Ana Adored

by Anastasia Vitsky

  She had to pause and rub. That had hurt a little bit, but not in the way she'd always thought it would. It was probably a very different experience when someone else was doing the swinging… and the holding… and the communication was all done face-to-face rather than keyboard-to-keyboard. She was going to have to be more careful with her aim. That last smack was still stinging in her flesh. Not enough to reduce her to tears, but it sure wasn't comfortable. Okay. I did it.

  Young lady, do I have to make it ten before you'll mind me? I said make them count. All of them.

  Scrambling up off the pillow, Ana quickly checked her laptop settings to make sure she wasn't somehow broadcasting this spanking across the internet. Even knowing she'd disabled both her microphone and video camera, Miranda's admonishment startled her. How could she possibly know how hard Ana was hitting herself? Maybe Miranda was used to most people holding back. Nobody liked pain. Holding back was probably very common.

  How many people did Miranda spank online anyway? Ana wasn't about to ask. She couldn't think of how to do it without sounding like… well, Peyton.

  Gritting her teeth, Ana put herself back into position. She braced herself and blistered through the next set of five with as much force as she could get into each awkward swing. Ow, ow, ow! Dropping the spatula, she jumped off the pillow and danced around the bed, rubbing to extinguish the smart chewing into her behind.

  Switch arms, Miranda told her. Fifteen to the other side now. We can't have you wandering about with a lopsided burn, now can we?

  Grudgingly lowering herself back into position over the pillow, Ana threw herself into the wholesale walloping of her left bottom cheek. The last few smacks actually had her biting the blankets to stifle her whimpering cries, but once she was done, there was no keeping back her groan of relief. She abandoned the spatula to rub her throbbing buttocks with both hands before typing: That hurt!

  It's supposed to, sweetheart. I let you off easy because it's your first spanking and you've really been a good girl, not a naughty one. If I were there in person, though, you'd better believe you'd still be over my knee, kicking and squalling, with my hairbrush painting your bottom a lovely shade of crimson. Such a pretty, sweet Ana you'd be, spanked and put to bed with kisses and caresses.

  Disappointment over what she'd just experienced waged an instant war with the fresh rise of longing that accompanied Miranda's words. Why couldn't Miranda live in the apartment down the hall? It wasn't fair. The one time in her life that Ana had found someone so compatible with herself on every level, and they'd probably never meet in real life. Tears stung her eyes with the same intensity that spatula had left on her naked bottom. Embarrassment swept through Ana and she quickly swiped them away before they could fall.

  When do you have to go to work, lovely? Miranda asked.

  Ana sniffled, feeling silly and exposed. She was alone, but she still pulled the hem of her t-shirt down until her sex, with all the glistening remnants of her earlier arousal, was hidden. Not for a few hours.

  All right then. We'll talk again tonight. For now, I want you to go take a nice, hot bath. Do you have bubbles? Make it nice for yourself.

  Tears stung Ana's eyes all over again. That meant their conversation was almost over. She wasn't yet ready to say goodbye. Okay, she returned.

  Bath first, then have a good day at work.

  You too.

  The chat window went dead, the cursor inactive.

  Pulling up her panties and shorts, Ana took the spatula back to the kitchen counter by the sink. Her bottom felt funny and sensitive, as if her flesh strove to hold onto the sting, but it was already diminished. Not quite gone, not yet. But faded. She rubbed, the tips of her fingers seeking out any hint of lingering tenderness.

  So much for fantasy. Miranda had tried her best. It wasn't her fault the experience hadn't lived up to Ana's expectations.

  Shoulders slumping, Ana did as she'd been instructed. Walking into the bathroom, she sat down on the edge of the tub to run a hot bath.

  No wonder Peyton had called her crazy. A grown adult in love with spanking—apparently, more in love with the idea than the reality.

  It might be a different experience, that silly little voice in her head whispered, were the spatula wielded by someone else.

  No, Peyton was right. Normal people wanted moonlight, handheld walks in the park and roses, not spankings, cuddles and aftercare.

  Dipping her fingers in the warm water, Ana brought down a bottle of honey mint bubble bath and held a capful of faint green liquid under the running faucet. She added two more for a rich froth that wouldn't dissolve too fast, then shrugged back out of her clothes and slipped into the tub to sit in water waist-deep. Drawing her legs up to her chest, she hugged them.

