Sorry for the delay in writing a new story! I’ve been traveling and working on an anthology story. Here’s a short Melissa / Shae story to tide ya’ll over!

***

“Shae, this is my friend Stacey. We went to high school together. She’s going to be supervising you at your internship next semester.”

I stood by Melissa’s side awkwardly, my hands crammed into my pockets and my eyes staring over Stacey’s shoulder. I didn’t respond.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shae,” Stacey replied gently with a small smile. She held out her hand for me to shake, so I grasped the tips of her fingers with the tips of mine and gave her the world’s most pathetic and disinterested handshake. Stacey’s eye contact never wavered and the smile never left her face.

“Shae is very busy with dance and classes. She wasn’t thrilled about my suggestion that she earn a little income on the side and get some professional experience. Alas, she can’t dance for the rest of her life, and she thinks she’d really enjoy being a lawyer. If not, she’ll enjoy having some money to spend.”

I still don’t respond. I keep my expression as blank as humanly possible. It’s true that I’m always complaining about not having money and Melissa being the one to buy everything. It’s also true that I may have expressed to Melissa that spending all of my time dancing was starting to wear on my body and mental health. I worried that if I didn’t bulk up the professional side of my resume, I wouldn’t have a career exit strategy when dancing became untenable. But I didn’t actually mean for her to set me up an internship RIGHT NOW when I’m in the middle of trying to have a life.

“Why don’t Shae and I have a chit chat about the internship, just the two of us, and we’ll meet you out in the lobby in a few?” Stacey asked Melissa, her voice sweet like honey. Ugh, what a boring goody two shoes lawyer, I thought to myself with disdain.

“Great,” chirped Melissa with a smile. She turned to me and put her hands on my upper arms, looking me intently in the eye. “Be polite and engage. It’s very kind of Stacey to set this up for you. I’ve given her permission to handle your training and discipline in any way she sees fit.” With those final words, Melissa looked at me emphatically, as if challenging me to guess what she was getting at. My face instantly went red and I felt my confidence start to waiver. Had she told Stacey that she could spank me?!

“Do you understand?” prompted Melissa when I still hadn’t responded. I nodded. Satisfied, Melissa waved to Stacey and retreated down the hall. Now I was trapped with another stranger that undoubtedly thinks she can boss me around and control me. What is with these women…

“Why don’t you take a seat and we can talk?” Stacey asked with a slight smirk. “Melissa hadn’t told me that you were this shy. You’ve barely said a word.”

Sitting down gingerly, I folded my hands and looked up at her calmly. “Oh you know the old expression… if you don’t have anything nice to say…” I let myself trail off casually and gave a noncommittal shrug for emphasis. Stacey simply laughed at my baiting tactic, never losing her kind smile and relaxed posture.

“If you don’t want to work here,” Stacey explained softly but with authority, “I won’t force you. But if you come into my office and behave like an insolent brat, your bottom is going to meet the same fate as it would meet at home. I can already see why Melissa has her hands full with you. You need to learn boundaries and respect. Melissa has already told me that she worries about your judgment and your ability to control your emotions. It’s my job to help you gain those skills while you’re learning about being a lawyer. I’ll use corporal punishment as much- or as little- as needed. I want you to succeed. I’d rather have you sore and mad at me than see you go out into the world and get fired.”

My heart sinks to my shoes. Melissa told her all of those things about me? She thinks I’m a handful and that I can’t control myself? I’m embarrassed and feeling hurt. Tears sting the back of my eyes. I dig my thumb nail into the palm of my opposite hand in order to distract myself just long enough for the tears to dry. Sensing my change in demeanor, Stacey shifts forward in her chair and looks at me sympathetically.

“You seem stressed,” she whispers compassionately. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I…” I try to talk but the tears are starting to leak. Dammit. “It’s just…” I try again, “Everyone always wants to just spank me and punish me and make me do things. I’m feeling beat down. But I know it’s upsetting to Melissa, too, because she obviously thinks I’m difficult. I want to be good, I just get so frustrated sometimes. I can’t help my impulses, and then I feel guilty but mad about being punished at the same time.” Tears are falling freely now. I’m humiliated that I’m pouring my heart out to a complete stranger.

