Under His Roof

by Quinn, Sadey

  “What’s wrong?” I snap, though I’m trying to be patient. “Why are you crying?”

  “I just… I never do anything right!” she sniffles. “And… and my boyfriend just broke up with me… and I’m trying to be strong but it’s so hard, Rachel!”

  Okay, okay… Secretary from Hell is an actual human being. I must remember this. I send her home for the day after giving her a well-meant but awkward hug. I enlist the help of a temp, who actually seems fairly sharp, to re-categorize the files and I spend the rest of the afternoon doing boring check-in meetings with my team. Mandatory but, in my opinion, totally unnecessary.

  In my mind I’ve already spent way too much time with people today but I still have a late dinner with a client. I put on earrings and thigh-highs and change into high heels. I try to look professional yet also sexy because this client likes to flirt. My cell buzzes as I drive to the restaurant and I see it’s my mother. Sighing, I click ‘ignore’. In spite of making time for my friends, I still haven’t quite managed to bring my family back into my life.

  Mr. Lucas Gunderson is not on time, per usual, so I order a bottle of wine and pull out his file to go over the options we have organized for him. His company is launching a new advertisement campaign all over the county and he’s become my most important client.

  “Rachel!” I look up from the files to see he’s arrived. A discreet look at my watch tells me he’s just fifteen minutes late. He’s gained some more weight, and his belly topples over his belt like it wants to escape.

  “Mr. Gunderson,” I say, standing up to shake his hand. He pulls me in and gives me a wet kiss on the cheek. “How’ve you been?” I put on my happiest smile, like I’m thrilled to see him and can’t wait to catch up.

  “Oh, you know, busy as always.”

  “And the kids?” I like to bring up the kids. And the wife.

  “They’re great.” He sits down and looks happy to be off his feet. “Pat is off to high school next year. Pretty exciting times! I’m hoping she makes varsity.”

  “Tennis, right?”

  “That’s right. My, you have a sharp memory. Are you this good with all your clients?”

  “Only the ones who are as nice as you, Mr. Gunderson,” I say with a sweet smile, leaning in a little. Let the flirting begin.

  Just then I see a figure I recognize at the front of the restaurant. David. With a woman. Whoa. An incredibly attractive, mind-numbingly beautiful woman. Blond hair spills down her back in perfect, shiny waves. She could be a model for a shampoo commercial. A gorgeous black evening gown with an open back shows off her slim figure. David puts his hand on the small of her back, leading her to their table. He’s on a date.

  I am instantly jealous and angry.

  “What’re you staring at?” Mr. Gunderson asks, following my gaze across the restaurant. I realize my mouth is hanging wide open and I snap it shut and turn my attention back to my client.

  “Nothing. Sorry. An old friend.”

  “Well, why don’t you go say hi? Go on, I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  I shake my head. I would prefer not to say hi. “No, thanks. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, and we weren’t very close friends. Acquaintances, really.” I will change the subject. “So, I’m under the impression that you’re interested in changing our campaign a bit.”

  “Yes, dear, but let’s not talk business yet. I want to know more about what’s going on with you.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes and continue the game I always play with Mr. Gunderson. I shoot sideways glances over to David’s table on occasion but as far as I can tell he has no idea I’m here. Finally, when the waiter comes to remove our dinner plates, I catch his eye. He smiles at me and waves.

  I cannot be jealous of a man I am not dating. I will repeat this mantra seven times and then forget about the blond haired goddess.

  Mr. Gunderson is on his fourth glass of wine and is getting a little louder than I like, but I’m still playing the game. I touch his arm. I make him laugh. I laugh with him when he tells terrible jokes.

  I want to decline dessert and get on to business but he’s in the mood for tiramisu. And sherry.

  “So no men in your life yet, Rachel?” he asks, grabbing my hand. His palms are sweaty.

  I smile sweetly. “No, not yet.”