  Although Miranda said otherwise, something must really be wrong with her. As anticlimactic as that spanking had been, the need for a real one still lurked inside her. Already that insistent throb low down in her belly was resurrecting itself. She squeezed her thighs together, but still it spread. Mint-scented bubbles popped lightly against her skin. Each tiny movement she made rocked the water until the lapping began to feel like teasing, flicking tongues against her skin. Her nipples grew heavy and tight.

  Squeezing her breasts hard against her thighs, Ana tried to imagine Miranda sitting here on the edge of the tub beside her, dipping a washcloth in the water before gently scrubbing her back. Ana imagined her embracing her for real. Spanking her; kissing her. Putting her back to bed, with her boy boxers and underwear pulled down to her knees and her hot, sore bottom exposed to the tender caresses of Miranda's hand, soothing her the way good girls with red-hot bottoms should be soothed once discipline was done.

  Breathing in, Ana tucked her chin to her chest, closing her eyes as she buried her face in her arms. The rising water, the frothy bubbles, the gentle lapping of the water and the heady pulse of unrequited desire grew up all around and inside of her, every bit as thick as the unhappy silence she was drowning in.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Hey," Miranda said softly, peeking into Don's room. He wasn't sleeping. Lying partially up-raised in bed, he was watching TV with the pain management button in his hand. His thumb rested on it and the foggy look in his eyes said he'd already found cause to use it at least once. "Hey," she said again, approaching his bedside. "I smuggled out some of Cook Connie's award winning banana nut muffins, just for you."

  Don smiled, his fingers rising off the button only just enough to beckon her closer. "Come in, sweetheart. Sit down." His face was lined and pale, and he looked ten years older than a man in his forties ought to. "That smells heavenly, but if you really loved me, you'd smuggle in a trucker-sized coffee with a big ol' shot of Amaretto in it."

  Laying Cook Connie's plastic-wrapped muffins on the table by his bed, Miranda bent to brush his too-pale cheek with a kiss. "I do love you," she said, her eyes drifting closed when he reached up to stroke her hair. When she leaned back out of his embrace, his glazing eyes shone with their old familiar mischief as she said, "But I won't do that. You know I won't."

  "Yeah, yeah. I know." An experienced Dom, sick or not, Don knew when it was unproductive to push. "Tell me all the news. How's Castle life?"

  "Busy." Miranda pulled a chair up to sit beside him, crossing her long legs and folding her hands upon her knee. "We're full up. We haven't had an extra vacancy all month long, and it looks like it'll be another month before we will again. Everyone's having their last hurrah before kids go back to school, I guess. We all hit the ground running each morning, and don't stop until we fall into bed late each night."

  "That's good. Job security."

  "It pays the bills," Miranda agreed. "Oh, and the first employees' apartment building has finally gone up, did you know? They broke ground on the second last weekend, and the third is set to start in the spring. Jackson and Sara got their pick of the place and moved in two weeks ago."

  "How is she doing?" Don asked, settling in to catch up on gossip.

/>   "Just starting to show a little."

  He chuckled. "And how is he doing?"

  "Ready to deck the next person who suggests scening with a pregnant woman."

  "I'm glad they finally got themselves sorted out. Are they talking marriage yet?"

  "Not that Chelsea's mentioned, and she'd know before anyone else. Much to her chagrin, people can't stop talking to her."

  "Is she still threatening to whack Jackson if he doesn't communicate better?"

  Miranda smiled. "Oh, she threatens to whack them both on an often and equal basis. Communication is, after all, a two-way street."

  "That it is." Don smiled again, but his weariness bothered her. "How's Marshall?"

  "Wishing you hadn't signed your shares of the business back over to him."

  "My family has little tolerance for my… predilections." When Don held up his hand, she took it in both of hers and gave his fingers a squeeze. "I prefer they not know about this side of me. Especially my brother. He's a journalist and predisposed to causing problems." Don grunted, clearing his throat. "I don't want to talk about that. Tell me about Marshall's fiancée. Is Kaylee getting cold feet yet?"

  "No, and I doubt she will. She loves him to pieces."

