Megan: Rewind... Now Fast Forward (M/F)

I was still hoping to polish it. However, I have to be honest with you and myself: I might not be doing this for quite some time. So I'll share it with you as it is. :)

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Rewind... Now Fast Forward

(Megan, M/F)

Eyes half closed, Greg inhaled the thick smoke of his Camel cigarette. By no means was he tired of waiting; He was just eager to know the things which had happened behind the closed doors of the second bedroom.

The living room of the three-room apartment he and his friends had rented in Paris was a mish-mash of old and new: the narrow yet high windows, the classic sill, the squeaking parquet-covered floor, the high ceiling and the flamboyant looking chandelier were all from the mid-30s. But the air was filled with the smell of new furniture. He could have seen the pitch-black sky, if only the drapes had been pulled aside. Yet the windows were shut. He wanted them shut, in a futile attempt to muffle out the honks or the cars outside, the cacophony of the night traffic. From the corner of the room, a tall lamp’s obscure light was melting softly in the darkness of the living room. From the other corner, the 42 inch screen Sony was pouring a rainbow of mixed strong colors over the walls and the furniture, over his face, into his tired eyes. He could pick up bits and ends of conversation from the variety of noises the TV was broadcasting.

He didn’t hear the creak of the door opening, but with the corner of his eye he saw Ryan stepping in. Ryan was not the strongly built kind of guy, but something in his attitude, in the way he moved and talked and looked at people, made him more imposing than a 6 feet tall American football player. He slid inside like a cat, stepping on his tiptoes, and went straight for his pack of Parliament Lights on the table. His tensed shoulders relaxed.

“How is she?” – Greg questioned, pushing the lighter and the ashtray in Ryan’s direction.

“She fell asleep.” The lighter’s flame flickered as he tilted his head to light the cigarette. “Why didn’t you go out with the rest?”

“I wasn’t in the mood really…”

Ryan sat down and exhaled the smoke towards the floor. The thin grey line lost its contour, spreading in the air. With two bony fingers, Ryan massaged his forehead up and down. He felt the beginning of a headache building between his eyes. His neck cracked and he stretched it from side to side. “So what the fuck happened?” – Ryan asked in a low tired voice.

“Sorry we let them get out of hand,” Greg said, rotating constantly his glass of Sprite on the table. He felt somewhat guilty for not overseeing the outcome. “When you were in the shower Alice and Meg had a fight again – the crap with who is stronger from the two of them. More like teasing, really. They were playfully chasing each other with their belts… And we let them, because it seemed like they were having fun, you know? Yeah, I know I’m guilty: I know Meg well enough to realize she wasn’t actually playing. You know how her eyes sparkle. And you know the face she makes when she pretends to be fine but she isn’t. And you know that all she wants is to get back at you but she doesn’t know how to do it. I mean you’ve seen it before, right?…”

Ryan nodded. Of course he knew. He was teasing her about that.

“Well, Alice kind of slipped a stronger stroke on Meg’s legs and even though Alice apologized Meg was seeing red so she hit back. And the next second they were at each other’s throats, legs and kicks flying, and on the floor, punching one another like two mad cats. No bites or scratches like you would expect from girls, you know? That was shocking… Just fists. And Neil and I couldn’t separate them. I mean Meg went so berserk that I couldn’t take her off Alice. So I had to call you.” He stopped to play with his cigarette. “Sorry…”

Ryan pulled a face. “Fuck, you’re dumb… All of you. I am somewhat blaming you because you know her and you shouldn’t have let this stupid game go so far. You know her!”

“I know, man… But we couldn’t control her. And lately I don’t even know what to do or what to say anymore… She’s overstressed with the job and the exams and her family and money and all that. You can’t even make a joke anymore without her getting mad. She takes things personal. She’s never been this bad before.” As much as he wanted to make it sound like he was pointing out a fact, he still sounded as if he was complaining.

Ryan nodded. “We are her friends and we are supposed to help her. She’ll be ok if we help her.”

“Of course I would help her. But I felt powerless… like that time I called you to come pick her up from the club. If she has a drink or something, you can’t reason with her anymore. She’s gone wild. And the only person she listens to and fears is you. And even if she says she doesn’t care what you think or say, she does. Man… I just hope you are aware of it.”

Ryan nodded. He was aware of it. He’s been aware of it for a few months now. As aware of it as he was of his own feelings for her.

“It’s late. I think I’ll go to bed. Is she gonna be ok tomorrow?” Greg asked, slowly standing up.

Ryan smiled. “In which way?”

“You tell me…”

“Well, emotionally she will be fine by noon. Physically, she won’t be able to sit down without remembering tonight for about a week. At least.”

Greg couldn’t suppress his own smile. “You two are mad.”

Ryan laughed. “I know. But we’ve never claimed to be normal, either of us. Just tell the others not to make any comments about it tomorrow. I don’t want her pouting for the rest of the week, ok?”

“Of course. Ok man, I’m off to bed. Night.”

Ryan reached for the pack and lit another cigarette. He felt the need of cool fresh air. He sat and smoked his cigarette in the open window, gazing from the fourth floor of the apartment to the live city below. He thought of tonight and he smiled. Something clicked in his brain. It clicked in a wrong sort of way, but he didn’t mind. He felt his erection yet he couldn’t and wouldn’t stop it. Not this time. Not again.

Rewind…

Water dripping from his wet hair on his damp t-shirt, bare feet, jeans pulled on without having had time to dry himself – Ryan was knocked into reality by the speed of the events: a second ago he was taking his hot shower, then Greg was violently knocking on the bathroom door and now – now, he was staring at Meg’s figure sitting on Alice and trying to free one of her hands from Alice’s clutched hands. Rage was radiating from both sides but on Meg’s side blind anger eased out from every pore. He could picture her hammering a fist in Alice’s mouth without thinking twice. It was a deja-vu from his high school days when such weekly sights were the boys’ delight. But he’s never seen girls at it.

Neil and Greg were trying to separate them with the attitude of two pussies running around and screaming. Ryan didn’t think; he acted. It took him two seconds to evaluate the situation and half a second to bend over Meg’s back, reach from the sides and seize both her wrists. He twisted them. “Let go,” he ordered. His calm order relaxed Alice. Neil got in between them taking hold of Alice’s hands, making sure there would be no kicks once the hold was broken.

“Let go of her hands, I said,” Ryan lowered his voice even more, to an almost threatening level. Louder than a whisper, he spoke right into Meg’s right ear, bending even more on top of her.

Her chest was rising and falling fast, as if she couldn’t breath. Ignoring the pain of her skin crippling under his hold, she was twisting her hands trying to free herself. As one of her hands slid out of his lock, the hand turned into a fist, and the elbow violently hit back into Ryan’s stomach. The boy tensed his muscles too late and he felt the acute pain of not being able to breathe for a few silent seconds. The same seconds in which his own vision was covered in red and his jaw tightened. He lost his mood for negotiating or trying to be gentle, not to hurt her. He seized her hands with all his power and caught them in one hand. Two fingers grabbed her ear.

“If you hit me again, I’ll punch your teeth out, got it?” He said, recovering his breath.

“Go fuck yourself. Let go! Let go I said! Fuck… off…!” She tried to escape but the burn in her earlobe restrained her movement. She found herself forced to stand up, while her prey, Alice, was walking away safely, wiping a drip of blood from her broken lip.

