Bubbles

by Candace Blevins

  “And dry them. There’s a polisher thing you can use. He makes paying students who aren’t part of the club stay after and clean windows or sweep the floor if they’re late enough to disrupt class a third time. He says you’ve been late way more than three times, but never this late.”

  I started to tell him I just lost track of time, but I shut my mouth before I said the words. He gets really annoyed when I tell him that.

  “Please don’t use the belt tonight! I’ve learned my lesson!”

  “I’m not so sure you have, sweetheart. You always say you have, and you smell like you believe it, but then it happens again.” Another sigh. “And again.”

  “We’ve been back in school three weeks since the Christmas break, and I was only late twice!”

  “Drive, Lex. You aren’t helping your case.”

  I floored it, burned rubber going through the parking lots, and didn’t slow until it was time to dive into a parking space. I threw it into park, grabbed my bag, and stormed out of the car.

  I was nearly to the front door when Bubbles grabbed the back of my shirt, stopped me, and turned me to him. “Unless you want tonight’s appointment with my belt to happen in the clubhouse instead of the privacy of our living room, you’re gonna want to check that temper, little girl.”

  He was right and I knew it, but I was so pissed, I didn’t care.

  “Still,” said Gonzo from behind me, “girl can park like a pro. That was hella good drivin’.”

  Bubbles chuckled and kissed my forehead. “It was, but that kind of driving just because you’re pissed isn’t acceptable.”

  “Yep. I’d tear Connie’s ass up for it too, but that isn’t her style, thank goodness.” He glanced at me and looked back to Bubbles with a grin. “You have your hands full with this one. Good luck with that.”

  Thankfully, Bubbles walked us to a little table-for-two in the back of the room, instead of seating us at the big table where everyone gathers. I hadn’t been planning to order more than a Coke and some cheese sticks, but I got a burger and fries since I could eat without having to face them head on.

  HotPocket looked at me with sympathy when she checked in to see what we wanted, which meant even the sweetbutts had heard. Fuck.

  When she was gone, Bubbles sat back, but looped his feet behind mine. I settled my shoes on top of his boots out of habit, then wished I hadn’t. I was mad at him.

  “I’m upset with you, and you’re pissed at me,” he said. “I still love you, and I want you in my life, but we have to figure out how to deal with this, Half-pint.”

  I sighed, crossed my arms, and uncrossed them. “I’m truly sorry I forgot my phone cord today and you were worried. It was a major fuckup. I didn’t even think about Razor being worried about me, but he said he was, too.”

  Bubbles nodded. “Yeah, he was. He stopped teaching class to let me know, so I could find you.”

  I’d started to ask Etta to text Bubbles and let him know I was just leaving her apartment on the way to self-defense class, but I hadn’t wanted Etta to bitch at me about being late, either. Plus, I’d hoped Bubbles wouldn’t find out, so I’d just flown to class as fast as possible and hoped for the best.

  “I know you say that sorry loses its power when you have to keep apologizing for the same thing, but I am sorry.”

  “And I can smell the truth in your words, but I also know it doesn’t mean it’s going to stop happening.”

  He needed to understand more about why I was late. “Etta says Mama seems to have lost her ability to function between her binges. Usually, she’s out of it three to five days, then weans herself off and gives herself enough to function for the next couple of weeks without hitting withdrawals. She used to be good for up to three weeks between, but Etta says Mama’s been fucking up the recipes even when she seems functional, and that she hasn’t been able to go more than seven or eight days between…” I stopped talking and stared at the table. Part of me wanted to believe Mama was upset that I wasn’t in her life anymore, but mostly I figured she was under stress with whatever big plans were being made. Mama doesn’t deal well with change.

  “Sweetheart, if you needed to talk to your sister about family stuff that couldn’t wait, you should’ve called or texted Razor and let him know you were going to miss class.”

