Alternative Uses

I was cleaning up my place earlier today so that the relatives won’t think to poorly of me when they start arriving this weekend. Under a stack of papers in my office I came across this nice maple hairbrush. I started to take it to the bedroom, when I questioned the move. Yes, I do keep combs, brushes and other grooming equipment in the bathroom attached to my bedroom, however I can’t remember ever actually using this particular hairbrush to brush hair.

Now, I know what you all are thinking; good size maple hairbrush that has never brushed hair, it must have a more impactful purpose. You would be sadly wrong. This poor little brush has never been fortunate to feel the soft tenderness of a naughty one’s bottom. A quick smack against my palm provided it could do the job, if it was ever allowed the opportunity.

But I don’t see that in the future. You see, this hairbrush has thick boars hair bristles, which happens to make it work perfectly for removing lint. Yes, I have a hairbrush that I only use to remove lint from my business suites and such. It may be a sad life for the hairbrush, but I don’t dare use it for anything else, since it works so well as a lint remover, and a good quality lint remover brushes are kind of expensive.

So I return the brush to the shelf in my closest thinking about the alternative uses for our many of the household items. Some are innocent, some are naughty and some are just down right sad.

One Thrown Pompom

“HILLARY!” echoed Coach Windsor’s voice through the locker room. Every other girl in the locker room looked first at their coach, then straight to the back, where the sophomore cowered near her locker. “GET YOUR ASS UP HERE, NOW!”

A collective gasp spread among the girls as they realized their normally reserved coach had just swore. “Butterscotch” and “Frankfurter” where her favorite replacement words when things went wrong. Freshman always would giggle every time she said such a word, though the squad leaders made sure the giggles never progressed past the first practice.

Hillary’s squad mates forced the anxious cheerleader, rather forcefully towards the front of the locker room, and their coach. She tried to hold her ground, but the cotton socks offered no traction on the tiled floor.

“What was that out there?!” Coach Windsor yelled.


“Sorry is not going to cut it! Your stunt cost us the game!”

“But it was an accident!”

“Who flicks their risk when shaking their pompoms?” Windsor asked rhetorically. “NO ONE! You did it INTENTIONALLY!”

“No I swear, it was an accident.”

“Don’t even dare lie to me. We all know it was intentional. They may be our rivals, but no girl of mine will act in such a disgraceful manner. Pack your bags, you are off the squad!”

“No! Please! I can’t get kicked off! Anything but that!” Hillary dropped to her knees and with clasped hands pleaded for mercy.

“Oh, get up girl, and quit making a fool of yourself.” Windsor tried pulling her up by her shoulders, but the sophomore was too heavy to pickup without her help.

“Please, you don’t understand! I’ll do anything to stay on the squad. I can not get kicked off!”

In sixteen years of coaching cheerleaders, Coach Windsor had thought she had seen everything. But interfering with a game and then the scene this girl was making in front of the whole squad was new. She was about to reinforce her previous pronouncement when a glisten on Hillary’s face caught her eye. The girl was crying, as was expected, but her eyes were filled with sorrow, not the expected despair of a girl trying to cry her way out of a consequence. A voice inside the coach’s head kept repeating this was different and something was wrong.

“Get in my office now!” Windsor commanded, pointing her left index finger at the office door. In a flash, Hillary was on her feet and inside the small, glassed-wall room.

Windsor closed the door as she entered and immediately started with the questions, “What is going on? Why can’t you be kicked off the team?”

Hillary looked down at her hands where they fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt. She contemplated what to tell her coach. How much of the details to include and whether the coach would believe any of it. Well, the truth is always stranger than fiction.

“I…I’ll have to drop out.” Hillary mumbled.

“What? You are the only one on the squad with an academic scholarship and your on the deans list.” Windsor was puzzled by the obvious lie presented. “Thinking about it, you are probably the only reason the squad isn’t on academic probation. Leaving the team is not going to force you to drop out.”

“But, but, I will have to leave school!”

“Stop lying, being off the squad is hard, but not the end of the world,” Windsor said before turning to open her door so she could escort the girl out.

“I’m not lying. My parents will force me to drop out!” Hillary cried.

