Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Flash Fucktion: Monica's Quandry

Monica loved men. All types of men. Office men, construction men, police men, firemen, surly men, polite men. She loved the smell of them, the way they looked in their suits and work overalls and uniforms. She imagined the terrible, unspeakable things they would do to her if they realized what a naughty girl she was, the way sometimes she'd go out shopping downtown just to drop her handbag and bend over, knowing her skirt would rise up enough to share a glimpse of revealing stocking or—if she dared—a bit of garter.

Naughty girls could get in trouble with the right men. Men who understood that women who behaved poorly needed a certain amount of...correction. Then, kicking and screaming, a curl of a satisfied grin on her face has she did so, these sorts of men would grab her by the waist, pull her to the sofa, throw her over their firm laps and give her a proper spanking.

Monica daydreamed about it quite often. Mostly because she didn't find the "right man" nearly as often as she would prefer. Because, as far as Monica was concerned, she was more or less "naughty" all the time and needed "correcting" rather continuously, for her tastes.

She'd found a lovely Right Man named Tom. Tom had been taking good care of her behavioral issues for several months. Tom was older, but experienced, and Monica loved the feel of his hands when he spanked her. Firm, strong, thuddy. Sometimes he'd restrain her wrists while she writhed beneath him. It was heavenly.

But Tom was out of town, called away to the corporate office in Cincinnati. She had driven him to the airport to catch his morning TWA flight a few days ago, and to her surprise he had given her a spanking in the back seat of the car in the parking lot. God, she missed that man's hand. And yes, of course, she missed him, too.

He was staying in Cincinnati over the weekend, determined to see a Reds game, so Monica was feeling rather pouty earlier that day about his choices. So when she met Roger at the cafeteria at lunchtime she was smitten. Handsome, strong, blue eyes and—as she noticed before almost anything else—his large hands. The cafeteria was busy as was usually the case on a Friday, so the two ended up sitting across from one another after making small talk in the queue. Roger worked in a law office a few floors below Monica's. He lived alone with a golden retriever. He was polite but something about him made Monica draw to him like a moth to a flame. And it wasn't just those hands or piercing eyes, it was the way he seemed so decisive and intense that intrigued her.

By the end of her salisbury steak and peas Monica had blushingly given Roger her phone number, CA5-4994. And here she was, daydreaming on the sofa, a Friday night alone, her hand slowly inching toward her crotch, when the phone rang so loudly she nearly jumped out of her skin! It had to be Roger! Her mother wouldn't call until Saturday morning, as was her habit, and April had some sort of game night with the church she frequented. What if Roger was calling to ask her out? The phone rang a second time, the bell loud in her small apartment.

"But it wouldn't be right if I went out with other men while Tom's away!" Monica actually said aloud as she reached for the phone. "Hello?"

It was Roger! She felt vertiginous. What would Tom do if he found out? He wanted to go out Saturday. Nothing too serious, just a bike ride through the park and lunch. That was innocent enough, wasn't it? Nothing to feel guilty about, right?

* * *

The bike ride had been fun. The spring day was beautiful, flowers in the park in full bloom. The coffee shop made amazing egg salad sandwiches. Their conversation was pleasant.

So how she ended up over Roger's lap in his amazing bungalow was still in question. How she ended up with her skirt pulled up to her cotton panties as he smacked her bottom again and again until it the flesh was red and she was so warm she'd broken out in a full body sweat was truly a lapse of common sense. But his hands! His hands! Roger was a gentleman, even though her skirt had unceremoniously been yanked up to her waist so he could have better access to her shapely derrière. He hadn't even asked! But she loved it. Oh, how she loved it.

"I am so naughty, Roger," Monica cooed. "So very naughty."

"You are," Roger said, finishing the hand spanking and carefully lifting her to her feet. "Bend over and place your hands between the mattress and box."

"Wait. What?!" Monica exhaled. No one had told her to do this before. She wasn't prepared for something new. 

"Do it." He sounded serious. She looked at those piercing blue eyes. He was serious. Her rational mind completely gone, she stuffed her manicured nails between the mattress and box springs of his double bed. She heard a vvvvvrrrp sound. Catching a glance back, she saw him pull his belt off and he curled it in his hand, forming a loop.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, eyes wide with genuine surprise.

"Show you how naughty you truly are, young lady." And with that, Monica got her first intense strapping of her life, just as Tom jumped to his feet, spilling his red and white striped bag of peanuts onto the concrete steps of the stadium, the home team bringing in two runs to tie the game.