  He shakes his head as if that’s the worst thing he’s ever heard. “I just can’t believe that someone hasn’t snatched you up. You really are a beautiful woman.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gunderson.”

  “If I weren’t married…” He is still shaking his head sadly.

  Now he is touching my leg with his foot. Shit. Gracefully get out of the situation. How. How?

  I see David heading our way with his date and I shrink down in my chair, praying he won’t come say hi. But he’s smiling and looking directly at me and is definitely coming to say hi.

  “Evening,” he says as he approaches.

  “Hey,” I mumble.

  “Friend of yours?” David asks.

  “David, this is Mr. Gunderson. He’s a client of mine.” I pull my hand away from Mr. Gunderson’s grasp and, while not happy to see David’s date up-close, at least this is a good distraction for my flirtatious companion.

  “A client?” David’s eyes darken ever so slightly. But he is gracious and offers his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  I am trying not to look at the blonde. But she’s so… right there. And she’s tall, nearly as tall as David.

  “This is my sister, Marilyn. We're celebrating some of her recent success at work.”

  Sister! My mood brightens.

  She smiles and I see the family resemblance. Her smile is calm, too. She says, “It's nice to meet you,” and offers her hand.

  “Well, I can see you’re probably discussing business,” says David. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Rachel.”

  “Right.” I look to Mr. Gunderson who is staring at me suspiciously. They leave us alone and I take a long sip of my so far untouched wine.

  “I thought you said that man was an old friend. Not even a friend. An acquaintance.” His tone is slightly accusing and, if I’m correct, he feels hurt.

  “Shall we move on to business, Mr. Gunderson?” I ask, trying to keep my tone bright. I cannot explain my lie so I decide it is best to change the subject.

  The rest of our meeting is more business-like, though he does move too close for comfort as I go through our sketch-ups for his company. He accepts our proposal. I insist he take a cab home rather than drive, and after a bit of bickering, he agrees. As always, he gives me an even sloppier kiss on the cheek when we say goodbye.

  With that out of the way, I go home and relax and daydream about my date with David. I cannot wait.

  ~6~

  David

  “Told you,” says Marilyn as we get into my truck after dining.

  “I could have sworn they were on a date,” I reply, still not totally convinced. “Didn’t you see the way he was looking at her?”

  “Yes. She’s a business woman. Some use their powers of flirtation, others don’t. Evidently, Rachel does.”

  “How were you so sure she was on a business meeting?” I pull a twenty dollar bill from the glove-box and hand it over. I’d certainly lost the bet.

  “Her outfit. It was formal enough for business, just a little too formal for a date. And she had a briefcase. And he is way, way out of her league.”

  I shake my head and turn off toward Marilyn’s apartment. “Do you use those tactics with your clients?”

  “Nah. Don’t usually need to. But sometimes I pop a ring on my finger before meetings with some of the lecherous types.”

  “Good. Please don’t ever behave that way.”

  “All right, older brother.”

  After dropping Marilyn off, I contemplate swinging by Rachel’s to make sure she got home OK, but I realize this might be perceived as too protective, too soon. I'll send her an e-mail when I get home.
<
br />   It’s been nearly a year since my last attempt at a relationship and Marilyn is thrilled. She could not stop talking about it at dinner. I’m happy, too, but also have my own reservations because I know what I’m like with women and I’m not sure Rachel will approve.

  Marilyn doesn’t think it will be a problem.

  My sister is the only one in my family who knows my true career. She found out by accident when she stopped by my house during one of my sessions. I always take the precaution of putting a ‘With a client, please do not disturb’ sign on my front door, but Marilyn ignored that when she heard strange sounds coming from inside. She called my cell phone, then my house phone, before finally knocking on the door with all her might.

  I sat her down and explained what I was doing with my client. While it took Marilyn a long time to understand, she eventually came around. She accepts my business as my business and we leave it at that. And now, thank goodness, I have someone I can talk to about my relationships.

