Waiting

Even though you know the deal, waiting can still be difficult.

By Lorna Brand

Jane stood in a thin, navy, silky night-slip, her bare feet feeling the warmth of the thick cream pile carpet as she wriggled her toes threw the fibres. She glanced at the tall carriage clock on the mantelpiece; 7.40 am. Not long to go now.

The ticking seemed to be getting louder as she unintentionally allowed herself to focus on the countdown just a little bit too long; tick, tick, tick. It echoed through her chest as every part of her body pulsed in rhythm. Quickly, she tried to redirect her mind to calm herself down. Looking around for a distraction, her eyes darted back and forth over the little room.

The nick-nacks on the shelf seemed like a good place for her mind to focus; white modern figures in various poses, a couple of trinket boxes. Jane started to calm down a bit as she thought of ways to increase the time her brain was distracted, so she counted how many items sat on each shelf between the books.

Tick, Tick. It grew louder again. 7.42 am, the counting certainly didn’t work. It just made her think of what was to come.

A small breeze felt icy against her hot, bare, sallow skin. Her legs started to shiver but not because of the cold. The thin strap on her night-slip dropped from her shoulder as she shook. Her short pixie-like hair made it easy for the draught to reach the nape of her neck, sending a quiver down her back.

Jane glanced at the time; 7.43 am. It’s getting closer. She was rooted to the spot, eyes wide and fixed upon the clock, counting down to her fate. She couldn’t distract herself any longer, the fleeting thought about reading the book titles amounted to nothing as she was unable to move or remove her gaze.

Tick, tick. The second hand went around slowly, making time almost stand still, but still not slowly enough.

7.44 am; time for Jane to position herself. She can’t be late or it will certainly make things worse than it needs to be.

Springing to life, she moved to the desk standing behind her, placing her palms flat upon its polished surface. They slipped a little, being more sweaty than she thought, before Jane quickly dried them on her slip and replaced them once more.

She was acutely aware of her breathing becoming faster as she lowered her chest to the hard surface, resting her cheek on the cold top for a moment of respite.

Jane shifted her weight from side to side as she felt the strain from her legs being straight out behind her pull on her calf muscles, making her bottom dance and her night-slip ride up just enough to reveal the fact she had no pants on, just as she was instructed.

Suddenly she heard thudding footsteps getting louder as they approached down the corridor. The door handle jiggled and swung open. Jane lifted her head, readying herself, but dared not turn around or leave her position. Jane knew what she was there for, but never knew quite what was coming up until this moment.

Will she have to taste the sharp bite of rattan? Surely not; she has been on her best behaviour. Or the stinging force of a paddle? Hopefully not, but perhaps.

The footsteps stop at her side as a very warm hand cups her bottom, caressing it all over as it slowly brushes her slip up and over to the small of her back, showing off her round, peachy shape, orbs.

Jane pushed her bum out instinctively to meet his gentle touch gliding over her soft skin as her heart beat became more rapid in anticipation. Still the room was silent with only the sound of Jane’s deep breathing to fill the air. There was no need to say a thing.

His hand pulled away suddenly and Jane screwed up her eyes realizing what was about to happen.

A slap echoed off the walls as Jane took a quick breath in, feeling his hand land firmly.

“One,” she said quietly.

He took his time before taking aim again, rubbing over her bum in between, making Jane more nervous.

Another blow landed on the lower part of her bum with such force that Jane was pushed up onto her toes, gulping the air.

“Two.”

She readied herself again, getting back into position. The next few slaps were delivered just as methodically as he took great care to ensure there was a complete layer of hot stinging pink covering her bum. The heat was radiating from her, making her pleased for the icy breeze kissing over her delicate skin.

When the final blow was delivered, Jane gave a sigh of relief.

“Twenty.”

Believing that it was the end of her telling-off, Jane felt as if she had got off a little lighter than normal, but not by much.

Then all at once her heart sank as she heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt and whipping it free from his trouser loops. Jane dropped a tear onto the desk top; her ordeal was not over.

The belt whooshed through the air, whistling as it went before lapping around her bum like a whip of fire. Her back arched and she jumped up with surprise. She was guided back down by his hand on her back. Still not saying a word, he kept his hand at the small of her back until she was stretched out flat across the desk, gripping the far side, and had composed herself again.

The un-missable noise of the belt forcing its way through the air towards her caused her knuckles to whiten as she held on as tightly as she could to prevent herself from moving. The next stroke hit with even more bite than the first. A couple of seconds passed and he finally broke his silence.

“Jane, if you don’t count the stroke then it won’t count, like the last one!” His voice boomed with annoyance.

“Twenty-two. No, sorry! Twenty-one!” Jane hastily answered, trying to not lose her composure.

Four more strokes rained down in quick succession. Although not as harsh, it left  Jane sobbing, hugging the desk top.

“Twenty-five.” She eventually got the word out through her quivering lips.

Jane could hardly believe that she had been going through this ritual almost every day for the last two weeks, depending on how her poor derriere was holding up and at her own suggestion. It seemed like the best, if indeed the only, option that was open to her at the time.

“Well done, babe, that’s another fifty pounds off the debt.”

Jane was pleased, almost gleeful. It hadn’t escaped her attention that the longer this process went on, the more her initially reluctant husband had lost his inhibitions and became quite delighted with the sight of his wife spread over his desk to receive a well striped bottom.

Jane tried to do the maths in her head to work out how much longer she had to go before she had completely paid for the damage to her brand new car that her husband had given her as an early Christmas present. That was before she had stupidly wrapped it around a tree while trying to change a CD. But it was no good, she couldn’t concentrate enough to work it out as she felt a soothing hand rubbing cream over her scorching bum.

The one thing she did know was that at £2 a stroke it would take her a lot longer to pay it off, so her Christmas would be memorable and her morning was going to start over a desk.

The End

© Lorna Brand 2015


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