  “It could wait, I just forgot about the time. I mean, when I pulled in I knew I had ten minutes to see her car before I needed to go, but then we started talking and the next thing I knew, it’d been a little over twenty minutes.”

  He looked at me a few moments, as if he were deciding something. “Seventeen strikes of the belt tonight and then twenty-four hours without an orgasm, or seventeen days without an orgasm, but if you’re late for anything during that time, we add those minutes onto your days, too.”

  He was giving me a choice, and I appreciated it on one level, but was even grumpier on another. I wanted there to be a choice where all consequences went away.

  But, I’d fucked up — not just by being late, but by worrying them, and by disrupting class for everyone. He hadn’t mentioned it, but they’d picked that class time to accommodate my schedule between school and work.

  “The belt, Sir.”

  The skin and muscles around his eyes relaxed. He was upset, too. Not just me.

  “Good girl. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. I’ll try to do better.”

  39

  Bubbles

  * * *

  Part of me wanted to take it easy on her that night, but in my heart, I knew I couldn’t.

  She’d come so far with being on time in some ways. The light-clock I’d bought her helped her immensely, and the two times she was late to school were because she’d gone back to assuming traffic would work in her favor, and it hadn’t. She’d learned from her mistakes and aimed to get there ten minutes early now, without me having to enforce it.

  And she was doing so much better at getting to work on time.

  But the unscheduled stuff still threw her for a loop. She didn’t seem capable of subtracting the time to drive somewhere and the time to get ready from when she needed to arrive, and figuring out when she needed to begin preparing to leave.

  Part of why I love her is her ability to live in the moment, but part of moving from childhood to adulthood means figuring out how to get yourself places on time.

  Still, I needed to figure out how to make tonight’s belting a way to bring us together instead of pushing us apart.

  I considered all my options, and started to move our session out to the garage so I’d be able to bind her, but my instincts told me I should keep it in the living room.

  I ended up installing two eyebolts near the ceiling on opposite sides of the room, tying rope off tight between them, and then running a rope down to the center of the room. I moved the coffee table to the side so the center would be clear. Next, I brought a kitchen chair in, along with lube, a large butt plug, her wrist and ankle cuffs, a spreader bar, and a one-hundred-pound weight from my workout machine.

  I didn’t fuck around with talking when she came home. She put her bags on the sofa and stripped when I told her to, obviously off balance at walking in the door to this, but that was okay.

  I gave no explanations while I put her wrist cuffs on, connected them behind her back, placed her in the middle of the room, bent her over, and tied her hands high enough to the rope dangling down, she’d have to stay bent over.

  Next, I squatted, put her ankle cuffs on, and the spreader bar between. I connected the spreader bar to the one-hundred-pound weight, through the notch in the center of the bar. She wouldn’t be lifting her legs, nor could she put them together or spread them farther.

  The butt plug came next, and I put it in as quickly as I dared. She screamed and yelped, but never begged for mercy.

  Finally, I sat in the chair in front of her, close enough so I could hug her and hold her while we talked.

  “A few times, I’ve only given you three strikes of the
belt because I hit you so hard, I knew that was all you could take.”

  She didn’t respond, but I smelled her fear.

  “I may not do all seventeen quite so hard, but the first and last will be, and the others are going to be way more intense than you’d normally get for so many. I’ll stop and hold you in between, and we’ll talk, and I’ll make sure you’re okay before I give you the next. You don’t have to count or stay still. I need you to kiss the belt for the first and last, but you won’t have to for the other strikes if you don’t want to — you’ll have an opportunity, but I won’t strike harder or softer based on whether or not you do.”

  I’m always clothed when I do this, but I’d decided on another tactic today, so I disrobed while she watched, and my naughty girl was clearly nervous about the change in protocol.

  “What do you notice about my cock?”

  “You aren’t hard, Sir.”

  “That’s right, because I don’t want to do this. I’m about to hurt you worse than you can handle, and I don’t fucking want to do it. Please don’t make me have to do it again.”

