“How could we do that?” she asked.
“By sitting up together until midnight.”
“It sounds good to me,” she answered. As she made his favorite steak dinner, the whole idea seemed very good indeed. It felt even better, sitting beside him on the brocaded Queen Anne sofa, with her feet tucked under her and her head on his shoulder.
She snuggled even closer, as she realized that he had not needed to call anyone to cancel any supper plans, with any other girls. His arm slipped around her shoulder in response.
Her eyes were starting to flutter shut, when he woke her up by announcing, with his broadest grin, “It’s five minutes past midnight! It seems we’ve done it. It’s the morning after Groundhog Day now!”
* * *
She closed her eyes tight to kiss him…and opened them to find herself alone in her own bed again, listening to the same radio “shock jock” saying the same thing.
“Rise and shine…just the way my hand is rising and these lovely young ladies will soon have shining red backsides, as their gift for Groundhog Day. That’s right…your hot host is sitting in his spanking chair!”
So they hadn’t gotten it right this time, after all. She sighed with disappointment at the thought, and not just because they would have to spend the day doing all those chores again.
She had to admit it: She wished she were still sitting on the couch with Herb’s arms around her. The radio was some consolation, though. It soon got her so excited that she reached down and stroked herself again, while wondering if she could take the hairbrush from her bedside table and use it on her own backside.
Once again, she shook her head. That did not seem very satisfying. But then, neither did fixing up the house again, only to find it messed up the next time she got out of bed. She told Herb as much, the moment he walked through the door.
“We might as well leave everything the way it is,” he said, in obvious annoyance. “Even if it means staring at that brocade sofa again.”
“You might as well look at it,” she answered. “Didn’t I have to look at that ugly old cracked leather seat all these years? But then I agreed to keep it anyway.”
“Yes, you gave in just so this day would end. You never cared that I liked that chair.”
For a moment, she could only stare at him in surprise.
“How could I not have cared?” she demanded. “Didn’t I leave it where it was, where everyone could see it, all these years?”
“Only because I wouldn’t let you throw it away.”
“You wouldn’t LET me?” she demanded, stabbing her fingernail at his chest again. “Who are you to let me or not let me do anything, especially where our furnishings are concerned? That’s supposed to be the woman’s specialty, isn’t it?”
“The entire home is supposed to be the man’s castle. And so is his business office, for that matter. You insisted on having your way in both places…whether it was furnishing our own living room or setting an asking price for someone else’s house. Sometimes you even argued about it right in front of the client. That’s what finally drove me away. Anyway, those decisions should have been mine.”
“Well, that’s a very modern attitude!” she sneered. “Next you’ll say that you want to spank me for putting your ugly old things away!”
“Spank you?” he asked slowly. “It’s funny you should mention that. On the way here, I was listening to a radio program in the car…”
Now she was starting to smile. “Where he was spanking the lovely young ladies for Groundhog Day? I heard it too, in bed.”
“I thought that guy disgusted you. You said you only kept the radio tuned to that station because he made you too angry to fall asleep again, so you were forced to get up on time.”
“Well, I believed that, too,” she answered, blushing. “But that talk of spanking…the third time I heard this particular episode, it started to turn me on.”
“It did the same for me, from the first time I heard it. That’s why I didn’t mind that he kept playing it over and over again. At first, I just thought other husbands enjoyed it as much as I did. Now it seems that some of their wives did, too.”
“Herb,” she said slowly, batting her eyelashes as she looked up at him. “I think that ugly old leather chair might be good for something, after all.”
“It sure might!” he answered, as he pulled her towards it. “If that radio guy thinks HE has a spanking chair, he has nothing on us.”
She shrieked in happy mock dismay, wriggling with desire, as he threw himself into the seat and dragged her over his lap. Then he pulled her skirt up to her waist and threw her panties onto the Persian carpet. Her smile turned to a startled gasp when the first blow landed, hurting much more than she had ever expected.
“OUCH!” she cried, when his big, square right hand hit her slim right buttock cheek for the second time. “OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!” He did not answer, as his hand kept moving from one side to the other in a swift, steady pace. As thin as her backside was, she felt that each sharp smack was cutting her to the bone. The tenth time his palm landed, she shouted, “That’s enough! You can stop now!”
To her alarm, he stayed silent as the blows kept raining down. Now she was struggling desperately, but his left arm dropped across her back, holding her in place. She could feel her hair falling across her shoulders…really disheveled now, rather than just pinned up to look that way.
“OUCH!” she cried again. “That really hurt! Please stop now!” Still the spanking continued, as she shrieked, “Can’t you hear me? I was begging you to stop!”
“I hear you,” he answered, as his hand kept rising and falling. “So could all of our neighbors, if we didn’t have a one-acre lot. But I want you to hear me now. I have never stopped loving you, but I did grow to hate your bossy ways. From now on, I decide how we furnish our home…and how much we charge for our clients’ houses…and every other major choice we make. I will listen to your opinions, but then you will stop nagging about them, because the final say will be…MINE!”
At that last word, his hand came down with the greatest force of all, sending her jumping into the air as far as his restraining arm would allow.
