Welcome To Corbin's Bend

by Thianna D

  "You might be sore tomorrow," he warned. He offered her the hand mirror he'd brought into the bedroom. She knelt on the bed and turned her back to the large mirror on the closet, then held up the hand one to examine her backside.

  "Oh my gosh!" she gasped.

  Like targets, dark spots marked the centers, the intensity of the hue decreasing from red to pink around the perimeter.

  She pinched and rubbed, watching the color wax and wane. "How long will the redness last?"

  "It might be gone tomorrow morning."

  "So soon?" Her face fell with disappointment. She peered into the mirror and kneaded her ass again.

  Harris chuckled. He couldn't have asked for a better response. He and Abby would have so much fun. He couldn't wait to test her, find her tolerances, and introduce her to more rigorous spanking pleasures. He grazed her nose with a kiss. "Don't worry. You'll be rosy more often than not."

  Chapter 5

  How's your ass? Harris's text had chimed early the next morning. Abby had insisted he take her home after their sexual and spanking exploits, fearing her aunt would wait up for her. Aunt Quincy had left a light burning, but had retired when Abby tiptoed in at 1 a.m., leaving her to wish she'd spent the night at Harris's.

  After reading the text, she leaped out of bed, and yanked down her PJs in front of the tall standing mirror. Her ass was as pale as the moon itself. She gawked, astounded at how the color had faded. She rubbed her butt, but felt only the slightest tingle. She yanked up her PJs and grabbed her phone.

  Back to normal. I was hoping for a souvenir, she texted.

  I could get you a T-shirt. 'My ass has been spanked.'

  LOL. I'd rather you spank me again.

  I'd rather do that too.

  Abby tightened her butt cheeks, recalling the sharpness, the burn, the ache. And the intimacy of placing herself in his hands. Excitement and remnants of embarrassment heated her body, drawing her attention to the morning chill. She scurried back under the covers, pulling the patchwork quilt up to her chest. She clutched her phone. Was Harris in bed like she was? Or getting ready to start his day? Auntie Q's didn't open until ten so she had time to laze.

  I enjoyed last night, Abby thumbed a reply.

  I did too. I want to see you again.

  Her heart could have floated out of her chest until reality punctured her soaring hopes. A man like Harris dated lots of women. Don't read too much into it. Keep it light. I figured you'd want to claim the macaroni and cheese.

  Absolutely. But I was thinking sooner. Unless you planned to cook mac and cheese for lunch today.

  Abby nibbled on her bottom lip. Aunt Quincy had always said men needed 'encouragement.' But being too available couldn't be good either.

  I could cook for you Friday eve. She wouldn't have to go to work the following morning, which would leave the entire night open to possibilities.

  It's a date. His text came through immediately, and regret settled on her chest. She'd outsmarted herself. Why had she attempted to play it cool when he'd already heated her ass? Now she had to wait five days to see him. Abby wished she had more experience dating. More? Try some. Her list of former lovers contained one name. Dale. Not even enough for a list.

  Her phone chimed. Now, how about lunch today. Are you free?

  Giddy now, she typed, Of course. What did you have in mind?

  Meet me at Wash and Go at noon.

  You serve food there?

  Sure, chips and cheese and crackers in the vending machine.

  My favorite food.

  In one of the back rooms of the shop, Abby hummed as she whisked a feathered microfiber duster over the tchotchkes and the shelves that held them. With a jangle, a bell signaled a shopper's arrival, but she ignored it and flicked at a vintage cookie jar. Aunt Quincy manned the front; she'd deal with the customer.

  But when her aunt spoke, her tone lacked her usual friendliness. "Oh it's you," she said. A man's voice rumbled, too low to decipher the words, even though Abby tucked her hair behind her ear to hear better. Eavesdropping. Shameless to be sure.

  "In the back." Aunt Quincy sounded peeved.

  Abby dusted over and around a collection of vintage cologne bottles and jars. Astounding the stuff people hung on to. But good for business. One person's junk was another's treasure.

  "Abby."