Meg’s leg went up and hit Ryan’s hard. Ryan’s eyes closed in pain but no sound came out. Teeth gritted, he turned to the rest of the party: “You guys wanted to go out. I suggest you do now. Greg, stay if you want. Neil, please take Alice out. Sorry about this.” Another hit caught his muscle hard enough to numb his whole leg. He prayed he could stop his anger before he would kill her.

He didn’t remember if or when the others left the room. He had one focus only: Meg. Still keeping her hands locked he dragged her toward the bedroom. He couldn’t tell how many punches, hits, and bites he got before he dragged her past the bedroom door: his own anger made him immune to them all.

“You are so fucking dead,” he informed her, with one hand turning the key inside the key lock and isolating themselves from the rest. His fingers entangled in her hair. He brought her face close to his. “Look at me.” She shut her eyes, pouting. “Look at me, I said.” He pulled harder on her hair. She whined, trying to hit back. He put more pressure on her wrists causing her to try to twist in pain. He didn’t allow her. “You fucking look at me when I’m talking to you.” She opened her eyes. Pain was written all over them. She was on the verge of crying but she tried to control herself. He locked her gaze. His words were as dark and threatening as his look: “You try to hit me one more time, I’ll snap your wrists. Got it?” She swallowed hard but didn’t answer. “Did you get it, I asked? And you fucking answer my questions when I ask you something. Or else, it’s bad for you. Really bad. Did you get it?”

“Yes,” she retorted, anger in her voice. It was almost a shout.

He pulled more on her hair. She cried.

“I don’t like your tone. Let’s try again. Yes or no?”

“Yessss,” she whined trying to escape the pain.

“Fine.” – he said. “You want to rebel? Fine by me.” He pushed her towards the bed and began unbuckling his black belt. “Then you should be able to face the consequences accordingly.”

She stepped back until she was three steps away from him, her back resting on the wall.

“I don’t have to face any fucking consequences.”

“With me, you have. Get your ass here,” he pointed with the belt toward the spot in front of him. The tone was like ice: too calm to be soothing; it raised goose bumps on her arms. She shook her head no. “Why?” – she asked.

“Because I’m gonna tan your ass blue, that’s why. Get your ass here.”

She shook her head no again. Her limbs felt like jelly.

“Bring you fucking ass here, Megan. If you make me come there to get you, it will be really bad for you, trust me. So start unbuttoning those jeans already and come here.”

Her eyes shut and tears gathered in their corners. She allowed her body to slide down along the wall, until she was a crouched figure on the floor, knees clasped to her chest. Ryan walked to her without additional words, seized her ear again, dragging her up. She cried in pain and grabbed his hand, squeezing hard, hoping this would convince him to let go. He didn’t. He threw the belt on the bed and with one hand proceeded to unbutton her jeans. Her hands moved their attention to the buttons. The grip on her ear burnt even more. She sobbed. The hand pulled the jeans to her knees; he threw her small body face down on the bed. She turned around and tried to crawl away. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her back, until she laid face down on the bed, head in the pillow, aligned on the side of the bed. He had to fight her again to bring both her wrists to the small of her back, then pin her down in that position. Her body arched back as she felt him reaching for the belt uncoiled at her feet.

It was hell. The pain was hell. Her inability to escape was hell. Her crying in front of him was hell. And she hated that she had reached the point to beg him to stop. By the time Ryan had finished his job she had probably apologized even for the fact that she was born. And nothing had made any difference. He had freed her hands in the end. She didn’t bother to cover her burning ass anymore, but crossed them in front of her and buried her face in the sleeves of her polo so she could muffle her cries.

When it was over she didn’t move.

He threw the belt back on the bed and simply sat there watching her sobbing. She had no intention of standing up.

“Lift up,” he said softly reaching for the top of her jeans. She raised her hips and he pulled her jeans completely down, slowly, lifting one leg at a time.

He opened her backpack and groped for the wet napkins. It took him a full minute to find them, buried under make-up items, lens cases, keys, and god-knows what else. He took one out and handed it to her. She took it gingerly without looking at him. He waited patiently for her to blow her nose and clean her tear-stained cheeks and eyes.

“Do you want me to cover you? Are you cold?” – he whispered.

She shook her head and turned her head on the pillow towards him. He sat himself on the floor next to the bed. Her hand reached out from under the pillow, looking for his. When he took it, she squeezed it hard.

Fast Forward…

It wouldn’t have happened, if it weren’t for her move. Unknowingly, she opened the Pandora box when her warm hand had reached under the blanket looking for the comfort of his hold.

His mind had been silenced. He felt the heat radiating from her small tired body. The smell of her skin, of Brazilian coconut mixed with her flesh’s natural scent. His finger touched her nape, stroking her skin. She let out a sigh, as if in a dream, and turned her head towards him. His lips got closer, as if testing. He could have kissed her forehead, like you’d do to a sister, but her quick breathing in his neck caused the synapses of the neurons to shut down. His lips touched hers just once. Yet it wasn’t enough. She pushed closer for his touch. Her lips parted. His tongue slid in madly, in hunger.

His hand clasped her neck, the thumb running up and down her jugular. A primitive instinct to cause her pain, to punish her, and to love her mixed together. His other hand grabbed her round bottom, squeezing the flesh. He was aching to fuck her; he could see nothing before and beyond the moment. “Turn around,” he whispered in her ear. It was a harsh whisper, almost a groan. Almost an order. She obeyed and he helped her roll on her tummy. She twisted her head to one side, so their tongues could meet again.

He threw away his boxers and slid on top of her, locking her neck with his arm. Softly biting on his forearm, she hid her deep moans.

He mouthed again the words in her ear: “Open your legs.” He was hurting to fuck her. He realized he’d been like this for longer than he could remember but he had always tried to hide it. He had always tried to ignore the feeling.

He pressed himself against her moisture. As he slid inside of her for the first time she tightened her grip on his forearm. For how long she hasn’t been fucked, he wondered. She was tight. But wet like hell too. He rocked inside of her slowly first, listening to her small noises. Then he pounded harder and deeper, each thrust pushing her small body in the bed. His hand hurt from her bite as she tried to keep silent.

He pulled out and went for her ass. “Relax. And open a bit more,” he said again. She obeyed. And he forced his hard cock in her tight asshole. It was her first time. She almost screamed, as pain took over her. She contracted her muscles instead of relaxing. He was hurting himself now. She tried to stand up. He pinned her down instead and pushed again and again, slowly.

She felt tears gathering in her eyes from the intense pain. “No, no, please… Please take it out. Take it out.” Her hands tried to push him away but he seized them and locked her in the small of her back. “Shhh… Relax, don’t tense. It will pass in a second.” He wiped her tears.

He paused for almost a full minute then pushed again. “Does it still hurt?” She shook her head “no”. He fucked her ass hard, taking small slow breaks not to ruin the fun before any of them would want to. His fingers went front, to her clit. She had raised her ass higher in delight. She came violently twice. She shook in his arms and he went on fucking her until he saw her exhausted and felt himself hurting. His sperm filled her up. He left himself fall on her, breathing hard. She turned her head around again and he kissed her. He had no idea what the heck was going to happen to the two of them from now on.

