His doctor’s curiosity had him picking them up. Immediately, he frowned. Setting down his cup, he walked to her bedroom where she was packing a large tote with sunscreen, a towel, her Kindle, and a floppy brimmed hat.
“I’m all set.”
“Stacy, what are these?”
She turned to him and froze. The smile fading so quickly from her face, it was like a cloud covering the sun and blocking its warmth and brightness.
“My prescriptions, I had them refilled last night. Nothing important.”
“I know what alprazolam is for, Stacy, as well as the Ambien and the antidepressant. What’s going on?”
“I’d rather not get into it. Don’t we have to go?”
“We have time.”
“No, we don’t. I need to stop by the store on the way, so if we don’t go now we’ll be late.”
“Quit stalling and answer my question.” His tone was firm and uncompromising.
“Okay, I’ve been having trouble sleeping, you know that.”
“That explains one of them. What about the Xanax and Zoloft?”
“Those are generics, so if you know their brand names, you know what they’re for, Jared. Why are you asking?” Her tone was clipped and not her usually sweet or playful tone.
“Don’t get snippy. I care about you, honey. I’d like to help you deal with whatever this is.”
“Whatever this is has been going on for well before I met you, so I have it under control.”
“I don’t think so. If it was, you wouldn’t be so defensive.”
“Defensive? Ooh, that really gets my goose. You were the one snooping around my kitchen.”
“I wasn’t snooping. They were lying on the counter in the open.”
“And you couldn’t help but read the labels. You’re my boyfriend, Jared, not my doctor. I already have one of those so I’d appreciate it if you’d back off.”
Livid, Jared tossed the bags on her bed and walked out of her room before he said something he’d regret. He stalked across her small apartment, coming to a stop before the picture window in the living room. He looked out, unseeing. His mind trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. The only physical sign he’d seen was her apparent insomnia, but that was a common problem. Some people just didn’t sleep and struggled with it their entire lives. The short-acting benzodiazepine, Xanax, was highly addictive and usually treated some underlying reason for anxiety on a short term. She said she’d been having problems long before him. This was not short-term use. The antidepressant was also a puzzle because he’d seen no signs of that either. What the hell was up with her?
“Maybe you should go without me. I don’t feel like it anymore,” she said.
“No, we promised Marc. He’s bringing the new girl he’s been seeing, remember?”
“Surely they won’t mind if I’m not there. They’d probably rather be alone,” she reasoned.
“She’s never been sailing and it takes two for his boat.”
“Again, if you go and I’m not there, it’s not a problem.”
“It is for me. You are going.” He turned to watch her reaction to his directive. She wasn’t pleased. “Get your bag. We’ll discuss all this later when I’m not so angry.”
“Why are you angry? I’m not prying into your personal life.”
“I thought we were close enough to share in each other’s personal life. I guess I was wrong, but that is something we’ll definitely get to work on right away. Now go get your bag. I won’t ask again.”
“You won’t have to, you arrogant jerk, because I’m staying home. You can do whatever. Go boating or not. Better yet, go jump in the lake. I don’t really care what you do, as long as you don’t do it here or with me. Lock the door on your way out.” Whirling on her heel, she walked away. The slamming of her bedroom door her final message, or so she thought.
He followed, after counting slowly to ten. Opening her door, he found her by the window in a similar pensive pose as he’d taken. Her back was rigid with tension.
“Please leave.”
“No. You’re not going to push me away. You are going to talk to me about all this like an adult, not the child who has been pouting and storming around for the last ten minutes.”
“Fuck you, Jared. Get out.”
“If that’s how you want to play things, Stacy Lynn. So be it.” He walked over, pulled out the bench to her dresser and had a seat. With little effort, he had her over his lap the next minute. A thoroughly shocked Stacy pushed at his thighs, wiggling as she tried to get up, but he clamped an arm around her hips, keeping her firmly in place.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re acting like a brat, which is usually a cry for attention. So, I’m giving it to you.”
“I’m mad at you, Jared. I don’t want a spanking.”
“That is no surprise. Until now, you’ve had what I call a sexy spanking. Fun, in the heat of passion, it warms you up a bit, enough to make you hot. This is going to be quite a different kind of spanking than you’re used to. The only thing about this that will be hot when I’m done is my hand and your butt. I promise.” As he spoke, he had reached underneath her and unbuttoned her shorts, which now lay in a twist around her knees. Her panties soon followed and did a good job of restraining her flailing legs.
As soon as she was bare, he smacked her ass twice, loud stinging swats that stung his hand. She stiffened on an affronted wail.
“Jared, that hurts!”
“Of course it does. I’m not fooling around, little girl. Your attitude this morning has been unacceptable and your language offensive. I don’t talk to you that way and expect the same courtesy.”
His hand began a steady pattern of open-palmed smacks landing sharply on alternating cheeks, repeatedly, as he spoke. “I remember us talking about being open and honest early on, Stacy. Have you forgotten? A mental health problem is not something you keep from me. It hurts that you don’t trust me enough to let me in.”
