatted the paddle against the open flat of her palm. The class bristled in anticipation of the main event.
Mrs. Rixford said, “I think we’ll have five swats for not doing your homework and another five swats for sass and then two more just to make sure you’re getting the message this time. Is that acceptable Aimie or should I add a few more?”
Michelle cover her mouth to avoid her friend spying the amusement on her lips. Aimie gave an upside down shrug and said, “You’re the teacher.”
Mrs. Rixford raised the paddle in the air behind her. “Yes, I am,” she said and brought the paddle crashing down onto Aimie’s proffered posterior.
Aimie’s skirt flattened and then fluttered in the wake of the swat. Her voice was calm and steady  as she counted, “One.”
Michelle gripped the edges of her desk. The paddle raised high in the air and hovered. Mrs. Rixford swung it down, popping against Aimie’s rear. The skirt fluttered again teasing the class with a flicker of white from beneath its folds of fabric. The clock on the wall above the whiteboard ticked off another second in the quiet aftermath of the swat.
“Two,” Aimie said.
A flash of lightning outside the window on the left wall grabbed Michelle’s attention. The pop of the paddle impacting Aimie’s bottom turned Michelle’s head back toward the spanking. A moment later, thunder rattled the window as if it was an echo to the latest swat.
Aimie’s voice wavered and her tone took a turn toward the contrite. “Three,” she said.
Michelle blinked and looked around the classroom. No one was looking anywhere except at Aimie and her prominent rear end. Nick’s offer to spare her the same humiliation in Civics suddenly seemed a kindness. Of course, the prospect of laying herself over his lap for discipline remained equal parts daunting and exciting, but maybe Aimie was right.
Mrs. Rixford swung the paddle.
Aimie swayed from side to side for a moment. Even at the back of the classroom, Michelle could hear the ragged breathing of her friend as she attempted to weather the formidable sting being imparted by Mrs. Rixford. Michelle twitched in her seat as if her own bottom was stinging.
“Four,” Aimie said.
The paddle swooshed through the air. Michelle squeezed her eyes shut a second before the impact and reopened them in tune with the pop. Aimie’s skirt fluttered in the paddle’s breeze. “Five.”
Mrs. Rixford lowered the paddle to her side and took a step back from Aimie. “Flip up your skirt for the next five,” she said.
Michelle, like her classmates, was transfixed by the scene. Aimie reached up from her bent position and tossed the back hem of her skirt upward. The material landed on her back, exposing a pair of plain white panties to entire room. Her redden buttocks gave the white undergarment a pinkish glow.
Aimie’s fingers returned to the tops of her shoes. Mrs. Rixford stepped up into position again and raised the paddle in the air behind her. She brought it down on the panties flattening the buttocks. Waves of wobbling force shuddered through Aimie’s legs and the red became redder.
“Six,” Aimie said.
Michelle peered through shuttered eyelids.
“Seven.” Aimie counted in the aftermath of another swat.
Michelle looked down at her desktop and the open book in front of her. She tried to focus on the words, but all she saw was her blank homework for Civics. It taunted her. She shuddered at the echo of the paddle impacting Aimie’s bottom.
“Eight,” Aimie said.
Mrs. Rixford paused to address the class. “I hope everyone is learning from this.” She swung the paddle like a period on her sentence.
“Nine,” Aimie said.
Michelle’s ears tingled at the tone in her friend’s voice. She could hear the strain coming through and the limits of tolerance being reached. It would take little more to bring about tears and though it would seem only natural there was something about crying in front of classmates that made it a shameful act to be avoided above all others. Aimie understood, but there were limits and if an experienced rule breaker like Aimie couldn’t withstand the full swats of a middle-aged woman, how could Michelle hope to withstand the efforts of a younger and stronger man?
“Ten,” Aimie said.
“Final two,” Mrs. Rixford said. “You can stay quiet for these.”
Michelle wondered if it was kindness in Mrs. Rixford’s decision or if it was a taunting of sorts. Perhaps she too had heard the fragile edge in Aimie’s last counts and realized silence was not on the menu for much longer. It was more than a spanking going on at the front of the room. It was a battle of spirits, student and teacher, each vying for a symbolic victory over the other. It was idiotic and yet Michelle knew she would play the same game with Mr. Wolfe if it came to it.