“But, Hank, I…OW!”
“Do you agree or don’t you? Because I can keep this up as long as you keep resisting me.”
“All right, all right! I will not resist. You can keep this leather chair in this elegant parlor forever…and put the horns from a Texas steer over the mantel if you want to. And you can charge one hundred dollars for a 20-room mansion if you like. Just stop spanking me!”
“All right, I will…after I’ve smacked you ten more times, to make you remember your promise!”
“No, no! OUCH!” And his hand went relentlessly on, until the count was complete.
When it was finally finished, he lifted her into his arms, kissed her hard and carried her to the brocade sofa. She found herself clinging to him with her arms around his neck, reaching up to return his embrace.
Somehow, the pain had turned into pleasure, as her response to his complete dominance and control. Thinking of that, she knew she had always secretly longed for them, even while she fought against him…without realizing that she was fighting against her own deepest desires at the same time.
“I’m glad we’ve finally found a use for this thing,” he said, as he arranged her carefully on the padded seat. Ignoring the lingering burning pain, she reached up and pulled him down on top of her, writhing again with desire. To both of their surprise, they reached the most violent orgasm of their lives together, a moment after he thrust himself into her.
Then he went back to the leather chair and spread his legs, so she could sit facing him comfortably. Soon they were covering each other’s faces with kisses.
“So, what shall we do now?” he asked her.
“We can fix things up once more,” she answered. “I just hope we can do it again tomorrow…because I never want THIS day to end. And I never want to get rid of that chair.”
>
As he carried her upstairs to bed, he murmured, “I think we’ll always find a use for that brocade sofa, too.”
* * *
The day did end, though, in a very satisfactory way. When they woke up that morning, they were still lying in bed together and she was nestled in his arms. That stinging in her backside was definitely left over from the night before, telling her that the previous day was finally complete.
As final proof, the radio “shock jock” had a new message, too.
Both smiled as he said, “You know I am famous for spanking those lovely young ladies…”
“You’re our main man, too,” she told him. “You turned us on to spanking. I wonder if we should write and tell you so.”
“It might be a good idea,” her husband said.
In a moment, they agreed that it would be a very bad one indeed.
They jumped up in surprise as the announcer’s voice went on, “but I hope you also realize it is all in fun. We have been getting complaints from some people, and our sponsors have, too. I want to assure them all that I am not really spanking anyone…it is all just sound effects, and I don’t really have a spanking chair. Hey, I’m a modern man, too. I would never treat a woman that way.”
At that, Herb and Ginger both started laughing and fell back into each other’s arms.
The Scent of Tennessee Spring
By Chula Stone
The Scent of Tennessee Spring
by Chula Stone
"Kind of ironic, ain't it?" he stated in a matter of fact tone. "That's one job I'll never have: porter. But that's the name all right. Porter Reams. Glad to make your acquaintance." He reached his huge, calloused hand over the fence and shook the dainty one she offered. That little hand shouldn't be trying to break up ground, he thought. Look what this darn war has brought us to. Not a decent whole man in the county to do the heavy work for a sweet little creature like this here.
"And I'm Emma Wythe," she replied as she winced a bit from his too firm grip. He noticed and gentled his touch, but it was too late. He'd made her nervous and she spoke without thinking. "I'll be happy to use that pick for you and break up the ground for your Victory Garden. I know it must be difficult for you seeing as you've..." Her voice trailed off as she registered the hard look on his face. "I don't mean to give offense, sir. I was only trying to help."
He looked down at the crutch in his right hand then at the pick in his left. "The day I need a lady like you to break up ground for my garden is the day I get out my shotgun and do what I should have done years ago when I first lost this leg." He threw the pick into the frozen earth and strode away before his anger got the better of him. He'd fairly shouted the last few words at her, but the way she flinched when she saw the pick penetrate the hard-packed soil made him more angry with himself than he was with her. He'd hurt her shaking her hand and mistreated her by shouting at her, then topped it off by scaring her with his uncontrolled angry strength. Good then, he thought to himself. She'll know to stay away.
Until the county had asked everyone to start keeping Victory Gardens to help with the war effort, Porter had only put in a few cabbages and potatoes every fall. They'd last till the first hard frost, which sometimes didn't come till December. Then he'd start seedling tomatoes and plant them after the danger of frost was past. He grew a few tomatoes and cucumbers to remember Sherry by every year, but didn't bother with much else until last year, when he planted the biggest Victory garden around. With the bottom half of his right leg missing, he couldn't go over to Europe where he belonged, fighting beside his neighbors and friends, but he could at least grow food to feed their children and wives waiting at home, so that's what he intended to do.
In fact he was expanding his plot as his 1943 New Year's resolution. He'd just heard about air raids on Berlin and he knew that his buddies were probably in the thick of it all. He couldn't be there with them, but he could use every inch of the two acres his Daddy hadn't sold off to grow food. He wished now Daddy hadn't sold off the land. First off he would have it for more garden, and second he wouldn't have to deal with bothersome neighbors like that little school teacher next door. Though each house had a two acre lot, their two houses had been built rather close together to take advantage of the relatively flat hill top overlooking the gently sloping land around them. Gardens had to be carefully laid out to allow for correct drainage, but it could be done on either side of the fence. That meant that he would have to work side by side with her.