“Thank you for communicating that so well. I can understand how frustrating it must be to feel like you’re living under all of these rules that are challenging for you to follow. I know Melissa adores you- she doesn’t see you as a failure or a burden. She just wants you to be the best that you can be, and that takes a lot of work from both of you.” Stacey’s kind smile has returned, and I feel myself relax a little.

“We have had a rough few weeks,” I admit. “Structure and discipline are good for me. I think it’ll be nice if Melissa isn’t always the bad guy, though. Not that you’re bad. Or a guy. You know what I mean.”

“You’re very adorable despite the attitude,” Stacey concedes with a giggle. “I am here to support you. I’m always here to listen to your needs and concerns. But in return, I expect respect and compliance. I think I’m probably more strict than Melissa, even if I don’t look it. Your first impression today was pretty awful, and first impressions matter. I have half a mind to give you an introductory spanking just to ensure that we don’t get off on the wrong foot again.” Stacey doesn’t look angry, but she does look determined.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I guess I do deserve it,” I mumble with a frown, my bottom lip quivering as more tears threaten to come. “Sorry I’m being a baby,” I add earnestly, “I’m feeling unexpectedly emotional.” I look down at my hands in shame try to regulate my breathing.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s going to be ok,” Stacey coos, moving in to the chair next to me and wrapping her arm around me. “I used to hold a lot of frustration in with my partner. I think we have more in common than you think. I hope that I can teach you a lot about lawyering, life, and relationships. And I hope that you can trust me enough to let me in. I know we just met, but I’ve known Melissa forever and I’ve heard so much about you that I feel like I know you, too.”

“Well… I trust you enough to let me into my pants. You know, to spank me.” I smirk at Stacey’s shocked expression and we both let out a laugh.

“Ok, sassy thing,” Stacey announces with a gentle squeeze of my hand, “Let’s get you over my lap and we’ll see how you handle punishment.”

“My bottom is very seasoned,” I groan jokingly as I stand up and lower my jeans.

“Leave your underwear on. And your shirt. I want to make sure you feel comfortable.” I think of some sassy retorts, but decide to thank her- sincerely- for being conscientious of my boundaries.

Stacey lowers me fluidly over her lap and adjusts her knee so that my bottom is in the air.

“This is more of a quick warning spanking,” Stacey explains firmly, “It’s a reminder that first impressions matter and that you cannot go around acting like a brat just because you feel like it. When you’re upset or overwhelmed, communicate like an adult. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I respond nervously.

“Good. And say red if you want me to stop.”

With no further discussion, Stacey lifts her hand and begins smacking my upturned bottom. It doesn’t hurt very badly, especially since I’ve been getting used to spankings due to all of my attitude with Melissa lately. Stacey spanks in a predictable rhythm, right to left, but occasionally drops a spank down onto my ever-sensitive thighs, making me pant and squeal in discomfort.

“You are a little wiggly, my dear,” Stacey announces with regret in her voice, “I don’t usually allow that. Next time you earn a real punishment, you’ll be restrained or you’ll get extra swats with the belt.” She continues her spanking, picking up to a pace that is undeniably painful. My bottom is starting to really burn, but answering for my earlier brattiness is having a calming effect. I feel my tension drain and I stop trying to avoid the swats. Stacey finishes after only a few more minutes of hard swats. When she’s done, she immediately has me stand up with no rubbing whatsoever.

“In the corner with your hands on your head for five minutes,” Stacey instructs with a small smile. She pats my sore bottom affectionately as I retreat to the back of the office. As I stand there with my red bottom on display, I can’t help but think that this is going to be a very interesting internship.

When my five minutes are up, Stacey calls me over and pulls me into a hug.

“That’s my good girl,” Stacey praises, “We’re going to work so wonderfully together. Let’s get your pants on and go find your girlfriend.”

Nodding enthusiastically, I zip up my jeans and practically sprint back to Melissa. She’s sitting on the couch in the lobby reading. I throw myself onto her lap and wrap my arms tightly around her.