The final two swats landed in close repetition. Silence fell upon the room. Mrs. Rixford hung the paddle back on its hook. She lifted the blazer from the podium and stood facing Aimie, still bent over. The patter of rain on the roof counted the long seconds. Michelle and her classmates waited with held breath.
“Stand up,” Mrs. Rixford said.
Aimie rose. She turned to face Mrs. Rixford, brushing her hair with her fingertips. She took the blazer from Mrs. Rixford’s outstretched hand and shrugged her way back into it. Michelle noticed a trembling in Aimie’s legs as she walked back toward her desk. There was wetness below Aimie’s eyes as she took her seat. Michelle decided to do whatever it would take to avoid Mr. Wolfe’s paddle.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Happy V Day!

I bet you were expecting a story today. You were probably even expecting to see part 6 of The Winter Storm, but I fooled you. Okay, it wasn’t exactly intentional. My plans were to have part 6 up today, but obviously that ship sailed, without part 6 aboard no less. I could give you excuses. I did come down with a nasty head cold on Friday and it did last all the way through the weekend. In fact, I’m still not 100% better today. Of course, you probably don’t want to hear my excuses. After all, you were looking for part 6 and it’s simply not here.
So, what are we going to do since part 6 isn’t around? I can hear a consensus already agreeing on someone sporting a red backside. I’m certainly not one to circumvent majority rules and therefore I’ve decided to oblige you all. Besides, this hurts all of you much more than it hurts me, right?
Hey, I didn’t say it would be my backside, just that someone would have a red one. Who knows what she did, but obviously it was way worse than anything I’ve ever done. If it wasn’t, then why is my bottom still white and no pictures of it are floating around on the web? Yeah, answer that smarties.
Anyway, I suppose you’ll just have to settle for my sincere wishes that each and everyone of you has a wonderful Valentine’s Day. Oh, and part 6 will be here next Monday. I promise. Really, I swear. C’mon, it’ll be here and you know it. Well, maybe it’ll be here. I’m sure I’ll finish revising it by then. It can’t be that bad, could it? No. It’ll be here. I’m sure of it. How about you?

Monday, February 7, 2011

The Winter Storm, Part 5

Rachel slipped inside her bedroom closing the door cautiously and timing its final click with a roar of thunder. She crept to her dresser and lifted her cellphone from its charger. The screen glowed to life and a flashing message told her what she expected, 1 missed call. She smiled, forgetting almost everything about her morning to that point and pressed the button to recall the last dialer.
“There you are,” Julian said.
She glanced at her closed door and spoke in a hushed voice into her phone. “Did you do it?”
Julian laughed with confidence. “Of course. She’ll be here on Monday. I’ll video it for you.”
“And Miles?” she asked. “He’ll lose the sale, right?”
“Thanks to you,” Julian said, “I’ve covered everything that’s in the program and more. Once my father sees that, he’d  be a fool to make any other decision.”
Rachel’s bedroom door swung open and bounced against its stop. Her father stepped into view, staring disappointment through his spectacles. Thunder rattled the window on the other side of the room and Rachel jumped. She lowered the phone from her ear, attempting to hide it from her father’s view behind her back.
Mr. Bennett’s gaze focused on Rachel’s midriff. It felt as if he was looking right through her to the phone in her hidden hand. His voice was gruff when he spoke. “What do you think you are doing?”
Rachel wrestled her shuddering nerves to stillness, presenting a facade of calm. “Nothing,” she said. With her unseen hand, she attempted to end the call, mashing buttons with her thumb.
Her father took two long strides, closing the distance between them. He took a firm hold of her arm and pulled it out in front of her, exposing the phone in her hand. Rachel frowned, but offered no resistance as he took it. He held it up to his own ear, keeping his disapproving eyes fixed on her.  “Who is this?” he asked.
The only answer was the pitter-patter of rain against the window. If he was surprised by the lack of response from Rachel or the person on the other end of the call, his expression failed to reveal it.  He spoke into the phone, casually ignoring the concern flashing in her eyes. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Rachel can’t talk anymore because she’s been a very bad girl this morning. In fact, she’s already had a spanking and she’s real close to getting another.”
“Daddy!” Rachel protested, wide-eyed and blushing.
