The misdeeds of a child certainly didn't call for a caning of this severity. Kerrick kissed the top of her head. "Sh, honey. It's all over now. And you are forgiven."
"But, I shouldn't have kicked him. The vet bill cost a lot of money - more than the ram was worth, I'm sure."
"Baby, it's over and done. And I'm not a farm boy, but I don't think that going without food and water for twenty-four hours can cause that much harm. What you did was unkind, but a childish mistake. The fact you feel so badly about it now tells me that you would never do such a thing again. Right?"
She nodded, her head still pressed against his chest. She fit nicely there. Not too tall, not too short. Kerrick tightened his arms around her. He wasn't the six-foot-two that seemed to be every woman's dream for the perfect guy. Back in his high school days, being on the short side had been a big issue, but he'd grown comfortable with his height. And being short had nothing to do with the fact he worked out every day, that his biceps bulged and his abs were hard as masonite. No - he worked out because being an artist meant he didn't get enough exercise unless he made a conscious effort.
"Sh, honey. It's all over, forgiven and forgotten. Now I need to get some rest - painting takes a lot out of me. You have a couple hours to yourself, then when I get up, why don't we go somewhere? Just you and me. What would you like to do?"
"Turn back the clock," she whispered, sniffing her nose.
He chuckled. Yeah, if he could, he'd turn it back to when he bought that stupid cane. "What about the museum. Have you been there?"
She wrinkled her nose, pushing away from him. "Sounds boring."
"Not this museum. The Museum of Science and Industry. It's a favorite place for kids of all ages. They host the world's largest slumber party every year. We missed it already, but it wouldn't draw that many families with young children if it wasn't pretty cool."
"I guess. At least I won't have to sit down."
"There's my girl."
Kerrick was so tired he fell asleep almost immediately, but his sleep wasn't restful. Shamika filled his dreams, visions of her sobbing, of her bottom swollen and bruised, and him holding a bloodied cane. The dreams twisted then. It wasn't Shamika's lifeless body in his arms, but Karen's. His first love. The anorexic model he couldn't save. Kerrick awoke a few hours later, covered in a sweat. He grumbled as he stepped into a cold shower, hoping that wasn't going to become a daily ritual.
Shamika had dressed, but in another short skirt with a skimpy little midriff blouse. The little sweater she'd pulled on over it was not warm enough for this time of year.
"You have exactly ten minutes to put on something more appropriate, before I turn you over my knee," he growled.
Her chin tilted stubbornly. "Then you'd better give me an advance on my wages, and the phone number of a department store with speedy delivery. This is all I got."
"Where's your winter coat? Tell me you didn't move to Chicago without a winter coat!"
"Of course not! It was stolen. Along with my other bags. I saw some homeless kid wearing a pink jacket just like mine, but what could I do? Her dad was standing right there, looking all mean and ugly."
"What else did you lose?"
"Everything," she said again. "Jeans, sweatshirts, walking shoes, my makeup and hairbrush. And the rest of my money. I didn't want to carry it all in my purse, so I had two grand tucked into the lining of each suitcase."
And just where she got her hands on four grand was another issue to be discussed while over his knee. But not for a few days at least, until the welts had healed. "Well then. First we have to go to a clothing store. We'll put off the museum until tomorrow. You really can't see the whole thing in one day, anyway, and we're getting such a late start. They close at nine, I think."
"I'm not the one who slept all afternoon," she said, smiling. She seemed relieved to get out of the museum trip. Kerrick shook his head. He couldn't wait to prove her wrong.
"Artists keep odd hours," he said defensively. "Get used to it." Shopping wasn't something he generally enjoyed. He loved being able to just call up and have stuff delivered. Everything from groceries to clothes to gifts - when he remembered to give them - even his art supplies. Especially art supplies. He could waste entire days in an art store, and buy far too much stuff, and then be tripping over it constantly, while suffocating his muse under the pressure of trying to use it all.