Windsor paused with her back to the cheerleader and rubbed her left temple. She could feel a headache already forming and it did not look like she would be able to do anything about it. Facing the glass door, and the dozen pair of eyes focused on her office, Windsor gave the girl one last chance to explain. “Why will your parents force you to drop out?”

“Because they didn’t want me to come here in the first place. They wanted me to go to the small liberal arts college near them, not here. They worry about me being so far away from home. And….and… they only reason they let me come here is because I made the cheerleading squad and the college near them doesn’t even have an athletic department. So if I’m not on the squad I’ll have to drop out.”

Coach Windsor turned to face Hillary. She had heard some really interesting excuses over the years, but this one was a whole different kind of strange. “I really don’t..” The look of utter fear in Hillary’s eyes cut the coach off. “Miss Shah, sit,” the coach said as she went for her own chair behind the desk.

Hillary quickly took a seat and leaned forward, anxiously waiting for her coach’s next words. She hoped they would be involve some alternative to being kicked off the team.

Windsor tapped her nails on the desktop a couple of times as she carefully contemplated her words. “So let me get this correct. You parents only allowed you to come to the university because you earned a spot on the cheerleading squad as a freshman. And now, if you leave the team, they will force you to drop out and go to school back home?”

“Yes, if they allow me to still go to college.” Hillary answered, inadvertently adding the last part. Not being allowed to continue her education was her underlying fear. Saying it made the possibility become real to the girl, bring tears to her eyes.

“Not allow you to go college?” Windsor knew the stereotypes, but she didn’t think they really existed anymore. At least not in America. “Your parents are really that controlling?”

“Yea,” Hillary said as she tried to blink away the water in her eyes.

Windsor considered the implications of allowing Hillary to stay on the team. She would definitely receive flack from Coach Roberts let alone the AD. They both would demand Hillary’s removal; if not her own. She would have to substitute a big, flamboyant punishment for the proposed dismissal, otherwise least they view the sanction as inadequate and force Hillary’s removal. But what should the punishment be?

“So, what do you think is an adequate alternative punishment?”

The girl’s face visibly lighted as the coach’s words sunk in. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t know, but I’ll do anything!”

“That is the problem. All the typical ways you girls are punished would be viewed as way too light for your actions.” Windsor paused to think for a moment, slowly directing her stare upwards at the blank ceiling. The plain tiles of the drop ceiling often offered her a blank canvas where her mind could release its creativity. This time her thoughts only had a second before she was distracted by movement in her periphery. The rest of the squad was still starring at her office. “What if we ask the rest of the squad for suggestions?”

Hillary hesitated for a moment, trying to find a good alternative to her coach’s suggestion. When it accepted she had nothing, she answered, “ah, OK.”

Windsor got up and led the cheerleader out in to the locker room where the rest of the girls gathered around. “Hillary has made a very convincing argument to stay on the squad, and I have reluctantly agreed to allow it. HOWEVER, she does deserve to be punished, and since leaving her on the team may result in consequences for the squad as a whole, I thought it only appropriate for you to determine her punishment. Any suggestions?”

“Laps?” One girl offered.

“Community services?” Came another offer.

“Cleaning the locker room and our stuff?” Someone in the back shouted out.

“Spanking?” Lea offered sarcastically.

“OK.” Hillary chirped up before more suggestions could be offered.

“What? I was just kidding.” Lea said.

“Oh….” Hillary responded, embarrassed at her misunderstanding.

“That would be highly inappropriate,” Windsor added.

“Oh, yea, I guess so,” Hillary said sullenly.

“But it’d be great to see!” came a shout from the back.

“And definitely be a real punishment!” another girl added.

“Why can’t we?” someone shouted.

“Yea!” echoed a chorus of girls.

Windsor could feel her headache returning. She knew all the legal implications really just meant the paperwork would be substantial. Inappropriateness didn’t matter as much as consent, and the lack of coercion. Neither issue seemed to be relevant. Moreover, it could serve the purposes of this unfortunate situation, if Coach Roberts and the AD thought it was sufficient. “But how do I prove to Coach Roberts and the Athletic Director that Hillary has been sufficiently punished for her antic?”

The question quieted the locker room for few moments. The obvious answer was to simply show them the spanking, or at least the evidence of the spanking, however the girls were concerned this might be too much for Hillary or their Coach and kill the prospect of seeing their teammate spanked.

