by Jane Henry
“We ready?” he asked Celia.
He’d been encouraged by the way their podcasts and videos had taken off, due in no small part, he surmised, to the club’s promotion. But he had to admit, the videos were well done. He’d watched them himself, and Celia filmed them expertly. Within the first week, their intro video on “Setting rules and expectations” topped the charts with hits, and Celia showed him how it had been posted on blogs and social media across the internet. Huh. Who knew? Maybe she was on to something.
“Ready,” he said. He’d already decided how he’d demonstrate the implement video.
A flicker of light, and she signaled for him to begin as Rodney sat on the bar stool next to him.
“Evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Maverick began. He intentionally used his lowest voice for these videos, as he felt it necessary to convey self control and authority, two trademarks of a man who dommed well. “In previous videos, we’ve discussed setting rules and expectations, and establishing roles. We hope the intro videos to this series have given those of you interested in the scene some food for thought. Now, as you all know, these series of videos are not BDSM intro videos. There are many resources out there for those of you into the BDSM scene. But we also know there is quite a bit of, shall we say...” he paused dramatically as his hands went out, palms up, “overlap when it comes to different scenes.” Rodney snorted at the obviously placed pun, and Celia shook her head, while Louanne covered her mouth and giggled. Maverick grinned, even though he knew he was only visible on camera from the neck down.
“But in most Dominant and submissive relationships, those that have established roles and rules, there comes a time to administer a punishment.” His voice dropped as he sobered. “Punishment can range from mild to severe, depending on a variety of criteria. What is the infraction? Is it a repeat offense? Has the submissive become disrespectful, or somehow compounded the punishment? And the list goes on. The length of time a couple has been doing this will also impact how punishment is meted out. For example, if I were just beginning, and my submissive talked back, I would probably only warn her initially what my expectations are.” He waved a warning finger in front of the camera. “But if I had a long-term submissive who had disrespected me, I wouldn’t warn but would administer a firm punishment.” He let his word settle, as he well knew submissives that watched him talking about punishment would be squirming in their seats by now. He wanted his audience’s rapt attention.
“You likely know that punishment can also vary quite a bit. And the depth with which a couple dabbles in the BDSM scene will also impact punishment greatly.” He paused. “However, for me, most punishment will involve a good spanking.” He’d lifted the fraternity paddle in his hand, and cracked it down on the palm of his hand for emphasis. He heard Louanne squeal, but Celia didn’t waver as she filmed.
“There are many different factors that determine the severity of a spanking,” he said. “And for the next segment, I’ll turn this over to my partner.” He motioned for Rodney to take over.
“Thanks,” Rodney said. “As my partner here said, there are many things to keep in mind before you spank, and the most basic is your submissive’s tolerance level. Why you’re giving a spanking is really important. For erotic spankings or something similar, it’s likely a good idea to spank on the lighter side.”
Maverick piped in. “But if you need to teach her a lesson, then it’s important that you take her just above her pain tolerance. We are, after all, talking about a spanking that’s meant to modify behavior.”
He smacked the paddle against his hand again.
“Always test your implements,” he said. “Looks can be deceiving.” He smacked his hand again. “This is a heavy, varnished paddle. A few well-aimed swats with this, and your submissive will remember her lesson well. A longer spanking with this paddle, and she won’t sit for a week.” He put it down and lifted the soft suede flogger. “This flogger, however, may fool you. It looks like a whip, and the word ‘flogger’ sounds intimidating. But this is a more sensual feel. He flicked it against his palm. “I can barely feel the sting. Some floggers are much more intense than this, but the novelty ones made of suede will not have much of an impact.” He put the flogger down and handed Rodney a lightweight wooden spoon.
Rodney held it in his hand. “The classic wooden spoon will get the job done, and it’s a perfect length for over the knee. But be careful of rounded handles, as they are more likely to slip. Flat handles will give you a better grip. Longer implements are awkward for over-the-knee spankings, and require you to lay your submissive over the bed, or couch, or kneeling on a chair. However, please remember that smaller implements like this concentrate impact in one spot, and are more likely to bruise than something like the paddle.”
