Sweet Town Love

by Maggie Ryan

  "Sorry, I couldn't say no. He kinda marched me right out there."

  "You couldn't say no, huh?" He bit his lip. He was being unreasonable, and yet somehow he couldn't help himself.

  "That's right. I said I was sorry. What else can I do?"

  She was pouting, and her pout drew him to her lips like a bee to nectar. He wanted to kiss her so badly. But he was still sulking and in a strange, sadistic kind of way this small tiff pleased him. He liked her making up to him. It gave him a strange sense of power.

  "I think we should go home."

  "Okay. Whatever you say. I'm really sorry, I really am."

  He was quiet all the way back home. Perhaps he should have taken her to her place but his dad was out at Working Man's Club which meant he wouldn't be home until the early hours. It was an opportunity too good to miss, especially since they only had a few hours before he'd have to go back to college.

  He grabbed a couple of beers from his dad's fridge, handed one to her and sat down on the living room sofa, still nursing his hurt feelings. She opened her beer and took a sip. She was pouting, and that damned mouth of hers had triggered yet another boner. His right arm would soon develop a twitch.

  Sydney stood there in front of him, like a petulant pet with a tail between her legs. She looked at him thoughtfully. "Are you really angry with me?"

  He didn't say a word.

  "Perhaps, if you're really angry, you should put me over your knee and spank me."

  "Whaaa?" The beer spluttered from his lips, almost spoiling her pretty dress. Did she really just say what he thought she'd said? Suddenly he thought of old Mrs. Pike and her ruler and his pants suddenly felt very tight indeed.

  "When I was little, my daddy would say naughty girls should be punished, and sometimes he'd stand over me as my mummy spanked my bottom, but I guess they think I'm too old for all that now. But I don't think I am. What do you think?"

  With one hand on her hip, she leaned to one side and began to suggestively sway her leg—now open, now closed. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by this strange enchantress as she stood over him now, swaying provocatively as her eyes bore into his.

  He put his beer bottle down on the side table by the sofa and reached up to take hers. He didn't know if this was going to make either of them feel better, but he sure was willing to try.

  A moment later, the girl he loved had removed her panties and was now bent across his knee, waiting to be spanked by him. He brushed aside the flaps of material that made up her skirt—admiring her bare backside now exposed like a ripe peach ready for its first bite. He put his hand on one of her cheeks and caressed it, admiring its shape and form.

  After a minute, she looked round to him with her gentle, tempting eyes. "You need to spank me, baby," she said. "I was a very naughty girl at the reception and deserve to be punished."

  Who was this wicked temptress? In the space of a few hours she had morphed from Miss Prim and Proper into this siren of delight and he was more than ready to be shipwrecked on her rocks. He held his breath, raised his hand and spanked her for the first time. She never made a sound. "I'm sorry, Syd. Was that too hard?"

  "No, Chandler. It wasn't hard enough. Please spank me again."

  This time he doubled his effort.

  "Again," she said, "and harder still. You need to make my eyes water or it doesn't really count."

  And so he continued, spanking her backside until her cheeks were raw and she told him she'd had enough. His own hand ached with the sensation, the blood rushing through his palm. He felt so powerful, so vindicated and so loving. They were forming an invisible bond, one that grew more powerful with each contact. It was like suddenly there she was, and he was seeing the true Sydney for the first time. His desire was so hard it was painful. But this was her gig. He knew better than to make a move before she was ready.

  He looked down at the thrashed mess of her bottom, still wondering what had just happened, and very much aware that their relationship would never be the same after that.

  When she sat up, her eyes were filled with tears but she was smiling. It was her turn to take him in hand—and she put her hands between his thighs and smiled.

  "I think you should make love to me now, Daddy," she whispered. "Put your hands on me."

  And so it had started. Chandler closed his eyes as he recalled the deliciousness of her first submission. Nothing could have been sweeter, and when they were done, Chandler looked reluctantly at his watch.

  "I'm sorry, baby—but I've got to take you home. Your parents will worry if you don't make your curfew."

  "But…"

  "Hush, baby. We don't want anyone to worry now do we? They need to know you're okay and that you're safe."

  "Yes, Daddy."

  He liked this obedience in her. "We can meet again tomorrow, and if you're a really good girl, we can play that again. But only if you're really, really good. Do you understand?"

  She pouted a little. "Yes, Daddy. Is there anything special you'd like me to wear?"

  It was a question he hadn't expected but it gave him an idea. "Um, bring your school uniform. I always liked seeing you in that. It turns me on."

  "Really, Daddy?"

  "Trust me, baby. You look hot in it."

  "Okay then. I like to do as I'm told."

  He held out his hand to her and pulled her up off the sofa. It was like he was seeing her for the first time; she was so damned beautiful. But he had to get her home. Her parents would expect it, and he would do anything to stay in the good graces of her mum and dad.

  "Come on. Let's clean this place up and get you home."

  She smiled at him, and her smile carried a whole new meaning. They shared a special secret now, and he loved that. And he loved her. And nothing would ever come between them.