"She was only trying to be helpful, Porter," his father said the next morning when Porter told him about yesterday's incident. "And don't be giving me that look. I can't tan your hide any more, but I can tell your Momma and she'll let you have it with the skillet."
They both laughed at his joke, since his mother reached five feet if she stood on her toes, and Porter was well over six feet even when he slouched. She might give him a piece of her mind, but she'd never use the skillet for anything but Sunday's fried chicken. He ate at their house every Sunday, but kept to himself most of the week, working on cars at his garage when there was work and tending his garden when things were slow. Car fixing didn't need two legs and he was strong enough to do with one hand anything in the garden that needed doing so that his other hand was free to hold the crutch.
"If anybody's hide needs tanning, it's that little school teacher. She shouldn't be breaking up the land this early. Surely she knows it'll freeze again. And just how big a garden does she think she can handle?" He was letting a bit too much exasperation show, and his father had to hide a smile when he realized that Porter must be interested in this new neighbor.
The next afternoon found him wiping the sweat off his brow, even though the cool February day called for coats and mufflers. Working the land like this always warmed his blood and made him think of springs past. He remembered his old friends and the way they would all swim in the creek when their Momma's had all said it was still too cold. He remembered baseball games in the stubble of the winter wheat fields, when he could still run with the best of them. He remembered how Sherry's hair shone in the sweet spring sunshine and how it smelled even better than that unique and intoxicating fragrance that only blew fresh in his native middle Tennessee and only on some days in the spring. Sherry had been the gardener in the family, and he only kept a garden in her memory. When she'd been alive he'd had to take a switch to her behind more than once for working too long in that garden or for not wearing gloves and a scarf to protect herself from chiggers and ticks. Oh, what he wouldn't give to walk that garden with her on an evening and note the growth and blossomings just one more time.
While he stood a moment thinking and dreaming of his lost wife, gone now these five years, Emma came out with a brand new pick ax like the one she had seen him wielding yesterday. Now what in tarnation does she think she's going to do with that thing? Chop her own leg off so she'll look like me? He approached the fence about the time she raised the pick above her head and realized how heavy it was. She swung it downward in a dangerous arc and managed to get it all of a half inch into the cold ground.
"Miss? Not that it's any of my business, but what do you think you're doing with that? It's near as big as you are," he exclaimed as he ducked his half leg and crutch neatly through the fence then followed with the rest of himself in a practiced swing that had him standing on her side of the boards in less time than it takes to tell.
"I'm going to break up the ground in preparation for planting my garden, Mr. Reams," came her cool reply.
"And whose gonna take you to the hospital when you knock yourself out with that pick ax?"
"I didn't ask for your advice, Mr. Reams, and I'll thank you to stay on your side of the fence, if you please. You made it abundantly clear that my help was not welcome or needed yesterday. Well, your help isn't welcome or needed today." With that, she made another valiant attempt at a swing and nearly tumbled over backwards.
"Look, you don't have to heft it that high," he explained, rushing over and t
aking the pick from her with his left hand. "Watch me." He demonstrated a shorter swing and the pick penetrated the ground with a muffled thud.
"But I can't get the pick in the ground unless I let gravity help it build up some force," she explained right back. Boy, doesn't she sound just like a teacher, he thought. Next thing you know, she'll be making me write out the formula for figuring the square footage of this plot or something.
"Why do you want to get the pick into the ground anyway?" he asked her. "It's way too early for planting."
"Does spring come to your side of the fence earlier than it does to mine, Mr. Reams?" she shot back.
What was it about this little lady that got him so riled so fast? He could feel his temper rise and tried to keep it under control. Apparently she had forgotten her fear of him from yesterday and felt confident enough to sass him today. "I'm starting early to put in a huge garden, Miss Emma. You won't need near this much time to clear enough land to put in a few posies."
"I'll look forward to your posies, Mr. Reams. I intend to grow as many vegetables on as big a plot as I can. There is a war on, you know." Then she blushed bright red and put her hand over her mouth.
"Don't you dare apologize for that war comment, Miss Emma. Everybody says it and believe me, I'm aware of it. But if you think you can clear and tend all this land in a garden by yourself, you're crazy. It'd take you a month of Sunday's just to clear half this back lot here." He indicated the land with a sweep of his hand.
"Then I'm glad I started early, as I intend to sow the front lot, too," she declared as she reached for the pick.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" he said, snatching the pick out of her reach. "If you'll just hold your horses, I'll make you a deal. How 'bout my breaking up the ground for you, and you helping me with my weeding when the time comes."
"That sounds fair enough, Mr. Reams," she agreed, a bit doubtfully. She wondered if when the weeds started to sprout, he would indeed accept her help, but she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. The pick ax was dangerous and she had to admit her reach probably had exceeded her grasp when it came to turning the ground.
Monthly Maintenance: Selected Stories from Blushing Books Authors Page 4