  She jerked at the unexpected, but so familiar voice. A perfume jar shattered on the floor. She pressed her lips together to regain her balance. She spun around. "Dale. What brings you here?" She spied a broom and a long-handled dustpan in the corner.

  "I came to see you."

  "Well, here I am." Abby would give no quarter. She'd had none left to give. Dale had blown through every last dime and then some. She pretended to be absorbed with sweeping up the shards.

  "I came to talk to you."

  "So talk." She shrugged.

  "Would you look at me, please?"

  She kept her head averted while she emptied the dustpan into a nearby trash bin. Then, she planted her hands on her hips and focused on his face. He'd shaved and gotten a haircut, judging from the shortness of his sandy blond hair. The grooves of anxiety she'd have sworn had been etched between his brows and alongside his mouth had faded, erasing years from his face. He resembled the Dale she'd fallen in love with back in high school. But a quick scan of her emotions revealed annoyance at his intrusion. Her new life had no place for him. "What is it?"

  He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, the denim stiff and dark blue. New. "I've, uh, got a job now."

  "Good." He'd lost several because he'd taken too much time off to gamble in pursuit of the elusive big money. She'd believed him when he said business had slowed, or his department had been eliminated, a jealous co-worker had sabotaged his project. Did not question when he left the house each day for a job that no longer existed. "Doing what?" she asked out of habit. She didn't care.

  He glanced at his feet. New sneakers, too. Store brand. "Moving furniture." He grimaced. "Four Dudes and a Truck. That's the name of the company. There's ten employees and three trucks, but four guys founded the company." He paused. "And I deliver pizza at night."

  Dale shoved his hands into his pockets. "It doesn't sound like much. But I'm trying to get back on my feet. I'm working two jobs, so I can save up to buy back your house."

  Abby shook her head. "It's gone, Dale. I appreciate you trying to make it right, but some things can't be undone." Hadn't that always been his problem—his belief in the pie in the sky? His assumption he could buy back her house because he desired it was as unrealistic as believing he would strike it rich playing poker. Or craps. Or betting on the horse races.

  "I refuse to give up on us." He withdrew his hands from his pockets. "I've been in love with you since ninth grade. You're the only woman I've ever wanted. I intend to prove to you I've changed, that I can be the man you need me to be."

  Abby sighed and averted her gaze from his hang dog expression. Damn him. Why did he put her in this position? She didn't enjoy hurting people—least of all him. But the disintegration of her marriage had taught her to stand up for herself.

  "Love doesn't die," he insisted.

  Sometimes it did. Sometimes one person rode over it so many times, the injuries proved fatal.

  "Didn't we always say that?" he peered at her.

  "That was a long time ago. Circumstances have changed. I have changed. But I'm glad you're working again."

  "Are you seeing somebody? Is that why you moved here?"

  Memories heated her cheeks in a betraying flush. It was too soon to say she and Harris were 'seeing' each other, but she could understand how someone—like a jealous ex—would attach meaning to being spanked and engaging in sexual intercourse with another man.

  "Who I'm seeing or not seeing has nothing to do with us. There is no us anymore. I'm—It's over." She'd been about to apologize, but what did she have to be sorry about?

  "You'll see I've changed. I'll prove it to you." He
pecked her on the cheek. "Goodbye, Abs." He spun on his heel and left.

  The bell clanked, and Abby braced herself, drawing a breath of air. Four, three, two…

  Aunt Quincy swept into the room in a swirl of skirts and ire. "What did he want?"

  "To get me to try again."

  "Did you tell him to take a hike?"

  "More or less. But he thinks he can win me back."

  Her sweet-natured aunt uttered an unladylike word.

  "I wonder what Uncle Joe would have done to hear you say such a thing," Abby quipped.

  "He would have washed my mouth out with soap and tanned my behind. He was very strict about those kinds of things."

  "That's a little more information than I needed, thank you." Abby scrubbed her eyes with her fist. She could do without the mental image of her uncle walloping her aunt's bare butt. Especially since her personal experience enabled her to paint a very vivid 3-D motion picture complete with sound and sensation. New images formed of her own rosy ass. The sharp smacks, Harris's breathing. The burn. Ooh, the delicious burn. She checked herself before she rubbed her ass. Did Aunt Quincy's color fade as quickly as hers?

