Seoul Spankings

by Anastasia Vitsky

  ***

  Hyunkyung and Miss Cha hadn’t skimped on the travel arrangements. Instead of the coach ticket Great-Aunt Matilda had purchased to Korea, I received priority boarding for the way home. First class! I had never dreamed of traveling in first class anywhere, let alone an international flight. I had a footrest, personal entertainment system, full-size blanket, and a space-age seat that reclined to nearly flat. I’d cut off blood circulation cramped in between loud, obnoxious passengers on the way over, but, going home, I would enjoy the best of the best.

  Hyunkyung. Despite how I yelled at her, she offered me thousands of dollars in accommodations home. I reasoned to myself that a few thousand dollars meant nothing to her. Pennies, really, or whatever the unit of money was in Korea. She wouldn’t notice the expense, but I did.

  Just before the flight attendants finished their last check of the cabin, the plane door opened to admit another passenger. Striding toward me, meticulous as a fashion plate and the epitome of royalty, came Hyunkyung Han, heir to Han Incorporated and the first person to make me orgasm so many times I lost count.

  I gaped as she sat in the chair next to me. She held out her hand, oddly formal.

  “I’m Hyunkyung Han,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I didn’t know what game she was playing, but I mumbled something close to an introduction. “Is this a business trip?”

  “You could call it that,” she agreed. “I recently acquired a prime business asset, but I allowed it to get away.”

  “That was careless of you.” I made a show of taking out my personal entertainment system, but she didn’t take the hint.

  She requested a glass of Burgundy, still chattering in a way unlike her. “I’m an only child, Miss…Indigo, was it?”

  “Indi,” I said. “My friends call me Indi.”

  “What about the people who love you?”

  Could I have heard her correctly? “Indi,” I replied. “Just Indi.”

  “Call me Hyunkyung.”

  Memories of last night flashed through my mind, the lessons I would never forget. “Hyunkyung,” I repeated obediently.

  She smiled, pleased. “I’m an only child, and I don’t like to share. I like to give more than to receive. Pleasure, for instance.”

  I nearly upset my wine glass. “Not here!” I hissed.

  She continued as if we discussed the weather. “It sounds generous, but it’s more about my inability to share. When I give pleasure, I want to see the recipient pleased. It’s a compliment, if you will.”

  The airplane staff rattled through the usual safety checks, emergency procedures, and preparation for takeoff in both English and Korean. I pretended to inspect my life jacket, cheeks burning. As the captain announced takeoff, Hyunkyung changed to a more direct approach.

  “Don’t let one mistake scare you off,” she said. “I’m not Greg, and I never will be. Come home, Indi Go. Where you belong.”

  The jets blasted into full propulsion, and my stomach lurched as we launched into nothingness. Mechanical knowledge and aerodynamics notwithstanding, nothing kept an airplane aloft but faith, the grace of God, and a little luck.

  We should have plunged to the ground and our deaths within a minute, but instead, the view outside the tiny oval windows changed from twinkling runway lights to the untouchable grandeur of water-crystal white masses that have formed the basis of dreams since time immemorial.

  When we soared into the clouds, I turned toward Hyunkyung for the first time. “You’re actually following me halfway across the world?”

  She shrugged. “No farther than you traveled to find me.”

  “To Iowa?” I couldn’t picture anything more dissonant than Hyunkyung in Spillville, Iowa. Home to cornfields, cornhole, and corn smut. Plus corn.

  Unless it was a farmer girl smack-dab in the heart of Seoul, home to thirteen million people.

  Epilogue

  “Grayish slimy brains.” I winced, gulping down a mouthful of coffee to take away the taste of Indigo’s promised corn smut. “I fed you the ultimate in savory nutrition.”

  “You fed me spicy spoiled cabbage.” Indigo gasped as I hit the remote control. A blush crept over her cheeks as she crossed her legs, gripping the seams of her tailored gray skirt. I’d wrapped a powder-pink scarf underneath her collar that morning, marveling at her transformation from weary traveler to sleek businesswoman. “Please! Not here!” Her body shook with silver bullet vibrations.