  “So you spank them, even when you date them?” she’d asked, somewhat incredulously.

  “Yep. When they need it.”

  She snorted but when she saw my expression was serious she stopped laughing. “Yeah. Um. I’m sure some women like that kind of thing.”

  Since that conversation, my little sister has done some of her own research among her friends and has concluded that I’m actually not that abnormal. “Some of them love getting spanked, David!” she’d said. “They can’t get enough of it! Unbelievable, I never would’ve thought…”

  So, she’s concluded that Rachel will not mind my lifestyle choices. I have yet to figure that out.

  The rest of my family thinks I do ‘life-coaching’, which in a sense is kind of accurate. Kind of.

  The long drive home from Marilyn’s apartment is good for me. I love driving. It gives me a chance to think, to relax. Nothing but me, my tunes, and the road in front of me.

  At home I feed Sparky and then make a beeline to my computer.

  Rachel:

  Did you get home all right?

  David

  She doesn’t respond immediately. That’s fine. I have seven e-mails from clients and I go through them one by one.

  I make room for one woman’s request for an emergency session tomorrow, but I ask her to come by early and I warn her that I have company arriving in the afternoon. I want to spend my time preparing for Rachel. But, I try my best to accommodate the urgent needs of my clients. Aria, like Rachel, just needs a firm hand on occasion. I offer a half-hour session in place of our normal hour, as I want to be sure to have time to prepare for my date.

  Finally, just when I’m ready to close up and go to bed, Rachel e-mails back.

  David,

  I did. Thank you for asking. Even called a cab for Mr. Intoxicated. See you tomorrow.

  Rachel

  I smile. This is good news. And, even better, she’s responsible.

  The next morning, Aria, my client, arrives forlorn and in obvious need.

  “Come on in,” I say warmly as I hold the door open for her.

  She is wearing sweatpants and a tight violet t-shirt that hugs her strong, thin frame. Her glasses do nothing to hide the sadness in her eyes, and her brown hair looks as though it hasn’t been combed in days.

  “Having a bad week?” I ask as I lead her to the kitchen. I pour her a glass of milk—her favorite—and sit down with her.

  “More than a bad week. Paul broke up with me. My boss hates me. It’s just too fucking much sometimes.”

  “Shh, Aria. Language,” I remind her gently. I don’t have a problem with swearing, but she's confessed to me that she doesn’t like how much she curses.

  “Sorry.” She looks down to the floor and the tears start flowing. “I know you don’t have a lot of time…”

  “Come on, sweetie,” I say. I hold out my hand to her, helping her up, and I lead her down the hallway to the discipline room. I close the door firmly behind us and smile to myself as I prepare my chair. Aria is a cute young woman. She’s not book-smart, but her kindness and sweet personality make her intelligent in her own way. I dislike her boyfriend for breaking her heart, and I doubt I’d like her boss either—Aria complains about the woman all the time. Aria is almost child-like in her sincere attitude toward life, which is something I’m always trying to remind her is a good thing. Sincerity will get her a long way in this world.

  She’s frozen in place, as usual, and I haul her over to the chair. I sit down and yank down her sweats—she never wears panties to our sessions—and I pull her over my lap.

  “Tell me why you’re going to be spanked, Aria,” I say with a stern voice.

  “Because…” she sniffles, “because… I don’t know!”

  “Because you need it.” I put a hand on her naked rear, warning her that it will begin soon. “You also need to know you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “But I have! I screwed up a ton of files at work. My boss was livid. And it was my fault, I know it was.”

  “Maybe. I think your boss has punished you enough for that, though. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “She did let me go home early when I broke down about my boyfriend. But that was probably just to get me out of her way.”

  I chuckle to myself. It's funny that the majority of conversations Aria and I have take place when she's laying over my lap. She never seems the least bit shy once she is put in position.