  "I'm meeting Harris for lunch," Abby said, to distract her aunt and herself.

  "He'll be good for you dear. He's solid as a rock. Not like that man you married." Aunt Quincy refused to be diverted. "I can tell you now, but your Uncle Joe and I never believed he was good match for you."

  They'd had their problems. Dale had, in effect, betrayed her, but they'd been happy together once. In high school, he'd been the perfect boyfriend. He'd doted on her. "Because of his gambling?"

  Aunt Quincy shook her head. "He has no backbone. He allowed you to walk all over him."

  "That's not true!" Abby sputtered.

  "Dale gave into you on everything."

  "No, he didn't! I lost my house because of his gambling debts!" Wasn't he still trying to please her though? Hadn't he vowed to recover her house?

  "I think he tried to please you so much, he hoped to make quick money by gambling."

  Abby's jaw dropped. "So you're saying his addiction is my fault?"

  "Just the opposite. I'm saying he tried to fill his inadequacy by gambling. You didn't cause it, nor can you fix it. Only he can. For himself. He might be a nice person, but he's not, as they say, a good credit risk. Or a stable life partner."

  "I don't think you're being fair to Dale," Abby surprised herself by defending him. "You don't walk away from a person because they have a little problem." But hadn't she done that? Guilt tried to rush through the door she'd opened, but Abby shoved it back. She deserved love and stability.

  Excitement. Spanking.

  But she had sympathy for Dale.

  Her aunt raised her eyebrows. "Little problem?"

  "Okay, a big problem." But what a thing to say—that he was weak because he'd doted on her. That didn't make a man weak—it made him kind, solicitous. Dale had been a good person and she'd loved him once. Perhaps for old time's sake, she should have listened to him, supported his efforts more.

  But wouldn't that have given him false encouragement? And entangled her again?

  Abby sighed. Dale had complicated her life for years, and he hadn't stopped just because they'd divorced.

  Ultra wash or deluxe or ultra deluxe? Abby squinted at the electronic screen. She'd arrived at Wash and Go a few minutes early, and not seeing Harris, decided her car could use a spit shine. Debit card in hand, she stretched her arm out the window for the reader.

  "On the house." Harris materialized, punched in ultra deluxe, then bounded around the hood, opened the passenger door and slid in. "Drive forward until the green light comes on, then put your car in neutral and take your foot off the brake."

  I've been through a car wash before. "Yes, sir," she snapped, still discombobulated after her ex's surprise visit.

  "Right words, but you should work on the tone," he said affably, but with a hint of steel.

  So spank me. She bit off the flippant remark, feeling ashamed for venting her frustration with Dale on Harris. "Sorry," she said.

  "Apology accepted."

  The conveyor grabbed ahold of the tire and pulled the car into the tunnel where sprayers deluged the vehicle with water. Harris stretched his arm over her seatback and toyed with the hair on her nape.

  Abby had a hunch Harris wouldn't hesitate to deliver a little discipline if he deemed it warranted. She also suspected a punishment spanking wouldn't be near as fun as the one she'd received the other night. But the idea of going over his knee for any reason was getting her wet. She eyed the water soaking the windshield like a driving rain. Yep, like that. She shifted in her seat. Only the slightest ache remained to remind her of the spanky good time she'd had.

  The spray shut off, and a machine squirted white foam over the car. Soap slid down the windows in meandering rivulets. Harris tangled his fingers in her hair, brushed her nape. Heat flooded her body, but goose bumps prickled and she shivered.

  "Cold?" he asked.

  She fanned her face. "The opposite. It's warm in here."

  "I enjoyed the other night." He held her gaze and massaged her neck. Her clit pulsed, craving similar attention.

  "I did too."

  Sprayers rinsed the suds from the vehicle as the car inched forward without any help from her. The effect felt disorienting, the dizziness worsened by Harris's magic fingers, and the big blobs of pink foam coating the car, encapsulating them in a cocoon. The fresh scent of the goo pervaded the vehicle mixing with the aromatic musk of the soap Harris had showered with. The car might be in neutral, but her libido had shifted into overdrive.

