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Authors: Carolyn Faulkner
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near me. He struck up a conversation, took my number, and we went on a date about a week later.” Max watched her face closely as she was lost in memories, and saw the tear that rolled down her cheek, which she tried unsuccessfully to hide from him. “He sent me a big bouquet of roses the next day. I didn’t know what to do with him. He was so different from any other man I’d met. He never pressured me to sleep with him, and he was so protective and caring, almost too much so, especially when he—”
“When he what?” Of course he’d pounce on that.
Her face was bright red, and he already knew the answer, but he wanted her to say it to him.
Her voice was halting as she said it, and he knew just how embarrassed she was to admit it. “W-when he began spanking me.”
Max found himself inordinately intrigued. “So how does a woman who, from what I can gather about women nowadays, must consider herself an absolute equal to men, with all of the freedoms and responsibilities therein, who believes in - what’s the phrase - women’s liberation, and all that, reconcile herself with the fact she allows her lover to paddle her very gorgeous bottom for what she must entrust him to decide are infractions? Doesn’t that fly in the face of modern convention?”
She was squirming again, and he liked it almost as much as when she wiggled, since she was almost directly up against his groin. “It does, and yes, I believe in equality. But one of the things that women fought for is the right to do what you want. To get your needs – whatever those are – met. And what I want in my life – what I had in my life –“ she stopped there, because she simply couldn’t go on. The lump in her throat was just too big, and she couldn’t speak around it. She was crying, of course, yet again, in front of him, and she didn’t give a damn.
He was surprisingly patient, and gave her enough time to get around it, as long as he didn’t think she was avoiding answering him. “What I had was a man who was strong enough to do for me what my parents hadn’t. He held me to account for what I did. I was doted on, but not disciplined at all. I was spoiled. Luckily, I didn’t choose any really bad paths as I grew up, but frankly that was simply a matter of dumb luck. And I mean it, pure, unadulterated dumb luck. I just didn’t happen to fall in with a crowd that was doing anything worse than having the occasional under-aged beer, rather than hard core drugs, and skipping the occasional day of school to go to the lake. I didn’t end up hanging out with people who shoplifted or I don’t know – did any number of things a lot of kids I know did that got lead them eventually either to jail or rehab.” She shrugged those delicate shoulders. “I just lucked out.
“But Dag made sure I knew that my bad choices – however small they might be - had consequences that he made damned sure I didn’t like.”
“Did he spank you first, or did you make love first?”
It was an interesting question that she seemed to need to consider whether or not she wanted to respond, but she knew he wasn’t about to let her do so for very long.
In this case, he knew she was choosing not to respond, rather than having a physical and emotional problem doing so. Max didn’t yell or spank her. He simply reached down and squeezed her butt. “You seem to be functioning under the misconception that you have a choice in whether or not you answer my questions. Do you really think that I’ll hesitate one second in throwing you over my knee and spanking you again, just because I’ve already spanked you?” He glanced casually at the coffee table, where there was a wooden ruler left over from one of her mother’s many – failed – craft projects.
Fawna sighed, not bothering to cover her exasperation at having been forced to answer. Why bother? He could read her mind. He knew she was
“When he what?” Of course he’d pounce on that.
Her face was bright red, and he already knew the answer, but he wanted her to say it to him.
Her voice was halting as she said it, and he knew just how embarrassed she was to admit it. “W-when he began spanking me.”
Max found himself inordinately intrigued. “So how does a woman who, from what I can gather about women nowadays, must consider herself an absolute equal to men, with all of the freedoms and responsibilities therein, who believes in - what’s the phrase - women’s liberation, and all that, reconcile herself with the fact she allows her lover to paddle her very gorgeous bottom for what she must entrust him to decide are infractions? Doesn’t that fly in the face of modern convention?”
She was squirming again, and he liked it almost as much as when she wiggled, since she was almost directly up against his groin. “It does, and yes, I believe in equality. But one of the things that women fought for is the right to do what you want. To get your needs – whatever those are – met. And what I want in my life – what I had in my life –“ she stopped there, because she simply couldn’t go on. The lump in her throat was just too big, and she couldn’t speak around it. She was crying, of course, yet again, in front of him, and she didn’t give a damn.
He was surprisingly patient, and gave her enough time to get around it, as long as he didn’t think she was avoiding answering him. “What I had was a man who was strong enough to do for me what my parents hadn’t. He held me to account for what I did. I was doted on, but not disciplined at all. I was spoiled. Luckily, I didn’t choose any really bad paths as I grew up, but frankly that was simply a matter of dumb luck. And I mean it, pure, unadulterated dumb luck. I just didn’t happen to fall in with a crowd that was doing anything worse than having the occasional under-aged beer, rather than hard core drugs, and skipping the occasional day of school to go to the lake. I didn’t end up hanging out with people who shoplifted or I don’t know – did any number of things a lot of kids I know did that got lead them eventually either to jail or rehab.” She shrugged those delicate shoulders. “I just lucked out.
“But Dag made sure I knew that my bad choices – however small they might be - had consequences that he made damned sure I didn’t like.”
“Did he spank you first, or did you make love first?”
It was an interesting question that she seemed to need to consider whether or not she wanted to respond, but she knew he wasn’t about to let her do so for very long.
In this case, he knew she was choosing not to respond, rather than having a physical and emotional problem doing so. Max didn’t yell or spank her. He simply reached down and squeezed her butt. “You seem to be functioning under the misconception that you have a choice in whether or not you answer my questions. Do you really think that I’ll hesitate one second in throwing you over my knee and spanking you again, just because I’ve already spanked you?” He glanced casually at the coffee table, where there was a wooden ruler left over from one of her mother’s many – failed – craft projects.
Fawna sighed, not bothering to cover her exasperation at having been forced to answer. Why bother? He could read her mind. He knew she was
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