  Truthfully, getting hard while I did this wouldn’t have been a problem, and staying soft would take effort, but my instincts told me this was important, so I went with it.

  I held my belt in front of her lips, and a tear spilled from one of her eyes when she kissed it.

  I’m pretty sure every shapeshifter in the neighborhood heard her first scream, and possibly the humans in the closest houses. I rubbed her back and talked to her, and then sat in the chair and hugged her.

  “Breathe for me, sweetheart. I know it hurts, and I know you’re sorry, but we have to do this.” I held her and talked to her for seven minutes before her tears stopped and she was breathing semi-normal. I stood and held the belt to her mouth, and she once again kissed it.

  “I love you, Sir.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I’m a decent aim with my belt, and the next red stripe immediately formed just below the first. I gave her the first six lashes without hitting a spot I’d already belted, and her scream on the seventh told just how much worse it hurt for me to hit a spot twice.

  It was only going to get worse.

  An hour in, and she’d had nine strikes. I had water in a cup with a straw, but was only allowing her sips. She’d get as much as she wanted after the last, but too much on her stomach during her punishment wouldn’t be a good thing.

  She’d had homework for one of her early classes, but had completed it during lunch at school. No one after lunch had assigned any, so at least we didn’t have to contend with that, tonight. Still, I didn’t want this to take another hour, but it was taking longer and longer between strikes.

  “You’re about to get ten, eleven, and twelve with thirty seconds in between, and then I’ll sit and help you deal with them.”

  Terror flooded her already overloaded system, but this was kinder in the long run. I needed to help her through it, but I also needed to take care of her and pet her to sleep when we finished.

  I held the belt to her lips, and she gave it three quick kisses. My heart damn near melted in my chest. I was about to hurt her, but she was letting me know we were in this together. She’d brought us to this, and I was making sure we stayed okay. I’ve never understood the couples who claim to love each other but seem to hate each other, but I could understand being permanently angry with her if she was always late and never fixed her behavior — and that wasn’t a healthy relationship.

  I looked at the clock on the wall, waited until the second hand was at the top, and struck. When the second hand hit the bottom, I struck again, and when it returned to the top, I let the belt fly again.

  And then I was in the chair, holding her, soothing her.

  Fifteen minutes later, she got a double, and then eleven minutes later, she got the hardest strike she’d had all evening.

  I gave her plenty of time to prepare for the last, which would be even harder.

  She kissed the belt before the last, her eyes on me. She knew the final strike was always hardest, and she hadn’t been able to handle the one she’d just had, but she never asked for mercy.

  And I didn’t give it to her.

  She was crazy from the pain, and her screams beyond frantic, but she kissed the belt when I put it to her lips after the final lash.

  I released her cuffs from the rope and spreader bar, carried her to our bedroom, and stretched her out on her stomach. I’ve never used a cooling soothing cream on her after a spanking before, but on this day, I did — along with a cream to help keep the bruising to a minimum, though they were already forming. The poor thing was exhausted from the pain and adrenaline, and was asleep within twenty minutes — and I rubbed, soothed, and kissed her the whole time.

  When she was finally asleep, I removed the cuffs and set her clock for thirty minutes early so I could rub more anti-bruising cream on her, and we could talk.

  40

  Lexi

  * * *

  I awoke thirsty and needing to pee. My wake-light was almost fully on, which meant if I got up soon, I wouldn’t have to hear the alarm.

  My ass throbbed to life when I sat on the side of the bed, and screamed at me with every step I took across the room towards the alarm.

  I actually yelped when I sat on the toilet, and scooted back so my lower thighs were on the ring — just above my knees, where I wasn’t bruised.

  Bubbles came in as I was finishing, and pulled me into a hug when I stood. “Get a shower, and then I want to rub some more stuff on, to help with the bruising. I put some on last night, along with the cooling gel, but you need more this morning.”

