“So I guess this means we aren’t going to the Olive Garden tonight,” Nick finally realized, his thin shoulders slumping with disappointment. “I guess I’d better cancel the reservation, so someone else can enjoy it.”
“The Olive Garden?” his hostess asked. “How did you know that was my favorite place?”
“Your daughter told me. We wanted to surprise you both.”
At last, the woman lowered her eyes in shame. “That was very sweet of you,” she murmured. “The flowers were, too. I’ll go put them in this crystal vase before I go get dressed. You just should have called to warn us.”
“I guess we should, at that. But now I’d better cancel the reservations, like I said.”
“You’d certainly better do that,” his sweetheart answered grimly. “We all have some talking to do…and we don’t want to do it in a crowded restaurant, on the busiest day of the year. Those other ladies would fall off their chairs.”
“Are you sure of that?” Nick asked softly. “I mean, a few minutes ago, you would have thought your mother would do the same thing. I mean, after tonight, I’ll never look at ladies in the Olive Garden the same way again.”
* * *
“No, your father did not leave me frustrated,” Melanie assured her daughter, as they sat at the wooden table in the breakfast nook, dining on Stouffer’s microwaved frozen lasagna. It was not, of course, much like the Olive Garden’s Italian cuisine, but no one felt very hungry anyway.
Sitting on her quilted cushion, Melanie had no appetite at all, since she could barely keep from squirming. Since Emma was her daughter, she had no intention of telling her about the other way she always wound up squirming, in her bed with Ian on top of her, after the punishment was through.
“We had a very happy marriage, even though he was so much older,” she went on. “But Ian Foster was something different. In my 25 years with your father, I enjoyed my fill of filet mignon, and now I wanted…”
“Slave bread from the Savage Satellite?”
“How do you know about the slave bread?” Ian asked suspiciously. Emma pretended not to have heard.
“He is a very kind Master, as you can see,” her mother went on. “Look at this Japanese kimono he bought me from Marshall Field’s.”
“You got me this nice plaid shirt from the same place.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Marshall Field’s, mother?” Emma mocked her softly. “Since you are so eager for change, shouldn’t you call it Macy’s?”
“Not THAT much change!” her mother rebuked her. “Even if Macy’s bought it, they should have kept the real name. Marshall Field’s is a landmark in our area…it even survived the Chicago Fire…”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” her daughter said, as though she had been talking to an eighth grader who had been caught passing notes. “What in the world possessed you to embrace a masochistic lifestyle, and at the age of 48, too?”
“Well, you know what they say,” Ian answered with an even broader grin, showing the boyish gap between his front teeth. “When there’s snow on the roof, there is fire in the hearth. But it might take a little more imagination to get it burning.”
“Will you please pass the salad dressing?” asked Nick, in a voice that had gone high and boyish. Clearly, he had taken all the embarrassment he could stand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a little more Merlot, too.”
His hostess jumped up to serve him, trying not to show how eager she was to get off her poor bruised backside for a moment. After taking the wine and Italian dressing from the granite work counter, she tried, again, to hide her reluctance to sit down again.
“Melanie, you can stand up if you want to,” Ian told her. “Everyone already knows why you find it so hard to stay in your chair.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, as she jumped to her feet again.
“Not ‘Thank you, Master’?” her daughter sneered. “Isn’t that the proper way for a slave girl to talk?”
“You certainly DO know a lot about those stories,” Ian pointed out again.
“Not half as much as YOU two,” Emma hastily retorted. “Do you really have no idea how disgusting you are?”
“As long as it makes us happy, I don’t see anything wrong with it,” her mother protested.
“You don’t? Well then, we’ll show you!”
Rising from her chair, the girl turned to the work island, pushed aside the bottles and leaned across the granite surface. The others were left staring at her firm little outthrust bottom, outlined by her long silk flowered skirt.
“You will NOT show us!” her mother ordered, as the two men stared at the scene. “You are showing us quite enough as it is, thank you. Emma Rose Wardman, YOU are the one who is being disgusting now.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” The girl turned her head to glare at them, tossing back her shoulder-length blond tresses. “Now he is going to spank me, to show you how repulsive the whole thing really is.”
“I am?” he asked in dismay, running his hand nervously through his own long brown hair.
“You certainly are! I don’t see any other way to get the message across, that grown women do not let grown men spank them. Not that anyone should spank a child either…”
“We never spanked you when you were a little girl,” her mother objected.
“It shows,” Ian murmured, putting his arm around Melanie.
“Well, Nick?” the girl demanded.
Shrugging his narrow shoulders, the young man gazed at the other couple in silent apology. Then he raised his long, thin hand high above his head and brought it down with all his force across his sweetheart’s backside.
“OW!” she yelled. “That’s enough, you can stop it now. I am sure they have seen how ridiculous it really is! NICK! NICK! STOP!”
He did not seem to have heard her. Instead, he smacked her again and again, faster and faster, as though his right arm had a mind of its own.
“NICK! NICK! NICK! STOP! STOP! OW! OW! OW!”
At last, her cries seemed to reach him. He stopped and pulled away.