“I’m sorry I was difficult today,” I tell her earnestly, “I think the internship will be great. I appreciate you setting it up. And I want to be better at home with you, too. I know it’s been hard lately.”

Melissa hugs me back and kisses my head. “Did you talk about the job with Stacey or have a therapy session?” she asks with surprise.

“Both!” I answer with a big grin.

“Shae, I’ll see you next week for orientation,” Stacey says with a warm smile. I nod back with enthusiasm.

“Thank you!” I call after my new boss.

Melissa takes my hand in hers and we head back down the elevator to her car. “I think it’ll be good for you to have discipline from someone else,” Melissa affirms. “Then hopefully we can do less fighting and spanking at home.”

“I agree,” I tell my dominant girlfriend. “I mean… maybe if everyone in the world bosses me around I’ll actually have a chance at behaving!”

With a loving swat to my bottom, Melissa sticks her tongue out playfully and says, “Somehow I still doubt it.”

In a better mood than we have been in a while, we climb into the Audi with the promise of hot cocoa in our future.

Oreos, Cheetos, pizza, red wine, and Schnapps littered Juliet’s apartment floor. It was our first sleepover, and the first time I was able to carelessly eat junk food in what seemed forever. Saturday’s dance rehearsal had been cancelled due to an unexpected snow storm, so my mood was downright giddy. Amy was out of town, and Melissa was busy putting up her insanely detailed holiday decor.

Juliet and I had taken advantage of the freedom by creating a giant fortress of every pillow and blanket in the living room, and buying as much junk food at the grocery store as we could stomach. “I’m so glad I’m here,” I gushed to Juliet, “Thanksgiving with my parents was so miserable. I feel like they barely know me. I’m just so happy to be back in Boston with you.” Juliet flopped down next to me and squeezed my hand.

“I know that family can really suck,” Juliet nodded sympathetically, “I didn’t go home at all because of softball and Amy didn’t invite me to her family dinner. She basically ditched me here because she’s not ready for her parents to know about everything yet.”

“Family does suck,” I agree, “And sometimes, so do our girlfriends.” Juliet and I broke into laughter, and I reached for the bag of Cheetos.

“Hey,” she said, “We’ve both had a rough week or two. Let’s go do something fun. We’ve earned it.”

“Melissa took my fake ID,” I whined, “I can’t do fun things anymore.”

“Dude. You have to get more creative with your definition of fun,” Juliet smirked while pouring us both a shot. “Let’s go see Slutcracker. I bet there’s still tickets. It’s like a strip club version of the Nutcracker. You love dance, and I love me some half naked women.” My eyes went wide in surprise. I love Boston. I can’t believe such a show exists.

“I’m in!” I say immediately.

“I’ll put the tickets on Am’s credit card. She won’t care. She wanted me to show you a good time.”

“Great, I’ll pay for a cab,” I suggest, “We’ve both been drinking.”

Juliet nods, and we immediately high-five. “We have to wear something sexy!” she exclaims, “Let me rummage in my closet.” Within minutes, Juliet has emerged with various leather and mesh tops, and some tight, short skirts. She also offers me some fishnet stockings and a pair of black combat-style boots. Giggling with glee, we both pick out a racy outfit.

“UGH,” I shout, shaking my phone while I get dressed, “It’s super last minute and there are no cabs around. I think it’s because of the snow storm.”

“It’s fine, I’m ok to drive,” Juliet insists. I rack my brain trying to remember how much we’ve both had to drink. 3/4 of a bottle of red wine, and 2-3 shots of Schnapps. But Schnapps is more of a dessert… right? And we did share the wine. I hate being late to anything- it’s the dancer in me- so I throw on a jacket over my skimpy outfit and we race out to the car.

***

“That show was INSANELY amazing,” I exclaim as we hop back into Juliet’s car. My legs are bright red from from walking through the cold air back to our car, but we’d had a little bit more to drink during the show which is keeping me plenty warm. At this point, I know Juliet shouldn’t be driving, but I’m so tired out from the show and the junk food and the alcohol. I blast the heat and lean my head against the window as she pulls out of her space.

