She shoved her fists deep into her pockets and bent her head into the wind. She trudged on. Solitary as an oyster, she thought to herself. You could never predict when a phenomenal memory and an interest in 19th century British literature would proclaim itself. Thanks, Chuck, she thought to herself. But even the thought of calling Charles Dickens “Chuck” couldn’t force a smile to her frozen face. By the time she arrived home, she was weary, and even her bones ached with cold. Her cheeks felt burned. She gratefully opened the door.
Chapter 3
Nick was already home. “Babe! What did you do?” he asked worriedly.
It hurt to rub her hands together. “Oh, nothing, I arranged for the new bed.”
A tall, blonde, perfectly beautiful woman – Fuck me sideways, thought Lucy to herself. Are there any other kind here? – said, “It was too far to walk. Too cold.”
Lucy forced her cheeks into a smile. It was not easy, she was fairly certain that this is what rigor mortis would feel like. “It wasn’t too bad,” she lied.
Nick gently rubbed his hands up her arms. “Honey, why didn’t you use the car service? This is Astrid, by the way.”
“What car service?” she asked, wondering if it was actually possible for human teeth to shatter from the cold.
“It was in the note,” he replied.
“Honey, I didn’t see a note, you might have meant to leave me a note about this alleged car service, but you didn’t.”
Astrid added in clipped English, “He means that one.” She pointed to the note taped to the inside of the door.
Oh.
“Well, it was good to familiarize myself with the city.”
Nick said, “We don’t have a lot of time, but if you need to, you can take a hot shower.”
Astrid pointedly looked at her expensive stylish watch.
Lucy was confused. “Do we have plans?”
“There’s a dinner for us—” Nick began.
“It was in the note that you didn’t read,” piped up the Valkyrie in the room.
Lucy was trying to figure out how she could gracefully get out of this. She hurt all over and she had a caffeine rebound headache that could knock the glitter off of a stripper.
“Everyone made plans to see you, even in December,” Astrid said.
Apparently being included in someone’s social calendar in the month of December was something to be grateful for.
“Okay, okay, I will get changed. What should I wear?”
“Not jeans,” said Astrid. “When a Swede invites you to their home, you make an effort.”
Oh bloody hell, she was going to have to dig through her suitcase on the floor in front of perfect Astrid. She tried to keep up a witty patter while she unceremoniously shifted through her clothes. She failed. She sat back on her heels and held up a sweater dress, and boots. She didn’t want to risk the disdain of Nick’s flawless colleague, who she was beginning to loathe with a passion. So, she just gathered them up and hurried to the bedroom. She couldn’t shut the door because of the mattress. She had to walk back through the main room to go to the bathroom – the one without a bathtub.
She peeled off her jeans and was shocked at the nearly blue state of her thighs. She stepped into her tights and worked them up her frozen legs. Dammit, one of the toes had a hole in it that a frog could hide in. Oh well, her boots would cover it.
She braced herself and slowly lifted her hat off of her hair. The last time she had seen hair that fought gravity like that was at a children’s science museum, in Cleveland – at the electricity exhibit. She dampened her hands and vainly tried to smooth her hair down. She worked it into a loose braid. It would have to do.
Astrid drove. Lucy sat in the passenger seat and Nick folded his long legs into the back seat of the tiny car. Astrid drove through already dark streets. Lucy was astonished at how deserted the city was. Nothing appeared open. She commented on it, and Astrid shrugged. “It’s December.”
Lucy was getting a little put out by these reminders of what month it was. “I know it’s December, so what?”
“It is winter,” was the blonde woman’s response.
Lucy gave up.
They arrived at the home of their hosts, Nick’s new boss. The house was elegant, with a brick driveway and glowing candles in every window. The door was opened by a woman with a silver pageboy.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, thought Lucy, even the septuagenarians are hot here.
Nick made the introductions. “Honey, this is Karin. Karin, this is my wife.”