“Well, you asked me to do it!” he said in a defensive tone, shaking his own sore hand.
To their surprise, she did not seem angry at him.
“I know I did,” she murmured, bowing her head.
“You do? Well then, you know if I got carried away and really hurt you and you hated it, that was all your fault.”
“But I did not hate it,” she answered softly, even as her hands gently reached for her bruised backside, to stroke the pain away. “It sort of…turned me on.” Lowering her eyes in shame, she went on, “Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”
“And good for us both!” her mother exclaimed. “Those feelings are nothing to be afraid of. I’m proud of you for facing them.”
“My wife was terrified at the very idea, and that’s why we split up,” her boyfriend explained sadly. “I believed that any decent woman would feel the same way she did…until I met your mother.” He squeezed Melanie’s hand again, and she smiled up at him gratefully.
“So you STILL don’t think there is anything wrong with all this?” Emma demanded.
“No, and you don’t either,” her mother replied. “Otherwise, you would not have been spending so much time on the Internet, finding out all about the Spanking Satellite. You loved the idea of getting paddled, even if you refused to admit it, even to yourself. But you’re doing it now.”
Gazing directly at her daughter, Melanie firmly went on, “I think you DO want him to go on, no matter how many times you shouted for him to stop. But you don’t want us to watch him do it, and I can hardly blame you for that.
“So I guess it’s up to you. If you want us to go back to the table and have our ice cream, I will be happy to do that…even though you and I will both be standing up while we eat it. If you want us to leave you alone together, you can say that, too.”
Emma’s fair skin turned almost as red as her bottom, as she mumbled, “We can
have dessert later.”
“Then we’ll see you in about an hour,” her mother answered.
“An hour?” Emma demanded in alarm, her hands flying back to cover her bottom. “You think he will spank me that long?”
“No,” Melanie replied with a smile. “But we will be doing something else that may take awhile. After a good spanking, you may decide that you want to do the same thing.”
“MO-THER!”
This time, it was Melanie who pretended not to have heard. She merely smiled as she started following Ian towards the front stairway.
Halfway there, he turned and came back to the kitchen work counter. Pulling a long wooden spoon from the drawer, he pressed the handle into Nick’s palm. “I think you have advanced to this stage,” he said, giving the boy’s thin shoulder an encouraging pat. Emma’s eyes went wide as she stared at the implement, but she said nothing.
When she saw her mother vanishing up the stairs, the girl suddenly panicked and started running after her. Then she gasped in surprise as Nick grasped her arm and pushed her back down across the counter. She tried to stand as he pulled her skirt to her waist, but he was holding her firmly in place, with his left hand across her back. Frantically, she struggled as he dragged her flowered cotton panties down to her knees.
“Nick!” she cried. “Not my bare bottom! That is going too far.”
“I’m going a lot farther, before I’m done,” he warned her.
“OW!” she howled, as he brought the wooden spoon crashing down. It raised round red marks across her right buttock cheek, which was already bright pink from his hand.
“Nick, I don’t like this! You are really hurting me!”
“Good, that’s the idea! You have earned a real punishment, and I am giving it to you.”
“NO!” Again, he seemed not to hear.
“My mother has a safe word, and I want one, too!”
“You don’t get to use one when you are being disciplined, and believe me there’s a lot to punish you for. THIS is for being so RUDE to your MOM! And this is for being so hard ON the KIDS at SCHOOL! And this is for insulting ME!” Hard smacks followed each word, as he swung the spoon from one sore cheek to the other.
“OW!” She wailed, through her tears. “All right, that must be thirty whacks already. Aren’t you done punishing me?”
“Almost. Or I will be, after I give you three more on each side…just to be sure you remember the lesson I gave you today.”
“How could I ever forget it? OW! OW! OW! OW! OWWWWWW!”
When he finally let her stand, the skirt fell back to her ankles. Hastily, she pulled her panties up again, before he could change his mind and give her even more whacks. Then she stood gently stroking her backside with her right hand again, while her left dabbed at her eyes.
Taking a paper napkin from the dispenser, he pressed it into her fingers. Gratefully, she wiped her face and softly blew her nose.
“You just made me cry,” she sniffled. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”
“Do you really want me to?”
She shook her head and managed a weak smile. “Actually, right now, I want you to do something else. And I think we’d better do it in the guest room, in case Mom and Ian come downstairs again.”
“I don’t think they’re going to do THAT for awhile. But the bed will be more comfortable anyway…at least if I lie on my back and let you sit on top of me. I don’t think you’ll be in any condition to lie on your own back for awhile.”
“You don’t have to gloat about it,” she answered, pouting.
“Don’t tell me what I have to do!” he ordered. She squealed as he grasped her arm and pulled her towards him, for a sharp smack that made her jump. Then, with much lighter spanks, he drove her all the way up the stairs.
* * *
“I don’t hear any more noise from the kitchen,” Melanie said to Ian, as she lay on her side, snuggling against him, her hair falling over his chest. “What do you think they are doing now?”
“The same thing we just did,” he told her. “The same thing we are going to do again.”