Next, Maverick picked up the thick leather strap. He swung it hard against his hand. It whistled in the air and he flinched at the impact. “Leather straps are serious. The thicker ones like this will leave a lasting impression, and your girl will remember her place well.” He put it down and picked up a black implement that looked almost like a wire whisk, two oval-shaped loops that came together at a handle. “This is a loopy johnny, an implement that I would put into the ‘silent but deadly’ category. It will make almost no sound upon impact, but I can’t guarantee your submissive will do the same. They’re handy for situations that warrant discretion, but need to be wielded very cautiously.”
Rodney picked up a solid-looking hairbrush. “The hairbrush is also a classic implement, similar to its cousin, the bath brush. Depending on the thickness and density, hairbrushes and bath brushes can pack quite a sting. I like hairbrushes for a variety of reasons. If your girl is good, you can use it to brush her hair before she goes to sleep. And if she’s naughty, you can turn her over your knee. They’re innocuous and safe for travel.” He whammed the brush against his palm. He flinched and Maverick stifled a chuckle. That was one serious brush, varnished and nearly an inch thick. Rodney’s eyes watered from the impact and he bit his lip. Celia was trying her best not to laugh, but Louanne ran from the room, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Yeoowch,” Rodney said, panting a little. “Okay, yeah, that’s one helluva sting in that sucker. I’d save that for something serious.” He placed it back on the counter, trying to discreetly rub his stinging palm.
Maverick turned back to the camera. “The most important thing to do is to test your implements,” he said. “Most submissives are eager for a test run, and that will help you to understand his or her tolerance level. Try your tools on your own thigh or palm, keeping in mind that pain tolerance varies from person to person. And as always, listeners, please play safe.”
Celia stopped recording. “Hey, you two nailed it!” she said. Maverick nodded his thanks, as Rodney was eyeing the implements.
“We get to keep these?” he murmured.
“Yes,” Celia said warily. “But we’ll need them for future videos, so hands off!”
He picked up the flogger. “Relax, girl, I’ll replace them,” he said. He palmed the flogger and Maverick nodded. He wasn’t going to use that one for any future videos anyway. He kept the brush in his hand.
“You two saw Louanne laughing at me, didn’t you?”
Celia’s eyes widened, as Maverick nodded seriously. “Absolutely,” he said. “She thought it was hysterical that you nailed yourself. Go ahead, take the brush with you. I would.”
Celia snorted. “Of course you would.”
He waved a finger at her. “Don’t egg me on, girl,” he said. “Not when I’ve got an arsenal within arm’s reach. You may run, but you can’t hide.”
She swallowed. “Don’t tempt me, big boy,” she said, and her voice was strangely husky.
“Next time, we demonstrate a real spanking,” Maverick said, changing the subject. “You said you have models ready? Girls who can really take it?”
She nodded. “Yep. All set. You said we’re doing positions and warm-ups next time, right?” Her eyes
gleamed, and he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “And you think we’re ready to go on Tuesday? I should be able to make it by six, so I – ”
His phone rang, two double beeps that meant it was his mother. He picked it up and lifted a finger for Celia to wait.
“Yeah,” he said. He sighed as his mom continued on the other end of the line. Another episode with his sister. He looked up at Celia. “Yeah, I’m on my way,” he said into the phone. She was looking at him, as he was her ride home that night. She nodded.
“I’ll go with you,” she whispered.
Oh, thank God. She always had a way with his sister that made the situation easier.
“Quick, Maverick,” his mom said, her voice strained and near tears on the other end. “She’s going to hurt herself. I can’t get the bathroom door unlocked, and I hear her breaking things in there.”
“On my way,” he said. Without thinking, he grabbed Celia’s hand and pulled her with him, waving to Rodney and Louanne over his shoulder as he jogged to the doorway. He well knew what five minutes of an episode with his sister could result in, and he was thankful Celia was going with him to whatever awaited him.