Karin pressed a cheek against Lucy’s. “So cold,” the older woman said. “Have you been outside?”
Astrid interjected, “Yes, she did not read the note he left.”
Lucy smiled wanly at her host.
Karin took Lucy’s coat and gestured to a small bench in the foyer.
Lucy was surprised to see that Astrid and Nick had taken their shoes off and set them in a basket. Remembering the huge, gaping hole in her tights, Lucy tried to dissemble. “My feet are really cold, how about I keep my boots on for a few minutes?”
The disapproval rolled like a wave over her. Apparently, what you did in Sweden was take your shoes off in someone’s home. Crap. There was nothing for it. She sat on the bench and pulled her boots off. “Oh dear,” she said too loudly. “I had no idea there was a hole in my tights.”
She could have sworn that Astrid rolled her eyes. Lucy sort of tugged on the raw end of her tights and gathered it into a little ball that she tucked between her toes. She hobbled behind Karin who led them past a dining room filled with candles.
The understated Scandinavian aesthetic was nowhere in evidence. The table was set lavishly, silverware gleamed and ornately folded napkins danced elegantly across the tablescape. When they arrived in the living room, Lucy was relieved to find a cocktail pressed into her hand. It occurred to Lucy that at least some of the people who were now greeting her warmly might be the very ones that would not even look at her on the street.
After two cocktails, which Lucy slugged down with brutal efficiency – you didn’t spend six years at Harvard without learning how to throw back serious quantities of alcohol – they trooped into the dining room. Lucy remembered that her grandfather had referred to booze as “Dutch courage” and wondered what the Vikings called it. Our courage? Or All right, but I don’t need it since I am superior in every way, extra courage? The thought brought a smile to her lips.
A handsome man pulled out her chair and as she sat down, he asked, “What do you do?”
“I am a freelance actuary.” For the first time in her life, no one asked her what an actuary was. No, her new Nordic friends were all flummoxed at her “freelance” status.
The room seemed to go eerily silent. “Oh. Won’t anyone hire you for an actual job?” Karin asked, seemingly genuinely perplexed.
Nick came to her rescue. “It’s her independent streak.” The Swedes seemed somewhat mollified by this. Nick continued, “She’s at the top of her field. I couldn’t be prouder of her.”
She had done well for herself career wise, that was true, but Lucy appreciated his loyalty and determined that she was going to give the man the best blowjob of his entire life in gratitude.
If you could get used to the short answers and the brutal honesty, the other guests were actually witty and interesting. She found herself having an interesting discussion about the predictability of storms in the Northern Sea with the man beside her. What she knew about the Northern Sea could be summed up in two words, “jack” and “shit”. But, as an actuary, predictability was her intellectual bread and butter.
The copious amounts of red wine that she was swilling might have had something to do with everyone suddenly becoming more likeable. It most decidedly made her even chattier than usual. “So why is everything closed in December?” she asked.
A brief flurry of Swedish flowed between the other guests. “Well,” said Astrid, “in Swedish we would say ‘mys’. But that’s not a perfect transla
tion, so most of us use the Danish word, ‘hygge’. Of course most of us understand a lot of Danish.”
She sounded like one of those old-fashioned model T cars on the Beverly Hillbillies, thought Lucy. HyeoooGAH.
Astrid continued, “Unlike you, who doesn’t speak anything but English.”
Lucy took a sip of her wine. She considered mentioning the six years she had taken French in middle and high school and only desisted because she was sure that at least some of the other guests would be fluent in it and the hole in her stocking was enough humiliation for one night.
“What does hy… erm… that mean?”
Another flurry of Swedish. “It doesn’t translate very well,” someone said.
“Could you try?” she asked.
“Cozy,” said someone.
“Warm and comforting,” added another. “Spending time relaxing with your family and friends.”
“That all sounds lovely,” Lucy admitted.