“Shouldn’t they save that for marriage?”
“Did WE? Anyway, we are getting married now, aren’t we? And I suspect that they are, too?”
At that, she pushed herself up on her elbow and stared down at him. “We ARE?” she asked.
“We certainly are. And that’s an order.”
“Yes, Master!” and she pressed herself against him again. In another moment, though, she was propped up looking down at him again.
“But we are just acting out our fantasy,” she said. “He is punishing her for real. I am not sure I like that idea.”
“You don’t have to like it, any more than she has to approve of what we are doing together. Just as long as you accept her feelings…the way you wanted her to accept yours. And that’s an order, too.”
“Well, then,” she sighed, nestling back against him. “This really IS a happy Mother’s Day.”
“I intend to make it even happier for you, if you will just say the magic words.”
Her eyes lit up at the invitation. Jumping to her feet, she flung herself to her knees on the thick carpet, held out her arms and cried, “TAKE me, Master!”
Immediately, he was back in Viking mode. Leaping out of bed, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I will indeed!” he snarled. “You have learned how to please me at last!” Lifting her into his arms, he threw her back onto the sheets.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you want to learn more about the Savage Satellite series…and its fictional creator’s own sexy spanking scenes…look for “Spanking Satellite” in the sci fi section of www.romanticspankings.com.
A Bouquet for Briony
By Polly Carter
A Bouquet for Briony by Polly Carter
As the gate clicked gently shut behind him, Rick stood for a moment gazing at the brick house which had once been like a second home to him. Three years had passed since the last time he'd been, and he was no longer even sure who lived here now.
But it wasn't that last, agonizing visit that filled his mind with memories as he looked at the garden with its big jacaranda tree in the front lawn and the neat brick house behind. The loungeroom window, like an eye covertly regarding him from behind the tree, reminded him of the first evening he'd spent with her after he'd summoned the courage to ask for a date. They'd met in town at her suggestion, and after eating Chinese food in a cheap but pleasant restaurant, had wandered hand-in-hand through the city streets, looking in brightly-lit shop windows, making each other laugh with the ease of those who want every moment to be special. Her childlike gaiety and spontaneity had been captivating, and she'd stirred feelings in him he hadn't felt before, couldn't even begin to name.
It had been so hard to take her home, to bring the evening to an end, and he'd stalled as long as possible, holding her and kissing her and talking with her in the car before he'd finally let her go with a sigh and begun to drive her home.
"Oh my God!" she cried unexpectedly when the midnight news began on the radio. "That's not really the time, is it? How could it have got so late? I'm going to get killed!"
"Were you supposed to be home at a certain time?" Rick asked with concern. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have kept a closer eye on the time for you."
"I guess I was embarrassed to say I'm 18 and still have a curfew," Briony whispered with a blush, making her cuter than ever in Rick's eyes.
"Will your folks be waiting up for you?"
"More than likely Dad will be. If he is I'll cop it for sure."
"I'll explain," Rick offered, but she shook her head violently.
"No! I'll go in by myself. You drop me up the road a bit."
"Will you be all right?" Rick was starting to be unnerved by her seriousness. "He won't hurt you, will he?"
For a minute she looked as if she might say something, her eyes wide and dark in her pale somber face. But then she shrugged.
"Dad will be ma
d." She shuddered. "But he'll be over it by tomorrow." She smiled brightly at Rick, a little too brightly maybe. "Don't worry. I'll be okay. Promise. And besides, maybe he's already in bed and I can sneak in and he'll never know the difference."
Rick still felt uncomfortable, and when she insisted he drop her off a few doors from her house, he waited until she was safely home and then followed. Glad they didn't seem to have a dog which would alert the residents to the prowler in their garden, Rick hid in the darkness behind the tree and listened. He hadn't formulated any particular plan, but vaguely imagined that if he thought Briony was in danger, he could leap to her defense. At first he thought she must have been able to sneak in unnoticed because there was no discernible movement or noise from inside. The light was on in the living room, though, which suggested someone may have been up when Briony made her late entrance. Only thin white curtains covered the window and, from his hiding place in the garden, Rick had a clear view of the comfortable, neat room which was hidden from the view of passerbys in the street by the front hedge.
He had an equally clear view of Briony when she entered a moment later followed by a tall, strongly-built man with greying temples, whom Rick rightly guessed to be her father. They stopped in the middle of the room and Rick could see the older man talking to his daughter. He wasn't ranting and raving, however, and seemed in no danger of losing control and becoming violent so it appeared "being killed" in Briony's world meant being subjected to a stern scolding. Rick just hoped it wouldn't also include a long grounding and a ban on her seeing him again.
She looked more adorable than ever, he thought, standing in front of her father like that, her head bowed and her hands clasped solemnly in front of her, for all the world like a truly obedient daughter. Still Rick hadn't heard any raised voices, and as Briony's father had fetched something from a draw in the sideboard and then seated himself comfortably on the couch, Rick expected to see Briony apologize one more time and then go to her room. He was totally unprepared for what in fact happened next.
Monthly Maintenance: Selected Stories from Blushing Books Authors Page 8
