I will give you tonight the first mini-chapter of what I wrote last night. It seems that no matter how much I want to write and focus, I can't. Tomorrow I will finish all of it and add the continuation in this same post, to avoid archiving issues later.
Jack woke up around seven. He had a busy day ahead, with important guests coming for tea and coffee, and then lunch, around one. Everyone else had been up since five and the house had become a busy nest where cooks holding hot pots and dangerous weapons ran wild in the kitchen and maids with less vicious tools scrubbed the floors and tidied the rooms downstairs; yes, everyone had been up and working except for his beloved spoilt wife, Kayley.
Spanking her was his top priority for the day. People could knock themselves out running around inside; it held no importance. After all, what was the shed for, he mused.
Most probably she was still fighting her bad hangover at that early hour. He could imagine her coming down the stairs, with puffy big eyes and the innocent look of a five year old, in her pink PJs and with her fluffy pink bunny slippers. He had married a kid, not a woman; at least he’d always been aware of that. So he decided to let her indulge herself that morning, by oversleeping until ten. He lived to regret it, however.
When the beeping alarm of his watch grabbed his attention at ten, the princess was still fast asleep. He went up to their bedroom to see how she was - maybe even pat her sore behind a little to get her moving to the bathroom faster. But the room he found was deserted and the window wide open. Only the clothes piled up all around the floor and on the upturned blankets on the bed were strong indicators that she had once inhabited that room. It was another cry for attention on her side; she had run away.
He should have panicked. And that was his first instinct. Yet the logic took over and built his anger. Running away had always been a poor choice. On a day when guests were expected, it was blatant disobedience, lack of respect, and mostly, a screaming proof that she was still too spoilt. Or maybe drunk, whichever the difference could be in her case.
He couldn’t be at Julie’s house because that’s where she’d been the last time, when she got caught, and she got whipped thoroughly. She wasn’t doing the same mistake twice. But he had no time to run around looking for her; not before lunch, at least.
The evening shadows were elongating and he’d been calling her name and searching the surroundings for three hours, to no avail. At last, the panic found a small corner in his fertile mind from where to start growing. He wondered if she wasn’t hiding from him – most probably his cries were scaring her off, in the same way in which the shot of the hunter’s gun would scare a rabbit. So, flashlight in his hand, all alone, he began climbing the hill on the west side of the house. He swam through wild bushes and high grass, choosing the shortcut, not the path, to the other side of the woods, to the river. This time, just like a predator, he could sense her whereabouts. He knew he would find her there in the same way in which he knew that the moment he’d see her he’d turn her small behind crimson - To match the drapes she had chosen for the guest room, the ones she had fussed about for four months; for a room she hardly even saw. And she still wasn’t satisfied. She still wanted the drapes down again, to replace them with checkered blue ones, “For a country feeling,” she had explained. “Country feeling, my ass,” – he mumbled to himself. “I’ll give her a country hiding instead.”
Right enough – as soon as he reached the main path again, down in the clearing, he noticed her small frame bent over a fish net, busying herself with what looked like fishing to her, but feeding the fish, to him. To translate - not to hurt the poor creatures, she had devised a net which she had set in the flow of the stream, with some bait attached to the bottom of it, in which she caught the fish only to release them a few minutes later. She was disgusted with herself for liking real fishing. So she did everything possible to make peace with herself on the issue of not hurting the fish, on one hand, and, on the other, satisfying her sick need to feel the rod of the fishing pole (in her case, the net) tremble as she picked the fishes out.
“I’m happy to see that you’re alive,” he said behind her. The voice startled Kayley enough to make her scream and crash on her butt in a muddy puddle. The net dropped to the ground. What seemed to her like a second between getting over the initial shock of seeing this lugubrious apparition and the urge to run for her life was actually long enough for Jack to understand her intention and seize her flight.
“Not so fast, Sunshine,” he said, laughing.
Her big dark eyes doubled and the look on her face was priceless. She had mud all over her hands, all over her new Calvin Klein outfit, and on her shoes. She even had a dirt spot on her cheek. She had pulled her hair together under a blue Quicksilver cap.
“Leave me alone,” she tried to snatch her arm free. The lips formed a pout.
“You’re the angry one?” – He laughed. Laughter was what kept him calm. “Hey, what’s this?” From a pile of neatly cut sticks he picked one.
“That’s an arrow! You wouldn’t know one if it went right through your head.”
“But I would know a perfect stick if I saw one for my beloved wife’s behind…” He turned her around as easily as you would spin a child and whipped her bottom hard with it. She voiced her protests loud and clear, punctuated by a few curses.
“You’re brave now because we’re not home yet,” he said, loosening his grip on her. “I’ll see how brave you’ll be taking this over your bare bottom in our living room at home.” She shook her head ‘no’. Probably the act of doing it would make the scene less probable to happen.
“Pack your things,” he said, and his attitude took another tone. Calmness aside, he stopped playing the game. It was not a game. Catching her might have been, but this wasn’t one anymore.
“Pack’em, unless you want your pants down right now, and a good spanking coming your way.”
She looked at him to make sure he wasn’t kidding. He raised his eyebrows. Still amused.
She picked up her things while throwing a tantrum (could also have been interpreted as ‘she threw a tantrum while picking up her things’) then faced him, her eyes fixing his.
“That’s my arrow, by the way, and I want it back.” It sounded like an order.
Jack would have chuckled; she was too small to be giving orders to anybody, except to herself maybe. And even those should be considered advice. But she stood straight in front of him, determined, confident. His eyes opened surprised: “Care to repeat that, please?”
“I want my stick back. It’s mine. I made it.”
“Good news, Sunshine, because that means you don’t have to cut another rod tonight.” He slapped her ass hard and she yelped. “Move it. I had enough games for one day.”