“It is,” Karin added. “You light candles, watch favorite movies, cook simple food and just unwind with your family and best friends. It’s not a time when you usually get together with people you don’t know well.”
So that was why she was supposed to be so grateful for a dinner party in December. Everyone should be getting all hygge with it. Her own cleverness made her giggle a bit, even with a mouthful of wine. She had a thought. “But what if you don’t have family or friends here?”
Stone silence. “Then you can’t have it.”
Well, fuck, thought Lucy.
Karin seemed to understand why that would seem harsh to the expatriates at her table. “You will make friends faster than people usually do here.”
There was nothing at all reassuring about that sentence, thought Lucy. Mathematicians were not exactly renowned for their outgoingness and social skills. She was feeling very sorry for herself indeed when their hostess continued, “Why don’t you come to the seashore for New year’s Eve with us?”
“The seashore?” asked Lucy. “In Sweden?” The questions just kept rolling out of her. “This time of year?”
The Swedes all chuckled indulgently. “We are very close to nature,” said Karin.
“Unlike Americans,” weighed in Astrid.
Most unnecessarily, thought Lucy.
They lingered over dinner, which was delicious. Roasted pork, mashed potatoes, and some pureed vegetables. Thankfully, not a pickled herring in sight. Lucy had been rather alarmed at all of the descriptions she had read about Swedish food prior to their move. Thus far, between the kaffe, baked goods and this dinner, she had worried for nothing.
For a few moments everyone at the table was talking about an ongoing project at work, which effectively excluded Lucy. She was thinking about Nicole, and wondering what it would be like to be sitting at this table with a tender, hot bottom knowing she was being watched by a stern, but loving husband. Sigh. She swirled the merlot around her tongue.
Nick had to say her name three times before she realized she was being addressed. “Let’s do it,” he said.
Lucy was startled. “Do it?” she asked, after swallowing her mouthful of alcohol.
Everyone was watching her intently. “Go to the cabin on the shore,” he answered.
“Oh. Oh, okay.” She hesitated. “The beach… for New Year’s, which is in two days… Have you all forgotten that we are near the Arctic Circle?”
The other guests joined in with arguments as to why this was not a ludicrous idea. “There is another beach house with its own sauna,” Karin said kindly.
“A sauna?” Lucy asked.
Astrid piped up, “It’s a little building that gets hot. It’s very good for you.”
“I know what a sauna is.” This conversation was ruining the effect of the lovely wine.
“And you have no friends here, so you should come,” was Astrid’s final contribution to the conversation.
Apparently the fastest way to get the usually stoic Swedes chattering animatedly was to talk about spending New Year’s Eve outside on a frozen seashore with the northern lights overhead. People would bring fireworks, someone said as if that would be a huge draw.
Lucy tried to deflect. “I would probably get drunk and wander away and get eaten by a walrus,” she said trying to be funny and self-deprecating.
“We can hold our liquor, so we would find you before you froze to death,” Karin assured her.
Note to self, thought an increasingly drunken Lucy, self-deprecating isn’t a good ploy when you are with a group of people who are already confident that you are a fucking moron.
Nick was clearly smitten with the idea. “I think we should totally do it.”
Lucy remembered one of the things Nicole had written. “The difference between a DD relationship and purely sexy spanking (which may well be what you want and that’s okay) is compliance. In a DD relationship you are relinquishing control (at least over some things). You can’t complain about your man not leading, if you don’t follow.”
She had inhaled enough wine to actually say, “If that’s what you want, sounds good to me.” This was a lie, it sounded horrible. But Nick’s delighted reaction made her keep her mouth shut, except to pour more wine down it.
The other guests seemed pleased that they would be joining them. Someone found a piece of paper – where in the spotless house, Lucy couldn’t imagine. Looking around, she was sure that there were zero “junk drawers” anywhere in Scandinavia. A list of the things they would need to pack was quickly made and pressed into Lucy’s hand. She was thinking, So even in the most feminist country on earth, the wife still has to do all the packing, when Astrid said, “Since you don’t have a real job, you can get things ready.”