Juliet and I chat about our favorite parts of the show while she struggles to maneuver her car through the snow. I keep my eye out for cops, but the roads are pretty clear and Juliet is driving as well as can be expected under the circumstances. All is well until we get back to her street and she tries to park. Juliet’s reflexes have slowed thanks to the alcohol, and she misjudges her distance from a ditch. Her car loses control on the icy shoulder of the road, and the car descends into an unfortunate position in the ditch.

“GOSHDAMMIT. Oh no… It’s ok. I’m just going to tell Amy that it was snowy and the car slipped. It’s not damaged. She can get it out when the snow melts,” Juliet says hopefully.

“I’ll back you up,” I promise, “Let’s just get inside and text her to let her know we’re ok.” We both exit the car and I lead the way up to their front door. “Hey, you left the door unlocked,” I whisper urgently.

“No, I didn’t,” snaps Juliet, a bit defensively. I push the door open cautiously and look around. Suddenly, Amy appears out of nowhere, looking none too pleased. Juliet shoves me into the house and shuts the door behind her before Amy can notice the car in the ditch. “Heyyyyyy, Aim,” says Juliet evenly, trying not to give away that she’s a little tipsy, “Sooo glad you’re home. We weren’t expecting you, or we would have…”

“Not destroyed the entire house?” Amy fills in impatiently.

“I’m so sorry,” I gush, “I got really excited about the junk food and we were definitely going to clean up the food… and the crumbs… and the pillows and blankets and stuff in the morning…” I trail off, suddenly a little nervous and embarrassed.

“Yes,” says Amy evenly, “You’ll definitely both be cleaning this up. But I’d also like to know why you left the house in a blizzard without telling me, and then you both failed to answer multiple texts from me and Melissa when we tried to check on you.”

Juliet and I exchanged panicked looks.

“We went to see a show and we put our phones on silent,” Juliet explained, panic evident in her voice. “I promise I wasn’t ignoring you. I was enjoying being with Shae. I didn’t even glance at my phone when we left the… theater.”

“Take your coats off and sit down. We need to chat,” says Amy flatly. We hang our coats up compliantly, and shuffle over to the couch in shame. I suddenly feel exposed in my skimpy outfit, and my eyes well with tears. I’m a terrible liar, and Amy is so warm and kind. I immediately want to tell her everything, but I don’t want to sell Juliet out.

“Ok,” says Amy with a sigh, “Let’s start with finding out where you were.”

“We went to see Slutcracker. It was a last minute plan. We were both just kind of feeling down, and we were just sitting here eating, so I decided to check to see if they had tickets available. I knew Shae would love it since she’s a dancer,” Juliet explains calmly.

“And you didn’t think to inform me that you were heading out, given that you promised you’d be staying here given the terrible road conditions?” I don’t answer, because Melissa doesn’t expect that I always tell her where I am. We don’t have that kind of rule. Juliet shifts uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry. It was a mistake,” says Juliet, “It was just all such a whirlwind because we decided to go last minute and then we couldn’t find a cab and I just forgot to text.” Amy doesn’t respond, but let’s us all sit in an uncomfortable silence.

“You forgot to mention that you paid for it on my card without asking,” Amy finally replies, “I get alerts when you make a purchase of over $300.” My eyes nearly bulge out of my head.

“I DIDN’T KNOW HOW MUCH THE TICKETS WERE!” I squeal, accidentally throwing Juliet under the bus.

“I was going to pay you back,” Juliet tries lamely. “The house is cold, can we please put on sweaters while we talk about this?”

“No. Sit.” Melissa’s usually friendly expression is growing darker. “I have another minor matter to discuss. I found wine and peppermint Schnapps on the floor when I came home, so I’m trying to understand why either of you would have gotten behind the wheel of a car if you had ANYTHING to drink beforehand.”

“It was only me,” I speak up, my heart pounding as I lie to Amy’s face. “I had a bad Thanksgiving. I brought the wine and the Schnapps with me, but neither was a full bottle when I brought it over. We dipped a couple of Oreos in the Schnapps (this was true) but only I had wine.”

