Copyright 1998 to <mijita@newsguy.com>. Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

[Pablo Stubbs doesn't know he wrote this yet, but he did, really. Though had he been the one who typed it, it would be better no doubt. And about 2,000 words longer. <veg>]

"Show me how you do that trick, the one that makes me scream," she said. "The one that makes me laugh," she said. Threw her arms around my neck. "Show me how you do it, and I'll promise you, I'll promise that I'll run away with you."

Not Knocking This Off
by Mija

Janet W. Hardy wrote:
> Will you people please KNOCK OFF this off-topic
> posting and get back to infighting, bickering and flaming?

Will not! :b~~

And just to show I don't listen to you . . .

Last night I ironed a plaid skirt. You know the one. I wore it your last night here. It's too hot to wear it now. Too hot to iron even. But I did it anyway and hung it in my closet next to a very crisp white shirt. I shut the closet then laid face down across my bed and pulled a pillow to my chest.

In my mind I was far away.

I take a cab to the airport, pull up my knee socks and ignore the covert stares of those around me. Not at all eager to see you I'm only three hours early. I sit outside the customs gate and sip a Diet Coke, swinging my legs, thinking of my hairbrush - the one inside my backpack.

You know the one.

The one you gave me last time we met at this terminal. The satinwood one, the one that leaves oval burns, the one that's both sting and thud. My heart pounds as I see you, watch your glance take in me, my uniform, sweeping us into a look that becomes an embrace. As we touch, I'm put over your knee at the same time I pull you into my heart.

I try and speak, but there's nothing to be said. We've talked through it all over and over, desire burning expensive silence in long distance romance. I feel you pulling on my arm, leading me away, hear you hiring a car. I hear me tell you the location of the hotel. How we get there and check-in is lost amid a whirl as I stare at you, marvel at the perfection of you being so close, able to reach out and feel the cool smoothness of your hands.

You wink at me as the desk clerk hands us the card for our room. I smile and look down. When I look up again we're in the elevator and your expression is serious, your eyes look straight into mine.

My heart thuds, shaking my chest and my knees. You guide me in, hand still on my arm, pushing me into the corner, placing my hands behind my head. I hear you murmur:

"Don't move. Don't speak."

I nod and feel my skirt rise, feel you tuck it into the waistband all across the back. Feel your fingers slip inside my white cotton panties and slide all the way around. Feel you lower them to just above my knees. I feel my face flush, feel a pulse leap in my throat.

I hear you behind me, unpacking, washing in the bathroom. My movements start slowly. The gentlest swaying followed by weight shifts from foot to foot. Then there is silence behind me. Silence that lasts seconds, minutes, hours. At last I glance over my shoulder, sure you are in the bathroom again. My eyes meet yours, widen and spin back to the corner.

In an instant you're there, bend me over your arm and smack my legs and bottom with the ruler, fast and hard.

"Don't you think it's time you did as you were told?"

My promises fade to tears as the smacks continue, as I try and move away only to be held fast and then led back to the corner.

I feel perspiration slip down my back as I stand still, very very still.

At last your hands pull my panties down and then off. You lower my skirt, and take my arm again. I turn and see a chair with my hairbrush resting on the seat.

You lead me over to the chair, put the brush on the floor on the right side and sit down.

"Get across my lap, sweetheart."

My heart pounds and I consider resisting even as my body lays itself across your knees. You lift me, pulling my feet off the ground. Your hands gently fold my skirt across my back. My mouth dries and I struggle to swallow.

"I'm going to spank you with my hand for ten minutes."

Yet the spanking doesn't begin.

"And then with the brush for five. I'm not going to stop until the time is up."

Your hands gently trace the bare skin of my bottom.

Yet the spanking doesn't begin.

Pat, pat, pat. Your hand against my bottom. I feel the skin turn cold and tight despite the welts from the ruler.

"Why am I going to spank you?"

"Because I deserve it."

"Why?"

"Because you love me. Because I love you."

Your hand pauses. Rises and comes down hard. I start to squirm away from the sting. You pause, take off your watch and hand it to me.

"Ten minutes."

Long before time is reached I'm sobbing. You pause only to reach for the brush which has me weeping long before the first smack lands.

The final five minutes with the hairbrush leave me kicking and crying like a five-year-old. Through my sobs I finally realize the spanking's stopped. I feel your hand stroking, soothing.

You pull down my skirt and turn me over so I'm sitting on your lap. I bury my face in your chest, feel your arms tighten around me.

In the impersonal bland space of the the hotel room, we are finally both home.

In my room tonight, I dream of you and wait for the phone to ring.

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