  I can’t explain why, but the fact he never got even a tiny bit hard, and didn’t fuck my throat afterwards, had destroyed me as much as the belting. He hadn’t wanted to do it. He didn’t enjoy it. He’d been as sad as me, and I thought he might actually cry with me a few times. He didn’t, but I fucking know I heard tears in his voice.

  I’d worried him, and I’d embarrassed him. He hadn’t told me I had, but I’d heard him talking before about how an ol’lady’s actions reflect on the brother, and how embarrassed he’d been when I’d shown up to a party thing a half-hour late a few weeks before.

  “Punishment’s over, Half-pint. Clean slate.” He reached in and turned the shower on. “It’s a little cooler than you like, but a hot shower won’t do your ass any favors. Don’t adjust the temp.”

  He walked out, I stepped under the water… and right back out.

  A little cooler? He’d lost his mind.

  “Humans don’t handle cold like wolves!”

  “I’m aware. Get wet, get out, soap up, and then get back in long enough to rinse. It isn’t a hair day, so you should be fine.”

  Turns out, he was right, but damn. And no, it wasn’t ice cold, but too damned cold for first thing in the morning when I’m used to scald-your-skin-off showers.

  And in reality, it probably wasn’t a lot colder than the temp I use when I wash my hair, because cold water makes the colors stay longer, but still. Damn.

  He talked while he rubbed stuff on my ass, and within minutes my clit was throbbing and my insides aching to be filled, but I tried my best to ignore it. No sex until that night, and since it’d been so late when he finished, I probably wouldn’t get any until the next morning.

  Because the rule said nothing for twenty-four hours, and he’d finished right at my bedtime, and no way would Bubbles start something at my bedtime.

  “Do we have time for me to get you off this morning, Sir?”

  “I feel as if I’ve failed you, Lex. If you needed to talk to your sister, you should’ve used her phone to text me and Razor to let us know you were dealing with a family thing and needed to miss class, and if you didn’t need to talk to her, you should’ve made it to class on time. I thought we’d moved past this, and the fact we’re still dealing with it…” He blew out a breath. “No orgasm for me, either, while you can’t have one today.�
��

  In the months since I’d met Bubbles, I’d finally began to understand why my sister and the fosters bitched so much about me being on time. I’d always just thought they made it important because society said it was, but I’d finally understood it’s about respect.

  Respect for your teachers and classmates, for the person you’ve agreed to have dinner with, or for the time someone spent to make you dinner. Being late meant you didn’t care, that you thought your time was worth more than theirs.

  But after a lifetime of never paying attention to the time, learning to do so was hard. I put reminders in my phone to help me get to school and work, but there are a zillion other things to be on time for, and it was impossible to set a reminder for everything. And my phone had been dead, so I didn’t get the reminder for self-defense class.

  “I’m honestly trying, Sir. I messed up yesterday, and not having my phone just made it worse because I worried you and Razor. You haven’t failed me. You’ve taught me; it’s just hard to remember to think of the time every minute.”

  He finished rubbing stuff into my butt and went to the kitchen while I handled my makeup and clothes. He met me at the door with an egg-cheese-and-bacon sandwich, but held it up high while he looked at my outfit.

  I’d worn a short skirt, tall boots, and a heavy sweater.

  “It’s too cold for a skirt.”

  “The boots will keep my lower legs warm, and I’m hoping to get some cold air on my bum.”

  He rolled his eyes, gave me the sandwich, and I was gone. Even if there was traffic, I’d easily be on time.

  I had a couple of texts when I checked my phone at lunch. One was from Bubbles, letting me know to meet him at the clubhouse after school, and that we’d be spending the night, and asking if I needed him to bring something from home. I didn’t have to work, and that meant spending the evening with everyone, and they’d all know I got spanked during class.

  My face flamed red just thinking of having to face them, but I texted back that I should be fine. I have my makeup basics there, and several outfits. No problem.