This is a story I wrote last month and had scheduled to be posted the night before Halloween, however I somehow messed up the scheduling aspect and it was never posted. So here is a little belated Halloween story.
Halloween is the best holiday of the year. There is no debating it. There is a slight chill in the air, revitalizing you after long hot summer. Couple that with the parties, the decorations and the sweets and you have a spectacular month of celebrations. And, it is the only time of the year where you can dress up as a complete slut and no one gives you a second look. Well, the creepy guys do, but they always do. Whether you are naughty nurse with two tiny strips of fabric covering the vital areas or a frumpy mother of two with no makeup and in baggy sweats.
All of those points are just icing on the cake to the best part of Halloween, pranks. The “treat” portion of trick or treating is good, but the trick portion is much, much better. There are few things better in life than pulling of the perfect prank. The culmination of a hundred little steps in the look of shock is unlike anything else. The receiver of my pranks where not as always so receptive. As a kid, I just assumed I was grounded from Halloween until about Thanksgiving, and every year it was worth it.
This year I had one of my better pranks planned out. George was going to be out of town on business the week of Halloween, not to return until the morning of the first, which meant the kids were mine. I had yet to pull any of my master pranks on the kids, but it seemed right year to indoctrinate them.
Being four and six, they had yet to understand the intricacies of this wonderful holiday, and instead focused just on the candy. Will had been planning his costume since labor day, building a really good replica of R2D2 out of a trashcan, just some cardboard, paint and a bunch of his dad’s help. George had somehow gotten a copy of the original plans for the studio and helped him build it exactly like the movies.
I took Friday off work to attend Gina’s class party in the morning and then Will’s in the afternoon. They both looked so adorable. Gina had choose a little Cinderella dress with matching plastic “glass” slippers. I swear, half the girls in her class chose to one of the two characters from Frozen. Her party went pretty much as expected, especially when any “sweets” were banned and replaced fruit and veggies. The other mothers actually made a bigger fuss than the kids.
Gina tagged along to Will’s party, which he didn’t particularly like, but it didn’t cause any harm. Will’s class allowed sweets, but only ones acceptable to all kids. This meant gluten free, sugar free, peanut free, round pieces of cardboard were handed out as “cookies.” I almost bust out laughing at the face Gina made when she tried one. Ever the miss manners, she struggled to finish the horrible desert.
After school the kids wanted to immediately go trick or treating, and were quite annoyed when they had to wait three hours, as well as eat dinner. We spent about an hour walking around the neighborhood, with them trying to get candy from every house, insignificant of the porch light being on. At the end, Will wanted to continue, even through he was starting to struggle with carrying his heavy bag of candy.
I poured the candy from their two bags into one big pile on the kitchen island. Holding the big bowl in my left hand, I quickly picked out the good pieces around the edges. Will and Gina watched with baited breath while I sorted out the good candy and the suspicious pieces. I was about a third of the way done when I sat the bowl between them and said “OK, you can choose one piece to eat tonight.”
I turned my head to sort out a few more good pieces and when I looked back, both of the kids were chomping away. I had to glance around the bowl to make sure they had actually removed the wrapper before inhaling the sweet.
After sorting out the suspicious stuff, including a tiny baggie of cut celery, I carefully placed the overflowing bowl into the oven for safe storage. Two pairs of little eyes followed their treasure all the way to it’s storage space, making sure mommy didn’t try and steal any. It was so adorable, and so perfectly naive for my upcoming prank.
After I got the kids in bed, I sent my plan in motion. I had bought a second, big blue bowl yesterday and dug it out of the closet where I had hid it. Removing their candy from the oven, I pull out an old cookie tray and lined it with aluminum foil. I then set the second bowl of candy on the try and returned it to the oven. Cranking it up to 450, I figured the bowl would be a heap of plastic in no time.
I was correct. Fifteen minutes later I had a mushy pile of blue plastic that had the slightest resemblance of a bowl. I pulled it out of the oven and decorated the top with the wrappers of the candy I had ate while waiting for the bowl to melt. It looked perfect mistake. I replaced the melted bowl in the oven when it had cooled down and went to bed, eagerly waiting for morning.
—-
“MOM! MOM! OUR CANDY!” Will yelled, as he shook me awake.