“I was going to have some wine after I finished my pizza, but then we got the show tickets so I didn’t,” Juliet nodded in agreement. I could feel my palms start to sweat anxiously as Amy sized us up.

“Juliet. Come here and let me smell your breath.”

Juliet shuffled over to Amy, looking annoyed but not nervous. They had free popcorn at the show. We’d both had vodka sprites at the show, but there’s no way that Amy would be able to smell any of the vodka over the handfuls of popcorn that we’d polished off.

“I can’t tell if you’re telling the truth, so I’m going to show you that I trust you by giving you the benefit of the doubt,” Amy finally sighed, “But I can tell you that you’re both in trouble anyway. Juliet- you didn’t tell me where you were going, you spent money over our limit without asking, you were unreasonably non-responsive on the phone, and you left this house a complete mess. It’s 11pm and I’m exhausted, so you’ll be punished in the morning. Please have all of this cleaned up before 7:30 in the morning. You’ll get your punishment then.”

Amy turns to me and I bite my lip. “Shae. I know that you don’t know our rules. I’m going to fill Melissa in, but I’m not comfortable punishing you.”

“I didn’t mean to break any rules,” I say as my eyes well with guilty tears, “But I don’t want Juliet to take responsibility alone. I should have known that driving in a blizzard was a bad idea. And I made the mess, too. Can I please stay and help her clean it?”

“Of course,” said Amy gently, “I’m not sending you home this late at night. It wouldn’t be fair. You and Juliet can continue your sleepover in the guest bedroom. I’m going to call Melissa and head up to bed soon.”

Juliet and I changed into pajamas and brushed our teeth in silence. When we both settled into bed, side by side, Juliet turned toward me.

“Thanks for having my back. But she’s going to see the car,” Juliet whispered. “I’ll have to explain that somehow.”

“I feel really guilty about lying to Amy, but we had such a fun night and no one was hurt.”

“Exactly,” said Juliet with a yawn, “Amy’s rules are pretty strict. I’m in enough trouble. I’ll go outside and try to move the car first thing in the morning, and if I can’t, I’ll tell her that it slipped on ice in the morning when I went out to get us Dunkin Donuts.”

“Ok,” I whisper back, my stomach in guilty knots over the web of lies we’re still building. Several moments pass, and I decide that my guilt is unbearable. “Juliet…” I whisper into the darkness. No answer. Her breathing is even, and she’s fallen asleep. I can’t stop myself from crying. I feel terrible. I glance at the clock. It’s 12:35, but I’ve woken Melissa up late at night before. I slip out of the guest room and into Amy’s den. I dial Melissa and cross my fingers.

“Shae. Hi.” I nearly melt when I hear Melissa’s concerned voice on the other end. “Amy just filled me in. I was worried when you didn’t answer my texts earlier, but I’m glad you’re ok.”

“I don’t feel ok,” I whisper, my voice wavering through my silent tears.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Melissa asks urgently.

“No. It’s not that. I just… I uhm. I just wanted to talk to you about tonight.”

“Amy already told me. We literally just hung up with one another. I know you didn’t mean to leave a mess. You thought you’d have time to clean it up. As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t do anything wrong. Amy said it seems like you drank responsibly, and I don’t prohibit you from driving when it’s snowing. Juliet has different rules, and that’s ok.”

“I know all of that. But Melissa, we lied to Amy. Juliet did drink. She drank quite a bit before the show and more during it. I covered for her because she’s a new friend and I didn’t want to get her in trouble. The car is literally in a ditch outside of the house yet, and Juliet is going to try to move it in the morning and lie again. I’m just feeling uncomfortable because I don’t want to let you down, but I don’t want to rat Juliet out.”

“Well, sweetheart,” Melissa beings after a pause, “I’m really disappointed to learn that you got behind the wheel after Juliet had been drinking. That’s extremely dangerous, and a DUI would ruin both of your academic and athletic careers. I’m also disappointed that you lied, but I’m glad that you are taking steps to correct your mistake. I can hear how sorry you are. You’re going to be punished tomorrow- thoroughly- but right now I want you to get some rest and try to calm down. You’ve had a long night.”

“Yes, ma’am. Should I talk to Amy, or should I encourage Juliet to talk to her in the morning?”