His stare silenced the words hanging on the tip of her tongue. She bit her lip and huffed hot air through her nostrils. He ignored her, listening instead for signs of life on the other end of the call. After several seconds of silence, he said, “She’ll have to call you back when she isn’t grounded anymore and I’m sure she’ll explain everything to you then. Goodbye.” He ended the call, turned the phone over in his hand and removed the battery, slipping it into his shirt pocket. The useless phone dropped from his hand onto her dresser top.
Still huffing, Rachel looked at her phone. “Was that really necessary?”
“Apparently you thought so,” he said.
Her gaze drifted back to meet his. “I don’t think so.”
His brow furrowed and the intensity of his stare doubled, leaving her feeling small. She bit back her lip and dropped her head to avoid his eyes. “You are grounded,” he said, “and you know very well that means no hiding in your bedroom and no talking on the phone.”
Speaking more toward the floor than her father, Rachel said, “I wasn’t hiding.”
“You,” he said, “were supposed to be helping your mother with the housework.”
Her gaze remained fixed on the floor. “It was only a short call,” she said. “I didn’t want my friends to worry when they didn’t hear from me.”
“If that was the case,” he said, “you could have come to me and made the call from my office.”
She dared a new look into his eyes. “Don’t I deserve some privacy?”
“Not when you can’t be bothered to behave,” he said.
Scowling, she sidestepped to get by her father. “Fine,” she said, “It’s not like I really care anyway.”
Mr. Bennett turned on his heel and stopped Rachel in her tracks. “Not so fast, young lady. There are consequences in this house when you violate rules.”
She huffed and turned back to her father. Hands planted on her exposed hips, she said, “Now what?”
“To start with,” he said and pointed toward the clothes hamper at the foot of her bed, “you can take that sweater off and put it away.”
Her eyes shot open wide. “Why?”
His hand dropped back to his side and he focused on her. “Because I said so,” he said, “and if I have to say it again, your bra and panties will be joining it.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. The window rattled with another boom from the storm. She looked away from her father and saw her reflection in the window. The cold from outside crept in and grabbed hold of her. Her already naked legs felt as if they were covered in ice and she shivered from head to toe. “But it’s cold,” she said, tugging on the bottom hem of her sweater.
Mr. Bennett cocked his head at her. “What did I just say?”
“Alright,” she said, lifting her sweater by the hem, “alright.” She pulled the sweater up over her head and dragged it off her arms, wadding it into a ball in her hands. The reflection in the window left her blushing. She took the few steps to her clothes hamper and dropped her sweater inside. Looking back to her father, she asked, “Happy now?”
“I’ll be happy when your behavior doesn’t keep forcing me to discipline you,” he said. “And that attitude isn’t doing you any favors. I suggest you get your butt downstairs into my office corner before you make matters worse.”
Frowning at her father, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I thought you wanted me to help Mom?”
“Do you want to spend the weekend naked?” he asked.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek before answering. “No.”
He nodded. “Your behavior is suggesting otherwise. For some reason you seem to think my instructions are negotiable, but I assure you they are not. I will give you a choice however, you can either get your butt downstairs into my office corner or you can put your bra and panties in the hamper and go fetch the paddle. Which is it going to be?”
Rachel breathed her frustration in her father’s direction. His lips began to part and she decided it was time to move. “I’m going,” she said, turning toward the door. She walked out of her room, heading for the stairs and keenly aware of her father following.
Upon entering her father’s office, Rachel turned to the left and walked directly into the open corner. She fumed at the blank walls in front of her nose while listening to her father’s footsteps going around the desk behind her. The squeak of his chair when he sat was an insult to her legs that were already growing tired of standing still. She sighed and leaned her head heavily against the joining of the walls.
Her father’s chair squeaked again and she could feel his eyes staring at her naked spine. The hackles on the back of her neck raised and her skin goose-bumped in response to the proximity of the cool walls. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself in a futile attempt at warmth.
His voice penetrated the cold with its own chilling tone. “Stand properly,” he said.
Frowning at the wall, she raised her head straight and lifted her arms to rest her hands behind her head. Both her elbows and nose touched the walls forming a nearly perfect triangle, just as she had been taught. A flush of embarrassment warmed her for a moment, but in its aftermath the cold felt colder. Desperate for a distraction she searched the texture on the walls for funny shapes. It was a habit she had learned at a young age to entertain herself while stuck in the corner.
