His Firm Direction

by Alexis Alvarez

  “I asked you several times if you needed help managing the bills,” he reminded her, his voice stony. “Because I did know how slammed you were at work, and I wanted to help. I also wanted us not to let the insurance lapse… again. We’re both competent professionals, Anna. There’s no reason for us to get hit with ridiculous increases because we can’t pay on time.”

  “I know.” Her voice was irritable. “I know we’re both competent. I can manage the bills and my job, Aaron. And I don’t appreciate being treated like a child. It just got away from me this month, okay? Next time I’ll put it on my calendar so I don’t forget to pay.”

  “But you said no,” he reminded her. “You snapped at me that you’d managed the bills since you were single, and you were going to keep doing it. I said fine.”

  “I like doing it,” she said, stubborn.

  “All you had to do,” he said, implacable, “was sign up for autopay. Five minutes. You told me you were going to do it. Then you told me you did it. Can you imagine my surprise when I found out you didn’t… and didn’t pay at all? Our car insurance was cancelled, Anna. I had to go to Don’s office myself, skipping an important meeting, to sweet talk, apologize, pay a large fine, and get us reinstated. At a higher rate, might I add.”

  “We can afford it,” she said, then bit her lip.

  “That’s not the point. The point is that you had ample opportunity to ask for help; you didn’t, you lied, and you messed up.”

  “I’m sorry you had to miss your meeting, Mr. Important,” she snapped, feeling crushed with self-disappointment. Then she started to cry. “I don’t understand why you can’t be a little more sympathetic, that’s all! Anyone would miss a few things with my kind of schedule.”

  “That’s the thing you need to change,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re selling yourself short. You’re not the kind of person who lets important things fall to the wayside. You can do better, and all it will take is a short reorganization of your schedule and priorities. I can help. But you need to do this before we miss more things.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes.

  Now there was a note of threat in his voice. “What did I say would happen if you let this lapse again?”

  “No, Aaron.” She took a step back, feeling panic. “I’m not up for it tonight. I told you, I had a difficult day.”

  “It’s about to get a little more difficult,” he said, taking her arm. “And then it will get a lot better. Tell me what I’m going to do now, and what you’re going to do.”

  “Nothing,” she snapped.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you want?”

  She burst into tears. “I don’t want you to spank me right now! It’s going to hurt and I have to sit at my desk all day tomorrow.”

  “Maybe that will remind you that you need to take the time to organize yourself so you don’t run ragged.”

  “I won’t.” She put a note of defiance into her voice.

  “Yes. You will.” His voice was calm but even. “And we’ll do it right now, get it out of the way, and figure out how to fix this. You asked for this, Anna. So let me do it. You always feel better afterwards.”

  “Fine.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “If you’re going to be a jerk, then fine. Just do it.”

  “Extra for resisting. You know that. Five. Keep it up and it will be ten.”

  She shrugged but didn’t speak again.

  He sat on the couch. “Over my lap, Anna. Pull up your skirt.”

  She broke role for a second to whisper, which was funny, given that they were alone. “Axel. I’m not wearing the protective pad.”

  “On my lap, Anna,” he repeated, with a little more menace in his words.

  “Uh… fine, Aaron,” she snapped, getting back into the role. “But for the record, I’m pissed at you right now.”

  “For the record,” he replied, taking her hand and pulling her down—more smoothly than Martin ever did!—man, he was good at this—“I’m pissed at you too. And at myself, for not doing this sooner.”

  “You’re not supposed to spank me mad,” she said instantly, twisting to beg with her eyes.

  “I’m not mad,” he clarified. “Pissed in general, yes. But calm and controlled enough to do this right. Put your head back down.” He laid one hand on her ass and the warm weight made her suck in her breath. He splayed out his fingers, and she gasped again at the shot of arousal that surged through her belly. His thighs were hard under her body, harder and stronger than Martin’s. She could feel his legs and she liked it.