“I do have a job, I just work from home. There aren’t nearly enough people in the world…” She threw her arms wide as she said “world” and was suddenly thankful that her glass was, not surprisingly, empty. She continued, “Who know how to do what I do. That’s why I make more than all of you.” Perhaps the Swedes did not hold their liquor as well as Karin thought they did, since everyone seemed tipsy enough to be charmed by this incredible rudeness.
Except Astrid, of course. “You don’t know how much any of us make, we don’t brag about such things in the Nordic countries. Even the Norwegians know better.”
Saying goodbye, Lucy was struck by a huge difference. Swedes wouldn’t make eye contact if they didn’t know you, but one dinner and they kissed you on both cheeks. There was much laughter and boisterous hugging.
“You are hilarious!” one man said. “I am so glad you are coming to New Year’s. You say things no one else would ever say!”
Nick got in the front seat of Astrid’s tiny car for the return trip.
Lucy’s head lolled back against the seat. “I am so tired, I will sleep all day tomorrow,” she said.
“It’s okay, you don’t have a job,” said the ever helpful Astrid.
Lucy was not sorry to get out of the car.
Chapter 4
Nick held her hand while they walked up the steps and into their micro-house. If Nick was tipsy, and he was, then Lucy was sloshed. They were kissing passionately and divesting each other of their coats. They left them on the floor. Probably the only time anything had ever been just left on a floor in Sweden, Lucy thought with a soused giggle. They tumbled onto the floor of their bedroom, which luckily was entirely covered by a mattress.
Nick ran his hands over her sides, squeezing her breasts and nuzzling her neck. “What do you want me to do to you?” he whispered.
Her heart was hammering in her chest. Was she brave enough to take this chance? Before she could censor herself she whispered, “I was thinking you should spank me.”
She felt his cock harden against her thigh. “That’s a great idea,” he said. Only a little drunkenly, he put a finger under her chin so she would have to look at him. “I think I should totally spank your bottom. You were really rude.” His sternness was somewhat ameliorated by the cheesy grin
flitting across his handsome face.
“I was, I totally was.”
“I guess I better teach you a lesson then. Come here.” He had a firm grip on her wrist and he took her with him as he scooted back across the mattress until his back pressed against the wall. She was nervous, but she didn’t want to risk making this difficult for her usually so gentle husband. She laid herself over his lap. He ratcheted up her tight skirt, and tangled his fingers in the waistband of her tights. He wrenched them down exposing her white bottom. He rubbed his fingers over her skin, tracing circles over the tender, pale globes. “You are a naughty girl,” he declared.
“Yes,” she said with a nervous giggle. The first swat wasn’t hard, but it made her jump. His fingers left pale pink lines.
“Do you think you can remember to behave now?” he asked.
She wanted to say, You have got to be fucking kidding me! This cute ass isn’t going to spank itself – put your back into it! She didn’t though. “Umm. Maybe, I’m almost ready…”
He gave her a few slightly harder spanks. “Next time it will be worse for you,” he said.
Oh, promises, promises, thought his drunken frustrated wife. It had not been the stern walloping she had dreamed of, but it was a start and his hand sliding between her thighs did leave her panting with desire.
He pumped his fingers in and out of her and she lifted her ass to make it easier for him to finger fuck her. He obliged. She was gasping, on the verge of coming like a banshee when he suddenly withdrew his fingers from her aching pussy. A quick hard slap fell on her upturned bottom. She writhed with sudden pleasure. He reached under her belly and unbuckled his trousers.
She took the hint and shimmied off of his lap and between his legs. She drew his cock into her mouth and sucked him passionately. His hands were tangled in her hair as his hips rocked up and down.
A Spanking Good New Year: Short Story Collection Page 32