  Shortly after that, they moved in together. He liked it best when she kept her hair in braids and masqueraded around their apartment in tiny school and gym skirts. Her old school uniform with the blouse loosely tied at the front displaying her tiny white bra was always his favorite. The day she came in clutching a teddy bear and sucking a large red lollipop drove him absolutely wild.

  It was their own private little space, just the two of them, making each other happy behind their closed bedroom door. Now that she had finally lost her virginity, it was like she'd slid down the rabbit hole into a brave new world. Nothing could stop her now. Before he knew what had hit him, their room was a palette of pastels—and there were giant teddy bears and giant lollipops everywhere.

  The only thing that spoiled it for him was the knowledge that one day he would want to move to the city. It was always there—in the background—hazing the edges of his happiness. And the more he knew and loved Sydney, the more he realized how hard that would be for her. So he closed his mind to the notion, burying it deep for the present. What mattered most was they were happy now. So happy, in fact, that he began to wonder if maybe, just maybe he could live in a small town after all.

  They were sitting in front of the TV cuddling close after preparing for their mid-terms. The weather had turned cold, and she had brought in a blanket for them both to huddle under. She wore pink and white stockings and her dainty little feet were poking out of the end. He grabbed them and spinning her around, began a gentle foot massage.

  Sydney pushed back to rest her head on the arm of the sofa while he rubbed her in-step. She groaned. A foot massage always gave her much pleasure. After a moment, he leaned forward to switch off the TV.

  "You know, when college is finished, perhaps, if you like, we can maybe go back home and rent a small place for a while?"

  She looked confused. "But, Daddy, you always said you wanted the city."

  He nodded. "Yes. Yes, I did, but I've been thinking. You always said city life made you miserable."

  "Yes. But then I'll do anything if it pleases you. I love you, Daddy. I want us to be together."

  He hit a particularly sensitive part of her foot and she moaned softly. "So d
o I, baby," he said. "And I think we should get married. If this is where you wanna be, then this is where we're going to live."

  She pushed herself up a little on the seat. "Do you really mean it?"

  "Heart and soul, babe. We need to be together. I'm never going to love anyone as much as I love you. That's more important than geography, don't you think?"

  She sprang across the sofa and wrapped her arms about his neck, showering him with kisses.

  "Yes, I think so. Oh, my darling, do you have any idea how much I love you?"

  "Show me."

  And they had made love again. Their love making just got better and better, and at the height of their ecstasy, he swore over and over that he would never do anything to hurt or disappoint her.

  Exhausted, he fell back against the couch.

  "That one was just for you," she said.

  "The next one will be for you, baby."

  "I know,” she said with a smile.

  And so it was between them. In the ecstasy of his love he forgot about his old dreams—because he had replaced them with new ones, dreams he could really look forward to. He didn't feel he was missing out. Sydney was everything to him. Nothing in the big city was as attractive as his sweet little baby with her dangling braids and enchanting smile. Nothing else mattered as long as they could be together. And nothing could come to change that. Nothing.

  Chapter 5

  A Chip Off The Old Block

  Nothing, that was, until the extravagant Elizabeth Scott entered his world.

  He frowned and took another gulp of his Sprite. He'd almost forgotten about her. He practically blushed to remember that first encounter. Elizabeth was a teacher, her passion was sculpting, and their pursuits kept them apart all through his freshman year.

  Chandler was a sophomore now. It was Christmas, and Sydney had been cooped up with a bad cold. Chandler was standing at the ATM, stomping on the spot, dreading to look at the slip of paper in his hand. For the last year he'd been working at a discount shoe shop, supplementing what little money he'd been able to save to get him through college. His dad hadn't been able to help much. And the ever-rising fees were sucking him dry. He was borrowing more and more, and spent as much time wondering how the hell he was going to repay his loans as much as studying the arts. And now the shoe shop had closed. Manning up, he looked down at the pathetic slip of paper.

  Hell. His debt was spiraling out of control. He needed a new job and fast, but it wasn't going to be easy to find one. This was a poor town, hit harder than some by the recession, and there was a multitude of poor students all in need of work to support their tuition. He drew a swear word in his icy breath, punctuating the word with an airy exclamation mark.

  "Ha! I read that."

  He turned to find a beautiful girl right behind him, her purse in hand, ready to use the ATM after him. She was darker than most of the locals, almost Egyptian looking, with smoldering almond eyes lit with the twinkle of a she-devil. Her long, black, woolen coat was lined with white and gray fur, and she looked altogether too exotic for small town America.

  "Don't tell anyone what it said," he replied.

  "It shall be our little secret then," she said, lifting a perfectly manicured, scarlet nail up to her highly glossed lips.

  "Have a good day, miss."

  He was about to walk away when she put her hand on his arm. "One second. Do you have a minute?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Hold on. Let me draw out some cash but wait there. I have something I want to ask you."

  "Well actually I…"

  "Trust me. It won't take a minute and it's nothing bad, I promise."

  Before he could answer she turned into the machine and proceeded to make her transaction. He stood awkwardly, his hands in his pockets, trying not to let the cold penetrate through to his skin. He had no idea what she wanted, and more importantly, he wanted to get back to Sydney and the warmth of their apartment. But she was a lady, and where he came from, you were always polite to those, even in the freezing cold.

