"Yessir."
"And that's two years in a cell by yourself. You understand?"
"Yessir."
"Good!" the Judge answered firmly, punctuating the moment with a rap of his gavel as he motioned her out.
***
"I still feel like a prisoner," Melody said, despondently, as Kenny drove her to the Boarding House.
"You are!" Kenny said.
"Hey, I'm on probation," she protested.
"Not with me. You're guilty, tried, convicted and I'm going to do what the Judge couldn't."
"You mean that, don't you?"
"I do," he replied. "Now, I've got to go back to work. But don’t worry, there will be plenty of time tonight—in the woodshed with my belt and your sweet butt."
"And what if I'm not here?" she asked, just testing.
"Then you're in really big trouble and when I find you, and I will, you will be going to jail."
Melody wasn't looking at him, but out the car window. Kenny heard her snuff, and when she spoke, it was in a whisper. "I'm scared, Kenny," she said, finally turning so he could see the tears welling in her eyes.
"Scared of what?" he asked.
"I've made such a mess of things. I think I'm going to screw everything up," she answered.
"You won't," Kenny said. "Not if I can help it. Now, I suggest you spend some time in your room thinking about things a little. I'll be home to take care of your butt later."
***
It was nearly nine o'clock when Kenny arrived back at the boarding house. There were lightening bugs sparkling across the dewy grass, a bit of summer fog in the heated air. What a great night it would have been for romance, for taking a woman in his arms and holding her. His loins were practically bursting from arousal, but it couldn't be the first thing on his mind.
Melody Blue. Her name was as sassy as her disposition. And what that girl needed tonight wasn't romance, but a good long session with the hairbrush. He wondered for just a moment if spanking her would be a regular thing if their relationship continued. He had a funny feeling that there might always be some foolish prank, or spirited fight that could only end with her going over his lap. It may not be the most modern relationship, but it might just be the only way to have one.
When Kenny knocked on Melody's door, there wasn't an answer.
"She's not there," Mrs. Buford said, coming down the hallway.
"Oh?"
"Think maybe she's skipped out."
"She couldn't," Kenny moaned.
"I don't know, 'cept she packed up her things, left me some rent money and someone saw her taking off to the highway."
"Damn it!" Kenny said, shaking his head. "I never should have left her this afternoon."
"Hey, you looking for Melody?" another boarder asked.
"Yeah. You know where she is?"
"Saw her leave about seven tonight, but then I thought I saw her walking behind the house about a half hour ago. I think she was going to the shed."
The yard was pretty dark in the fading light. A dusty old willow tree blocked what little light there still was in the western sky. As Kenny walked toward the shed, his stomach was churning almost as fearfully as it sometimes did when he was in a dangerous police situation. If she wasn't there, his heart would sink. His world would certainly change if she'd decided to take off. He was almost mad at himself for having cared about her so much. Perhaps she was a useless cause, as everyone else thought.
Opening the door to the shed however, Kenny's heart leaped to its feet. Seeing her sitting on the bench where he'd first spanked her, he couldn't believe how terrific she looked.
"I was going to leave," she started talking. "But I couldn't."
"No?"
"It would have been stupid," she said.
"You're right about that."
"I don't think I want jail time."
"I don't think so," he agreed.
"Even if I have lost you, I guess I don't need that."
"Who said you lost me?" Kenny asked.
"Well, I just assumed."
"We’ll see about that, but let's take care of first things first," Kenny said, changing the conversation. If he didn't paddle her now, he probably wouldn't, and that would be a mistake. Especially when she was looking forward to it. He spotted Mrs. Buford's hairbrush on the work table behind her.
"You steal that from Mrs. Buford?" he asked.
"Steal? No," she replied indignantly.
Kenny didn't smile, but he didn't exactly look mad.
"Off with the jeans," he ordered, and he moved to the table and retrieved the slicked back brush.