Morgan and Adam: The Ride (M/F)

THE RIDE

Tonight

Morgan hated hot evenings in May. For some reason she could never understand why her body reacted so treacherously to the unexpected heat. The stomach ache had gotten her t-shirt smelly and perspired in less than thirty minutes. Maybe she was trying to hard to hide from Adam her biggest secret – but even so, in winter, for example, she rarely had stomach aches.

She locked the bathroom door, ran the cold tap water. Avoiding her own accusing gaze in the mirror, she began soaping her hands frantically, like a surgeon getting ready for an operation. What she had done was not stupid, but Adam wouldn’t agree - one solid reason why he should not find out. She paused to peek through her cut jeans at the wound on her knee: The blood had stopped flowing but the scratch was huge. So were the other scratches, but maybe, if she took two pills of vitamin C each morning and rubbed in that cream she had purchased, they would heal in a week. Careful not to injure herself further or cause more blood to surge, she peeled off her jeans, all the way to her ankles, stepped out of them and threw them in the pile of dirty clothes.

The scent of cologne dissolved into the air, sharpening her mind. She rubbed furiously the alcohol on her wounded knee, embracing the pain, watching mesmerized as the scratch marks reopened, allowing light colored blood to emerge again.

“If it hurts, it means it kills the microbes”, she repeated aloud the mantra. Hard, she pressed the compress against her leg, allowing the burn to numb the feeling in her knee. The wave of pain would wash away her anxiousness. With trembling hands, hooked on her pain and disinfecting obsession, she spilled more alcohol onto the other wounds. Pain was something she needed. It wasn’t a complete cure, but it was as good as any over-the-counter pill was for her wrecked nerves. It was soothing.

“Now, whatever you do this week, do not let him see the wounds. Do not let him see the wounds or else, girlie, you are in such big shit…” She stared at her own face in the mirror. “You are such an idiot,” she added, sighing.

She began wrapping the sterile compresses in a bag. The bag landed in the trash bin. The job was done.

Sitting on the toilet lid, her shaky fingers reached for the cigarette pack. The smoke poured into her lungs and the nicotine straight to her nerves, intoxicating. She could definitely hide this. Adam will never find out.

Friday Evening

“Do you want to go swimming tomorrow morning?”

On the couch, Adam had gathered her in his arms, while they were watching “Brainiac” on Discovery.

She shook her head. “I’m really tired. I’m not in the mood.”

“But you like swimming.”

“Usually. Not now though.”

He kissed her forehead and she smiled. His fingers began rubbing her tensed shoulders.

His eyes questioned her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why does anything have to be wrong? I’m just not in the mood and I know you are. Or else you wouldn’t rub.”

“You’re a bit unfair.”

She shrugged.

Hell, she was in the mood, but giving in now meant getting naked, and since two plus two make four, this would lead to her getting a spanking for those scratches. And probably not only for that...

“Let’s take a shower then. It will help you relax.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

He sighed, but gave up the subject.

Saturday Afternoon

Morgan glanced up. It is weird to wake up from your afternoon nap on the living room couch because you feel watched. The room had been all too quiet.

On the opposite chair, “The Last Continent” on his knees, Adam fixed her.

“Feeling better? Cold has passed?” – he asked, his eyes all of a sudden serious.

Lost between two foggy worlds, she nodded her head, but couldn’t suppress the feeling that something was wrong.

“Great,” he said, not a muscle contracting on his face. “Because you have some explaining to do.”

In her stomach, a ball of pain was growing again. She looked back at him, puzzled by this unexpected remark.

“Get up,” he added, placing the book on the coffee table. He stood up, pulling the quilt off her.

A glance down was enough for her to discover her stupidly exposed knee. She had managed to twist enough in her sleep to roll up her PJ’s until they had uncovered the bruised knee. Her look shifted uncontrolled to the forearm; she had performed the act of exposing the injuries twice.

She sat up gingerly. Her mouth was dry, her tongue was dry, her throat was drying.

“Up, Morgan, up!” Adam waited next to her. She could see his bare feet sinking into the red carpet.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she mumbled.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, allowing her to stand up. “Lift your arms,” he ordered.

“Adam, it’s just a scratch…”

He paused only to glare at her. His look made her scowl.

She lifted her arms and he pulled the sweatshirt over her head, revealing a couple of red and purple bruises on her arms and on her hip. She looked at them too, hoping - praying - that unexpected magic would have made them vanish.

Without a word, he grabbed the sides of her pajamas bottoms and pulled them to her ankles. The nastiest scratch was still there, on her knee. The blood crust has just formed, but her itchy fingers had already been at it, peeling it off.

“Care to explain?” – he looked up at her and stood up slowly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Her tongue played the ring on her pierced lip.

“I fell.” She swallowed the knot which wouldn’t go away.

He twisted her and smacked her thigh once. The fingerprints flushed red on her fair skin.

“Try again,” he invited, hands reaching for his buckle. She watched, shivers running down her spine and rooting her to the ground. Adam’s hands began sliding the belt out of the loops.

“Yes, Morgan? I’m listening.”

“It was… umm… I fell from a motorcycle.”

He could have expected anything, as in ‘anything bad’ - because if Morgan wants to hide something, it cannot be good. But the word ‘motorcycle’ managed to get his full attention.

“Motorcycle?”

“Yeah, Spencer got one and allowed us to ride it.”

“You rode a motorcycle? Without protection? Without knowing how to?”

“Well, he explained –“

“Morgan! You got on a motorcycle and rode it on your own?”

“I was just doing what everyone else did. And it’s not hard.”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

“How dangerous can it be?”

Confronting Adam and playing dumb had never been a smart move, unless you hoped to win a trip over his knee and get your ass spanked thoroughly. He stared at her, aware of her bluff.

His finger rose to point to the distant corner.

“Now, Morgan. Put your nose into that corner. When you have calmed down, you can come out.”

“I am calm. You might need some calming down, however.”

The next moment she was bent under Adam’s arm, getting to taste a few licks of the belt.

She cried.

He stopped.

“You might want to rephrase your last statement,” he suggested, not releasing his grip on her. He looked back at the mass of hair running down over her face.

“I’m sorry,” she offered with the tone of someone ready to say anything that was expected without wanting to lose face. So Adam took the words for what they were – a stubborn refusal to accept the guilt and to display remorse.

“And this is not even the spanking for your joyride,” Adam mused, continuing to smack her bottom hard. Her frantic legs managed to kick away the pajamas bottoms.

“I’m sorry,” she whined again, with more feeling.

Not fully convinced, he released her waist, placing her in front of him. If she was to look straight at him she would stare at his neck. She had to look up to see his eyes. He raised his eyebrows at her, expectantly: she walked towards the corner, as dignified as she could, given her situation.

Her senses opened. She closed her eyes, diving into darkness, listening intensely to all the small sounds she was no other time aware of. The furniture creaked, and she heard the sound of the belt being placed on the table. The next sound was of Adam picking up the book and sitting back into his chair. And then nothing, only her breathing, her own hard swallowing, or the engine of a distant car passing on the road. A few pages turned. And his voice, corrupting the silence, startled her:

“That’s enough. Come here.”

In her chest, the heart began thumping. She felt it even in her stomach. She stopped in front of him, inspecting the carpet.

“Let me see your arms.” It didn’t feel like an order, but she knew better than to say ‘no’.