The phone rang and her father answered. “Hello. How’s your meeting going?”
Rachel surmised it was Miles on the other end and rejoiced that her father would not be revealing her embarrassing state to any strangers, at least for the moment. She quieted her breathing and tried to hear her brother’s voice, but the splattering rain outside filled the silence instead.
Her father’s chair squeaked in a manner she knew meant he was leaning back, away from his desk. “Oh?” he asked with a tone that oozed curiosity.
She was tempted to turn her head and try to sneak a peek at her father’s expression. She might have risked it, but the prickle between her shoulder blades assured her his eyes were still fixed on her back. She tried to pacify her curiosity with thoughts of her brief conversation with Julian. Still, it wasn’t enough to know the plan had succeeded, she wanted to see the look on her brother’s face and hear the misery in his voice.
“Well,” her father  said, “if you’d rather sacrifice the sale, I would understand. But, let’s be honest, she has definitely earned a sore backside and Mr. Harper’s request isn’t without merit.”
Rachel sighed into her corner. It was just like her father to allow Miles a way out of trouble for his girlfriend. If it had been her, there would have been no doubt about the consequences and no question as to whether or not the client would get their way. She almost banged her head against the wall in frustration before she remembered her father was still watching. He wouldn’t understand and the very act might make him suspicious. That was something she didn’t want until it was all over. She shifted her legs to make it seem her noises were related to the annoyance of standing in the corner and not the conversation she was overhearing.
Mr. Bennett’s chair squeaked with the rustling sounds of him leaning forward. “I thought I told you to stand properly,” he said.
She risked turning her head to the side.“Sorry,” she said, “my legs are tired.”
Her mother walked into the office, having overheard Rachel. “Maybe if you hadn’t started off the day running in my house they wouldn’t be, but then you wouldn’t be standing in a corner either.”
“That’s helpful,” Rachel said and turned back to the corner with a roll of her eyes.
Mrs. Bennett crossed the room to the corner in two steps. She yanked Rachel’s black panties down to her knees and slapped her bottom with the flat of her hand. The rain of spanks left Rachel yelping and lifting her legs into the corner only to find there was no escape. The reignited fire in her buttocks was enough to make tears sting in her eyes.
“You should probably go get Jennifer,” Mr. Bennett said. “We’ll talk later and go from there.” He hung up the phone and stood, turning his attention to the corner.
Mrs. Bennett laid on a final flurry of spanks and stepped back giving a clear view of Rachel’s freshly reddened buttocks. “Turn around,” she said.
Rachel turned from the corner to face her parents as slowly as she dared. She dropped her arms and tried to cover her nakedness.  Her eyes fixed on the corner of her father’s desk, avoiding their scolding gazes. Hot blood colored her cheeks pink.
Her father asked, “Is this what it takes to silence your attitude?”
“No,” Rachel said in a quiet voice.
He nodded and tapped his desktop with his fingertips. “The evidence suggests otherwise. Don’t you agree?”
Rachel recognized the trap. Disagreeing with her father would only lead to a pointless argument she would lose. Agreeing, would only give him extra justification for his methods of discipline. She would have chose silence, but she knew from the look on his face, he wouldn’t allow it.
“Yes,” she said and looked down at her bare toes, wriggling on the floor.
He walked around to the front of the desk to stand next his wife. “It seems,” he said, with deliberate slowness, “that your little brother had the right idea this morning.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open. She looked at her father, panic quickening her breath. A cold shiver ran down her spine at the horrible thought of her smirking little brother seeing her naked. With a pleading tone dominating her voice, she said, “No.”
Her mother smiled with satisfaction shining through her eyes. Mr. Bennett pointed at the corner and said, “Then I suggest you park your nose in that corner and stand there properly until your dismissed. And I’m warning you now, if I have one more issue with you today, you’ll be spending the next three days stark naked and sporting a permanently red backside. Am I being clear enough for you?”
She nodded her head emphatically and said, “Yes.”
Unwilling to risk upsetting her father any further, she turned toward the corner and raised her hands back up to her head. Though the room was silent she knew they were standing there watching for any signs of disobedience. She allowed the patter of rain on the window to fill the silence. It occupied her thoughts, pushing aside everything else except a wistful wish for the rain to wash away the sting in her behind.