Reading Her Heart

by Ashlynn Kenzie

  "The hell you say!" she snarled, smacking her hand down against the counter top. "I'm not going anywhere. Not like this. No way are people gonna stare at me. You can just forget that right now. What kind of stupid-ass idea—"

  Suddenly she was pulled off-balance and then bent forward, a strong arm holding her wedged against something solid and unyielding. It became clear the mass was a male hip bone when her scrabbling hands came in contact with the back of Mr. Benjamin's jean-clad thigh. The movement took her so by surprise that she was still trying to figure out why she should be in such a position when he made that abundantly clear by landing a solid smack across her upturned backside.

  She gasped and flailed, searching for something to grasp that would give her leverage to break his hold, but the only thing her frantic fingers encountered were his legs. Nevertheless, she held on desperately, completely off-balance and totally dependent on the stability he provided in her sightless state.

  Nick paused briefly, giving her time to get past her fear of falling and find a refuge with him before he began smacking her again. He wanted her full attention centered on the price she was going to pay for her disgraceful behavior.

  "You are past the age," emphasizing his remarks with a half dozen smart claps on her left cheek, "when you should have learned,"—he issued a matching six on the right side—"better manners than I've yet seen." He hitched her a little further over and concentrated the final six on her sit spots, covered only by the thinly stretched material of her yoga pants.

  She was screeching by then, and kicking out futilely with first one leg and then the other. "Stop it! That hurts."

  "As it certainly should, but we're obviously not through yet." Twisting around slightly, he leaned toward the counter and grabbed a sturdy looking, broad-bowled wooden spoon out of the ceramic cooking utensil holder. Then he brought it down repeatedly, although not so hard as he could have, on the rounded contours of Andee Carlisle's interesting little backside.

  She bucked and squirmed, trying desperately to wrench herself away from his warmth and firmness, but he maintained an inescapable hold around her waist and even ignored the pounding of her fists up and down his leg.

  "A simple 'sorry' will be sufficient, provided it sounds sincere. I won't demand complete sentences this time, but I will have to be convinced you mean it." He could clearly see her clenching in a typical defensive motion for any young lady being disciplined by fire lighting up her lower elevations. The sight brought a smile to his lips. It had been a while since he had been handed the opportunity to teach the younger generation a much needed hands-on lesson. Lest it be wasted, he redoubled his efforts and spanked with a bit more force, which she greeted with ever increasing howls.

  "H-hate you. St-stop." Her protests were punctuated by a quick little stamping run of in-place steps that took her nowhere and had no effect at all on the sting he was imparting, but the effort did make his smile even broader. It would not be long now, he was confident.

  When he felt reasonably certain he had covered any and all territory she might have to sit on in the next few minutes, Nick began to concentrate on single spots at the base of each cheek. It took three rounds of four quick, business-like smacks on each side before he felt her give. Instead of pounding his leg, she suddenly wrapped her arms around it and sobbed against his calf.

  "Sorry," she whimpered miserably.

  He polished her off with a half dozen more, so there could be no question as to who would decide her fate, and then tossed the make-shift paddle aside and hauled her upright, pressing her bandaged eyes into his chest, and patting the back that trembled under her hiccupping efforts to control her tears.

  "There now. It's all right. We're good now. Shh, you're okay."

  She had clenched her arms around his waist and was still hanging on for dear life, a full minute after he had started to enjoy the sensation, before she seemed aware of their proximity. Then she quickly let go and stepped back, breaking off contact except for his steadying hand on her shoulder.

  "It makes my eyes hurt to cry," she said in an accusatory tone, but he knew it was a simple defense mechanism and no cause for alarm about her physical condition.

  "Well, maybe that will distract you from the fire in your bottom," he said and watched her grimace and grip her hands at her waist so she wouldn't be tempted to give support to his words by rubbing the area he had disciplined so effectively.

  "I don't think I can study right now," she sniffed, a shade of defiance still coloring her voice, but he noticed she had propped open the door to the possibility of a future action.