She extended them sideways, in an attempt to hide a bigger crime. There was a slim chance that he would not see them, for the lighting was not that sharp in the room and the sun had already crossed the sky towards the western windows.

She only looked up because if he was to notice something, she wanted to witness the instant change on his features. Adam’s brows wrinkled and he stared at her forearm long enough to make her nervous; then, as if realization dawned on him, he grabbed her other forearm. Please tell me that I’m not seeing this, his face seemed to say. But once the shock wiped out his face, he looked up at her slowly.

“What are these?” – he asked, his patience hiding the storm.

She was on the edge. She took a safe dive. “Scratches from when I fell.” Such a good lie it could have fooled even herself. But evidence is evidence:

“Morgan, these are cuts.”

There was silence.

“They are?” Such a stupid reply. The right answer would have been - in a normal situation and with a clear head – ‘are you stupid, what do you mean cuts, you might want to have your eye-sight checked by a professional’. The question ‘They are’ might have been pronounced like a straight-out confession – it didn’t make a difference.

“When and why?”

“What do you mean?” Yes, this was more like it. Playing dumb might still save her butt. And save her the shame of confessing to what she has done.

“If you make me repeat one more time a question, Morgan, you will be in tears before I start spanking you for the motorcycle issue and for these,” he said, pointing at them. “Look at me.”

His eyes were not comforting.

“When did you do this and why? Does it have anything to do with your drastic change in appearance? I can tolerate that. But I will never allow you to hurt yourself.”

“What’s wrong with cutting yourself?”

“Why would you cut yourself?”

She raised her shoulders. Not in the mood to explain, it’s enough embarrassment for one day, she seemed to say.

“I was angry. I needed to calm down.”

“It looks like it was more than a 10 seconds punch in the wall…”

“Calming down took longer than that. I was so focused on the pain and not cutting too deep that it made me relax.” And then tending on her cuts. The burn of the alcohol. The view of the cuts turning from a white dash, to a red one. The swelling.

“You mean to tell me that you needed a spanking but instead of coming to ask for it you went for cutting yourself?”

“Is there a difference between you giving me what I need and me, taking it myself? From a psychological point of view?”

Adam shook his head, almost amused.

“Yes. On a deeper level it definitely is. If you want to talk psychology here, we will, and you know you would lose the battle because reason is on my side. Spanking keeps you organized and focused and is not done with a sharp… whatever this was.”

“It serves the same cause.”

He fixed her eyes and she met his gaze without blinking.

“I’ll show you the difference between the two right now, don’t worry.”

She couldn’t understand how he could move so fast from standing up, to having her over his knee, on the couch. The boy shorts she was wearing slid down, stopping the move of her legs.

“Next time you need a spanking,” he announced, his hand coming down rhythmically, “you ask for a spanking. You do not cut yourself or do other dumb stuff. You come and you ask, you hear me?”

She nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat.

“You need to talk about something, you talk. Is that clear for you?”

“Yes Sir.”

The spanking proceeded without further comments. Morgan stiffened her body, trying to control the pain. She wriggled, hoping that this one single time Adam would miss the sore spots. But instead, the smacks were piling up on her sit spot. The attempt to cover her butt failed when both her hands were brought to the small of her back; she was left with nothing to bite onto, nothing to put her face into to muffle her cries.

“Is the difference between self-mutilation and spanking obvious to you now?”

The nod was not what Adam wanted and he marked his unhappiness with sharper slaps on her thighs.

“Yes. Yes. It’s clear.”

“What happens next time you feel angry, frustrated, or in need for a punishment?”

“I ask for it.”

“Exactly. That is exactly what you will do, or else, when I get my hands on you, you won’t know what hit you.”

Her breathe quickened, and he felt the sobs shaking her back under his hand.

“Stand up,” he ordered, without giving her time to quiet down. “And get your ass back into the corner. Think about the difference between cutting yourself and spanking. And you can also think about the one hundred lines you will write for me tonight. Don’t look at me; look at the wall. Right.”

She couldn’t think about the difference now. She wouldn’t. If it had been the right choice she wouldn’t have wanted to hide it from Adam. The sobs became sparser. The sniffling went on, until Adam came to her with a paper towel, inviting her to blow her nose.

“I should have been more open to the signs you were giving. I should have spanked you in the first place, when you shouted at me last week. How many times have you done this before, without telling me?”

She didn’t answer. She opened her eyes to stare at the while wall.

“I haven’t done it in years. But remember that time we had your parents over and I got really mad? That’s when I started. I needed to relax.”

“I could have taken you for a walk to have a talk, if only you had told me.”

“I didn’t want you to know. I can handle things myself.”

“Hell, I can see that!” He didn’t care about hiding the sarcasm. She didn’t comment on it.

He moved slowly behind her, close enough for his mouth to sharpen the words in her ear: “Do I have to check you arms from now on, Morgan?”

“No Sir.” – she whispered.

“Better not. Or else, this ass,” he added, clasping a hand on her red behind, “will be sorer than it’s ever been.”

The footsteps echoed as he strode to the kitchen. When the drawer opened, she already knew what he was looking for. She wished she could cry. But squeezing her eyes tight together didn’t help. Her fear was the attention grabber for her senses. She could smell it.

“Come here, please,” he called.

The legs of a chair scratched noisily the parquet. She followed the voice and found him sitting on that darn chair, wooden spoon in his hand. He extended his left hand. It wasn’t an invitation to dance. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her small body over his knees.

“Riding motorcycles is a “no”. You knew it when you entered this relationship. Not a ‘maybe’: a ‘no’. And riding by yourself – that is a crime. If you want adrenaline, here is your dose.”

Any wooden implement hurts. But for Morgan the wooden spoon seemed to hurt more than anything she has ever felt. One solid smack did not mean one pain, but a thousand of small and vicious stings, spreading all over her bottom, and hanging in there, waiting for more pain to pile up on top of them. And there was no break allowing the pain to subdue. Her hands grasped his pants and the chair legs. The high-pitched cries dried her throat. She didn’t plead not even once, only wailed and voiced her agony in an attempt to sooth the pain. But nothing could stop the pain, expect for Adam. And Adam was not finished with her. The spoon worked its way towards her thighs. This was not only about the motorcycle. It was more and she knew it. It was about her own rage, caused by god-knows-what; it was about her new piercing and her new haircut and her new attitude. About sassing him.

Her body collapsed, giving up the fight. And Adam stopped, allowing her to roll off his lap, on her knees. He cupped her head and planted a kiss on her forehead and her arms reached for his neck.

He sat down on the floor, cuddling her, until her crying stopped.

“You’re just stressed. We’ll get over it together.”

She nodded.

“I’m tired,” she whispered.

“We can nap on the couch if you want,” he indulged her.

She smiled at him, her teary eyes shining happily. She loved afternoon naps, with him, on the couch.

Story: Alex 4: Double Dose (M/mf)

Double Dose (M/mf)

Copyright: KayleyBlue, 2008

All disclaimers apply. Over 18.


Ashley was sobbing in the kitchen. Alex, as busily as he tried to make himself by playing “Need for Speed” on his computer, still fought the dreadful feeling that the evening would end with him being in trouble too.

His sister had been late before. Tonight, however, his mother’s eyes were red from crying; his Dad had paced around the room for two hours until Ashley got home. They had called all the neighbors and Ashley’s friends to ask about her whereabouts and no one had a clue. Alex, who had a vague idea, played dumb and hoped that she – and he, as well – would get away with it.