  I shrugged and leaned back in the lime-green plastic chair. “You don’t like it?” I took another sip, swishing the beverage around my teeth. Weak. I preferred my coffee strong.

  Indigo squirmed in her chair, her tiny pink tongue sticking out. “This isn’t Korea! You can’t—”

  “Don’t remind me. In Korea, we save fungus for the corn.” Taking pity, I switched the remote off. As she collapsed against her seat in relief, I glanced at my watch. “You said Greg should be awake by now?”

  At that, her lip curled. “I don’t want to see him.”

  I took the remote out of my pants pocket and held it up. She flinched, dropping her hands into her lap. “Trust me.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing you do can make me— Oh my God, no!” She gasped as I turned the switch back on.

  I smiled and adjusted her scarf. “I said trust me. If you have difficulty keeping focused, I’ll help you.” Click. The remote control slipped back into my pocket. “Go on, now. They should be here soon.”

  Every angle in Indigo’s body stiffened as she rose from her chair. To her credit, she glided without complaint to the far corner of the diner and struck up a conversation with an elderly man in overalls. I sipped my coffee and winced.

  “Need a refill?” A white-haired woman sloshed more brew into the chipped lime-green mug.

  “Uh…thank you.” I stared at the murky water, visualizing silver pirami swirling in my favorite muddy stream as Indigo and I cavorted above. I couldn’t offend this grandmother who worked hard for little pay, but it took effort to sip the dirty liquid. Was the slightly gritty texture from coffee grounds or dirt, or did I imagine that as well?

  The bell over the front door chimed, and a disheveled man in flannel lagged behind a woman with an upturned, sniffing long nose. The man elbowed his companion, staring at me. “Look at that sexy Chinese chick.”

  “We’re here for an interview!” The long nose sniffed some more. “If you hadn’t blown my paycheck on the bimbo you think I don’t know about—”

  “That’s rich, coming from someone who faked pregnancy to steal her friend’s man.”

  I recoiled. As much as Indigo had complained, I hadn’t expected the crassness to be this crass. She glanced up from the corner, frowning. I nodded at her. Trust me.

  “Shut up. She’ll hear you.” Tiffany gave Greg a shove, but he shoved her back.

  “She probably doesn’t speak English. Ching chong. Can you understand me, Chinaman?” He leered, a hand straying toward the front of his pants.

  Enough. I rose, nodding in somber greeting. “Mr. Chance. Miss McGregor. I brought you here today to talk about Han Incorporated, a multi-billion dollar firm that sells everything from real estate to school supplies to clothes. We’re thinking of opening up a US branch, and we’d locate the headquarters here in Spillville.”

  Greg’s jaw dropped. “Can you do kung fu? I bet a geisha outfit would be sexy in bed.”

  Tiffany wriggled like a puppy about to wet itself. “We’ll do it! Me and Greg will be managers.”

  Me and Greg? Where had she learned English? “Not so fast,” I said, giving my best fake laugh. “We need an extensive background check to screen potential employees. If you consent, I’ll have my assistant conduct the interview.” Greg hesitated, but I named a starting salary.

  “Sure!” Tiffany slobbered like a dog waiting for its meal.

  “I don’t want to work for Toyota!”

  Tiffany yanked at his arm. “You’re a worthless slob. Who’s going to pay the
rent?”

  I tilted my head to the side. Indigo, serene in her new suit and scarf, sailed over. She could have truly been my assistant, not a schoolmate of this overgrown adolescent. Her glance flicked toward me, and in that moment, I wanted to take her right there on the table. In front of everyone.

  Greg turned from his former lover to her new one. “This was a setup,” he accused. “You’re fucking queers.”

  Tiffany hit his arm. “We need the money,” she hissed into his ear. If she recognized Indigo, she didn’t show it.

  Indigo raised her eyes in a stare at once seductive and chilling. “Yes,” she agreed. “We’re queer, and Hyunkyung fucks well. Unlike with you, I never need to fake it.”