“What do you think, baby?”

“I want to apologize to her now so that I can sleep. Is that fair to Juliet?”

“Juliet put you in a bad position tonight,” Melissa emphasizes, “Go ahead and talk to Amy if YOU think that’s the right decision. You need to trust yourself. I’m very unhappy with your behavior, but I’m proud of how you’re handling this. I’ll meet you there around 7:30, ok?”

I agree and tell Melissa that I love her and click off the phone. I find Amy in her room and knock gently on the door frame.

“Yes, darling?” Amy asks with an amused smile, “I thought you were going to bed?”

“Amy. Uhm. I can’t. Well, yet. Because, the thing is, I’m really sorry about everything that happened tonight. I value my friendship with Juliet and I don’t want to tattle, but I need to let you know that… that… I lied to you. About the alcohol. Juliet drank, too, both before the show and during it. She drove home tipsy, and I didn’t stop her. You may not have noticed, but your car is kind of in the ditch, because we made it home but she slipped while we were trying to parallel park. She was going to move it in the morning and not say anything, but I just feel really guilty and wanted to apologize right away. I already spilled the beans to my girlfriend, and she’s going to punish me tomorrow when she picks me up, but I just still feel really awful.” I look down at my hands. I can’t see Amy’s reaction anyway because my tears won’t stop flowing.

“Come here,” Amy motions gently. I comply and stand in front of her, still looking down. Amy takes both of my hands in one of hers, and lifts my chin so that I’m looking her in the eye. “I had a feeling that that was the case about the drinking. Juliet never passes up red wine. I am upset that you lied before, but thank you for telling the truth.” With that, Amy stands up and pulls me into a hug. She rubs my hair while I cry and promises that she will deal with Juliet. “Now,” she says softly, “Why don’t you hop back into bed. It’s late and you have an early morning of cleaning. I’m going to go check out the car, and I’ll see you downstairs tomorrow.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I nod, walking back to the guest bedroom feeling a million times lighter. I know that tomorrow morning won’t be fun, but at least I don’t have to keep acting. I am, after all, a dancer and not a theater expert.

***

The sound of Juliet’s alarm going off at 6:30 is complete torture. I’m a tiny bit hungover, and I still didn’t sleep well. I felt like I betrayed Juliet.

“Hey,” Juliet says, poking my ribs as I refuse to stir, “Will you clean up the living room while I go deal with the car?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I reply flatly, rolling out of bed away from her so that I don’t have to look her in the eye. Amy already knows about the car, so letting her try to move it is futile, but I don’t say anything. I quickly brush my teeth and throw myself into the task of cleaning. I throw away packages, vacuum, stack pillows, fold blankets, and I even find a rag to dust with for good measure. I also clean the entire kitchen even though we barely used it. Juliet finally comes in, snow covered and shivering.

“It’s still so snowy, and I can’t move the car. We have to go with the donut story.”

“Ok,” I reply, not looking up at her and pretending to be focusing intently on finishing the dishes. Juliet brews coffee, and we both sit on the couch sipping caffeine from our mugs like it’s the blood of life. Amy comes down the stairs at 7:30 on the dot.

“Wow. This place looks great. I just wanted you guys to clean up your mess, but you suck ups cleaned the entire first floor.”

“Amy!” Juliet says, standing up confidently, “I know I’m in trouble, and I’m so sorry, but I went out to grab us donuts because it was sooo early, and I know you love the strawberry frosted kind, and crazy thing… it got so icy overnight and I accidentally may have ended up in the ditch out front while trying to get our car out. I already called AAA and they’re sending someone in a couple hours.”

I look down at the carpet. Juliet is a darn good liar, but this situation is so uncomfortable. Before Amy can respond, the doorbell rings. I hop up, happy for a distraction, and throw myself into Melissa’s arms before she can even realize the door has been opened.

“Hi, babe,” she laughs, kissing my head as she steps inside. Melissa guides me back down onto the couch next to Juliet, and she and Amy settle on the couch across from us. You could cut the tension with a knife.