“Alex!” The doctor’s voice boomed through the walls of the kitchen, through the closed door. “Come here right now.”

He saved his game, took his time. No point in hurrying towards certain death. His Dad would wait about ten seconds before calling again and then he would come himself to get him, take out his belt, and whack him a dozen times before inviting him again for a short chat in the kitchen. The boy was not interested in finding out if the scene would repeat itself again in the same sequence.

His Mom was torn; sitting on a kitchen stool, with a paper towel to her nose, she looked as if the most horrible thing had happened to her kids. He didn’t care. Next to her, a very apprehensive Ashley was fighting her drunken moves, trying to sober up. “Too late”, Alex though. He knew how that felt. His father, Jack, had already started to unbuckle his belt when Alex came through the kitchen door. No way out this time. No excuses, no nothing. She had ratted him out. Alex stared at his sister in an attempt to catch her look, to warn her to shut up, to promise her the beating of her life as payment for telling on him. She didn’t even look at him, however. She was looking at everything and everyone but him.

The belt slid out of the loops whooshing and snapping.
“Did you know where she was,” Jack asked, more for the sake of it; they were all aware that Ashley was telling the truth.

Alex eyed his sister. She had spilled the beans on him only to get herself out of trouble. “More or less,” he said. A straight forward answer would have had the same effect; Jack folded the belt.
“Did you buy her drinks for her little party, knowing that she is thirteen?”
His mother started crying again and Alex felt like shouting “Shut the fuck up, woman, I’m trying to think! No one has fucking died!” Instead, he frowned at the cherry-brown parquet
“Yes.”

Now Jack would grab his arm and spank the daylights out of him. But Jack paused again, only to ask the incriminating question:
“How did you buy the liquor?”
The boy had been prepared for the first two questions. The anxiety had paralyzed his brain as he had not anticipated this one.
“Alex? How did you buy the liquor? From where and with what?”
“From some place close to school…”
“Do you have something to give me?”
Alex paused. Yeah, a fake ID. He didn’t say it, just walked out of the room, to his school bag, searched deep inside one of its pockets, between books and notebooks, and returned with the ID in his hand.

The doorbell rang. It was Rose, his grandmother, who had succeeded in squeezing out the news about Ashley’s going missing and had come by to ease down her own grieves and worries. Alex’s hopes of getting away with the crime suddenly increased. Until -
“Clara, please get the door. It’s probably your mother,” Jack said, without looking at his wife. “I don’t want your mother in here, poking her nose into my business.”
“She is worried,” his mother said, leaving the room. “I think she has the right to be worried about her grandchildren?”
“She certainly has. But she has no right to put her nose into how I educate my kids. She can sit all she wants in the living room, but not in this room,” Jack added, before his wife closed the door. Jack threw the fake ID on the counter.

“Ashley, get your nose into that corner, young lady,” he said to his sniffling daughter. She slumbered towards the appointed place, rubbing her drunken red eyes with her sleeve. Tears were dripping from her nose to the floor. Alex was not sorry for her; She had promised not to tell and she had broke her promise. Now he was about to get spanked with his grandmother in the other room and his sister in the same room with him. He was sure his Dad will spare Ashley the shame of being spanked in front of him. She was lucky.

“You,” Jack raised the belt to point to the counter, “jeans and boxers down, hands on the counter.”

The latest trend allowed Alex to unbuckle only his first two buttons before his oversized jeans dropped to his ankles. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and slid them down to his knees.

“Hands on the counter,” Jack said again. On the man’s face not a muscle moved. Alex obeyed, fear flickering in his green eyes. Sometimes it was safer not to argue about punishments or any other controversial issues with Jack. Tonight was one of those ‘sometimes’ days. Both Ashley and Alex knew it. Clara knew it and by the looks of it, Rose, his indulgent grandmother, also knew it. The living room was as silent as a tomb.

“Eyes forward, to the wall,” Jack said, and Alex obeyed. He kind of heard his sister sobbing, shuffling her feet in her corner. The seconds between this and the first crack of the belt seemed to have diluted into an eternity. His mind grew aware of what was to follow, of what he felt, of his position, of what he did. He wondered if he would cry. He hoped not. He wondered if he would beg for his father to stop – he certainly would not, not with his sister there, not with his grandmother in the other room.

His cheeks exploded with pain when the crack of the belt echoed in the room. He blinked away the tears of fear. It was going to be bad. It was going to hurt a lot. And the punishment would most certainly take forever.

The fury of the blows stunned his mind. Each blow pushed his body forward, towards the counter, and as he was bringing it back, another blow was resending waves of pain to his mind. At the beginning, when the belt was coming down hard, every three or four seconds, he had time to recompose himself after each blow. But as Jack’s fury mounted, so did the fury of the belt. Alex hid his face into his arm, pushed his forehead against the cold feeling of the wall, stared stubbornly at a yellow spot on the cabinet; his nails scratched at the counter’s smooth surface. He stood on his tiptoes, his knees buckled, he twisted. In the end, he cried. He moved away from the path of the falling belt. Jack grabbed his arm again, without a word, ignoring Alex’s pleads, forced his torso back down onto the counter. The belt began to build a steady painful fire into the boy’s upper legs. The cries became incoherent mumbles.

He remembered his Mom coming in and pleading with Jack to stop. The boy had turned his eyes towards her, begging. He never did that during a spanking; he always did it before. Jack ushered her out though and went back to his unfinished job, building a few more remarkable welts on Alex’s sit spot. A few rather purple marks had started showing when he stopped. He removed his hand from Alex’s back but the kid remained there, twisted over the counter, sobbing.

“If there is a next time, I’ll turn your legs crimson too,” the man said. The words sent chills up Alex’s spine. He could recognize Jack’s behavior, but the coldness did not resemble Jack at all.

“I’m sorry…” – he sobbed again, wiping his runny nose on his already wet sleeve.

Without a word to his son, Jack wiped his forehead, rearranged his shirt’s cuffs, and turned to Ashley: “You, next. Jeans down, panties down, bend over the table.” Ashley remained in the corner. She was already crying, as if it had been her getting the thrashing of her life.

Jack span her towards him, belt in his hand still, and began unzipping her tight jeans.
“Daddy, don’t spank meeee...” She became even more hysterical when she caught a glimpse of Alex’s damaged rear. She pulled back, pushing Jack’s hands aside, in a futile attempt to escape. Jack ignored her even when she slapped his hands. Her jeans and panties at her ankles, she still tried to pull them up. “Stop the fuss. Ashley!” He shook her by the arm as he marched her unwilling ass towards the table. She was still drunk, by the looks of it. At some point she even twisted trying to bite Jack’s hand. Jack’s nerves exploded. The belt cracked loudly against her legs and bottom.

“You do not fight me, young lady. And you most certainly don’t bite me.” Before she had reached the table she had managed to get her ass slapped at least four times, Alex had counted. The boy was still fumbling will pulling up his pants, but the scene had taken his mind away from the soaring pain in his own bottom.

Ashley’s whines went on: “Daddy, don’t…”

Over the table she went, with both her hands locked in the small of her back by Jack’s firm grip. The show started. If Jack didn’t feel the need to lecture Alex on his misbehaving, his speech was quite impressive when it came to Ashley’s crimes. “You don’t throw tantrums, you hear me?” She moved frantically and only the jeans huddled at her ankles stopped her feet from flying in the air.