Chapter Two
“Marianna,” Celia said calmly through the door. “Why don’t you come out and talk to Celia?” she suggested softly. For a hardass, she could be really gentle when she wanted to be, though Maverick rarely saw that side of her.
“No!” shouted Marianna from the other side of the door. There was a crash and a bang, and Maverick’s mom jumped. She was a petite, older woman, fragile with graying hair, and Maverick noted that the events of the past few months had aged her even more. It wasn’t fair. His mom was supposed to spend her time knitting and gossiping with her friends over coffee, not wrangling her daughter out of the bathroom. Dottie was no match for Marianna’s strength, and though Marianna had never assaulted her, Maverick knew that her latest episodes had grown increasingly violent.
Celia sighed and turned to Maverick’s mom.
“What did you say set her off, Dottie?” Celia asked.
Dottie sighed. “She saw a picture of her dad,” she said, and her voice caught. “She asked where Dad was, and I told her what I always tell her. That he’s in heaven now, but she said I was lying and she locked herself in the bathroom. I used to have the key on my key ring,” she said, as her voice dropped to a whisper and she looked up at Maverick. “But I can’t find my keys,” she finished sheepishly.
He groaned. He wouldn’t lecture her, even though he wanted to. She was always losing shit, and it put her in a precarious situation, like now. He’d even installed a key rack, and bought her a thing for her keys that beeped when you clapped your hands, but still, her keys were always missing. He knew better and kept a spare for the house and her car on his own ring now, but he didn’t have one for the bathroom.
Maverick motioned for Celia to move to the side. They’d agreed to let her try first, as Celia could often coax Marianna into listening before Maverick came in with guns blazing. His methods weren’t as gentle.
He pounded on the door. His sister needed a gentle touch, but sometimes, she needed to be told what the hell to do. “Marianna,” he said, his deep voice reverberating around the room. He could hear her stilling on the other side of the door. “It’s Maverick. Open the door now. I’m not putting up with this. You’ve got Mom scared, and you’re being mean to Celia, and I won’t allow it.”
Celia and Dottie watched him with wide eyes. He sighed. His baby sister had always been hard to manage, but she loved him. She’d always listened to him, even when she wouldn’t do what her dad or mom told her to do. But there were only so many times he could come to the rescue for his mom, and since his dad died, Marianna had grown increasingly belligerent.
“What did Doctor Mason say?” he asked, low enough for Marianna not to hear through the door.
Dottie sighed, wringing her hands. “You know what Dr. Mason says,” she whispered. “He says she’d be better in a group home, with care. But I can’t do that, Maverick.”
Mason nodded. He wouldn’t get into it now with her. “I meant about these episodes,” he said.
Dottie shook her head. “He says to talk to her, and coax her through it,” she said. “To keep reminding her that Dad is gone, but then distract and remind her of the happy memories. He says watch her signs, and if she’s getting angry, to distract.” She sighed. “I must’ve missed the signs. I was looking for my keys. And then... I think I fell asleep.”
Celia put her hand on Dottie’s arm. “It’s not your fault,” she said quietly.
Maverick wasn’t sure he agreed, but he also didn’t think it was time for him to be lecturing his mom.
Maverick turned back to the door. “Marianna,” he said sternly through the door. “I’m giving you to the count of ten to open the door. If you don’t, I’m going to break it down. And then you’re in big trouble with me. Do you understand?” He had to stay calm, and in control, even if he was pissed off. And he was. This shit was out of control.
Celia watched him and nodded encouragingly. Good girl, that little vixen. She knew how he had to be stern with her. If he had to, he would take away Marianna’s computer privileges and make her go to bed early. She loved playing checkers with him and he wouldn’t play with her if she got into trouble. He’d send her to her room. Dottie couldn’t enforce consequences, as Marianna would just circumvent her anyway, but Marianna respected Maverick.