But shopping for Shamika was different. For one thing, she skipped out of the dressing room to pirouette around him, displaying each outfit for his approval. He got to see her in snug fitting denims, dresses in soft flowing fabrics, even a satin nightgown. She looked adorable in Chicago Bears polar fleece, and good enough to eat in silk and lace. Finally, she tried on the pair of Pooh-Bear overalls with a yellow tee shirt. She'd tugged her long hair back into a pony tail. It was the nicest thing she'd done all day. Now she looked so much like someone's kid sister, that maybe he could stop lusting for her.
"These are really comfortable," she said, twirling around with the same grace as if she were wearing an evening gown. "Especially after you blistered my bottom. I really have to get these."
"Absolutely. Why don't you just keep them on, while I go pay for everything?"
"Oh, I don't want everything," she said. "Just an outfit or two. I can't afford more."
"I said I'd pay for everything," he repeated, his voice dropping a note.
She shrugged. "Right. But you'll take it out of the three thousand you're paying me. I don't want all these clothes. I can do laundry, and really, it isn't like I'm going to need that much when I spend all day naked."
"You are the most exasperating person I have ever met!" Kerrick was quickly losing his patience. Not that he had a lot to begin with. "I said I'd pay all your living expenses. Clothing is a living expense. Now unless you want me to paddle you right here in front of everybody, you'll do as you're told."
"Talk about exasperating! You're no gem, yourself! I don't need your charity!"
Kerrick caught her wrist and tugged her in for a quick swat across her denim-clad bottom. She gasped, and moisture filled her eyes. A sales clerk nodded in his direction, giving his approval at what appeared to be a minor child being disciplined. Kerrick regretted it instantly, though. That stupid cane. If he'd only spanked her this morning, she wouldn't still be in so much pain.
"It's not charity," he said, his voice softening. "Paying for your needs is part of your salary - which you will earn. And although I want you to pose nude, you will not meander around the house with nothing on. I have delivery people coming all the time, and we'll go out around Chicago, or friends might drop by–"
"You have friends?"
He scowled at her interruption, but saw the impish grin she was trying to hide. He swatted her bottom again, very lightly.
"Yes, I have friends."
"Will you tell me, then, why you'll paint me naked and these paintings will hang all over the world, maybe some in private homes, but some in museums or offices, where thousands of people will see me naked, but you don't want me to answer the door without a stitch on?"
"It's different. Trust me, it's different," he grumbled. Maybe he wouldn't sell her paintings.
She giggled, but she did step into the dressing room and return a moment later with her arms full. Then she added a package of underwear and a couple of bras to the pile, and finally, a winter coat. "Do you mind if I pick up some makeup, too?"
"Yes, I mind."
Surprised, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "Well, I, um, just a little? My mascara is nearly gone, and -"
"You won't need it. I forgot to mention, but my models don't wear makeup. I want to paint the real you, not some commercial image you want to project."
"But the real me wears makeup. Not a lot. That's who I am. It's part of what makes me female. And if you think painting women without makeup is more honest, well, think again. You're painting only what you want to see."
"So now you're an art critic?" If she didn't l
earn to shut her mouth, he might just spank her again anyway.
"No. I could never criticize your paintings. When I look at that picture, I can't describe what I feel. Embarrassed a little, I guess. Because it's so beautiful, and I can't believe that you see me that way. I just think that if you want to portray women, that you shouldn't always paint them without makeup."
"I'll think about it," he lied. "But enough shopping for now. I'm hungry."
She sighed, her gaze turning towards the rows of lip sticks and nail polish as they walked past. She got over it though, as the clerk rang up the small mountain of new clothes. "I can't thank you enough," she said softly. "For not firing me yesterday. And for all of this."
"You'll earn it," he said, scowling at the clerk who might have misinterpreted his comment. It wasn't like that. Not really. Even though he did want to sleep with her. She'd earn it by posing for him. The sleep-with part would be totally optional. Only if she wanted it as much as he did. He'd just have to make sure that she wanted it. Soon.
Chapter Four
Shannon couldn't stop smiling. Life was good for the moment. Oh, her bottom stung worse than she'd ever hurt before. It hurt worse than bee stings or falling on the ice wearing ice skates. It hurt worse than when she sprained her wrist in gym class. But it was weird, too. Kind of comforting. She'd been feeling awful for years, whenever she'd remember what she'd done to the ram. She'd felt like a bad person, damned to spend eternity in hell like her father was always saying. But now she had a clean slate. She'd confessed, Kerrick punished her, and he told her she was forgiven. At least, where that offence was concerned. Too bad he couldn't just spank her once and forgive her for all her past indiscretions!