  ***

  Afterward, I would pay for my comment to Greg. Hyunkyung had explicitly warned me not to rise to his bait, but she hadn’t understood how baiting he could be. All the same, it was a shock when the pulsing began between my legs. Oh my God! Not here!

  Hyunkyung had inserted the silver bullet before our meeting, warning me, if I let my attention stray from the matter at hand, she would get my attention however she could. I struggled to keep a goofy grin off my face, but the anticipation was too much. She’d taken me through the twenty functions of the bullet, and each one aroused me more than the last. I’d drench myself within minutes, and she’d have to carry me outside.

  Then again, that would prove my point to Greg about who was the better lover.

  Stop it! Greg gave me a startled look. Did he know? He couldn’t possibly, could he? I never was good at faking it, and he would have known if he’d ever thought about it.

  Hyunkyung, seeing my inability to follow through with our original plan, rattled off the list of terms and conditions for the “job offer.” I could have kissed her when she powered the vibrator down, seeing I had regained self-control.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “No college degrees, no work experience. I’m afraid you’re not a good fit for Han Incorporated. Thank you for coming to the interview, though.” I stood up to make a grand exit, but Hyunkyung leaned forward.

  “But I could find a position for you, Miss McGregor. Would you mind starting at the bottom?”

  Greg’s face fell as he watched Tiffany and Hyunkyung. He knew what would appeal more, real money or a twenty-something who still expected his mother to wash his dishes. Stung, I sailed out of the restaurant. My revenge. This was supposed to be revenge for me, and Hyunkyung went back on our deal.

  “We agreed!” I protested to Hyunkyung as she joined me. She gave a delicious, toothy smile.

  “Have you never watched a Korean drama?”

  “Of course I haven’t,” I snapped. “When would I have had time?”

  “Do you know?” Hyunkyung began, smooth and rich and dark as caramel. “There are so many ways for the wife of the head of a company to make a new employee’s life miserable. Particularly if the new employee is of no consequence.”

  “But….” I thought it over. “But she still gets to go to Korea, still gets employment and a salary.”

  “It’s a pity,” Hyunkyung said to herself. “I have all the assistants I need, and you’ll be too busy studying Korean language and culture to need official assistants yet.” She snapped her fingers. “I got it! You’ll need someone to scrub your toilet, won’t you?”

  I stopped in the sidewalk and stared at Hyunkyung.

  “And your floor.” Hyunkyung nodded to herself. “Very important job, that is. Must shine at all times. Do you know what else?” She didn’t wait for my response. “Imagine poor Mr. Chance, all alone in his pest-zapped apartment, torturing himself at the thought of three hot women getting it on and leaving him out. No porno flick will get rid of those cravings.”

  At last, I gave into laughter. “I bow to your infinite wisdom,” I said in a strangled voice.

  “About time, too.” Hyunkyung smiled, a real one this time. “Now, come. You told me there is a Dvořák concert this evening? I must see the famous clock made in his honor. Such an amazing fortune you had, growing up where he lived for three months and composed music. I heard they’re playing the String Quartet in F today and the New World Symphony tomorrow.”

  “No,” I insisted. “They’re playing music, but not in F. It’s called—”

  “The American,” Hyunkyung said, and she kissed me in full view of the twelve residents of Main Street.

  “Come on,” I said. “Now you’re in Iowa, you have to try our local specialty.”

  “Oh?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Doughnut burgers.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “If you turn up your nose at good American food, I’ll spank you.”

  ***

  On the flight home, Hyunkyung fed me dinner from her plate. “Ah,” she said, holding out chopsticks loaded with the dreaded kimchi. I had come to enjoy it sautéed, grilled, and boiled in soup, but the raw stuff defeated me every time. I wished I’d made her eat more corn smut.

  “It’s too spicy,” I complained, but I opened my mouth. “Can’t I have a hamburger instead?”

