Her Secret Life, Part Three

Hello Out There In Spanko Land!

How are you guys today? I’m a bit overwhelmed. Got relatives here from Montana and this weekend I MC a music and art festival. Since I’ve MC’d this festival for the past 17 years, I have the routine down. However, this year, I will not have my co-MC—whom I NEED—nor will I have my back-up MC, the guy who runs the music part of the festival and jumps up on stage when I’m busy with the other million things I do. While I tapped a good friend to help me with the stage stuff, she doesn’t have the experience. And on Sunday, the local thrift store, run by a children’s organization hosts a thrift store fashion show and I have to extemporize for forty-five minutes plus. Normally, my co-MC takes the lead and I make snarky comments. But this year, that whole forty-five minutes is on my shoulders and to put it mildly, I’m freaking out. This is the second time in one summer where I’m being thrown on stage in front a huge audience with almost no rehearsal. AND I just found out that 30 classmates from high school will be attending the festival. No pressure. None at all.

Sheesh. And with the relatives here with their two kids (four and seven) we’ve been slammed. I’m already exhausted. But oh, well, the show must go on.

And poor Hubby. Last night the family left to go to their hotel, I just finish cleaning the house and putting away the toys and he comes looking for sex. I just stared at him. “Are you out of your FUCKING mind? I haven’t done one thing for myself today, haven’t had a chance to sit once and now you want SEX????” He said, “Well, yeah, you need to do something nice for yourself.” “I’m doing it!” I replied. “Oh.” Very sweet sentiment, but Jesus, what bad timing. Men don’t seem to understand that when you’ve served people all day long and taken zero time for yourself, another request, no matter how nice it is, makes you want to SCREAM. And my head is full of four-year-olds and seven-year-olds and all the stuff I have to do at the festival. Which pretty much KILLS my sex drive. I assured him next week will be different. Next week, I write my spanking stories. And that’s pretty much guaranteed sex.

But still. I have no idea how mothers of children ever find the time or energy or desire to screw. Children are their own form of birth control. And so is being over-committed.

I can’t wait until next week.

Hope all you lovely people have a great weekend. Think of me on a stage somewhere, making an ass out of myself.

Hugs to you all,
Michelle

Gary walked over to her laundry hamper and opened it up. He withdrew her red baseball shirt and sent her a glare.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Me, what?” she asked as innocently as she could.

“Don’t! Just don’t. Tell me, I want to hear you say it.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“It was you I chased, wasn’t it? You who threw herself in front of that train.”

“Uh…”

Gary’s face flushed red. It almost matched his hair. He walked right over to her. “I obviously need to make some things clear to you,” he said.

He sat next to her, grabbed her and pulled her across his lap. He couldn’t. She was a grown woman, wasn’t she? He wouldn’t be… spanking her, would he?

As if in answer to her mental question, she felt her sweats and panties being pulled to her knees. The air rushed over her exposed behind.

“Gary, what—“

Whack! Gary smacked her full force on the butt with his large open hand. The pain shocked her. She gasped, unable to breathe. He whacked her again, harder this time.

“Gary, stop! I’m sorry!”

“Not yet, you aren’t! But by the time I’m through with you, you sure as hell will be!”

He slapped her ass with gusto. Her buns were on fire. How could this be happening to her? This wasn’t right. People didn’t spank people when they were bad. Not adult people. She hadn’t even been spanked as a child; her parents didn’t believe in it. This was shocking. It was the first time she’d ever really had a consequence for one of her actions. Mind-blowing.

Not to mention extremely painful. But through the pain and tears, something else was clear. This man cared about her. Really, truly cared about her. Doubly shocking. A guy who cared about her this much? To actually be spanking her? Trying to get some sense into her?

She had to admit, jumping in front of the train was stupid. She’d been a split second away from death. She supposed his treatment was somewhat appropriate.

Even though the man was barbecuing her ass. She wasn’t sure she’d ever sit down comfortably again.

Soon, Heather had enough. She began to fight him. She tried to claw her way across the bed, but Gary’s arm was like an iron bar across her back. The more she struggled the harder he hit her. His hand felt like a flat piece of wood impacting her poor behind.

Gary finally stopped. Probably because he was worried that the neighbors would call the police due to all the cries of pain coming out of her. She continued bawling, absolutely torn by conflicting emotions. She was furious he’d dared to spank her, encouraged because it might mean that he really loved her, and moreover, worried that he’d find out all the other stuff about her. What would he do if he found out she’d lied about her career? About her pot smoking? Would he spank her again that hard? Or would he just leave her?

She suddenly realized that she didn’t want him to leave her. As much as the spanking upset her, this was a guy she realized that she actually cared about. She cared about what he thought of her. It had never been like this before.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, the spanking’s over.” He kissed her on the temple, reached up and wiped away some tears.

“I’m sorry.”

“I wish you would have stopped,” Gary said. “You’re his friend, it was fine that you were there. I know you. I know you had nothing to do with his stupid blog.”

“He’d just told me. He’s no danger to society. He’s an idiot.”

“We got that. We still had to haul him in with the war on terror and all, but he’ll be released soon.”

“Good, good.”

“So why did you run?” he asked.

“I… uh. I… don’t know.”

He examined her, almost looking through her. Never date a cop. Now all his detective antennae were turned onto her. This was bad. She always counted on the fact that most men lived inside their own heads. This guy just jumped out of his own and into hers. He could easily find out everything. She could be in big trouble.

“What did Melvin tell you?” she asked.

“Nothing. Actually, not even your name. I found the keychain and then tricked him into telling me you were there. Plus there are only about twenty pictures of you with him all over his walls. That was kind of a big clue there.”

“Crap.”

“Honey, why did you run? The only thing I could figure was that you were stoned and paranoid.”

She blinked. She didn’t know what to say. Anything she said could and probably would be used against her. In his court of law. Why did she have to fall in love with an FBI agent? Why? Why?

“Honey, I won’t break up with you. Were you smoking pot or not at his house?”

She stared at him. “I’d rather not answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

“Is it a once in awhile thing, or do you do this regularly?” he asked, appearing concerned.

“Uh… do we have to talk about this?”

“No, but I would hope that you’d just be open with me about yourself. I don’t like you hiding parts of yourself from me. You’re safe with me. I love you.”

“I… Not today, I just don’t want to talk about it now.”

“Why did you jump the train? Are you that afraid of me?”

“No,” she lied.

“I think there’s somethin’ else going on here. You don’t feel safe with me.”

“I feel totally safe with you.”

“But you’re not being honest with me.”

“Look, just because I don’t want to talk about something doesn’t mean I’m lying. I don’t want to talk about it because I don’t want to lie.”

Gary thought for a moment. He sighed. “Look, I want this to go further, our relationship. But to do that I need to know all of who you are. Everything.”

She had nothing to say. She hadn’t counted on this at all. She’d never had a relationship work before. What was she supposed to do?

©2010, Michelle Carlyle