Give It To Me: Taboo Romance

by Ami Snow

  At the time, Lori didn’t even know what antiquities meant. She’d looked it up, but all Google told her was that antiquities were very old object, from even before the Middle Ages. That made sense: Tristan’s house was full of glass cases housing small sand-colored jugs and statues. Many of these were broken – one statue he kept in his study had no arms at all – but that didn’t seem to bother her boss.

  The rest of the house was just gorgeous. Lori often thought the place looked like a fancy hotel. Fresh flower arrangements were delivered by a service every Friday morning: two for the entranceway, one for the study where Tristan would meet his guests, and one that belonged on the small table in the master suite. The groceries were delivered too. Lori had to put those away, according to strict instructions left by Anthony, the chef who came every evening to prepare Tristan’s dinners.

  It was such a contrast to the small home Lori shared with her Mom, Dad, and four siblings. In Tristan’s house, everything was quiet and clean. At home, it was constant chaos. As for clean – well, Mom did her best, but with two teenage boys in the place, it was a losing battle.

  Tristan was a nice guy too. He wasn’t home a lot while Lori was there, but when he was, he was always cordial and pleasant. In a lot of ways, he was the polar opposite of her Dad, soft-spoken and highly educated instead of, well, Dad.

  If it hadn’t have been for the time they’d spent together in the military, there’s no way the two of them ever would have been friends, Lori thought. Tristan had been an officer, and her Dad had served as his driver. The two of them had had quite some adventures during the first Gulf War; neither of them liked to talk about it. A bond had grown between them, strong enough that some twenty-odd years later, Tristan was willing to give Lori a job.

  Now, Lori was determined to make sure Tristan never had a reason to regret his kindness. She was extremely diligent about her duties. Every time she vacuumed one of the oriental rugs, she took the time to do it twice, going first one way across the nap and then the other to ensure not one speck of dirt remained. She polished everything in the house that could be polished, and went through Windex by the case so that every showcase was absolutely crystal clear.

  Lori never, ever cleaned inside the showcases. Tristan had told her not to. Many of the objects inside needed special care. Being cleaned with Windex, Mr. Clean or any of the other products Lori loved using wouldn’t be good for them at all. This was an easy order to follow – after all, she had plenty of other work to do! – until the spider appeared in the case with the little reddish brown vase.

  Lori never actually saw the spider. But she saw plenty of proof that he had been there. A thin triangle of web stretched from the top of the showcase to the very top of the vase. The silvery-gray strands of spider silk were glaringly obvious to Lori, but Tristan must not have seen them. They stayed in place, a silent affront to Lori’s housekeeping skills for a week, and then another, and then another. She tried and tried to ignore it, but it was getting tougher with each passing day.

  Then one day, Tristan arrived home in the middle of the morning. CNN wanted to film a segment with him regarding the destruction of some ancient temples overseas: they’d be arriving in forty-five minutes.

  “While I freshen up,” he asked Lori, “can you make sure the study looks extra fabulous?” His smile was warm. “I know you always do a good job, but millions of people will be watching this segment. So if you could give things a little extra TLC, that would be great.”

  “Of course,” Lori said. The very first thing that leapt into her mind was the spider web in the showcase. It was so near the chair where Tristan usually sat while the media interviewed him. There was no way the powerful CNN cameras would fail to pick that up. Lori’s face burned just imagining the embarrassment this would cause her boss. She knew what she had to do.

  She knew she had to be especially careful. Her bright pink feather duster was at the ready. Lori held her breath as she slid the showcase door open; she didn’t want the glass to rattle and alert Tristan that she was going against his explicit orders.

  The feather duster made quick work of the spider web. One quick flick, and it was gone. Lori smiled, and started to shut the showcase. That’s when the spider – black and almost as big as her thumbnail – poked its head out of the reddish brown vase to see what was going on.

  “Oh, that’ll make for a great television moment,” Lori said. “We’ve got to get you out of there.” She grasped the vase carefully by the bottom and took it out of the showcase. Her intention was to shake the spider out on to the floor, where she could squish it and then vacuum up the tiny carcass.