“Ok,” Amy speaks up evenly, “So, Melissa and I chatted a bit this morning about your predicament. Juliet and I have a lot to discuss and Melissa would like to discipline Shae at home, so we’re going to have a group powwow about last night before going our separate ways.”

“Because you have both exhibited issues with alcohol lately,” Melissa announces, “We have decided that neither of you are permitted to drink again for the rest of the semester. We will re-evaluate in January. But there will be no alcohol whatsoever.”

“And we appreciate that you two are becoming friends,” Amy adds, “But from now on, when you’re together, we need updates on where you’re going and what you’re doing every time you leave one destination for another.”

“And Shae,” says Melissa, “You lied to Amy, so I think it’s only fair that she gets to punish you. I know you’re new to being disciplined, so we decided that Amy will start your punishment here and I will finish the majority of it at home.”

“And Juliet,” Amy says darkly, “You’ll head up to my room now, strip, and kneel in the corner on the rice that I left on the carpet.” Juliet winced, but headed upstairs wordlessly. Kneeling on rice in the corner?! That blows. With Juliet gone, all eyes were on me.

“We’re both proud of you for coming clean,” says Melissa, “But obviously it was too late to redeem yourself from the lying and the danger you put yourself in.”

“I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap,” Amy said seriously, “Since that’s the punishment in my house for lying or talking back. And then I’m going to give you a brief hand spanking if you’re comfortable consenting to that. Melissa will handle the rest of your punishment at home. I’m punishing you for lying, and she’s punishing you for the danger you put yourself in.”

I feel nervous, but I agree. I trust Amy, and it’s only fair. I let her guide me upstairs. She lathers a bar of soap wordlessly, and grabs my chin. “Open,” she commands. I do. Holding my head in place, Amy sticks the bar of my soap far into my mouth. It’s worse than I thought, and I instantly gag as the soapy taste assaults every part of my tongue. Amy jerks the bar back and forth across my tongue, causing it to froth and making me try to wiggle away. She holds me firmly in place and instructs me to bite down. “I’m going to set a timer on my phone for two minutes,” Amy says, “Then you get to rinse twice with water.”

Tears run down my eyes and the time creeps by slowly. It’s so much more disgusting- and embarrassing- than I’d imagined. when the timer goes off, Amy takes the soap back and, as promised, gives me two brief rinses. When she leads me back downstairs to Melissa, my mouth still tastes and feels horrible. Without much fanfare, Amy takes down my pajama pants and puts me over her knees as Melissa watches on, unsympathetically. Amy immediately elevates her knee, driving my rear straight up into the air. She smacks HARD from the get-go, without a warm up, causing me to wail and wiggle. And this is only the beginning of my punishment?! Maybe I should have lied for Juliet after all.

To be continued…

 

 

 

I wake up dying for a glass of water. My head is pounding and I can barely pry my eyes open. Fortuitously, there is a glass of water that Melissa left near the bed. I gulp it down and listen carefully to see where she is in the house. Prying my tired body out of bed, I shyly tiptoe down the stairs. Melissa is hunched in front of her iPad at the kitchen counter.

“Well good morning,” she says with a smile when she notices my presence, “I was going to let you sleep until 9, but apparently you’re an over achiever even when hungover.” I giggle and blush because it feels like a compliment.

“I’m sorry about last ni-”

“Let’s not keep doing the apology thing. You’re soon going to find out exactly how I feel about your behavior last night, and you’ll be sorry for a couple of days.” She narrows her eyes forebodingly, and I know that I’m up for one heck of a spanking. “Now,” she says more cheerfully, “Let’s have breakfast and talk about the contract first. What do you like in the mornings? Eggs? I can make waffles… Cereal?”

“I usually do plain oatmeal,” I mumble, “Sometimes with almond butter. Scrambled egg whites with pepper, too.” Melissa bites her lip and considers my suggestion.

“Well. You’re not trying to lose weight, so egg whites aren’t necessarily appropriate. Let’s try two whole eggs, and a bowl of oatmeal, and we can do some fruit, too.” I nod. I feel safe with Melissa. I want to be cooperative.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say simply. She smirks as she walks around me to the stove, lifting the Yale hoodie up and smacking my bare bottom as she walks by. I give a small yelp and grab my bottom cheeks.