“Hu? What do you mean?” I said, not immediately realizing what he said in my semi-drozy state.
“Out candy is all gone!” Gina cried beside her brother.
My prank came back in a flash. “No, it’s just in the oven, where you saw me put it last night,” I faked rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“Com’on see!” Will tugged me down to the kitchen, barely allowing me to grab my robe along the way.
“It’s all gone,” Will blubbered, dropping to his knees in front of the open oven. The kids were not supposed to get in the oven without my permission, but that rule had been obviously overlooked before I woke up.
“Oh no, what could have happened?” I faked concern, holding my hand over my mouth to prevent the kids from seeing the grin I knew was going to be overtaking my lips soon.
Will stared at the pile of melted blue plastic, blubbering some nonsense. Gina, on the other hand had quietly stepped back from the bowl, seemly in shock. I did my best to cover the giggle I could feel building inside when I heard Gina in the living room.
“Yes 911 I need help!” Gina cried into the receiver.
“Oh shit!” I mumbled, running for the living room.
“OK, honey, just try to calm down…” I heard coming from the phone as I reached her. I immediately separated Gina and the receiver.
“Sorry, everything’s OK. My daughter just misunderstood something.”
“Ma’am, who is this?” the 911 operator demanded.
I spent the next few minutes trying to convince her that everything was ok and or disregard the crying she heard in the background. I was fearful of police showing up at any minute and busting down our front door.
After getting off the phone, I scolded Gina for her poor usage of 911 then told the kids it was all a big joke. This was the point were I started to think about George’s opinion of my prank. I tried to pacify the kids with some extra candy, but they were still annoyed with my prank that they ratted me out to George when he got home.
And that is why I am here. Nose to the corner, waiting for George to finish a few emails and come upstairs.
—-
“Come here,” George commands. I scamper over to his side, hoping to go over his knee, rather than be sent over the end of the bed. He sits down on the edge and I start laying myself over his offered lap when he stops me. “Not so fast. Does my baby know why she is being punished?”
His tone is soft and comforting, but reeks of disappointment. It sent a chill through me, and not the good, excited kind, but the “I’m scared of what is going to happen” kind. “Yes, sir” I mumble, looking down at this sock covered feet.
“Good. Then you can go over there and bend over and grab your ankles.” George motions to the center of our bedroom.
I hate getting spanked bending over and grabbing my ankles. It makes me feel like such a naughty little girl. That feeling probably came from the Halloween when we went in paired costumes; I as a naughty school girl and George as the strict headmaster. The sex that night was spectacular, even if it involved him pounding away at my freshly caned bum.
I step to the prescribed spot and reach down for my toes. The once easy task of touching my toes is hindered by my reduced flexibility from age and two children. I feel all the muscles start to strain across my thighs, then up towards the peak of my body. The skin stretches taught as I grab a hold just above my ankles before closing my eyes and waiting. I do not want to know what a waits my bottom.
The whistle of air is the only indication that he has started. I try to brace for the impact but I am a millisecond too late. As is typical, the first stroke overwhelms my senses, as it rushes from my bottom, down my spine to my brain. My eyes flash open as I try to scream, but instead I can gulp for a new breath.
I am more prepared for the second stroke, gritting my teeth and sucking in air as now recognized cane cuts into my bottom. I take the third and fourth strokes as well as the second one. On the fifth one he catches me low one the cheeks and I let out a little squeak. The sixth one is lower still and I let my displeasure with its placement be known through low, drawn-out “ouch!”
George breaks his steady pace. I can feel him moving closer to my hips and I can only think of him taking me from behind. Rather, I am hoping he will take me now. A quiver runs through my pelvis and I’m sure my hips quake.
He dances his fingertips across my stripped bottom and I clench every muscle in my pelvis. “Do you think you have been punished adequately?” George asks, dancing his fingers close and closer to my ache.
“Yessssss,” I coo, hoping he will move south.
“Well, I don’t think so. Another half-dozen seems warranted,” he says, removing his fingers. I groan at his intention to continue, but I know better than to openly complain, especially in my current position. “But first.”
“Ahhh,” I gasp as he touches me again. This is the best part of being naughty.
In Hushed Voices 