  Hyunkyung let me take a sip of water before accepting the next piece. “How can you live in Korea without learning to like kimchi? And I’ll tell you what,” she added. “I’ve forgotten to introduce you to the most important variation of our national dish.”

  “What’s that?” I groaned, grabbing a spoonful of rice to dampen the salty-sour fire in my mouth.

  “Kimchi,” she said, and she hit the “on” button for the vibrating silver bullet.

  I gasped, spilling water all over myself and the tray.

  “With a side of spanking.” She winked, and this time she wrapped the kimchi around a soothing, soft piece of fresh tofu.

  ~A Note from Anastasia~

  One of the most frequent questions I have received about Seoul Spankings is, “Could two women have a relationship in Korea?” It is an excellent question and one that deserves an answer.

  First of all, enough homophobia exists in the real world without my adding to its literary representation. In the happily ever after of Hyunkyung and Indigo, we find a bubble in which love does indeed conquer all. Is this realistic in modern-day society?

  Perhaps we should instead ask ourselves, “Will it be realistic five, ten, and fifteen years from now? If it’s not, do we want it to be? What kind of world do we want to hand down to our children?” I, for one, want to leave this world in better shape than I found it. I want to believe that people will find love no matter what obstacles or prejudice stand in their way. If this is not realistic, then I prefer my fantasy to reality.

  By writing a story in which sexuality is incidental and instead we focus on the growing love between the two main characters, I hope I can help make this dream come true. Won’t you join me?

  Thank you so much for caring about Hyunkyung.

  https://governingana.wordpress.com

  Also from Decadent Publishing

  www.decadentpublishing.com

  Taliasman

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  If I had been born a boy, I would have followed in my father’s footsteps and become a tradesman. Because I was a girl, he sold me instead.

  “No,” Vina corrects me when I bring up the story, which is not often. She doesn’t like the facts, and I dislike her pretty lies. “Your mother agonized whether to let you go, but she knew you would be better off here. She wanted to give you a better life.”

  I would call Vina on her mistruths, but she claims I still reason as a child. All of my protests to the contrary serve to prove her right, at least in her mind. Only when I agree with her does she admit I am a full-grown adult.

  “You’re happy with me, aren’t you?” Vina makes me sit next to her at the formal dinners she hosts most nights, and she dresses me in rich silks with real lace. If I tell her no, she sends me to my room as punishment for what she calls my petulance. If I resist, she gives me one of her lessons in obedience. Some are painful, others pleasurable, and all serve
to narrow my world and make me focus on her. How could I not, when she owns me?

  “No,” Vina corrects me when I call her my owner. “I set you free, and I gave you the life you never could have had otherwise.”

  When I turned nineteen, no one wanted to marry me. My mother fussed with my hope chest, if it could be called that, arranging the one cotton handkerchief as if it could attract a suitor.

  “Let me stay with you,” I entreated my parents, and I won. I always did. The house needed new walls, and I wielded the power tools. Small of stature and still a child, I could carry them to the electric outlet on the neighbor’s property. As an adult, Father would have faced fines for stealing electricity.

  “You’ve turned her into such a tomboy no one will want her,” Mother chided Father, and the truth stung. I could have cared for my parents into their old age, but they wanted me gone.

  When a visitor arrived, unannounced, I scrubbed our last two potatoes. The striking woman in a red hooded cloak would get an entire potato to herself. Father and Mother would share the second potato, and I would boil the peelings in the leftover water for myself. My mouth watered, and I gave thanks for the visitor’s coming. I could fill my belly for the first time in months. Curious about the newcomer, I eavesdropped on the conversation. Vina punishes me now for listening, but I hadn’t learned her rules yet.

  “You can’t provide for her,” the stranger said, and Father’s shoulders sagged. “She will give her youth to you, and what will happen after you die?”

  If I had been a boy, the stranger would have asked me about my life. I would have learned Father’s trade, become the “& Son” of his third-generation woodworking business, and taken my rightful place as heir to the master of the house. As a girl, I cost Father a dowry he couldn’t afford to pay.