When he heard a sob, he knew he was finally getting through. He was spanking her hard, but tolerably so or his hand would be more than warm.
“Jared, please, that’s enough.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll know when it’s enough.” It was her first real spanking from him, probably her first one ever. He knew that and planned to go easy. He also knew that if he didn’t break through the barrier she had erected, once this spanking was done, she would rebuild her shields, strengthening her defenses so that next time it would be even harder to penetrate and he’d have to up his game. So he continued. Loud smacks of skin against skin mixed with sniffles and pleas for him to stop. When she put her hand back to protect herself, he knew she was nearing her limit, and paused to give her a break.
He quietly rubbed her warm pink bottom, allowing her time to reflect upon her words, behavior, and the consequences she had earned. As he rubbed, he let his fingertips test a very different response. He traced along the seam of her lips and found her liquid heat. She was soaked, but he’d suspected she would be. During sex, a spanking ramped her up fast, the erotic spanking something both of them found pleasant. As a punishment, other elements came into play besides the exposure of vulnerable areas and his hand upon her bare skin. There was also a touch of shame, a good dose of submission, a feeling of surrender to authority, and of course, the loss of control. Beyond correction of unwanted behavior, which was its intent, a punishment spanking—if done correctly—could be cathartic, which is what he was striving for now.
“Jared, please. I’m sorry.”
He stopped, because she was close. “What are you sorry for, sweetheart? Can you tell me?”
“I used a very nasty word. I never do that.” Her voice was shaky and broken as her body shuddered for breath. He continued to rub with one hand while stroking his hand up and down her spine, soothing and encouraging at the same time.
“I was bitchy and rude when you were only concerned about me
.”
“Anything else?”
She hesitated. He could feel her emotions swirling around her like a whirlwind. She still wasn’t ready. Close, but not all the way there yet.
His hand fell again.
“Jared?”
“Open and honest, Stacy, the lesson continues until you understand what that means.” He expanded his target area to her upper thighs which were still pale and untouched. Quick stinging slaps fell left and right, bringing her right back to where they left off.
“I was hiding my nightmares, Jared!” she cried desperately as she broke down; finally she’d let him in. “I can’t sleep because of the nightmares. I didn’t want you to know and think I was—” She stopped there, choking on her sobs.
He pulled her up and sat her on his lap, holding her close while rocking her gently. “It’s okay, baby. You can tell me anything. I love you, Stacy, and there is nothing we can’t handle together.”
Her face was buried in his neck and her voice was so muffled he barely made it out. “I’ve had them since my parents died. They’re horrible and frightening and sometimes I get…” Her voice trailed off to a whisper. This he couldn’t make out.
“Sometimes you get what?”
“Panic attacks.” She said this in a hushed tone, obviously finding this a terrible flaw.
It made sense and explained why she didn’t want to stay at his house. When he stayed with her, she either got up, wandering around restlessly all night or slept like the dead. In the latter situation, she’d undoubtedly taken an Ambien. His sweet girl was tormented and it hurt his heart terribly to know she was in so much emotional pain.
“…And flashbacks.”
“To the funeral?”
“No, to when they made me—” Her throat clogged with unshed tears, making her voice oddly raspy. Maybe it was the emotion, but she didn’t sound like herself when she continued hoarsely. “They couldn’t find any identification on my dad. I don’t know why, they rolled three times, so maybe it was thrown clear or stuck somewhere in the mangled metal. But I had to identify his body.” She shook her head as if to free herself from the unpleasant thought. “They had him at the morgue. I had to see him like that—on a cold, metal tray.”
Her voice had risen in pitch, becoming shrill and reedy thin. Jared was afraid the awful memories flooding her mind would trigger an attack. “Honey, breathe. It’s okay. Clear your mind and breathe right now.” But she was stuck in the past and went on. Her words clawed at his gut.
“He was in a cooler. He hated small places. It was so awful. And there was blood everywhere,” her voice broke before she finished, “they hadn’t even tried to clean him up.”
Clasping the back of her head, he pressed his lips to her forehead and rocked with her. “Baby, stop, please come back to me. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He held her for a long time, until her breathing slowed to normal and the steel went out of her spine. Finally, his clinical side couldn’t be suppressed any longer. He needed to know what she had done in terms of treatment to help her move forward.
“Are you seeing a counselor?”
She nodded.
“Is it helping?”
A head shake was her answer.
“But the medication does?”
She sat up, pushing away from his chest, wiping her face with her hands. “It helps but I hate it. It makes me feel drugged or dopey. I just stare off into space. You know like the porch lights are on but no one is at home. The Ambien is the worst. It wipes me out for at least eight hours and I’m afraid of it.”
“How so?”
“You’ve heard the stories of people sleepwalking and sleep driving, right? On nights where I’ve taken it, I’ve found things out of place the next morning. Remember the time we found the dirt from my plants all over the floor in the kitchen?”
“I remember.”