  "Love's got nothing to do with the fluctuation of foot temperatures with a wedding date looming ever closer. Particularly the one they've got planned."

  "Oh, she's worn his collar for almost a year now."

  "This is more than a collaring ceremony, and you know it."

  "Mm," Miranda demurred. "She's agreed to it. I speak to her every day, and she doesn't seem nervous."

  "Wait for it," Don said, his voice fading. He made an effort to rally. "Who's that little redhead? The one who brought me chocolates yesterday?"

  "Sinclair. Parker's new girl."

  "I like her. Always been partial to redheads."

  "I remember a time when you once said that about brunettes," Miranda teased, stroking his hand between hers.

  "I'd have collared you in a minute, if only you didn't have as much fondness for the ladies as I do." He squeezed her fingers, his eyes drifting closed. "Tell me about you now."

  "Mm," Miranda repeated, noncommittal. "What's to tell?"

  "No special someone waiting for you to come home?"

  "Oh, I have a special someone every day I clock in for work, but I never bring them home."

  "No?" Don opened his eyes to look at her, his brown eyes narrowing and smile growing. She found it difficult not to flush, squirm or look away. "Liar. You do have someone special."

  It was embarrassing that he could still read her so easily. "It's silly."

  "Why?"

  He might be tired and ill, but his mind was still sharp and the calculation was deepening in his eyes. She tried to laugh off her unexpected discomfort. "We've never met. I don't know her last name or what she looks like… I don't know anything about her, I suppose. At least, nothing real."

  "Does it matter?"

  Miranda hesitated, though the answer seemed as obvious as the digital blips of the hospital readouts recording his health status. "No," she admitted. "Not to me, anyway."

  "Is she in the lifestyle?"

  At that, Miranda had to laugh. "I doubt it." She tsked, both at herself and the situation. "I don't know. I think she's submissive, but I have no idea how experienced she is, or how much she knows about her own desires. We did a little roleplaying online last night."

  "How did that go?"

  "She'd just broken up with her girlfriend. She was feeling vulnerable, so I distracted her with a spanking."

  "And she went through with it?"

  "I think so, yes. At least her replies felt genuine."

  "If she went through with it, she can't be all vanilla. So, what are you waiting for? Invite her to the Castle."

  Miranda looked at him. "I met her in a vanilla forum. We talk about plants, for crying out loud. How, my dear friend, am I supposed to tell her that I spank naughty boys and girls for a living? Or that I have a fascination with ropes and bondage? Or that my daily uniform consists of five-inch spike-heels and dominatrix boots, black leather corsets with studded seams, and the occasional strap-on dildo?" She leaned closer, lowering her voice, asking now in earnest, "I've never met her in person, Don. How do I tell her that I've dreamed about the day when I could hold her… and spank her… and tie her to my bed so I can work her lovely little body over and over until she begs for me to stop? Forget stop. How do I tell her I dream of her begging just for me?"

  "You've got it bad," Don commiserated.

  "Hook, line and sinker, as the fishermen would say," Miranda agreed, shaking her head again. "Like I said, it's silly."

  "Tell me, do you still work with Little Maids and Under Butlers?"

  "Not so much anymore." Miranda was only too happy to shift the conversation in a new direction. "Grimsley has a pretty good handle on them. These days it seems all I do is push buttons when it's needed."

  Don snorted and squeezed her hand again. "I'd like to push your button."

  She tsked, half laughing. "Dirty old man."

  "You have no idea. Sadly, neither does a certain sassy redheaded nurse they've got here."

  "Oh?" Miranda grinned. "Tell me all about her."

  "What's to tell?" Don teased. "She comes in every day to give my sponge bath. I make a game out of dropping things so she'll bend over and pick them up. She thinks I'm clumsy as hell, but she's got the cutest little ass. Every day I give myself a stern talking to."

  "And what do you say?"

  "That I'm too far along to wrestle her across my bed and paddle her until her bottom matches her top."

  Miranda laughed. "Does it work?"

  "No."

  "That's a surefire way to get reported to the police."

  "What can they do?" he returned. "Put me in jail? The food can't be any worse than here." He squeezed her hand. "Sweetheart, can you help me find my button?"