And now she had a complete new wardrobe! She'd never had so many pretty things all at once. And the coat - the coat was absolutely perfect! It was periwinkle, with a band of embroidery to either side of the front zipper, and a big, fur-trimmed hood - it was so pretty and warm, that she didn’t want to take it off. And of course, after she'd made a fuss over how much he'd spent, he had to go and buy the mittens, hat and scarf to match, before paying the store to have everything delivered that evening. Kerrick Peyton could be an overbearing dictator at times. Still, in some ways, he was a lot nicer than her dad. Her dad had never hit her, but he'd never held her, either. Kerrick had shown her more affection in five minutes than her dad had in a lifetime. And wasn't that the real sin?
Kerrick treated her to dinner, then. A couple of burgers and cokes, which they ate standing up in deference to her discomfort. She couldn't finish all her fries, and he got upset that she wanted to toss them to the birds, so she forced herself to eat them and then keep them down. Maybe he liked fat nudes better? Well, she'd have to make sure the extra calories were worth it. Next time he bought her dinner, she'd skip the fries in lieu of a hot-fudge sundae.
Back in his apartment, though, he slipped back into what she called his "artist mode". He got sullen and uncommunicative, his eyebrows drew together into a scowl, and he fidgeted like a little boy on a rainy afternoon. "Do you want me to pose again?" she offered.
"No!"
She flinched, grateful that he didn't want to spank her when he was in such a foul mood. "Do you mind if I take a bath?"
"Go ahead. Just don't lock the door."
Right. Only one bathroom. He might need to use it before she got out. Well maybe she'd better make it a quick one. But as the claw-footed tub filled with steamy water, lightly scented from the bath oil she'd found under the sink along with a bottle of shampoo and conditioner - from his last model, perhaps? He didn't seem like the lavender jasmine type - as the tub filled, she knew she was going to stay in it until the water turned cold and her fingers shriveled up like prunes. She pulled the translucent curtain around the tub, stepped out of her new overalls, and slipped into paradise.
Her bottom stung. Damn, but why did he have to hit her so hard? She ought to break that cane into twenty pieces. Maybe he'd spank her for that, but it would be worth it! Shannon clenched her teeth as she lowered herself into the water, until the pain lessened and she was able to get comfortable. She had to adjust her hair clip higher, so she could lean back without it digging into her scalp. Then she closed her eyes.
Lavender scented her thoughts. Fragrant oil softened her skin. She cupped her breasts, her hands moving in slow circles as she inhaled deeply. Something inside was awakening, something long kept hidden. She'd felt the first tingles at age nine, when a classmate held her hand on the bus. Her father had overreacted and wouldn't let her ride the bus again. He drove her in, although it added a half-hour to his already long day. Then her mom picked her up after school, or in the fall, after volleyball practice.
She'd felt it stir again, this buried sensuality, when she wanted to go to prom, and she'd gone shopping for a dress. The styles that year had all been spaghetti-straps and satin, with gobs of fabric below the waist, but precious little on top. Her panties had become damp just trying the dresses on, and a small part of her imagined being a fairy princess and wearing such lovely clothes every day. Her father would never have let her wear such risqué clothing, though. Her mom had known better than to actually let her buy one. Since there were no appropriate dresses, she'd had to buy a fancy blouse and skirt. The outfit had been expensive, and was very pretty, but she felt like the ugly duckling on the dance floor. And the boys must have felt the same, for no one had asked her to dance.
Dad had allowed her to enroll in a co-ed college, but she had to live in the all-girls dorm. She'd talked to a few boys, and even studied with a few, but her heart beat faster whenever she saw the baritone - the one who preferred tenors. Shannon was beginning to wonder if she'd ever attract a nice guy, the kind she could bring home to meet her parents. Until Kerrick.