  "Then maybe you'd like to consider when you will be available to get started while you stand in the corner and think about your situation."

  She jerked to trembling attention. "I'm not going in any c-corner!"

  "Careful, little girl, or that's exactly where you'll end up, after another spanking to convince you that's precisely where you want to be. Or you can decide to eat a decent breakfast and head out into the sunshine to get started on Hamlet. Up to you. I've got three hours to devote to you today—see, you even get a bonus as part of the surprise—and it's your call how we spend that time."

  "I'm calling the agency and-and…" her voice trailed off and he could only assume she realized any accusation she might make could somehow result in an embarrassing revelation about her punishment, although he couldn't believe she thought he would ever be the one to tattle.

  In the face of her apparent reluctance to complete her threat, much less act on it, Nick decided to brazen it out. "Your phone is in my pocket again. Remember? It's mine until I leave. Then you can do whatever you feel you need to. Now, what will it be—the corner and some contemplation or the chair and breakfast? Tell me which way you want to go."

  He watched her prepare for battle, gird herself for confrontation.

  But then she skimmed both hands over her bottom and lowered her covered eyes to the floor.

  "Chair," she whispered finally.

  He smiled, refusing to think of the consequences of the thing he had just done. The thing that felt so right.

  *****

  She tried hard to sit ramrod straight and upright on the unforgiving kitchen chair, determined to show him he couldn't get the best of her with that nasty spoon and his strong right arm. The effort made her want to cry though, and the idea of standing in the corner took on a certain appeal. At least it would hurt less. But then she considered the utter humiliation of the childish discipline and thought about his having nothing else to do but watch her there. She decided to tough it out just where she was. Maybe, she thought finally, as he moved around the area just behind her, rattling dishes and making strange sounds, she could escape to the bathroom and see just how much damage he had done.

  It was when she remembered she was no longer able to see the evidence herself that she was completely overcome by the sobs she had been holding back fairly successfully. When the sound full of self-pity erupted, it came out in one terrible, noisy, undignified childish bawl, and she buried her head in her hands on the tabletop.

  He was there in a moment, scooping her up and moving with her. She turned her face against his shoulder and gave up worrying about the trickle from her nose, thinking vaguely through her tears that it served him right to have snotty smears on his clothes.

  When he sat down on what she guessed was the futon, it was to gather her in close on his lap and begin murmuring to her, his mouth just above her ear and his voice rippling past her head and reaching into her heart.

  "It's all right, little one. I'm here. You're not alone. Let it go now. Just let it go and wash all the hurt out."

  How did he know? What did he know? How could he know anything about the pain that was bubbling up from somewhere deep inside and overriding the leftover burn in her bottom? Because, as much as it stung, she knew it was no longer the cause of her tears.

  She cried long past the noisiest outburst, giving little sniffling gulps occasionally and, at some poi
nt, circling his neck with her arm and clinging desperately to that anchor. Through it all, he stroked her back with his broad palm and made soothing little rocking motions from side to side, occasionally murmuring reassurance.

  Chapter Five

  An hour after the eruption had begun at her kitchen table, she woke up still cradled in his lap. She would have gladly stayed there forever, her body language said as she burrowed in a little deeper after her unplanned nap, but he reacted to the change in her posture and gently pushed her upright, smoothing her hair back from her bandaged eyes.

  "All right now?"

  She nodded slowly. "Yes. I didn't mean to—I mean, I'm sorry…"

  "Don't be sorry for something you needed to do. Just be glad you spilled a little bit of whatever you've been keeping all bottled up in there."

  "It's nothing."

  "Whatever you say. Why don't you let me get you a cool cloth for your face? We need to change that soggy gauze on your eyes, too. Can you manage, or do you need my help?"

  "No, I can do it. Just-just help me find the supplies, please." Her voice was subdued.

  He helped her stand. She winced a little, the fire in her bottom having given way to a dull, warm ache that she still wanted desperately to rub. When he handed her the package of sterile gauze, she mumbled a thank you and moved toward the bathroom.