Rachelle looked around at her teammates and could tell this duty fell on her shoulders as squad captain. Being a leader is hard, she thought before stepping forward. “We could show them. Afterwards, you could take her to the basketball team’s locker room and show Coach Roberts him Hillary’s spanked butt.”

Hillary’s blush started showing vividly across her olive skin, though she offered no protest.

The coach looked down at Hillary, then back at the rest of the squad. “This is insane,” she thought. Insane, but it might work. With a shake of her head, she asked, “Hillary, you think it would be fair and appropriate?”

“Ah…hmmm…yea.” Hillary mumbled.

“Are you sure?” Windsor asked. “I do not want you to feel you are being pressured into this.”

“No, its OK,” Hillary mumbled.

“OK. Girls get your showers while I get some paperwork drawn up,” Coach Windsor waved off the squad. Returning to her office, she wondered if this would actually work, and more importantly, when this blew up in her face, if her father would still welcome her at his firm. He never really supported her decision to coach cheerleading instead of coming to work at his firm after school. She was, thought, now thankful he had convinced to keep her license current. It wouldn’t be that bad of a fallback career.

Windsor did a quick online search for some boilerplate language to include in the wavier and found an alarming large amount of samples. She had hoped for an example, not a couple dozen that she quickly found. The multitude of contracts did made creating a reasonably sound waiver quick. She printed off a couple of copies as the last of the girls returned from the showers.

Standing at her office’s threshold, she motioned for Hillary to join her in the office. The sophomore obey.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Windsor asked, holding the wavier in her hands.

Hillary took a deep breath, welling up the little little confidence she had remaining, then still answered with a hesitant “Yes ma’am.”

“OK, then I need you to read and sign these, saying you agree to this punishment, are not being coerced into it and fully understand that it involves corporal punishment and display of your bare bottom.”

Hillary didn’t even both to respond, simply taking the offered pen and signing the documents without reading them. “Foolish kid, not reading a contract,” Windsor thought as she pointed out where a signature or initial was required.

Once the paperwork was completed, the coach led the way back into the locker room. The rest of the squad instantly got silent and huddle around the coach. “OK, so this is how it will work. Hillary is going to bend over the table here and you each will spank her five times. Afterwards I will take her to show Coach Roberts. Understand?”

Rachelle raised her hand, “Coach, may one of us hold her hand during it?”

The question surprised Windsor. She thought the girls might be overly harsh on their teammate, not caring and compassionate. “Yes, that would be nice. Any other questions?” No one reacted. “Good. Now does anyone else have a hairbrush?”

“I do,” said Lea as she fetched a heavy plastic number from her locker. It was the shape of a traditional wooden oval hairbrush, except made of high-density polyethylene with plastic quills.

“That’ll work,” Windsor said, taking the implement from Lea. “Rachelle would you organize your squad?”

Rachelle quickly organized the squad in order of seniority, with the newest squad members at the front of the line. She then took Hillary by the hand, as if she was leading a young child across the street, and lead the sophomore to the aforementioned table. Hillary was gently bent over the table, so her forearms rested on the cold surface. Rachelle made sure she was as comfortable as possible before turning to the coach.

“Is this OK?” Rachelle asked Windsor.

“Hmm,” Windsor paused in her response, trying to think if something was missing, primarily from her liability standpoint. Hillary mistook the hesitation as a sign that she was not prepared correctly, and immediately shed the towel wrapped around her torso. “No.” Windsor finished, before she realized Hillary was naked.

“OK. Ivanka, you are first,” Rachelle announced. Windsor handed over the hairbrush as the freshman moved behind Hillary. Rachelle stood to the side of the table, taking Hillary’s hands in her own. “Are you ready?” she asked Hillary.

“Yea,” Hillary said with a deep breath.

Thuack! Hillary grunted as the hairbrush bashed into her bottom. The process was repeated four more times by the freshman, drawing a grunt each time.

“You are going good,” Rachelle comforted Hillary before nodding to the next cheerleader.

Another 5 swats of the hairbrush bashed into Hillary’s bottom, earning her punisher with 5 grunts. The process repeated over and over, as all of the underclassmen took a turn. By the time the first senior was up, Hillary was really feeling the sting generated by the hard plastic, but had yet to really cry out at any single swat.