Without a word of protest, Melody replied. While she wriggled from her tight jeans, Kenny settled himself on the bench, and tried not to look. Though it was hard not to notice Melody's lovely nakedness, her shapely legs and the sweet bush of silky hair between her legs. When she laid down over his lap, he delighted in the view of the milky complexion of her two round fleshy orbs.
"You know, you really deserve this daily for about a week," Kenny said, as he was about to bring the brush down for the first swat.
"You wouldn't!" Melody instantly protested.
But the first smack stuck with Melody's quick cry supplanting her protest.
Smack, smack, smack! The hairbrush rained down on her bottom with a bevy of harsh, quick strokes. One after the other, the implement landed raising a quick pink on the once white bottom. Not so much angry protest and nasty complaint this time, the methodical punishment proceeded with Melody taking what she knew she deserved, and Kenny delivering it with a steady determination.
"Ouch, ouch, no!" was about as vivid as her language got. Somewhere in the scheme of things, Melody realized that this was one punishment she didn't want to avoid. It was likely the only way she could possibly mend her relationship with Kenny, she never wanted anything so much in her life.
Kenny's settled into a spirited pace, the brush bouncing off her hot bottom, erratically moving from one cheek to another, from top to bottom and side to side. She howled like the dickens just from the sting, but there was not one foul-mouthed retort, not one four letter word, not one ounce of typical Melody venom pouring from her sassy mouth.
For several smacks, Kenny even dropped the brush to the tops of her thighs.
"Oh, Kenny, please!" she wailed, louder than ever when the sting became too much to bear. And Kenny's reply was another six strokes on the same tender spot before he returned to her fleshier ass.
She was blistering hot, the heat radiating off her skin seeming to heat up the air all around them. Kenny could feel the vibrant burn, finding that it was raising a unexpected heat in him as well—not something he expected at all from a punishment, he was getting sexually aroused. A few minutes more, and it was too much for him to handle. He dropped the brush and spanked her instead with his own hand. And though the ferocity didn't stop, there was another quality coming through the steady stinging strokes.
Going over her rear once thoroughly with his hand, Kenny finally ended it, pulling the sobbing young woman up into his arms. On his lap, he held her close, one hand still on her hot bottom caressing it.
"Oh, Melody, I wish I knew what to do with you," he said.
She snuffed and cried into his shoulder and then pulled back. "You could just love me," she said.
"I could, huh?"
"Yes. I'm so sorry, I really am. I know I blew it with you using those drugs, but I was thinking that you were blowing me off. I know that's stupid, but I guess I expect it."
"Just like your father, ignoring you. Is that what you were thinking?"
"Kinda. I guess," she replied.
"Well, let's just set things straight. Maybe this will make it easier on you."
"What's that?" she asked.
"I only need one girlfriend, and you're the one I want right now. You keep that thought in your pretty head, and forget the jealousy, and don't worry when I have to work a lot, and stay away from Tommy and Buck and all the other jerks. I
f you can remember that, then you won't have to worry about your bottom burning like this."
They were words Melody wanted him to repeat, just to hear him say them again. "His girlfriend."
"Damn! I should misbehave again, if I'm going to get this treatment," Melody said.
Kenny glared. "Don't you dare, little brat!"
"Just kidding."
They were kissing soon after; and the gentle hand on her bottom was beginning to raise the most delicious warmth all through her. He wasn't stopping there, his hands exploring her everywhere, hers making their first journey about his firm muscled chest.
"You know, Mel, if you could keep quiet, we could sneak up to my room and keep doing this in bed," Kenny finally suggested.
"Kenny Martins!" Melody pushed back from the embrace, surprised by the suggestion. "You'd really do that!"
"Am I being too forward?" he asked her.
"No. No. Not at all. But what about Mrs. Buford and her rules?"
Kenny chuckled. "Dealing with Mrs. Buford is one chance I don't mind taking. That's if you don't mind breaking a few rules."
"Kenny Martins, I don't believe you."