All this before he’s even started, Alex though. He wondered how long it would take her to give up the fight.

“You don’t drink alcohol. You don’t go to parties without our approval. And you don’t stay past your curfew time. Do I make myself clear?”

She promised to behave, she swore never to touch alcohol again; she would never be late again; she’d never go anywhere without asking her parents first. She dissolved into tears before she had gotten a quarter of what Alex had gotten. Soon Jack let go of her, stood back, and watched her. Her mouth wide open, saliva dripping out onto the table, she wailed as if she had been cut into pieces.

“Alright, get up,” Jack said. He was also panting and rivulets of perspiration ran down his temples. “We’ll have a talk tomorrow, both of you. And with you, Ashley, I am most certainly not done. You are still drunk.” He stood her up and helped her pull up her underwear and pants, leaving them unzipped. “Clara!” - he called and the woman appeared in the room immediately.
She’s been waiting at the door all this time, Alex thought.
“Can you please help Ashley get to bed?”
Alex watched his mother shushing Ashley, wiping her eyes and nose. She gave Alex a troubled look, as if she wished she could help him too.

“Alex,” Jack said, moving in front of his son. “Look at me.”
The boy wiped his mouth with his sleeve nervously. He looked into his Dad’s dark eyes.
“What went through your mind when you did this to your sister? And what went through your mind when you got that fake ID?”
The kid shrugged his shoulders. He feared his Dad’s lectures as much as the actual spankings. The shame made him feel small again. “I’m sorry,” was all he could whisper.
“I thought I could trust you. I’m really disappointed in you.”
The pressure in Alex’s sinuses began to build again.
“Dad, it won’t happen again. I swear it won’t.”
Jack shook his head at him and sighed.
“Just go to bed.”
“Dad, please,” Alex begged.
“Go, I said.”
Alex turned slowly to the door. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He really meant it. Right now he just wished he could take everything back. He also wished he could sleep at night. But his guilt and remorse would not let him. He knew that for sure.

Spanking Story: See if I Care (M/F)

Yeah... I wish...
-----------------------------

See if I Care

“Honey, turn the light off,” he said, checking his watch. “I’m trying to sleep. It’s almost twelve”.

She went on pounding at the keyboard, deaf at his request. Something had clicked wrong in her head while she was reading the last story. Her rebellious self unfolded, triggered by her mind’s answer to the main character’s actions. She didn’t understand it, but she embraced the feeling.

“Please turn off the light,” Mike said again. He didn’t raise his voice, but even if the tone was matter-of-factly she read the annoyance and the frustration lying underneath.

“No.” – she said simply.

“Do you need it?”

“No.” – she said again.

“Then please turn it off.”

“No.”

She had a vague feeling that she was provoking him on purpose; she was pushing it, very aware of the discomfort she was causing him. And she also was aware that this scene would not have taken place before she had asked for rules to be established in the house. He did not refuse to take part in the project, but she hadn’t been spanked either. She felt guilty for some of her actions. And her guilt raised the frustration in her, which lead to deliberate disobedience.

Mike stirred in bed for a few minutes, as if trying to consider his next move. She knew he was. He was most probably debating on what to do next. And she knew his thoughts, the moment she saw him standing up: he wanted to end the argument; he didn’t want to confront her. He switched the light off. Without even looking up, Jas continued to type madly at her computer.

As he lay in bed again, she went for the switch and the light was on once more. Her statement read “you can’t ignore me forever”. She made it clear. Mike grumbled. A real grumble. An angry grumble which caused her to pray that he would finally do something; if not, this would become an argument, and they would be at each other’s throats till morning.

“Do you need the light on?” – He asked once more, popping his head out from under the blanket. She didn’t reply. She could bend the keys on the keyboard with the fury she was typing.

She heard him sigh and could almost hear the internal fight he was trying to control. Without a word, he stood up and went for her, yanked her up by the arm.

“Common,” he said.
This wasn’t right. A spanking should not happen because he was annoyed; a spanking should happen because she needed it and because he would understand that need. Because he loved her and he knew there was no way around it. It wasn’t the case now. It made her furious. She snapped her arm free.

“Let me be,” she said.

“I’m spanking you, even if I have to drag you and fight you,” he added, grabbing her arm again. “Up!”

Jas looked up at him, with all the defiance she could muster. And there was plenty of it in her eyes, in her face. She stood up. “I’m not running. You don’t need to grab me like that.”

For a second he seemed to consider, trying to understand what she was at. Was she playing some kind of game again? He grabbed his jeans from the chair and slid the belt out of the loops. He looked at her expectedly.

“Yeah, spank me,” she said. “See if I care. See if I give a damn.” The rebel teenager buried deep inside was desperately pushing to come out. The association was perfect in her mind: teenager, used to get her ass tanned, but pretending not to care. She was so good at pretending she believed it herself.

Mike raised his eyebrows at her. She unzipped her pants, pulled them down. It was the first time he didn’t ask her to do it. She gave him a defiant look then pulled down her panties, to her knees, and, without a word, she bent over, hands on the bed.

“See if I care,” she repeated. It was more to her this time, probably because she started to grow aware of what she was doing.

Mike didn’t reply, but let her play her game. He doubled the belt over, moved to her side. She thought she was in control. Let’s see how you handle this, he mused. He grabbed her panties, yanked them down. Not because they weren’t where they should have been, but because – he bent over slowly, whispering in her year – “You get spanked here because I say so, not because you want to.” It was a strong kick at the first piece of the domino. He was going to break her from inside. She felt it. She felt that illusion of control slip through her fingers, but she fought the feeling back, like a kid trying to squeeze its fingers together hoping for the water not to drain down. She raised her eyes, fixed them stubbornly on the white wall in front.

Mike watched her reaction. He hadn’t been determined to break her before, but now he was. Without further ado, he moved to her left side and raised the belt. He raised it as high as he dared to. It was a challenge and he would not be beaten at it. The belt came down hard. She winced only. The belt snapped again against her bottom, but she kept looking forward, trying to detach herself from the pain.

It would take some work to get to her, but he didn’t mind. He went on spanking her, not having time to watch the welts build on her white skin. He wished he could see her face. But he watched her knuckles instead, turning white with the strength she was putting into grabbing the blanket tight into her fists. He also heard a muffled sob, which she couldn’t control anymore. The belt fell, this time, on the curve under her butt. She yelped; fists tightened even more on the blanket; her bottom went forth and it took her more than usual to bring it back into position.

He could be mean, if that’s how she wanted to play. He cracked the belt again, on the same spot. Jasmine yelped. He didn’t wait for her ass to come baak; he gave one more lick on the same spot again. And then again, and again. He watched her small body starting to collapse slowly in front of him, as she began to refuse to present her bottom again for punishment.

He bent over her small body again, whispering in her ear: “Do you give a damn now? Hm?” She didn’t answer, but tears dripped from her nose to the blanket. He played the bastard card in response. “Are you crying? See if I care.” She sobbed out loud. “Bring your ass back. We are not finished when you want to; we are finished when I say so.”