  After a minute she turned back to face him, at the same time pocketing a thick wad of notes in her purse. "I have a proposition for you. Do you have a few minutes?"

  "Here? Now?" Was she crazy?

  "I don't know about you but I'd sooner explain myself some place warm than stand here and do it. I promise I don't bite. Much."

  "I um, I'm sorry but I don't even know who you are." He was ready to leave once more when she took his arm again.

  "You are looking for work, are you not?"

  "You know of some?"

  "As a matter of fact I do. Come. You're a big boy. I'm just suggesting we sit in the coffee shop over there while we discuss it. You'll be quite safe, I think."

  He looked her up and down. She was tall, a good few inches taller than Sydney he imagined, with more of a willowy figure, the kind that could be blown away on a breeze. By herself she didn't appear much of a threat. And it was madness, standing here in the freezing cold when they could be warm in any other place. He would listen to what she had to say, and if he didn't like it, well, nothing would stop him walking right the hell out of there again.

  "Sure, as long as you're quick. There's some place else I need to be."

  She never asked what that some other place might be.

  But it was a relief to get out of the cold. The coffee shop was full of students; some looked up as they walked in but most paid no attention to them at all. But it was warm, and filled with the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweet breads. Chandler's belly flipped with hunger, but he was happy to be out of the cold all the same.

  The woman walked up to the counter and ordered two Grande Cafe Lattes and a large blondie for herself. He had picked a table by the fire and she put a drink in front of him. He removed his gloves and took off the lid so it would cool a little before drinking it.

  "Thank you," he said. "Now what's this all about? You know where I can find work? What kind of work is it?"

  She smiled, intent on removing the cling wrap from her blondie. "Excuse me," she said. "I can't resist these when I can get them." She carefully put a morsel into her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed. "Mmm. There's nothing quite like it."

  He had no time for teases. Is that what all this was about? "Look, thanks for the coffee but really, I need to get back to my girlfriend. She's not well."

  She never flinched at the mention of another woman. "Ah, I see the cause of your impatience. Hold on. Let's get this business out of the way so you can relax and drink your coffee." She reached into her Burberry bag and pulled out a business card. Once she handed it to him, he flipped it over and studied the words on it. It read:

  Chip Off The Old Block—Fine Art and Sculptures

  Greenwich, NY

  "What's this?" he asked, puzzled.

  "My father had his own art studio in New York. We have a few paintings and such but mostly we're famed for our sculptures. My father is a world-renowned sculptor and we do a lot of business in the art world."

  "Oh. Then what are you doing in this back-water little town and not teaching in some fancy New England college?"

  She took a sip of her coffee and indulged herself with another piece of the blondie. "Mmm, so good. Well, I've studied in those places of course, but I think it's good for an artist to be in touch with the more um, lets say, grass roots kind of establishment. I want my art to be real, not some lofty hoity-toity expensive garbage fit only for the rich wives of Fifth Avenue. That's not what I want at all. I always wanted to do something much grander. And this town—well, it's a good place to get down and dirty."

  "That all sounds very admirable, I'm sure, but what has any of that got to do with me? Do you want to hire me as some kind of delivery driver? What on earth could I do down here? I certainly couldn't drive up north every weekend—I'd never have the time."

  She looked at him like she'd looked at the blondie, like something she was considering eating. "No, not as a driver, no. And th
e work would be local. Just around the corner from here, in fact."

  "Oh?" His curiosity was piqued. "What would that be then?"

  "I need a model. The college provides some, of course, but that forces me to sculpt what they tell me I must, along with all my students. No—that's not good enough good for me—not good enough at all. It's all very well for my students I suppose, but I know people who will buy my work—and pay well for it. They won't pay mega bucks for the typical poses dredged out annually by the colleges, but they will pay mega bucks for an original piece of art. From time to time I like to draw from the student body, and well—would you be interested?"

  What was it about teachers? They'd given him about a thousand stiffies since that first encounter with Mrs. Pike. But now there was Sydney. Boner or not, he wasn't for sale.

  "I dunno. I mean, would I have to take my clothes off? I'm not sure I'd like that. And I know my girlfriend wouldn't like it."

  She chuckled into her latte. "Well, of course you would. You have a beautiful physique—that's why I chose you."

  "Well, thanks for the offer and the coffee, but I don't think so."

  He was about to leave but she rested her hand on his. "You never asked me how much I would pay."

  He really shouldn't be interested, but he found himself asking in spite of himself. "How much would it be?"

  "Enough to see you through the rest of the college year. How does thirty thousand dollars sound to you?"

  He laughed. Now he knew she was kidding. "Okay, well, thanks for your time." He pushed his chair out to leave.

  "I am perfectly serious. A piece like this takes a long time, and you will have to sit for a lot of sessions. I will pay you all up front if you have doubts. I can afford it. I have a lot of money. Well, my family has anyway. Maybe you could come and see me in my rooms. I have a studio set up there. You'll see I'm perfectly serious."

  He still looked doubtful.