  What really happened was that the vase slipped out of her hands, hit the floor, and broke into four pieces. There was a cloud of red colored dust that flew everywhere. Worst of all, there was a loud crash that Tristan heard.

  “Exactly what has happened in here?” he asked, as he came in through the doorway. His eyes widened when he saw the remnants of the reddish brown vase.

  Lori burst into tears. She held up her feather duster and tried to explain about the spider web and CNN, but Tristan didn’t let her finish. “We don’t have time for that now,” he said brusquely. He picked up the broken pieces of the vase, and to her astonishment, put the shards back in the showcase. “Get that dust taken care of, and then wait for me in the kitchen. We’ll have to discuss what happened after the news crew leaves.”

  What followed was the longest afternoon of Lori’s life. She paced around the granite-topped kitchen island, cursing herself out for messing up the best job she’d ever had. After all, hadn’t Tristan told her a million times to leave the showcases alone? Couldn’t she have mentioned the spider web situation to him previously? She’d had nearly a month, but he’d been busy, and Lori was still a little shy about bothering her boss. Now the vase was broken. Who knew what something that old cost? There was no way Lori could replace it. It was probably worth a million dollars or maybe, Lori thought with a sinking feeling in her stomach, even more.

  The interview was taking forever. It sounded like CNN had sent an army of people. She could hear people setting up lights and arguing about the best place to put the microphone. They hadn’t even started to talk to Tristan, and already Lori was a nervous wreck.

  Maybe she should just leave. Everybody was busy in Tristan’s study. Maybe, Lori thought, she could just quietly scoot down the hall without anyone noticing her and slip out through the door and never come back.

  She peered out of the kitchen and quickly abandoned that idea. The CNN crew had cables and gear boxes all over the place. It was a tangled mess. There was no way Lori was going to be able to make her way through that without bumping into something. She wasn’t built for stealth, not with her wide hips and DD chest.

  Besides, where was she going to go? If she left, the first thing Tristan would do would be to call her Dad. Talk about going from the frying pan into the fire. As much as Lori wasn’t looking forward to talking to Tristan about her screw-up, she really, really didn’t want to have that discussion with her Dad.

  Daddy was going to be so disappointed in her. Why didn’t she just listen?

  It was hard to keep the tears back. As time went on, it got harder and harder. She felt one drop slide slowly down her cheek, and then another, and another. Finally Lori surrendered into full-fledged sobs, with her face buried in her hands and her chest heaving.

  That’s how she was when Tristan stepped into the kitchen. Lori hadn’t even heard the tv crew leave, but when she looked up, she saw they were alone in the house. She hurriedly tried to wipe the tears away from her face with her fingers.

  Tristan stopped her. “You’re beautiful when you’re crying.” He held her thick wrist in his hand, gently. “Most women aren’t. But on you, it works.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lori said.

  Tristan smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, Lori thought. She’d seen her Father’s best friend happy before, and this wasn’t the wide, toothy grin Trist
an wore when he was happy. This was a smile of victory; this was a smile of triumph.

  “Tell me. Do you know why you’re sorry?” Tristan let go of Lori’s wrist and walked into the dining room. He didn’t give any directions, but Lori knew she was meant to follow him. She did, head bowed, hands clasped over her belly. When Tristan sat down at the head of the table, Lori remained standing in front of him. “Do you?”

  Lori nodded. “Yes.”

  Tristan looked Lori up and down, very, very slowly. She could feel his gaze on her everywhere; he spent a long time looking at her dirty-blonde curls and an even longer time staring at her bulging chest. Lori could feel herself starting to blush, but that didn’t seem to bother Tristan at all.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  She did, almost automatically, and stood facing the far wall. Tristan was looking at her ass, taking his time as he studied her fleshy butt. Lori’s face was fully scarlet now, but she didn’t know what to do. She was so embarrassed – and yet, somehow, also becoming sexually excited. When Tristan had her turn back around, Lori was painfully aware that her nipples had become erect, pushing themselves prominently against the thin fabric of her t-shirt.