He crossed his arms across his chest. “One,” he said. No movement on the other side of the door. “Two,” he counted. He continued to count loudly and slowly, until he got to eight. He was prepared to break the door down. One shove of his massive shoulder, and he’d splinter the door. He groaned. He had not planned on having to fix the door during his free time this week. “Nine,” he said, his voice raising. Dottie and Celia took a step back from the door.
“Ten,” he said. “I’m coming in.” He took a step back, but before he could break the door, he heard a click, and the door was pulled open.
Marianna stood in front of him. She was small, of medium build, and her hair was askew, knotted in the back and haphazardly framing her pale, wan face. Her eyes were sunken in, like she hadn’t slept properly in days. When she was happy, her face looked childlike, but when she was angry, she got the look of a dangerous, rabid animal. She had the angry expression now, as she glared at him.
“You’re mean,” she said furiously, waving a finger at him, but he ignored her protest as he grabbed her firmly by the arm and marched her into the living room.
“Call me anything you want, honey, but you’re not gonna treat Mom that way,” he said casually, but firmly. “I had to come over here when I was out with my friends because of your antics. You think it’s okay for a grown girl like you to behave this way?” He was lecturing, and he knew it, but she needed to know he meant business. He couldn’t allow her to behave this way, especially when it was just his mom home. He pointed for her to sit on the worn brown sofa in the tiny living room. She sat with a scowl, pulling down the thin afghan from the back of the couch and draping it over her lap. She curled up in the corner, her look infuriated and angry.
Marianna was nineteen, and had been in and out of treatment facilities for a variety of years. She was on medication, and went with regularity to a day program for disabled adults. It was high time she moved out and into the assisted living program the state provided, however Maverick’s dad hadn’t wanted to hear of it. But things had to change, and soon. Maverick knew he couldn’t be there full time, and his mom simply couldn’t handle her.
Marianna’s lip trembled. “Are you mad at me, Maverick?”
Maverick sighed heavily as he sat down across from her. “I’m not happy with you,” he said sternly. Marianna’s face fell, and his conscience pricked him, but he couldn’t spoil her and she had to know behavior like that was dangerous.
His voice softened. “Honey, you could hurt yourself,” he began. “Or Mom. I know
you don’t want to do that. But you’re not allowed to lock that door. If you fell, or had a seizure, how would Mom or I help you?” Marianna’s lower lip trembled, as he continued. “And yes, you are in trouble,” he said sternly. She needed to understand. He had to make an impression. He crossed his arms on his chest, and his voice grew low and scolding. “You’re going to bed early tonight, and no computer privileges.”
Marianna scowled. “You can’t do that!”
He scowled back. “I can and will.”
She started to stand, and he merely pointed a merciless finger back to the sofa. “Sit,” he commanded. She crumpled and flopped on the sofa. He could feel his mom pleading silently with him. She didn’t like when he was stern with Marianna, but where had her leniency gotten them? It was high time Marianna was held accountable. She well knew what she was doing, and he gave her more credit than his mom did.
Marianna frowned. “For how long?” she asked quietly.
“For the rest of the week,” he stated.
Her eyes widened and flashed at him. “No way, Maverick!” she shouted, and to his surprise, he heard Celia pipe up.
“I think he’s being easy on you,” she said sternly. All eyes went to her. Her eyes were heated and serious, faint splotches of color on each cheek. “A big girl like you, scaring your poor mother and disobeying her? Your brother having to come home and help your mom? You could’ve gotten hurt, and Maverick’s right to give you a consequence.”
Marianna sat back and the anger dissipated. She sighed. “But she said he was gone,” she said in a whisper. Maverick felt his chest tighten, the air difficult to breathe, as he felt the crinkle of sadness in his mother’s hitched breath. He wanted to pull Marianna into one of those hugs that engulfed her, taking her frail body in his arms and hugging away her sadness, and he would. But he knew she had to mourn the loss of their dad in her own way, which would be different, and painful, but unique. And he couldn’t let her off the hook. He had to enforce what he’d said.