Kelsey was the first of the three seniors to take a turn. She was the only squad member to be a dual athlete, also being a member of the varsity tennis team. She spun the hairbrush in her hand, as if it was her tennis racket before taking up a solid forehand stance. She had to suppress a broad grin as she admired the red bottom presented before her.

THUACK! “AAAHEEEEEEEEEEE!” Hillary squealed as the hairbrush ricochet off her the lower right cheek, continuing at an upward arch until parting ways with her flesh near the crown of bottom.

THUACK! “AAAHEEEEEEEEEEE!” Hillary squealed again as Kelsey repeated her first stroke on the left side.

Kelsey repeated the hard swats again for each cheeks, increasing Hillary’s level of distress each time.

THUACK! “GRRRRRAAAAAHHH!” Hillary cried out as hairbrush impacted squarely on the intersection of her legs and bottom. She bounced on the table, trying to wiggle free from Rachelle’s grip, but physics and raw strength were on the senior’s side.

Kelsey had been always been taught to follow through with her swings in tennis and made sure she applied the principle to spanking Hillary. The force of her swat was only partially absorbed by sophomore’s cheeks and slim thighs, allowing the brush to just reach the poor girl’s nether lips.

“Your turn Sam,” Kelsey said handing off the hairbrush, giving the girl a sly grin.

Sam looked over the maroon bottom presented to her, looking for missed areas. She quickly found two perfect targets and took up position to Hillary’s right.

Being the only left handed squad member, she intended to provide an unique experience to the sophomore.

THUACK! “Ahhh Ahhhh Ahhhh Ahhh Please not there!” Hillary yelped in ragged breaths as the sting set into the top of her right thigh. Quickly a dark red oval appeared on the olive skin.

Sam disregarded the pleas, instead providing the other thigh a matching mark. Hillary flexed her quads, trying to dissipate the intense sting.

Sam waited for the girl to settle down before providing two quick reinforcements to her previous swats. Hillary yelped through her tears as the sting was redoubled in her thighs.

Sam waited only long enough for her target to stop swaying before attempting to out do Kelsey’s final swat. Hillary’s reaction to the hard upward swat at the juncture of legs and bottom was slightly muted when compared to the first time, however it was strictly due to exhaustion than a lack of intensity.

Rachelle waited until Hillary settled down before letting go of her wrists. She took the hairbrush from Sam and got in position behind her target before pausing for a moment and leaning over the crying girl. “Are you ever going to pull a stunt like that again?” She whispered in Hillary’s ear. The girl vigorously shook her head while trying to say “no,” through her sobs.

“Good!” Rachelle mumbled to herself as she stood up. She lightly rested her left hand on Hillary’s lower back and pulled back her right arm. As if in an instant, Rachelle delivered four quick swats, one to each of the targets focused on by her fellow seniors. She had to push down hard just above Hillary’s tailbone to keep her in place as prepared to deliver the final stroke exactly as Kelsey and Sam had.

THUACK! “Ahhh Ssaaa Ahhhh Saaa AAhh Ahhh!” Hillary cried out between hiccups and sobs. Rachelle removed her hand, allowing the girl to wiggle about on the table as her hands shot back to comfort her bottom.

“OK girls, Hillary has accepted her punishment. Get changed and get going.” Coach Windsor dismissed the cheerleaders before helping Hillary up. The girl quietly cried on the coach’s shoulder for a few minutes as she regained her senses.

Windsor found it odd that Hillary prompted the trip down the hall, albeit after she had returned her uniform, sans panties. Coach Roberts was furious when Windsor and Hillary entered his office though a few quick words by Windsor made him speechless. Hillary bent partially over and showed her bruising bottom with a flick of her skirt. Then the two women were gone as quickly as they had appeared, though leaving a considerably less angry coach in their aftermath.

“I have got to ask, why did you accept being spanked by the girls? That was brutal. I couldn’t have done it.” Windsor asked Hillary as they slowly made their way back to the women’s locker room.

“Ah, mom will do worse,” Hillary answered, opening the door.

Coach Windsor took the door as Hillary entered the froze as the words hit home. “Will do worse?”

End of the year craziness

So I have had to bow to some of the end of the year craziness and put my major Christmas tale on hold, probably until next year. I have a couple little stories in the works, and I’m hoping to get at least 2 out before the end of the year. Also I have a couple more parts to the Willow Groove and the Spa series which I am may have to send through the editing process if I don’t get the other works completed.