  Without meaning to, she wiggled just a bit, trying to explore him with her chest, and felt him clench his muscles. She smiled, then thought, in a burst of inspiration: She’d do this on Martin’s lap to make it look sexier. She’d ask him to rest his hand, splay out the fingers. This was going to get even better.

  Those thoughts fled at his next words. “Tell me why I’m going to punish you, Anna.”

  Her voice came out with a twist she’d never heard before, as if she were genuinely upset about messing up insurance and disappointing her husband. “B-Because I ruined our insurance record even after you promised to help. Then lied.”

  “That’s part of it,” he agreed, running his hand lightly up and down her ass, rubbing softly. She sighed and pushed up into his hand. Another thing she’d never done with Martin; usually she just lay there, waiting for the pretend spanking to start, using just her voice to communicate her feelings.

  “But why else? Why do I punish you, ever?”

  “Because… because I asked you to,” she whispered, hiding her face against his leg. The smell of his fabric softener was different from Martin’s. She clutched his calf with both hands, mesmerized by the strength of his muscles, and also to steady herself. She noted that she should do this with Martin, too; it would make her look needy and sexy and worried, all at once. She felt him clench his muscle, then relax it under her grip.

  “And why do you want me to?” His voice was lower, and she could swear they were Cleo and Axel now, and he was asking why she wanted him to do this thing, to her, to her own ass.

  “Because it helps me get re-centered,” she said, feeling tears leak out of her eyes. “Because it helps us reconnect when we’re mad. Because a punishment makes me think and not repeat a mistake.” And saying those words, which usually sounded so horribly unfeminist to her, suddenly were the sexiest things she could utter. Because what she was really saying, she realized all at once, was not those things at all. The words were a secret code for something else entirely.

  What she was really saying was, “I’m mad and I’m stressed and I can’t handle life. I need to forget myself in your rough touch. I need you to spank me hard, punish my guilt and anger, not that you have the right or the ability to do that. Only I have the right and ability to do it. But you can help me get there through this game we play together, a game that’s so part of our lives that it’s more than a game.

  “The rough sex I crave will let me loosen my brain and reset my soul. And when you lecture me, it’s a game and not a game at the same time. I know I messed up about the insurance and I’m so fucking pissed at myself I could cut my arm open. I hate myself. And you know that, so you’re taking on the role of punisher so I don’t have to, because if you spank me, if we do this charade where you spank me for it and forgive me, I can let it go, too. I can let it go and move on, and then we’ll fuck so hard and good that my orgasm will wash all of the ugly out of my soul and bathe me in hope and joy and the ability to start over tomorrow.

  “So spank me, Aaron, spank me hard, spank me until I cry, because I like it rough, and I like it hard, and I trust you to do what I need and no further. Take me in your hands and take charge, and then bring me to the ecstasy that I need, an ecstasy that will be all the better for the pain first.”

  “It’s going to be hard,” he warned, touching her thighs with his fingertips. “I’m not going to be easy on you, Anna. You’re going to beg me to stop, a
nd I’m not going to stop until you’re contrite. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Then, we begin,” he said, and she sucked in a breath and grabbed again at his leg, harder this time, sure he was going to slap her ass hard, just like Martin did, except this time she wasn’t wearing the protective pad. And she wanted him to do it; God help her, she wanted it. She wanted to feel him slap her ass, then rub away the sting, then do it again and again until she was a writhing ball of need, unable to tell the difference between pain and desire, just waiting for him to have mercy on her and fuck her into oblivion.

  Chapter Six

  But he didn’t. Instead, he patted her once on the ass, the smallest of slaps, then said—regular voice, “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Cleo, that was perfect. Even better than today with Martin.”

  Still caught up in the role, she didn’t reply. Blood rushed to her head from the position and she could feel her pulse beating in her eardrums, steady and loud. “I thought,” she said finally. “I should tell Martin to do the, ah, thing with the hand that you did. And I’ll grab his leg, like I did with yours.” She repeated the grab to demonstrate, then loosened her grip on him, reluctant to let go.