She complied, but slowly, as if trying to find her way out of it in the meantime. Again he didn’t wait for her to finish her thoughts – the belt landed hard on her upper thighs. Her arms shook and she let her torso rest on her elbows. Her forehead touched the pillow in front of her.

Mike kept her on ‘ignore’, but his eyes traveled many times from her behind to her position. He could tell what was going through her mind. Now he could read her like a book.

“Please.” – She whispered, between sobs.
“Come again?”
She didn’t repeat it. He didn’t wait for a reply. He went on spanking. The welts built to an angry red.

“Enough,” she said. Her hand flew back. He had reached her. Finally. Past the arrogance, the rebel wall, straight into her mind.
“Take your hand away.”
She did. He went on. She cried, quite loudly. She started twisting, hoping he would miss the spots that hurt so badly. He didn’t.
“Please… Enough…”
He stopped for a moment, giving her false hopes. Mike raised her wet chin, forced her to look up, into his eyes. “This is punishment, just like you wrote in your letter. This is not playing. This is you and me, not me and your alternate ego. And I decide when you had enough. Is that clear?”
She nodded.
“Good,” he added. “Now bring your bottom up again, please. *I* am not finished with you. I know you wanted to make your point. Now I am making mine.”

She complied. The rebel teenager was gone. He whipped her ass even after it had collapsed on the bed. The strokes were not hard anymore, but they felt horrible to her. He stopped and put away the belt. She didn’t move but continued to sob into the pillow.

“Now turn off that light, please,” he said.

A few minutes later she cuddled next to him in bed, arms around his waist, head buried in his back. She could finally sleep.

Spanking Story: Good Intentions (M/f, based on RL)

Let me give you some background first. This was my first M/f story (and the only one really) ever written. SamPast kind of convinced me to try. It was good, because it let some of the deamons out.

The story is based on a real life event, which happened when I was 8. Everything is exactly as I wrote it, only that I did not get a spanking for what I did. I was grounded by Mom. One year later, my Mom transfered me to another school, where I loved to go. It was an even better class (in terms of overall performances of pupils and performances). And I did even better than in my first one. Our teacher was the greatest teacher I've known. I had her only for one year, since starting the 5th grade (11yo) you get qualified teachers for each one of the classes you take.

-------------------------

Copyright: SK, nov. 2001
M/f, nc, belt


Disclaimer: You know the rules and I am not gonna repeat
myself here. I hate writing disclaimers! +18 will do the
trick.


----------------------------------------------------------------------


"Good Intentions"


Jasmin was always the kind of girl who could get your
attention: always a broad smile on her face, a sparkle in her
eyes, her small and snub nose always wrinkling. She was the one
making the rules in the games, the one everyone would listen to,
even if her group of friends was formed of boys. No one has
ever tried to ridicule her or play pranks on her. She was the
number one girl in her class and she knew it. Until today.


On her way home, the smile had disappeared. Her teacher,
suddenly didn't like her face anymore and blew her an F.
And a 'black dot'. And for what? For a stupid mistake, the first
one she has made in two years. She was only 8, but she knew what
unfair meant. And this *was* unfair.


Last night, before going to bed, she prepared the books
that were to be carried to school with her. Unfortunetely, she
forgot about the Maths book somehow. And she payed a triple price
comparing to others who have done the same mistake before. An F.
No one has ever got an F in that class for forgetting things.
It was so unreal!


She didn't want to disappoint her Daddy. He was used only
to "A"s. What would he say now, about her getting an F? How would
she explain this to him? Oh, he would be so disappointed!


It was barely one in the afternoon when she reached her
home. Three hours left till her Daddy would come. And then what?
She couldn't tell him, he wouldn't believe her!


With shaky moves, she sat herself at the table and
dragged the small report card out of her schoolbag. A brilliant
idea crossed her mind. Since she was very good at immitating
her Dad's signiture, she concluded that the time to put this
in practice, for a 'noble cause', has come.


Without even blinking, she grabbed her pen and basically
'drew' his name next to the grade. There! All she had
to do now, was take the report card to the teacher and show her
that the grade has been signed.


It was only 1,30. The rest of the hours were spent
making plans about the lie that was to be told to her Daddy when
he would ask about the report card. And also, she needed a
good place to hide it for the next days. Under the edge of
the carpet, hidden behind the big closet in the living -
that was perfect!


***


From her room she heard the keys turning in the lock.
Then the door being opened and slammed shut. Then her Daddy's
voice calling for her:


"Jas? Are you home?"
Jasmin's heart boomed in her chest. Meeting him was more
difficult than a little girl like her could have imagined.
However,


"Hey Daddy!" she smiled, kissing his cheek.


Daddy had a hard a day - you could read it on his face.
His eyes were darker than usual and his eyebrows formed a little
frown.


"How was your day at school, baby?" He tried to smile,
his eyes locking hers with a weird look. But she didn't suspect
a thing. How could she?


" 'Twas fine, Daddy..." her reply came as usual.
"Nothing interesting going on..."


Jasmin couldn't believe her ears: she lied without even
blushing, face to face with her Daddy, eye to eye. She felt
guilty somehow and scared. There was a brat within herself, but
this was the first time when it came out, in its full splendour.
Yes, she has lied before, but those were small lies. This was a
huge one.


Daddy didn't say a word, just walked by her into the
bathroom to wash his hands.


"You didn't eat, did you?"
Her head shook a 'no', followed by a 'tsk'. "I waited
for you."He nodded again and headed for the kitchen this
time, to retrieve the food from the fridge.


There was an uncommon silence during lunch. And
the little one wasn't in the mood for making conversation
either, like she used to. She didn't have any nice stories
to tell, nothing to brag about. When Jon asked her about the
report card, she blushed furiously. He wasn't watching her,
making himself busy with the dish-washer. Her hands were
clasping together desperately, and she could feel her wet
and perspired palms. She knew she was nervous.


"I don't have it, Daddy" the trembled voice came, very
insecure. "The teacher took them all so she can write
something, but I dunno what... I mean she just took them...
like a week ago and now again... I dunno" The remarks were
made without any concern. Jon only saw her shrugging.


There was a long pause after. Jasmin, pretty sure that
she has made her way out of trouble, was getting ready to ask
him to let her out, play a bit before her homework, but his
sudden interruption didn't allow her to speak her mind.


"That's quite unusual, isn't it, Jasmin?"
Her eyes froze on him. There was a knot in her throat,
and a shiver traveling fast, down her spine.
"I dunno, Daddy..." she mumbled. "Guess so..."


Oh, if only this discussion would come to an end! She
wanted to run out of the room and hide herself in her bedroom,
as fast as possible. She couldn't stand his glare. Did he know
she was guilty? This was so unfair and so frustrating...


She wrinkled her nose. She always did it when she was
nervous. It was a reflex, something she couldn't control.


"You know what's weird, Jas? " he spoke with an amused
but also serious tone. His back rested against the counter.
"It's weird 'cause you see, I met your teacher on the street
today, and she hasn't told me anything about any report cards
being held by her..."


Her eyes flew open and her head rose to stare at him.
She coudln't help the tears that emerged in her eyes. He knew
all along that she's been lying to him, and didn't say a word.
Yes, Jon only wanted to see how far she could go. And now, he
was playing his cards, in a manner which she didn't enjoy one
bit.


"Daddeeeeeeeee...." he heard her whine. The corners of
her mouth were slowly coming down. Stopping herself from
crying was a visible effort.