I hope life is going better…errr…slower for you all and that you get to spend the rest of the year enjoying your friends and family.

The true story of Goldie Locques – Part 3

The story begins with The true story of Goldie Locques and continues with The true story of Goldie Locques – Part 2.

The men returned shortly from their trip to the barn. The first one entered with his cloak pulled low over his eyes and carrying a full load of firewood. A light dusting of snow finished off the picturesque woodsmen look. Big, burly and stronger than an ox. The kind of man I liked.

I tried to be helpful to the attractive older Behr, whimsically snatching the top log off his stack. I severely underestimated its weight and promptly dropped it to the floor from by single hand grasp. Each log weighted more than a full bolt of cloth and my mistake took both hands to lift off the floor and carry to the reserve next to the fireplace.

As I rose with the log, the cloaked man shook his head to reveal Wendel Behr, and not the expected father. Those eyes as blue as the sky joined his gentle smile in cutting through my emotional defenses. I could feel my flush out of embarrassment, but it wasn’t the bad type of embarrassment associated with a shameful act, rather it was that innocent awkwardness feeling of a young girl confronted by her first crush. My eyes and throat required constant watering as I stood gazing at the handsome man before me. Mrs Behr’s hand helped me break my gaze though. A quick swat to my still smarting posterior provided all the focus I needed to transfer the logs from Wendel’s arms to the reserve stack, abet one log at a time.

With arms empty I immediately tried to make him more comfortable by assisting him in the removal of his cloak and coat. Sliding the flowing cloak over his shoulders provided me with a whiff of pine, sweat and something else. The something else melted my legs while spawning butterflies in my stomach. It was so wonderful and irresistible that I had to get more. I got closer to him as took his coat, being regarded with another couple sniffs of wonder.

Mr. Behr joined us as I was helping Wendel from his coat. He also carried wood, though transferred it to Wendel all at once, rather than waiting for my piecemeal approach. I was quite glad at this choice since my arms were starting to tire, and more importantly it allowed me to admire Wendel’s exercise his strength. Why had I not noticed him earlier?

I did not have much time to dwell on the question, with Mrs. Behr immediately demanded my attention in finishing the preparations for supper. A few bowls, spoons and a large pot of porridge soon decorated the table. Alongside the table stood two long benches which served as chairs. Mr. Behr and Wendel sat on one bench, while I gingerly took a seat across from Wendel. It was hard not squirming when my bottom made contact with the hard wood, but I pride and attraction prevented me from show him anything was wrong. I am an adult lady and a spanked bottom was not very ladylike, even if he had performed such earlier.

Over dinner, the Behr’s peppered me with questions. Initially it was just simple things like what was my name, where was home, and why was I out on the road alone. All questions I had previously answered multiple times during my journey. Eventually the questions became harder, focusing on my family’s business and religion. No one had yet to ask about either subject, causing me to stumble through my lie filled responses.

During the entire meal, Mr Behr sad barely five words; four of which were “yes please” and “thank you.” Consequently, when he directed his attention to me I was startled.

“Miss Locques, you seem like a nice young lady,” Mr. Behr said. “You vocabulary and manners indicate you were brought up in a good household, where a girl is taught the difference from right and wrong, and where one is responsible for their actions.” He told me directly. “I try to run good household also. I know Wendel here said you stay here while the storm passed, and I have no problem with you staying here for as long as you wish, but you will obey the rules of this household. I doubt they are much different than your parent’s household. Do you want to continue staying here?”

“Yes, Sire,” I answered, uneasy where he was going with this line of statements. I did not really have much of a choice, and everyone at the table knew it.

“Then do you have anything you would like to tell me?” He asked.

I shifted my eyes over to Wendel, who had started to become more animated. He look nervous and also a little scared by the direction of his father’s questions. I doubt he would have been scared, had he said something about our little encounter upstairs. I had never left Mrs. Behr’s side since the trip over the table, so this was about something else. But I could not think of anything else I had did wrong. With as much confidence I could muster, I answered, “Ah…No sir.”