  He let his hand sink back onto her ass, and slowly spread his fingers. “This?”

  She nodded, then said, “Yes,” her voice coming out a little hoarse. She needed to sit up; she was uncomfortable, but she liked his hand there.

  “And this.” He moved his hand to her thighs and stroked softly, then flipped up her skirt and let his fingers stray to the edge of her panties.

  She blushed furiously. “I think it probably looks sexy. And we should add that in so the audience gets without a doubt that this is about sex, at the core of it, in this play. Even if they’re not having sex right now, it’s about that intimate connection they have, you know?”

  He kept touching, almost—almost!—letting his index finger glide below the fabric. “Mmmm,” he said. She could feel him under her lap—he was aroused. She wiggled again, feeling exposed under the bright lights, even though it was just the two of them. What was he thinking, looking at her ass in her panties? Did he want to bring his palm down, a nice hard crack? Did he want to redden her skin, make her dance across his legs, spank until she begged and whined? Did he want to slide his finger between her thighs and touch her most intimate spot and drive her wild?

  She was wet and she knew it; he could probably smell it, and that—instead of being embarrassing—was exhilarating. Good. Let him smell her. Let him look and smell and touch, let him go wild with desire. Let him know what it felt like to crave someone so hard you could die. Let him.

  “Axel?’ she said, and her voice was a question, a request. He shifted, and seemed about to speak, but his phone rang.

  “Fuck.” His voice was taut. “Here, let me help you get up, Cleo. I’m—I need to get this. Sorry.”

  They hadn’t practiced her dismount. With Martin, it was easy now; he braced his legs and tightened his left arm and she slid down and pulled against him, using his arm like a handle to gracefully get to her feet. But with Axel, it wasn’t scripted.

  “I, um…” She started to swing her legs to the side, opening her thighs, just as he spread his legs, too, and started to pull her up into his arms. He was far stronger than Martin! Startled, she tensed up, then allowed her body to relax as he effortlessly scooped her up into his lap, pulling her against his chest. He looked into her eyes for a second before gently scooting her to the side, next to him, and grabbed his phone from the side table beside the couch.

  Her skirt was still up, and this was somehow more intimate, even than what they’d just done. Because that was acting, now they were—themselves again. She stood up slightly to pull it down, then sat right back beside him, her body curving into his, touching from hips to chest. Then, thinking that was too provocative and forward, too needy, she slid over. But then that seemed sort of weird and prudish, like she was pointing out their proximity, so she changed it into a stand and grabbed her own phone, tapping at messages and Facebook without reading anything, trying to look busy.

  * * *

  “I’m so grateful that you’re doing this!” The director of the high school drama club was a woman in her sixties, a lanky lady with ropy muscles and leathery skin. Cleo thought her face looked like an expensive Michael Kors purse that had been worn in over the years, leather wrinkled and scarred with life. It was the face of a person who’d lived a hard life, on the surface anyway. Whether the look was due to weather or genetics or decades of smoky clubs, it was impossible to tell.

  “I’m Monica.” Her handshake was strong and no-nonsense, a grip that pulled hard and let go, no wasted seconds for intimacy or power play. Just what was needed and not a single thing more.

  “Cleo,” she replied, looking around curiously. “It’s been a long time since I was in a high school. I love your set so far. It looks great.”

  “Our art club teamed up with the drama club to create it.” Monica gestured. “They decided to create all of the scenery based on artists from Mexico. See? Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera.” She pointed. “Because the play is set in Mexico.”

  “Well done,” agreed Axel, nodding.

  “This should totally get a spot on the local news,” suggested Cleo.