"You think I'm some perfect saint, my dear, you have a lot to learn about me. I've just learned what rules to break and which ones cause you trouble. Then again," he looked as if he was reconsidering. "Maybe getting involved with you is only going to cause trouble."
"Oh, no, I've learned my lesson. I promise. I'm never ever going to do anything stupid again," she vowed.
"Yeah, right," he said sarcastically. He stood up still holding the voluptuous redhead in his arms. "But you'd better puts your pants back on before we go to the house. I don't want to be too indiscreet."
Kenny flashed her a seductive grin, and after making herself presentable again, the two climbed the back stairs of the boarding house and snuck into Kenny's room. There they spent the night between the sheets of his bed, trying to be ever so quiet so they wouldn't get caught.
Tongue-Tied
"Brooke!" Travis yelled into what was obviously an empty house. He'd been calling her for five minutes to no avail. Dashing up the stairs to the second floor, he went from room to room to room, thinking there might be an outside chance that she was there. "Damn it!" he exclaimed aloud when he saw the bed with the sheets and blankets strewn everywhere. He remembered how neat and tidy it looked that morning. Detecting the scent of his wife's perfume, he knew she hadn't been gone long.
Shaking his head he left the house, knowing exactly what he had to do, but he wasn't happy about it.
Two days later . . .
"Interesting that you managed this meal," Travis said, putting his used napkin next to his plate and pushing away from the table. An arrogant and barely civil expression was all he could manage. "It was good, thank you."
"Is something wrong?" Brooke asked, looking at Travis suspiciously.
"You think there's something wrong?" he asked back, not disguising his sarcasm.
"I don't know, but you're acting strange," she answered. She was beginning to have an awful, anxious feeling rumble through her.
"No stranger than you've been acting for the past three months."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Missed dinner engagements, you not being home the time of day I think you should be. Little things like that."
"And what time of day am I suppose to be at home?" Brooke chimed in, sounding just a little piqued herself.
He shrugged. "It was never a problem until three months ago."
"I've been busy," she replied, guarding herself against saying too much.
Travis could tell she was being cautious, and that only confirmed what he already knew.
"Let's be honest," he said.
"Honest? Haven't I always been?" There was that sassy singsong in her voice again.
"Kevin Stone? Why don't you be honest about Kevin Stone."
The second Kevin's name was mentioned, Brooke's face turned as white as a sheet. She'd never been a very good liar, and now she was tongue-tied. A name she whispered in the night, purred to at midday rendezvous, and breathed softly to herself in her dreams sounded strangely cold and brittle coming from Travis's lips.
She squirmed in her chair, finally reaching for the dirty plates she stacked on top of each other.
"You don't have to do that now," Travis said, putting his hand on his wife's wrist to stop her. "I think this is a whole lot more important."
Brooke looked at her husband and suddenly her eyes were flashing, the cold-hearted expression, the one she hated so much, that made her run to another man, was clearly in charge of his classically handsome face.
"What's more important?" she asked him point blank.
"Our marriage," he said.
She took a deep breath and faced him squarely. "We have no marriage, Travis. You want the truth, I'll tell you the truth," she snapped haughtily. "We haven't had a marriage for the last year. And yes, I've found Kevin Stone, and yes we been fucking the living daylights out of each other for the past three months, and yes, I'm happy as a clam to be telling you this." Oh, she'd rehearsed these lines so many times in her mind. Though coming out now, she wasn't sure she had everything right. The speech sounded a little flat. But at least he knew the truth.
"Well, thank you for being honest, I'll move out tonight, since you'd obviously rather have Kevin in our bed than me," Travis said coolly, not an ounce of emotion coming from him. He pushed himself from the table as if he was going to get up.
"That's it?" Brooke asked. "That's all you have to say!"
"What else would you like me to say? You've pretty well made up your mind, haven't you?" he stood up and started toward the dining room door. "You can go back to your dishes," he told her practically smiling, though not quite.