“I know Wendel let out some details when he said you were caught in the storm and asked for shelter. You broke into our house and he was only doing what he thought was the honorable thing, and protect you by leaving out those details.” I was playing with my hands as he revealed what he knew. “You probably even thanked his generosity with kiss.” This statement caused me to blush and I thought back to laying over Wendel’s lap in a very unladylike manner. I wish it had just been a kiss.

“Pa, she was cold and stranded outside in the storm. No one was here and she was just trying to protect herself. Please do not be mad at her.” Wnedel interrupted. I just swooned over him more as he became my valiant knight trying to defend his damsel.

“I can forgive that, the storm was coming and a city girl like you probably feared for your life. Then there is the issue of you stealing food.” How did he know about that? Mrs Behr had not said anything to him about it. I glanced in her direction and she seemed as surprised as me.

“But I can not forgive you sitting her and intentionally lying to us. I know you are not from Munich. There are no Locques in Munich. The only Locques I know of are in Hamburg,” He continued.

The older man’s glare burned right through to my soul. Unlike like the couple other times I had been caught in a lie during my journey, it hurt. I felt like I had betrayed their trust after they had been so nice. There was something in his tone that reminded me of my father when I was a little girl. A mixture of caring, compassion and disappointment. It hurt deep inside.

“When I was younger, I would do business with your grandfather when I was up that way. I do not know why you lied to us, but I you knew it was wrong.” Mr Behr paused to let the words soak in.

Wendel and Mrs. Behr craned their neck towards me at the revelation. I opened my mouth to respond, but my tongue refused to work. A hundred responses flowed through my mind, but I could not speak any of them.

Mr Behr then let the hammer fall. “You and I are going to spend some time with my strap in the barn, or you can leave this house and never come back again. After which you will be repent for all the sins you have committed on this holy day, including breaking my chair outside.”

“What? No, please!” I instinctively pleaded. “You cannot throw me out into that!” I pointed to the window where snow started to pile on the sill.

“I am not throwing you out, I am giving you a choice, stay her and pay for your sins or leave on your own regard.”

“You can’t do that to a lady!”

“A lady takes responsibility for her actions, you are not much more than a grown child.”

“But….but….but” I couldn’t think of anything else. I put up my hands like they would protect me, even though my backside would was more in need of protecting.

“I can see what your answer is. Wendel you mind lending Miss Locques your coat for a little bit?” Mr. Behr asked his son.

“No sir.” Wendel said, shooting me a compassionate frown.

The storm outside was not the only one brewing as I was dressed and dragged out the door. I tried resisting, but no one took them seriously, least of all Mr. Behr. My emotions were a complete mess; with everything from the embarrassment of my upcoming situation, to the shame of my lies to my infatuation for Wendel all swirling around inside.

Before long Mr. Behr and myself inside the narrow room adjacent to the barn. Two cords of split wood were neatly stacked from floor to ceiling along one wall while some cut boards and other tools lined the other wall. A large cutting block sat near the doors we entered while a pair of heavily reinforced sawhorses sat in front of the doors at the opposite end of the room.

“You even been taken to the woodshed?” Mr Behr asked, shaking snow from his cloak.

“No sir,” I managed to say as I was escorted towards the sawhorses. Each had a sallow curve cut into the top, presumably to hold a log in place while it was being cut. This shallow curve though was where my hips were destined to lie.

“Well, it’s a place were you’ll learn to follow the rules,” Mr. Behr said as moved one of the sawhorses away from the wall then took the coat from my shoulders. The cold air in the woodshed sent a shiver though my body. I did not have much time to complain, as he unceremoniously bent me over the sawhorse.

I stayed there looking at the dirt floor for a moment, while I my response. Should I plead forgiveness, beg for mercy or protest these barbaric actions? The latter probably wouldn’t work, though the former two might. He was a man after all.

My thoughts where interrupted when he tossed my skirts over my back, revealing my bloomers. I squeaked in protest, though he didn’t care as he unfastened the flap buttons, revealing my bare posterior. The cold air reaching such an intimate location startled me. I instantly tensed everything down there, which only reignited the previous tingling I had felt when gazing at Wendel.

“What…no..I..” I tried protesting but nothing that came out made sense. Mr Behr said something, which I did not understand due to my focus on getting my tongue to work correctly.

I have felt the slap of a palm, the wail of a hairbrush and even the bite of the junior cane, but nothing compared to the explosion of that strap. It was, well indescribable. I doubt childbirth even hurt that much.