  Making a quick search of his bedding, Miranda pressed it back into his hand. She swallowed back her dismay at having to watch him deal with pain.

  They were both quiet while the medication dripped into his system.

  Don closed his eyes. When he abandoned the button and opened his hand, she took it in both of hers again. He smiled faintly. "Bring her to the Castle, Miranda." He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, and though he didn't specify, she knew for a fact he wasn't talking about a certain redheaded nurse. "Do it for me, sweetheart. I want to see you happy. You deserve it."

  "What about you?" she returned, touching her lips to the backs of his fingers. "Don't you deserve to be happy, too?"

  "Sure I do." He chuckled, a slow and tired sound. "Help me wrestle that cute little redheaded nurse over my lap, and I'll be happy all day long."

  * * * * *

  "Miss Klein! What will you do while we're all gone?" Rhae ran up to Ana, one shoe untied and her Iron Man watch dangling from her wrist. The plastic red cover flipped open, and the gray screen never deviated from the same readout all day long: '12:00'.

  "I'll keep busy, so don't worry about me." Ana hugged the little girl she privately called 'Calvin' because she was every bit as rotten as the boy from Calvin and Hobbes. At the same time, she melted Ana's heart.

  "I like your…" Rhae paused, trying to find the right words. "I like your pretty pink dress."

  "Thank you," Ana said, straightening her shirt. Normally, she preferred tailored, feminine blouses with slim-fitting dress pants. After this morning's disappointment, though, she'd wanted to do something nice for herself. She'd scrounged around in her closet to find her favorite swing dress—belted with a narrow bit of black leather, with a pink and blue floral design that swirled in a satisfying way whenever she sat down.

  "Won't you be scared of the dark?"

  "What do you mean?" Ana bent down to tie the little girl's shoelaces in a double knot. "It's light outside right now."

  "But it won't be when it's night and they turn off all the school l
ights."

  "True," Ana agreed, giving the ends of her laces an extra tug. "But I don't live at the school. I'll be at home."

  "We're going on a trip! My mom said we're going to stay with Grandma for two weeks, since there's no school."

  Ana nodded. She'd been looking forward to the vacation, at least when she and Peyton had still been together. They'd planned to go on a hike, catch up on movies, and visit her parents. Most preschools took the entire summer off, but Calvary parents paid more to give their children an academic boost. That, plus the plethora of daycare centers nearby, made Calvary a hot commodity. Ana was grateful for the steady work and paychecks, but she wouldn't have minded a chance to sleep in late, lounge in pajamas, and drown her break-up sorrows in a pint of ice cream. She'd pick up some Haagen Dazs on her way home.

  Rhae threw her arms around Ana's knees and squeezed her. "I wish you could come to my Grandma's, but Mom said no. Grandma lets me play with Tony." Rhae held up a red and gold jointed doll wearing a suit and helmet.

  "I'm sure you'll have lots of fun with your grandmother." Ana held out her arms toward Sophia, who was flouncing in her makeshift tutu.

  "My momth taking me to McDonaldth!" Sophia beamed, her tongue twisting with the difficult 's' sound she couldn't manage despite weekly home visits from a speech therapist. Born ten weeks early, the tiny girl had never caught up physically or developmentally. "And thee'll buy me a new tutu!" Sophia didn't have a younger cousin like the Sophia Grace she adored, but she dressed up her favorite doll to serve as her 'hype girl'. "Maybe a purple one thith time!"

  Ana hugged the children as they filed out for the day, in two neat rows like little ducks behind their teacher as they headed out to meet their waiting parents. As they went, she accepted assorted gifts of stickers, a piece of carpet lint, a half-chewed crayon, and a tiny spatula swiped from the kitchen corner. Looking at it, Ana couldn't help but relive that morning. It was hard trying to imagine the itty bitty play utensil smacking at her backside with any degree of effectiveness. Like a mosquito trying to hit an elephant… she doubted it would bite much harder. In fact, as hard as she'd tried to smack herself, she hadn't been able to summon a single genuine wince all day today. A real spanking should tingle for a few hours at least, if not keep her sitting gingerly all day long. While Ana was relieved not to have to explain any undue squirming in addition to yet another bump into 'furniture', she felt cheated of the real experience.