  Tristan saw this, clearly; Lori saw his brown eyes flash toward her chest. But then his gaze locked on hers. She squirmed in place, uncomfortable with his stern regard. “Tell me why you’re sorry, Lori.”

  “I broke your vase,” she blurted out. “I didn’t mean to, but I did!”

  Tristan put his hand over his mouth, and stared at Lori for a long moment. Then he said, “That’s why you’re sorry?”

  Lori nodded. “Yes.” She swallowed, nervously. “Yes, sir.”

  Tristan shook his head. “That’s not why I want you to be sorry.”

  Lori was confused. “It’s not?”

  “No.” Tristan shifted position in his chair, crossing his legs. “But I’m sure you’ll figure out why I want you to be sorry before too long.” He smiled. “Are you wearing panties?”

  “Of course!” There was no way Lori would have been comfortable in her housekeeping uniform without panties. The skirt wasn’t short, exactly – but it was short enough.

  Tristan held out his hand, palm flat, fingers extended. “Give them here, please.”

  An electric shock ran through Lori’s body. “What? Why?”

  “You’re going to be spanked, Lori,” Tristan said. His tone was so calm, as if he was patiently explaining something to a particularly stupid child. “And you can’t be spanked with your panties on.”

  “Really?” Her words were barely above a whisper. “You’re going to spank me?”

  “Really.” Tristan snapped his fingers, and he grew stern. “Now, Lori.”

  Moving quickly, Lori lifted her skirt and hooked her thumbs in the elastic waistband of the red panties she was wearing. She pushed them down to her ankles, stepped out of them, and then stood there, with the cotton underpants wadded in her hand.

  “I’ll take those,” Tristan said. He plucked the red panties from Lori’s hand, and tucked them into his blazer pocket. “Now, be a good girl, and fetch me one of Chef’s wooden spoons.”

  Lori stared at Tristan wide-eyed for a moment. He dismissed her with a wave. “Go. And don’t take his favorite spoon. I wouldn’t want to hear about it if I broke that one.”

  Lori was intensely aware of her panty-less state as she walked from the dining room to the kitchen. She could feel the air sneaking between her thighs. Her mind was racing. Tristan meant to spank her, right on her bare bottom. She supposed he had every right after what she’d done – but what was the wooden spoon for?

  Chef kept a selection of wooden spoons in a stainless steel crock on the countertop. They all looked heavy and strong. Lori shivered, and selected a spoon at random. Did Tristan intend to smack her ass with this? She winced. That was going to hurt. Or perhaps, she thought, fingers curling around the spoon’s smooth handle, he had another use in mind.

  Lori shook her head, shocked by the direction her thoughts were taking. She couldn’t possibly be looking forward to being punished by her Father’s best friend, could she?

  “Today, Lori,” Tristan called to her from the dining room.

  She swallowed. “Coming, sir.” Lori hurried to the dining room and stood in front of her boss. She held the wooden spoon out in front of her, flat on her outstretched palms. “The spoon, sir.”

  Tristan smiled. “Thank you.” Then the smile faded from his face. “The vase you broke, Lori.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lori bowed her head. Her gaze was fixed on Tristan’s hands. On Tristan’s long, strong hands.

  “It was Macedonian.” Tristan paused. “Do you know anything about Macedonia?”

  Lori shook her head. “No, sir.” She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she looked up at Tristan. “I know if you had it, it must have been very old.”

  “You could say that. The person who made that vase, Lori, lived two hundred years before Jesus was born.”

  Her eyes went wide. “I am in so much trouble,” she breathed.

  “Is that why you’re sorry?” Tristan asked. He leaned forward in his chair, fingers laced together under his chin.

  Lori shook her head. “I’m sorry because I broke the vase,” she said. “I never should have done that.”

  Tristan sighed. He sat back in his chair, uncrossed his legs, and patted his lap. “Come here, Lori.”