The second stroke shot stars through my eyes. I tried to claw myself upright while I cried out in pain, but a strong hand on my lower back gently held me in place. That really messed up my head. How could someone creating such a barbarian act with that strap have such a compassionate touch? He didn’t allow me much time to dwell on the question, as the third stroke refocused my attention on my poor bottom.

I wailed like a banshee for the rest of the punishment. Something in my mind replaced the whole experience with a simple memory; DO NOT EVER DO THAT AGAIN! I am glad, because I probably would have had nightmares, even if I deserved it.

“Pa, can I take her to my room and let her rest there?” Wendel asked as he took his coat.

“Go ahead.”

Wendel lead me to his room and gently laid me on his bed. He left me there for a few moments as he left the room, returning with a jar in hand. He closed the door before asking if he could lift my skirts. I was crying to much to really answer and must have nodded my head, because the next thing I realize was my skirts were over my back and my bloomers were around my knees. I didn’t really care about modesty at the moment, especially since the cool air felt good on my hot bottom.

“Eekks!” I cried out when Wendel touched his cream covered fingers to my bottom. The cream was much colder than the air, and helped temper the fire I felt there. He rubbed it around and around, working it into the bruised muscles before getting another dose. His slow gentle motions, mixed with my emotional exhaustion and a light humming by him, lulled me to sleep.

I woke up the next morning feeling at peace for the first time in months. Mr. and Mrs. Behr treated me like their own daughter and I tried to help out as much as I could. The storm had passed during the night, giving way to a bright sun dancing across the snow covered hills. It looks so peaceful and pretty. I wished everything would stay like this forever.

Wendel spent the rest of the winter courting me, with us enjoying each others company more than once. After Christmas, Pa Behr, as I took to calling him, put me under Wendel’s care, which including teaching me the realities of a farm and providing adequate discipline as needed. After Easter, Wendel, and I made the trip north, to see my parents and for him to ask my hand in marriage. My two week journey south on foot took less than a day to cover on horseback. It was a long trip on horseback, especially since I had spent the previous evening with Wendel in the woodshed. It was not all bad though. His touches afterwards were always delicate.

Mother and father were happy to see me, and even happier when Wendel ask for permission to wed. I know father would have preferred my previous suitor, but accepted Wendel. The land Wendel brought help……


Southey flipped the page and found only water logged blurs. What about the land and wealth brought to the marriage? There was nothing else legible in the entire journal. He grabbed another book from the chest to find it filled with random recipes. The next book was an almanac. The next, a hymnal. None of the rest of the books were journals.

He slumped down beside the chest as he flipped through the journal. He had never known any of this about his grandparents. Even so, it would not help his current financial problems. He shook his head in disappointment as he looked over the books spewed about. One of the titles caught his eye, “The Works of William Shakespeare.”

The story in the journal was intriguing, what if he retold it? “The story of Goldie Locques and the Three Behrs,” he said to himself. “I’ll need to change a few details, but it could work as a child’s tale.”

Updates and such

I was looking at my calendar for the next month and realized, like most people, it is almost full already. This really doesn’t mean much more than updates may be a little sporadic until 2014. I am currently finishing up the Goldie Locques story and working on the concept map for a Christmas special. The real problem is currently the Christmas special is set to be  long. Really long actually. It also seems to be lacking that secondary message, which converts an handful of entertaining spinets into a good story. Maybe I need to watch more Christmas movies for some inspiration. Thought a dozen since Thursday is probably enough.

I like holidays. It is nice to be able to set work aside and relax without the guilt of someone else working while you are away, because everyone is avoiding work. Well, everyone outside of the retail and those stuck dealing with the health care website. Having worked for the federal contracts, I feel sorry for all those programmers who are getting the short end of the stick.

Lastly, I notice a tradition that I suspect might be dying out in America. When I was a kid, it was standard practice for everyone to tell something which they were thankful for during Thanksgiving dinner. This year I took note that it did not happen, and then looking back it hasn’t happened in years actually. It was kind of a silly thing to do, but it occurred ever year, no matter where we had Thanksgiving dinner. Now it feels like the next generations are missing out on simple little traditions because our generation thought they were silly, or we are just plain lazy. What will be next? Telling Santa what you want for Christmas?