  "I'll be outside for a few minutes. Just come to the door and let me know when you're ready to eat something."

  "I need chocolate," she said mournfully, just before she closed the bathroom door behind her.

  Andee heard his laughter and then the sound of his leaving, and she found she missed the smell of rain terribly.

  *****

  Alone in the small confines of her bathroom, she skimmed the clinging exercise pants down to her knees and berated herself for having chosen a thong instead of cheek-covering granny panties. Even one extra layer of fabric between her bottom and his punishing hand and that horrible spoon would have helped, she thought. She cupped her firm, round nether cheeks and assured herself they weren't actually swollen twice their normal size. But they were definitely warmer than they would have been otherwise, thanks to Mr. Benjamin and his old-fashioned discipline. She felt a little bit of moisture seep between her legs when the word crossed her mind and she visualized the incident that had brought it on in her imagination.

  A light shudder shook her body. "You are one sick puppy, Andee Carlisle," she whispered. Still, she couldn't deny any of the reactions she was having to the incident, least of all this one that reminded her of a scene from one of Tracy Topping's books.

  She would give a lot to be able to read again from one of Ms. Topping's novels in which naughty girls were forced to confront the error of their ways from a perspective that was most often horizontal and bare. She wondered, briefly, what Mr. Benjamin would think if he knew about the secret stash of such books beneath her bed, where they were handy for her to read about the topic that had fascinated her for years, humiliated though she was to admit it.

  And now here she was, huddled in her bathroom, with the stern but curiously gentle man who had shown her the reality of those tingly-making situations lounging just outside her front door. Life was becoming stranger than fiction by the moment, she thought ruefully.

  She turned on the faucet, fumbled at the towel rack, and pulled off the bath cloth Leila always left there for her. When it was thoroughly soaked, she wrung it out and bathed her face briefly, then gave in to the temptation, and bending over slightly, draped it over her bare bottom. Clasping it there, she forced herself to think about all the ramifications of this morning's scene.

  She had been well and truly spanked. Not a warning. Not an attention-getting single smack over jeans and panties, but a true bottom burning paddling that hurt like he—, like the devil, she amended hastily. Then she grimaced in acknowledgement of the influence the strange Mr. Nick Benjamin was already having over her, even in her private thoughts.

  She should have been furious, she thought. Should have demanded her phone back and called the police and reported him for assault. That's exactly what she would have done after he delivered the first few licks, if only she could have regained her balance enough to break away from that humiliating posture he held her in, bent over and vulnerable. But when he began smacking her with that dreadful spoon—and how could she ever use it to stir up a heating pan of Ragu again—she was so stunned by the pain, she could only think about begging him to stop. Then, for some reason she couldn't quite pinpoint, something had shifted in her head. It had still received the messages her nerves were sending and had kept on interpreting them as painful, but another voice had risen in volume within her until it overshadowed the first communication. "Help me. Hold me," it said, and she had found herself hanging on to Mr. Benjamin and forcefully biting back the plea, shamed even to be thinking it, but desperate to have him somehow hear it, nonetheless.

  How was it possible she could hate what had happened and yet be so hungry for the experience all over again? How could she both dread and long for a repeat performance? And how could she face him now, after she had kicked and squealed and threatened and hit and then cried like a baby and cuddled into him as though he were the only thing in the world she needed or wanted?

  Why, she didn't even know what he looked like. Maybe he was hideously ugly, covered in sores with rotting teeth and squinty eyes and pointed Spock ears and-and had terrible breath. No, not that. She knew that much, at least. She knew he smelled clean and good. And, she realized with some surprise, she knew he had hard, soft, tough, gentle hands, and very strong arms, and a voice she sent herself into sweet sleep with every night, and high standards. Standards he thought her capable of living up to. Standards she was pretty sure he would insist on whether she regained her sight or not.

  It was then that she realized she was thinking in terms of continuing some kind of relationship beyond her immediate need for a tutor. That was unrealistic, of course. It was also a completely romanticized view of a situation that was, after all, simply an issue of job performance. She was his assignment and nothing more. He was her tutor and nothing else.