But he didn't answer her cry, simply went on:
"And she also mentioned something about your Math
book...Quite amazing, eh? " His fingers tapped the counter.
"I mean, you told me a quite different story, haven't you,
Jas?"
Jas couldn't answer. Her lips were sealed and the only
sound she could make was a little whimper.


Once again he ignored her tear stained face. He knew
how to get her, to make her tell the truth on such occasions.
She was so proud and so stubborn, that screaming at her or a
negative approach, would have harmed her mind forever.


"Now, you see... I'm very puzzled, sweetie... From
the two of you, only one can be telling the truth. And I
wonder if that one is you?"


Jasmin couldn't hold it any longer and she broke into
a pitious cry. Her small body started shaking, her sobs choked
her and she didn't have enough hands to wipe the ever-flowing
tears from her eyes.


"Daddy, I'm sorreeeee..." she exploded. She didn't know
why she was crying, but probably she knew she was in trouble.
Big trouble. Besides, she was scared bacause her Daddy wasn't
caring about her cries this time. When she looked at his face,
Jasmin could see only his frown, his seriousness. He was too
stern right now and bareing it was impossible.


"Bring me the report card, Jasmin!" She shook her head
"no". She had forged his signature. She wasn't allowed to. That
was a big mistake. Oh, God, he would be so mad at her now! Ever
worse than before.


"Young lady, don't you make me take out my belt and make
you bring it! I wanna see that report card, right now!"


Desperate moment. Hands shaking with fear,
choking at each word, she'd say: "Oh Daddeeeee... no,
pleaaase...I'm sorry... I won't do it again! I promise!"


That's because she knew what to expect. She had a
feeling that that belt would come out today anyway. She was
crying and begging for forgiveness for what had happened and
for what *will* happen. She wanted him to know she was sorry,
now, since later, after seeing the signature, he wouldn't
listen anymore!


"It's so unfair Daddy!! I didn't deserve the 'F'!
Everyone got only a 'black dot' but I got the F!" she
whimpered, very hurt by her teacher's unfair decision.


" I don't care about the F, Jasmin... I care about you
lying to me. Now stop the fuss and bring me the report card!"


Finally she stood up. If only she could have glued
herself to the chair! She didn't want to do this! She didn't
want him to see. No no no! But she did took him to the hidden
place. She managed to get her small body behind the closet,
in the corner, and retrieve the stupid report card from under
the carpet.


Jon could only watch his daughter with stupour. He was
shocked this time and felt as if the whole blood was
rising to his head. No, he didn't care about the F. He knew it
was unfair. He cared about his daughter lying and hiding things
from him.


When Jasmin offered him the card, more whining came.
Since standing up was an effort now, she hid her face in her
hands and went on crying there, while being on her knees.


"Daddy, I'm sorry.. I'm sorry, Daddeeee... I won't do
it again..."


Jon's eyes laid on the grade.. and then he saw it: the
signature. His signature. For a moment, he didn't have words.
He simply felt the anger taking over him, and keeping that under
control was the hardest task ever.


"You ... forged ... my signature?" Cut words, matching
his fury. His look froze on the sobbing little girl, sittig on
her knees next to him. No pitty in his heart whatsoever, this
time. "You dared to lie to me, hide your report card AND forge
my signature?!"


"Daddeeee... noooo... it was so unfair!" she managed
to let out from between sobs. "It won't happen again... I'm
sorreeee..."


"We'll see to that!" he grumbled, as he set away the
card on the table and his hands went to unsnap his belt.


The noise scared her even more than his voice. She
pleaded again, but she was only repeating herself and the
words were falling anyway on death ears. When he asked her
to stand up, she didn't move, just tried to hide herself closer
to the closet. She wanted to run. She wanted someone to get her
out of trouble. But there was only him and her, as always.
She wondered if, if her Mom had been there, she would have
helped her. But her Mom belonged to the past. It's been only
him and her since she learnt how to walk.


Jon grabbed her arm tightly and yanked her up. She was
too scared to comply, so she kicked back, trying to escape. Of
course, there was no escape, but in her mind, even hiding in the
closet would have provided some delay.


"Stop your kicking right now, young lady! Don't make me
punish you for this too!" he growled. But she wouldn't listen.


Somehow he managed to carry her to the couch. And there,
he sat himself down pulling her in front of him. One hand was
holding the belt, the other one had a good grip of her arm.


"Pull down your pants and panties..."
She shook her head 'no' once more, not being able of
actually pronouncing the word. Jon didn't reply, just started
unbottuning her jeans. Then, ignoring her protests and kicks
and cries, somehow he managed to yank them down to her knees.
And when her panties joined the trousers, he didn't waste any
time in placing her over his lap and locking her legs under his.


"Daddddeeeeeeeee....! Noooo...pleaaase Daddy!! I'm
sorreeeeee! DADDEEE?!" her voice intensified. Her hands were
brought to the small of her back and his hand reached one more
time the belt.


"First let's get rid of this bad attitude of yours!"
he snapped back and rose his arm.


The blow was hard and she screamed from the top of her
lungs. It took her ten strokes to calm down and stop fighting
back. But she did try to wriggle off his lap, she tried to kick
her feet, free her hands, avoid the searing pain.


"Now, young lady..." Jon paused for a bit, listening to
her sobs."Let's take things in cronological order, shall we?
About you lying to me..."And the belt made its way down again,
making Jasmin's cries rise.


"I'm sorreeeeee... Daddeee, no more pleaaaaseee..."
"You knew *lying* WHACK WHACK was wrong... Didn't you?!"
"Yes Daddy, pleaaaseee... I won't do it again. I swear!"
More strokes fell on her already red behind.
"Am I making my point, young lady?"
"Yes Sir, please Daddy!..."
The agony was unbearable. Not the pain itself, but the
humiliation of being spanked. She couldn't stand that! It was
too much for her ego.But when the spank reached the 'hiding the
report-card sin', she didn't care anymore about her proud.


He spanked her for that too. Ten fast strokes against
her flesh. And then the signature... Another ten, but milder ones
this time. He knew she wouldn't do it again. But he didn't want
to let her up without punishing her for that, too.


The moment he sat the belt aside, she didn't move. He
pulled up her panties slowly, and carefully put her on his lap,
kissed her forehead and stroke her hair. Her funny pig tails were
a mess and those cute eyes were all swollen and red.


"Shhhhh...shhhh... my little baby..." he whispered.
One finger pushed her chin up. "Look at me, sweetie..."
She did. She wanted to. She wanted her Daddy's hug and
she felt the need to be pampered and spoilt a bit.
"You know that I love you more than anything else,
don't you, sweetie?"


Wiping her eyes she tried to cover her sobs. She only
nodded.
"But the F *was* unfair, Daddy!"
"I know, sweetie..." he smiled. "That's why I wasn't
mad at you for that, but mad at you for hiding it from me..."


"Yes Daddy..." she cringed. Her little head burried in
his chest. For five minutes no one talked. The light was getting
dim inside the room. It was already evening...


"Okay, baby... How about first you promise me never to
do anything like this again, and then me and you watching
something nice together? And then I will help you with the
homeworks, hm? How does that sound?"


She smiled, the sweetest smile ever.


"I'll always be good, Daddy.. I promise!"


~The END~