  “First we need to actually learn the roles,” said Monica, and gave a short laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She paused to look at a canvas full of faces, and smiled. “Inspired by Alfredo Ramos Martínez. I’m crazy proud. These kids outdid themselves. It’s unbelievable what they can do when they work together. And the girl who wrote this play? She’s fantastic. I think she’s going to go on to do amazing things.”

  “So a high school kid wrote the whole play?” Cleo couldn’t even imagine doing that now, let alone in high school.

  “Yes!” Monica nodded. “It’s part of a city-wide competition each year for high-school aged kids. The winning plays are performed on stage with professional actors at the Pegasus Theater. Ellen Ramos, our winner, took second place, so she gets to work with them. But in addition, we’re so proud of her here at the school that our drama club is also performing the play.”

  “Wow, that’s fantastic.” Cleo smiled, excited to be part of this.

  Monica nodded. “I’m proud of her, but all of them, too. They do a great job as a team.”

  “Group thinking,” agreed Axel. “The best way to make breakthroughs.”

  “Yup. The sum is greater than the whole of the parts,” Cleo said. “When they’re all in sync, they make magic, right? It works that way for me—for us, too. When our cast is all sort of linked together mentally, when we really merge together, it’s like we’re doing the play without thinking, and it’s so much better than when we’re distracted.”

  “And that’s exactly why I wanted your support,” said Monica. “That’s the kind of insight the kids need to hear from professional actors. I think they will take it to heart, more than when I say it. And better yet, to see in action. Can we?” She gestured, then led them out of the theater, into the hallway, and pointed to a set of double doors. “I have my materials ready in con B, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to show you my proposal and see what you think.”

  The room was small, a box the size of a doctor’s cubicle office in a strip-mall practice. The carpet was flat and gray; the overhead lights fluorescent. A rectangular folding table and four folding chairs were the only accessories.

  “It’s not fancy,” Monica said, handing each of them a stapled handout, “but it works. At least we won’t be interrupted.”

  She nodded at the door, which had a glassy panel and broken, twisted folding blinds that allowed partial sight of the empty hall. “Although today the only people we’d see are the janitors. No kids on site.” She tapped the packets. “So basically, my students are great, okay? And I’m an excellent manager, don’t get me wrong. And I’ve acted some, in the past, plays in college, and a few commercials. But
that’s about it. I want to give them opportunities to learn from experts.”

  Axel’s voice was curious. “You mentioned a little bit on the phone, but can you summarize for Cleo what you were saying about visiting our rehearsals?”

  “If you agree, I’d like to have our student director, Ellen—the one who won that competition—and a subset of the drama club—some of the actors in our play—come visit your theater during rehearsals for your next play. A special team event. I’d like them to come to one of the first rehearsals, where you’re just learning and blocking out lines. Then one or two in the middle, then the dress rehearsal. And a final performance. That way they can experience the whole thing and see the progression.” Her voice held excitement. “Give them a chance to watch it grow and perfect.”

  “Cool!” Cleo couldn’t hold back her excitement. “That’s a great idea. And I’m sure they’ll love it.”

  Axel nodded. “Okay. So about five visits, you think?”

  “I’ve outlined it here.” Monica turned the page and pointed. “Six, actually.”

  Axel flipped to find the spot; nodded. “How about release forms from the school and parents? And we’ll need them to sign nondisclosure and safely release forms for the theater, as well.”

  Monica nodded. “Of course. If you turn to section five, you’ll see copies of our forms. And if you email your forms to me, I can include them in the final version of the agreement we write up.”

  Axel continued. “No inappropriate comments to the cast or crew. No inappropriate behavior. First offense, they’re out. No second chances.” He started to speak, hesitated, then said, “I am sure your kids will be fine. But these days…” He shook his head.

  “Fair enough. And likewise, expectations for your crew about dealing with high school students. These kids are mature and wise beyond their years, but they’re still fifteen, sixteen. Some of the parents, although they support this idea, are concerned about the kids interacting with adults. We’ll have a chaperone present during each visit to keep an eye on the kids.”