  With a small sigh, she peeled the damp cloth off her behind and spread it over the sink's edge to dry, smiling wryly to think that, a week ago, she would have either carelessly dropped the rag into the sink or let it fall to the floor and kicked it out of her way. Now, she had to admit, she found herself being a little more careful of things, a little neater and tidier, a little less wasteful, just because it was the way she knew Mr. Benjamin would have done things.

  What was happening to her? And why did the changes feel right somehow?

  She thought about the soothing cold cream the spanked girls in Ms. Toppings' books sometimes were lucky enough to have applied. She wished she could put her hands unerringly on such an item in her own bathroom, but she honestly couldn't remember if she even owned something that would have helped, much less where to look for it in the tiny space.

  So, instead, she left her bottom bare while she removed the black patches and peeled off the gauze, which had begun to dry and were sticking to her eyelids a little. Even with her eyes uncovered, she could see nothing in the complete blackness of the bathroom. She was tempted to turn on the light, just long enough to run a brush through her hair and maybe find her tube of tinted moisturizer and a little lip gloss, but that might arouse the suspicions of a man who seemed to miss nothing where she was concerned.

  Better to play it safe, she decided, as she washed her hands and dutifully tore open the packet of gauze, managing to hold the material in place over both eyes while she slipped the despised black patches back on, as well. Then she eased the stretchy yoga pants over the still tender little hillocks she was going to be forced to sit on again at some point, took a deep breath, and went to find Mr. Benjamin.

  *****

  Her bravado was back in place. Nick saw that clearly from his vantage point at the edge of the concrete walkway that serviced all the grou
nd floor apartments, as soon as Andee opened the outside door.

  "Come back in now," she said, shoulders thrown back and head held high. Her tone implied she had banished him there to begin with.

  He simply looked at her quietly and was rewarded with a momentary falter when she seemed in doubt as to whether he was still there or not. She turned her head slightly to one side and leaned outward the slightest bit, as though straining to catch a sound. It was the way her teeth suddenly bit into her bottom lip that told him she was anxious.

  He let her wonder for just a second, and then scraped his shoe against the sidewalk and exhaled with something like a sigh. Her mouth underwent a funny little series of motions then, slipping into a lightning quick smile that was immediately replaced by an exasperated quirk of the lip on the left side of her face.

  "I mean, would you please be so kind as to grace my humble home with your presence once again, Mr. Benjamin?" She stepped back and swept her arm out in a grand theatrical welcoming gesture.

  "Thank you. I believe I will."

  As he stepped across the space between them and into her apartment, he paused briefly and lightly touched the patch on her right eye. "You took care of that very well. I'm proud of you."

  A pleased smile escaped her control and spread across her face before she grimaced a little. "Wish I could manage the drops, too. I'm such a bother for Leila."

  "If your friend is wise, she'll look on this as an opportunity to have her own eyes opened and her spirit stretched a little. Maybe someday you can return the favor when she has a need."

  Andee shrugged and closed the door quietly. They stood in silence for a moment before he spoke. "Come and sit down at the table for a minute. I want to show you something."

  She followed him, easing gently into her chair and finding it wasn't quite as bad as she had feared.

  "Andee," he hesitated a moment, aware that he had never used her first name before and knowing it somehow moved them to a new level of intimacy. He continued in a stronger and more resolute voice, "Andee, I understand your concerns about going out in public. It must be disconcerting to know other people can see you and you can't see them. You probably wonder what they're thinking when they look at you, if they are pitying you or are too curious about what's wrong with your eyes. I would hate the thought of people staring at me that way, too. I don't want you to think I'm insensitive to your feelings. But, I have a larger concern. You've been shut away in this room for days now. No fresh air. No sunshine. No exercise. That's not good for you. Your body needs all the help it can get for healing right now. That's why I planned this little study session and picnic, and it's why I want us to spend some time outdoors every day, weather permitting, of course. It's bound to have a positive effect physically and mentally and it should lift your spirits some."