"You ass!" she blared at his retreating form, as she picked up a plate in her hand and threw it toward the door. Unfortunately—so she thought—the door closed before it could reach its mark, her husband vanishing before it hit. The china plate broke into a million pieces on the floor.
Once the commotion died away and Brooke was breathing more calmly, Travis poked his head inside the door again.
"There is just one thing before I leave," he said.
"What's that?" she asked.
"You'll know when I'm ready to leave."
Bewildered, Brooke slumped down in a chair feeling weak as a kitten. She'd been planning this confrontation for days, knowing that eventually it had to happen, but she had no idea that it would go this way. She felt so wrong, not the wronged one at all. Suddenly, everything, her entire life seemed hopelessly empty.
***
Brooke was trying to read a magazine in the living room while Travis packed to leave upstairs. Hearing her husband come down the stairs, she looked up to see his face at the door. He had several bags in his hands which he set down on the floor. Pulling something from one of them that she couldn't see, he walked toward her.
"Just one thing?" Brooke asked, still wondering what Travis was thinking when he told her that earlier.
"Yes, just one thing," Travis replied. "Get up."
"Get up?" she queried, thinking the request strange. It was hardly a request. It sounded more like a command the way he said it. Her exceedingly calm and restrained husband was acting rather domineering, hardly the same cool reserve in charge.
"Yes, get up," Travis replied, with a sternness she'd never heard from him before.
"What the hell's this about?" she replied, slowly rising from the sofa.
"It's about your nasty tongue," Travis snapped.
He was always nagging her about her "nasty tongue", and god knows what else.
"And about your lies, and your conniving schemes. You've been telling me big ones for weeks, and I've only just realized the truth. You lied about your luncheon engagements with your friends, you lied about your volunteer work at the library, you lied about the dress ball last Friday night. You know that was the final blow? You got sloppy, people saw you
taking the steps of the Hillyard mansion arm in arm with Kevin Stone."
For a man that could be so perfectly in control, Travis Chase was heating up like a thunderstorm about to break as he recounted the incidents of his wife's deceit. His eyes flashed. His jaw went incredibly firm, the aristocratic bearing that had once thrilled Brooke was looming before her with such a powerful force, she was in awe.
"You have any idea how embarrassing it is to hear my friends at work wondering aloud, what my wife would be doing with Kevin Stone at a gathering like that? And you, so concerned for me," he said, sarcastically, "assured me that I didn't need to go to the affair." Travis took a breath in his long monologue. "Should I go on?"
"You look so, so . . ." Brooke tried, but tongue-tied again, she couldn't find the words to describe him.
"Furious?" he finished for her.
"Perhaps," she replied. That wasn't the word she would have used, though she wasn't sure what she was feeling from him as she found his righteous anger was doing strange things to her unsuspecting body. "So what are you going to do?" she asked.
"A little justice, ma'am, and then I'll go. It's the only way I can think to avenge my anger and make an impression on one as incredibly thoughtless as you."
Suddenly, appearing out of no where, Brooke realized Travis was holding her hairbrush: the black lacquer one that she kept for decoration on her dresser. Her face went white as a sheet for the second time that night, as it began to register what her husband was about to do.
Sitting down in a straight-backed chair, he pulled her to him by her wrist. In one easy motion, she was over his lap, her skirt promptly raised to her waist.
"What the hell . . ." were her first words when the realization finally set in.
Lowering her panties with as easy a gesture, her ass quickly bared, Travis was about strike her with the hairbrush.
"You can't!" she started to wail.
But Travis wasn't listening. The first blow landed on Brooke's bottom without any explanation at all. Of course there was no need for an explanation, pure and simple, Travis was spanking her.
"Damn it! Stop!" she blared, as the hairbrush came down on her exposed cheeks. The smack hurt! She squirmed against his lap, trying to get free. But thinking too fast for her, Travis's left hand came down to hold her firmly at the waist.
A Wild Night On the Island & Other Stories Page 5