  "Scoot closer," Harris suggested, but her seat belt prevented her from moving fast enough, and he swooped in to capture her lips in a hungry kiss. Gentleness not required. Or preferred. She moaned into his mouth, tasting him, needing him.

  She jumped when a cascade of rinse water hit the windshield. They broke apart as the car jerked forward into a jet blast of air. She could not prevent a snort of laughter from bubbling up.

  "What's so funny?"

  Her lips twitched. "My car's getting a blow job."

  "Lucky car," he said.

  The conveyor pushed her vehicle out of the tunnel. Abby shifted into Drive. Harris pointed to a parking space. "Pull up over there."

  "Why?"

  "So we can trade places."

  A knowing smile teased the corner of her mouth. "Oh. You're one of those," she said, but did as he directed.

  "One of those?" he asked after he'd gotten behind the wheel.

  "A man who doesn't trust other drivers."

  "I let you pilot through the car wash, didn't I?"

  "The machine did everything."

  "I'm a man who likes to be in control."

  "Funny, I didn't get that about you," she said.

  "Sounds like somebody's bratting for a spanking."

  Was she? Her stomach fluttered. With only the brief intermission of Dale's interruption, spanking had consumed her thoughts. She'd replayed the smacks in her mind, slapped and rubbed her own butt. She'd examined each one of the spanking implements, imagining Harris cracking it against her bare skin. Could her response have been a fluke? Maybe after her sexual drought following the divorce she'd been so needy and horny anything would have turned her on. What if she didn't enjoy spanking as much the next time? Shouldn't she find out?

  Until Harris, she'd gathered no inkling she might have those leanings, had assumed every little girl disciplined her dolls by spanking them and read the spanking scenes in romance novels over and over. Like everyone else in the family, she'd worried when Uncle Joe and Aunt Quincy had relocated to Corbin's Bend, a spanking community. But that hadn't stopped her from visiting.

  "Be careful, you might get what you ask for."

  A lightning bolt zigzagged through her body. Her pussy quivered. "Spanking," she said. The word tasted decadent. "Is that your answer to everything?" she asked, proud of her boldness.

/>   Harris maneuvered through the streets of Corbin's Bend, staying in his own lane, stopping at red traffic signals, accelerating smoothly—all feats she would have been incapable of. In her distraction, she would have sideswiped a car or rear ended somebody.

  He glanced at her. "I have some other methods of discipline—and funishment."

  Global warming had disrupted climate conditions in her body. The northern hemisphere suffered from severe arid conditions while parts below the equator experienced a torrent of moisture.

  Abby cleared her dry throat. "Like what?" Her heart hammered in her ears as she awaited his response.

  "Corner time, clothing restriction, figging." Hand over hand, he turned the wheel, and they rounded the corner.

  She sucked in a silent breath. Imagined. Moisture pooled. He teased, of course. She tapped his arm with a slight slap. "Oh, you!"

  He slid her car between two others parallel to the curb outside La Comida, a Mexican place, and cut the engine. Harris shifted in his seat. Hooded eyes sizzled as he regarded her. "I would never joke about you standing with your nose pressed to a penny against the corner with your spanked ass on display, or to having you stark naked under house arrest, or watching you squirm as your bottom is heated from the inside out by a finger of ginger."

  Speechless, Abby clutched at her throat.

  "Are you ready?" he asked in a suggestive tone.

  "For what?" she squeaked, afflicted by a serious case of cottonmouth now.

  "To have lunch." Humor sparked in his eyes.

  She considered slugging him for teasing her so. Would he really do those things to her? Forced to stand in the corner, while childish, didn't seem so bad. Of course, the last time she'd planted her nose between two walls she'd been in elementary school. And his threat of house arrest sounded a lot like detention. She'd experienced that a time or two. But never while naked. But the figging…that sounded adult and naughty. She shivered with anticipation.

  "How can those things you mentioned be for discipline if it's also for fun?" she asked.

  "It's all in the circumstances, the tone of the moment." He tapped his temple. "And the mindset."