  Lori stood, frozen in place like a deer. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “What are you scared of?” Tristan asked.

  “This is going to hurt,” she said.

  Tristan nodded. “It is. But it’s not going to be more than you can bear.” He patted his lap. “It’s going to be just enough to help you clear your mind.”

  Strangely reassured, Lori stood at the side of Tristan’s lap. He put on hand on the small of her back, and guided her into position over his knee. Lori more than filled his lap; she had to brace her hands on the floor in order to keep her balance. This occupied her attention for a moment, and then Tristan started running his hand over her uniform-covered ass.

  “The Macedonians would have loved you, Lori,” he said, as he squeezed her butt cheeks. “Big healthy hips. A strong woman.” Then he slid her uniform up, exposing her bare bottom. “Who just won’t listen.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lori said. She wiggled in Tristan’s lap. It just felt too strange to be there like that, naked and exposed. He wrapped one arm around her waist, squeezing her into place like a seatbelt. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Tristan replied by spanking her bottom – a quick open-hounded slap that took her breath away. The second smack was just as hard, but on the other cheek. Lori yipped, but Tristan didn’t stop. He kept spanking her, one cheek and then the other, for several minutes.

  At first, Lori tried to fight it. She’d shift her hips around, trying to direct Tristan’s smacks toward less-sensitive areas of her bottom. But then one time, she shifted the wrong way, and the slap that was coming for her left ass cheek landed much lower – directly between her widely-splayed thighs.

  Lori howled. Tristan laughed. “If you don’t want that to happen, you’d better hold still.” His tone changed, and Lori became very aware of his erection pushing up against her belly. “If you want that to happen, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  Lori froze in position.

  “That’s how it is, is it?” Tristan laughed again. “All right.” He started spanking Lori faster, each blow landing with a little more intensity than its predecessor.

  She closed her eyes. The pain was starting to build, but so was something else. Lori could feel her entire body trembling. She could feel her pussy throbbing. For a moment, she considered shifting her hips again, just to feel Tristan’s stern fingers pressing against her need.

  The thought was so appealing that despite all her better judgement, Lori did it. She timed things perfectly, moving her hips just as Tristan’s hand was coming down for a strong smack. When his
hand came into contact with Lori’s crotch, her clit got a direct hit. Lori’s moan surprised her; so did the electric shock that ran through her entire body.

  Tristan stopped spanking her, but kept his arm cinched around Lori’s thick waist as she shook. For a moment, she just lay there, trying to catch her breath. Then Tristan shocked her again, by announcing, “Well, now that we’ve got you all warmed up, it’s time for your spanking.”

  She turned her head to look up at her boss. “What the hell was that then?” Lori demanded, all thoughts of prudent decorum forced out of her mind by her pink, stinging bottom.

  Tristan picked up the wooden spoon from the table and showed it to her. “Twenty strokes,” he said, adding magnanimously, “You can cry, if you’d like.”

  Lori closed her eyes. This wasn’t going to be so bad, she tried to tell herself. After all, she’d been dreading feeling Tristan’s hand on her ass, and that hadn’t been terrible. In fact, she thought to herself with a little smile, there had been a couple of swats she’d really, really enjoyed.

  The first touch of the wooden spoon drove all that quiet confidence right from Lori’s mind. While Tristan’s hands had hit her bottom with broad, warm strokes, the spoon was a hard, fast, intense burst of pain.

  She yelped. “That hurts! That really hurts!”

  “That’s why it’s called punishment,” Tristan said. He smacked her ass again with the spoon. “You’re not supposed to like it.”

  Lori tried to be brave. She resolved to keep her pain to herself and not let Tristan know how much the spoon hurt as it impacted her fleshy bottom over and over and over again. This determination lasted for almost ten strokes. Then it was too much, and she gave up and let herself cry.

  These weren’t the big, dramatic sobs she’d been crying in the kitchen when Tristan had seen her earlier. These tears came silently, and they came in quantity, running over her cheeks in a thick, salty river.