Party Of Two

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Party Of Two
A few nights ago, I found myself thinking about that party at
Kurt and Rachel’s last summer. If you remember, we showed up
after eight. The invitation was for seven, but due to several
thoroughly avoidable delays, we arrived unfashionably late.
For some reason, you waited until the moment we were suppose
to leave home to re-sculpt your hair. Then you changed clothes
twice and after that you picked a fight with me over what I
was wearing, so then I had to change. Slowing us down further
was that little stop we made on route to the party.
That, I admit, was my idea.

I’ll never forget the look on your face as I pulled over to the
side of the road and shut off the engine. One glimpse into my
eyes told you just how fed up I was with your c***dish behavior
and I’m sure you knew exactly what I was going to do about it.
You once told me there’s a look I get, a certain curve in my
brow just before I take you in hand- a look that makes your
mouth go dry and your ass cheeks clench. I unbuckled myself
then undid your safety belt and pushed the front seat back,
making it easy move over and haul you across my lap.
(There’s a reason I’ve never owned a car with bucket seats.)
Without ceremony, I began slapping the seat of that little
plaid skirt you’d finally decided to wear. You were kicking up
something fierce by the time I’d spanked you for about five
minutes and although I could barely hear you over the sound
of the cars whizzing nearby, you seemed to be saying you
were sorry. I was tempted to yank down your panties and give
you the walloping you deserved, but we were already running
late and I didn’t want to make you cry too much because then
your eyes would be puffy all night. So instead I lifted your
skirt and delivered two sound smacks, one to each of your pink,
panty-clad cheeks, to remind you I meant business before
allowing you to sit up again.

We continued on to the party in silence, you with your arms
angrily folded, pouting all the way.

Kurt had barely finished greeting us at the door when you made
a beeline for the bar. After quickly downing two drinks,
you were arguing politics with Rachel, manipulatively playing
devil’s advocate to her every opinion. Then, suddenly appearing
terribly bored, you walked off while she was in mid sentence
and spent the next half hour continuing to make a spectacle
of yourself. If you weren’t openly flirting with one guest,
you were embarrassing another with an off-color joke. I don’t
know what gets into your head sometimes, it’s almost as if you
want to get into trouble. During your third trip to the bar,
you made a small scene with Kurt about having far too much
ice in your drink.

“Excuse me, Kurt,” I said, taking the glass from your hand and
placing it on the bar as I spoke. “Could I borrow your bedroom
for a few minutes? This young lady and I need to have a nice
long talk.”

The intense look on my face and sudden blush coming across yours
made it evident that conversation was not the sole purpose of
my request.

“Certainly.” our host said, raising an eyebrow as he looked in
your direction. “End of the hall, second door on the right.
Take your time.”

I turned to take you by the arm, then stopped.

“Oh, I don’t suppose you have a large hairbrush I could use.”

“I do.” Rachel replied from across the room.

At that moment, you realized that nearly everyone at the party
was aware of this conversation and the trip down the hall you
were about to take. A quick glance at their amused faces only
served to confirm this.

“Wood?” I inquired.

“Oak.” she replied happily, her eyes fixed on yours.
“Very solid, should be perfect! Top middle drawer beneath
the sink.”

As I took your wrist and hauled you away from the others,
you tried not to notice their giddy laughter and whispers.

“Someone’s gonna get it!” a woman commented in a sing-song voice
reminiscent of a schoolyard.

“Big time!” someone agreed.

“Bottoms up!” Kurt announced, raising his glass as I yanked you
down the hall.

You stood breathlessly near the mirrored closet as I shut
the door of the master bedroom and stepped into the bathroom.
I returned a moment later armed with an antique hairbrush.

“I won’t to bother listing every thing you’ve done to deserve
the tanning you’re about to get, there isn’t enough time!”
I stated as I sat on the edge of the bed. “So just pull your
panties down and bend over my knee! Right now!”

You obviously didn’t believe I’d actually spank you with a
room full of people not twenty feet away because, instead of
following instructions, you slowly sauntered over and sat on
my lap.

“Come on, baby. ” you purred as you ran your fingers through
my hair. “You don’t want to do that.”

I closed my eyes and bowed my head as you ground yourself
against me while strategically placing tiny kisses down
my neck. You probably noticed my right hand, the one holding
the brush, fall onto the bed and naturally assumed your
seductive techniques had won me over. So I imagine you were
more than a bit surprised when, instead of laying back and
allowing you to have your way with me I reached up, grabbed
your ear and gave it a firm upward tug, causing you to lift
yourself into a semi-standing position.

“Listen up, buttercup! You may have walked in wearing a plaid
skirt, but if I have to take off my belt, you’re going to leave
with a striped ass! So you better kick off those panties and get
over my knee, `cause I’m in no mood, Miss Attitude!”

I’m not sure if it was the tone I used or my choice of words,
but something must have gotten through because as soon as I
released your ear, you practically leaped out of your underwear
and dove across my lap. I folded back your skirt and gripped
your waist in my left hand. The brush rose swiftly into the
air and fell with a thunderous smack across your left cheek.
You gasped as another swat stung you on the right. After the
first volley of a dozen or so preliminary swats, I shifted into
high gear and began spanking you in earnest. The strokes were
fast and hard. I’d land six sharp swats consecutively to the
same spot on one cheek before concentrating on the other.
Each slap of the brush found its mark with ruthless efficiency
and in no time you were kicking and wailing for mercy.

Eventually, the spanking and crying subsided followed by
much rubbing of sore flesh, many soothing words and the
wiping away of tears.

Later, after you’d spent some time composing yourself, you came
out of the bathroom and we held each other for a while before
rejoining the party. We exited the bedroom to some s**ttered
applause which quickly died down as the other guests politely
continued their conversations. I offered you a drink which
you politely declined preferring to go find Rachel and Kurt.
I stood by the bar and watched with a sense of pride as you
apologized not only to our host and hostess, but to everyone
you had encountered while acting the brat.

Your behavior on the drive home was exemplary, though the way
you apologized to me almost got us into an accident. I really
shouldn’t let you do that while I’m behind the wheel.

You did take a another trip across my knee when we got back
to the house, though I suspect having that cooling balm we kept
in the refrigerator slathered all over your twice-baked buns
qualified the third time as a charm. How can I be sure?
Perhaps it was the way you hugged and kissed me afterward.
Or maybe it was the way you jumped onto the bed, put your
head down and waved your cherry-red bottom in my direction
that told me another party was about to begin.


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