  “I’m spanking you because you need it, not because you misbehaved. Got it?”

  “I guess.”

  “You need to feel like someone is in control, don’t you?” With that, I land a sharp smack on her right buttock.

  “Ouch!”

  Another smack, to her left side. Her skin is so pale that my hand print appears almost immediately. Red art, right on her bottom.

  Aria is small, so she is easy to control. I hold her tight and soon she is kicking and whimpering in pain. I spank her quickly and firmly. She’s in tears again, hitting the ground with her fists, trying to struggle and get away.

  I pause after thirty spanks and ask, “Have you had enough?”

  She mumbles something and I whack her thigh. “Enunciate, Aria. Had enough?”

  “No. Please, just a little bit more.”

  “This is going to hurt. Can you try to be strong?”

  She’s sniffling and I think I see that she’s nodding. I begin again and she tries not to cry out in pain but I'm spanking hard and she just can’t help it. Her legs are kicking, giving me a very lewd view, and she twists her torso to try to escape the slaps. But I’m much, much stronger than her and she is helpless to escape the spanks, which is exactly what she needs.

  After thirty more spanks, she is exhausted from struggling. I don’t make her stand. Instead, I scoop her up and carry her to the daybed. I lay her down on her stomach and rub her upper back as she calms down.

  “Thank you, David,” she says in between sniffles.

  I hand her a tissue and she props herself up to blow her nose. “Feel a little better?” I ask.

  Even though her eyes have obviously been crying, she looks refreshed and happier. She nods and manages a smile. “I’m glad you could fit me in. I should go, though. I told my boss I had a doctor’s appointment.”

  My eyes narrow and Aria’s face goes from happy to nervous in an instant.

  “Lying, Aria,” I say.

  “I know,” she whispers.

  “You’re not done here,” I say, probably more forcefully than necessary. Aria and I came to an agreement months ago that lying should not be a part of her life. She is very aware that I will punish her. I get up and debate what I’ll use on her behind for her lie.

  “David, it was just because I had to come see you. I really needed this,” she says as she watches me open up my chest of implements. “I didn’t know what else to do! It’s not like it matters, Rachel doesn’t care anyway. She’d rather I not be there.”

  I cock my head to the side and think for a mo
ment. Rachel. It can’t be true. That would be way too coincidental. Shaking my head and smiling to myself, I pull out one of my rattan canes.

  Aria sees it and is near hysterics. “Please, David, please! I’m sorry! I’ll never lie again.” She’s sitting up now, her eyes wide, and she’s shaking her head back and forth.

  “You can say no to this, Aria,” I remind her. “I think you deserve it. But if you’d rather go, that’s just fine. No hard feelings.”

  I see her will to resist deflate almost instantly. She doesn’t want the option of backing out. For her sake, I move things along quickly. “Up you go. You can place your hands on the mattress.”

  Aria slowly stands, turns around, and bends over. Her hands fiercely grip the duvet on the mattress. She is nervous, trembling just slightly. I have never caned her before.

  “Four strokes. Count them,” I say. I place the cane on the middle of her bottom and then with a firm flick I snap it against her skin.

  “Oh!” she shouts, and she dances back and forth from foot to foot. She does not lose her position and I’m proud of her for that. “One,” she says.

  I lay the second stroke just under the first and admire the thin white line that forms across her skin.

  “Two!” she squeals.

  The third stroke goes under the second and I can tell she is having a hard time staying in place, but she is being strong.

  “Three!”

  For the last one, I raise my arm in the air and give her a real stroke of the cane across the first three lines on her bottom. She gasps as the pain hits her and then howls loudly, losing her position at last and jumping up and down while clutching her ass with her hands.

  “Ow! Ow! Ow!”

  I wait patiently for her to calm down and I put the cane away. When she has stopped her hopping and moaning, I turn to her and say, “That last stroke was a preview. You lie to your boss again, you’ll get four just like that one. Understand?”