Was he a nice guy? He could be harsh. Irritable. He demanded a lot from her. But he wasn't unkind. And he did buy her a lot of pretty clothes. And he was an artist, after all. Weren't artists different from normal people? Just then, the object of her desire knocked on the door, opening it slightly.
"Are you decent?"
The curtain was drawn, and although she could make out vague shapes, she couldn't see the bathroom clearly. "You may come in," she said.
She saw the dark blue blur of his jeans, a lighter blur for his shirt. He moved to the toilet, and she heard his zipper. There was something so intimate about sharing a bathroom with a man! She'd never seen a man piss in a toilet before. She tugged a corner of the curtain aside so she could watch.
He had nice hips. Trim, lean hips. He hadn't lowered his jeans, and she couldn't see his - his thing - at all. Penis. That's what it was called, although her ears burned even just thinking about the word. Maybe she ought to be reciting Bible verses or something! Yet she didn't look away. Instead, she imagined him over her, his jeans still on, but unzipped. Feeling him over her, inside her, the cool zipper pressed against her naked flesh, pulsing - Oh Gosh! Shannon dunked her head under the water.
"You okay in there?" He had flushed the toilet and was washing his hands. Good hygiene.
"Fine," she sputtered, spitting out oily bath water.
"I left some ointment on the counter. Try it." Then he left as quickly as he'd come, but her bath was ruined. It wasn't relaxing any more. Shannon was wound up tight, and she didn't know what to do to fix it. She pulled the plug and briskly dried herself with the terry towel.
The ointment burned at first, but it felt soothing after the burning faded. She rubbed it in carefully, wrapping herself in a big towel before she went out to find her employer. "Are you going to work again tonight, or should I get dressed?"
"Work. Stand. There!"
She dropped the towel. It was just as well. The way she felt inside, she'd never sleep anyway. Kerrick didn't pick up his paints, though. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed, a big pad of drawing paper on his lap. A pencil between his teeth, another above his ear, and yet a third clenched in his hand. It was difficult to understand his directions around
the pencil, but he barked out orders anyway. She stood, her back to him. He drew a large sketch of just her bottom. Shannon's face burned in humiliation that the marks on her backside were now immortalized for all time in his sketchbook. Then he had her stretch out on her side, one hand resting on a bottom cheek, like she was rubbing away the pain. He drew her full figure that time, but still from the back view. For the third sketch, he had her kneel, and pull a brush through her hair. That was the hardest pose to hold, because her feet went to sleep. At least he sketched much faster than he painted. Finally, he set his pencils down.
"That's enough for tonight, Shamika. Get some sleep."
Sleep? Yeah, right. Like she could sleep. This was going to be the longest six weeks of her life.
***
Kerrick lay awake listening to her cot squeak as Shannon tossed and turned. Maybe her bottom was keeping her awake. He gulped, wishing he could take it back. But then he'd remember how she felt in his arms when he'd comforted her. He grew hard with want. Twice he got up to knock on her door, and twice he'd stopped himself. She was too young. Too innocent. She would think sex meant more than it did, and he'd break her heart. Kerrick couldn't do that to her. Finally, he threw on some clothes and went out for a walk.
He tossed down a couple beers in the sports bar, but an hour later he found himself walking to the back of the dirty book store. There were the canes and whips and crops and paddles, but on a display rack next to them he saw a little book about spanking. Kerrick picked it up and skimmed through it.
The beginning talked about why people like to be spanked or give spankings, but he flipped through the chapters until he came to the one on canes. It discussed the proper technique, and mentioned that the pain was far more intense than any other implement, and therefore might be reserved for only the most serious offenses. Also, many people prefer to cane only after the bottom has already been spanked, like warming up before exercises. He wasn't sure that would provide any benefit at all, but he knew he had used far too much force. Why hadn't he noticed the book before! Kerrick paid for it, hurrying home to read more. It was so little; no doubt he'd have it finished before morning. Finally he dosed, dreaming about spankings, wet bottoms, and Shannon. He wished she'd left the shower curtain open yesterday when he'd walked in on her. Maybe she would pose for him in the tub - doing a bathing painting had worked for Mary Cassat, although her figure was turned away from the canvas, baring only her back.
The Painter Page 4