“I blamed it on Sheba, but it was me. I found dirt under my fingernails. I have no idea what I was doing digging in the dirt. Another time I found the stove on. I got scared so I stopped taking them afraid I’d leave the apartment or heaven forbid, get in my car.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Stacy? I’m a doctor, I would have understood.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That you’d think I was broken, or too much work. I didn’t want to lose you too, Jared.” Her whispered words was another dagger to his gut. She was afraid that, like her parents, he’d leave her too.
“You won’t lose me, ever. I love you and want to be with you always.”
“Like in forever?”
“Absolutely.”
She nodded, still wiping away tears.
“I’d like to help you with this, Stacy, but you can’t hide from me anymore.” He cupped her cheek and waited until she met his eyes. “Promise you won’t keep something so important from me again.”
“I promise.”
The look she gave him was watery, her lashes spikey and her eyes slightly red. He doubted any of it was from his spanking.
“How does your bottom feel?”
She blushed and shook her head. “As Nana would say, ‘It’s hotter than a goat’s butt in a pepper patch.’”
“It sounds like Nana could really turn a phrase, but I’d rather hear it in your own words, not Nana’s. It was your first real spanking and I need to know how you feel.”
“It’s tingling, but okay.”
“Don’t make me do it again. I’d rather swat your behind while we’re playing than for discipline. Understand?”
“Yes, Jared.”
“Good. Let’s get you cleaned up and head out. I think we’ve had enough heavy discussion for one morning, don’t you?”
“But they’ll know.” Her voice was filled with concern as he helped her to her feet, her shorts and panties now around her ankles.
“Turn and let me see.”
“No.” Her hands went protectively to her bottom as if that would stop him from looking.
“Baby, what do you think I’ve been looking at for the last twenty minutes? I’ve seen you plenty, now turn around.” When she did, he pressed between her shoulder blades until she was bent over her dresser and her bottom was presented nicely for his appraisal. “As I thought, Stacy, you’re barely pink. I didn’t spank you very hard.”
“It felt hard to me.”
“I didn’t spank you any harder than when we’ve played. You just weren’t aroused so it felt more intense.”
She frowned at him, but ignored his comment.
“What about my legs? In shorts and a bathing suit, they’ll be able to see everything.”
“The heat is almost gone and any pinkness will have faded within the hour. They won’t see a thing.” He let her up and held her to him, his hands rubbing and massaging her full cheeks.
Her hands rose to his chest and she smoothed his shirt, raising them to straighten his collar, the whole time avoiding his eyes. “You don’t plan on doing this often, do you, darlin’?”
“Only when necessary. It took three months for you to earn one, so I doubt it will be frequent. A word of warning though, little girl, telling me to ‘get out’ or ‘f-off’ again will earn you the paddle.”
She glanced up at him in surprise, before looking away and finding his buttons all of a sudden extremely interesting. Toying with one, she asked curiously, while sidestepping his point totally, “You own a paddle?”
“Look at me, Stace.” He waited until her eyes met his before saying, “No more f-bombs or pushing me away, okay?”
Shame-faced, she nodded. “I still can’t believe I said that, Jared. My daddy would have been horrified. You knew I didn’t mean it though, didn’t you? That’s why you stayed.”
“Yes, or at least I hoped so at the time. You’ll find I don’t give up so easily, baby. We’ll work through this together and while we do, you’ll learn you can always come to me and feel safe, no matter wha
t.” Jared bent and gave her one more sizzling kiss. When he pulled back, she groaned softly, following his lips with her own, but he patted her bottom softly and set her away. “Don’t tempt me, honey, or we’ll never get to the boat. Let’s go.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, they were standing in front of ‘The Reliance,’ Marc’s catamaran.
“Holy crap!”
“Impressive, huh?”
“I thought only millionaires had yachts, not surgeons.”
Jared laughed. “Honey, Marc is Marc Trent.”
“I know his last name, Jared.”
“Marc Trent, of Trent Industries.”
She shook her head, her hand on her floppy hat to keep it in place as she looked up at the towering mast. “I’m not getting it. What’s Trent Industries?”
“A huge plastics manufacturer. Marc’s family is loaded, which makes him a millionaire who owns a yacht.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Nope.”
“But he’s a working surgeon.”
“He doesn’t work in the family business, just reaps the profits, I guess. He’s always told me that he likes being his own man, despite his family fortune. That he could stand on his own two feet if the business closed tomorrow. Plus, he enjoys it, as do I, most days.”
“You’re not swimming in it like he is?”
“No, but I do fairly well. You see the profit and loss statements for the business. I won’t have to feed you bologna sandwiches for dinner anytime soon.”
She turned to him and smiled. “I like bologna sandwiches, with mayo and a fresh garden tomato…” She put her fingers to her lips and made a smacking noise. “Delicioso.”
A voice from overhead hollered, “Hey, who’s butchering my ancestral tongue down there?”
Marc was fluent in Italian, a requirement of his grandmother who had come from ‘the old country’ as a young woman, determined to teach her children and grandchildren the ways of her culture.
“Ex-coo-see, Sig-nore.” Stacy purposely butchered it and laughed as Marc complained.
Sweet Salvation Page 9