“HA! That was a pat compared to what you’re getting later. Sit while you still can and have some coffee.” As I sip coffee and she cooks, she hands me her iPad where a copy of our rules have been reproduced. The email got buried in my inbox because of how busy I had been. I skim through it. It’s pretty understandable. Three meals per day, and preferably at least two snacks. I have to attend all of my classes and appointments, and if I am sick or injured, she has to know ASAP. No putting myself in danger in other ways (oops, that ship sailed last night), and no being disrespectful or lying. She confirms that I understand everything, and I confirm that it all makes sense.

I have a hard time getting my breakfast down because I’m nervous about the spanking and not used to people watching me eat. Melissa sits next to me making small talk to distract me and gently rubbing my back and hair. When I finish eating, I ask if I can brush my teeth.

“Go ahead,” she says, “And then put your nose in that corner over there,” she says, gesturing to the far side of the living room. Ugh. The corner? Like a child? I don’t show my distaste. I’m in enough trouble, so I scamper off to get washed up, and then shuffle into the dreaded corner.

“This is embarrassing,” I observe as I settle into my spot in the corner.

“Mhmm,” is her absent response from the living room, “You should focus on why we’re in this position. Corner time can help you calm down and focus, and it gives me time to plan exactly what I’m going to do if I haven’t decided yet. It helps you come to terms with who is in charge. Sure, it’s a bit infantilizing, but a little embarrassment is healthy.”

I don’t respond. I try to stay still. I feel small and uncomfortable, but it does make me feel protected to know that Melissa is watching me from a distance. After what feels like an eternity, she calls me over. I stand quietly in front of her knees.

“I think you know why you’re being punished. For one, you didn’t bother to read our rules, but I’m glad we got up to speed on those today. You had way too much to drink last night, to the point where you were sick and lost. You drank underage, you almost froze to death, and I’m certain that you didn’t eat enough dinner to justify nearly a quarter of what you drank.” I nod miserably. “Were you at a bar?” she asks coldly.

“I used a fake ID.” Her expression is one of pure irritation.

“Thank you for being honest. I’ll be taking that from you today. That is obviously illegal, and I don’t need to tell you how much trouble it could get you in.” I nod again. My words seem to be evading me, as I’m just a mess of guilt and nerves. Melissa grabs my wrist and pulls me over her knees. “You’re getting a hard spanking, and then you’re going to get a taste of both a hairbrush and a belt,” she says simply. “Then, I’ll sit you down at the table and you can write ‘I will not drink past my limits’ 100 times… by hand. If I’m satisfied at that point, we’ll be done. If not, you’ll find out how creative, and relentless, my discipline can be. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I gasp as she lands the first hard swat on my behind. Dang… Melissa means business today. Every smack is super painful. She peppers both cheeks with several swats, and she starts to get my inner thighs, too. It doesn’t take long for a painful heat to build all over my rear end. I feel secure with her hand around my waist and her strong thighs beneath me, but this lady’s hand is made of steel!

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. I try my best to stay in place and breathe deep. She keeps going and I imagine my bottom turning bright pink, and then a vibrant red. I hiss in pain as she gives a few more swats to each inner thigh. When I think I can’t take it any more, she pauses. “I’m going to give you 30 with the hairbrush,” she says coldly. The hand spanking is for drinking so much that you put yourself in danger, “The hairbrush is for using a fake ID and jeopardizing your dance and academic careers.” I tense my body as she picks up the brush. “Relax, please,” she says, taking a moment to rub my burning cheeks. I try my best to let go and relax over her knee again. She hikes my bottom up farther into the air and brings the brush down for the first time.

“OWEEEEE, AH, AGHHH, OH MY GOD,” I howl in pain as the brush makes contact with my already tender skin. “Please, oh my, that hurts, Melissa please don’t do it so hard.”

“That was just three,” she says unsympathetically. She continues to bring the brush down with purpose, resulting in a mean CRACK across my bottom. I howl and squirm, but there’s nowhere to go. I start crying. It stings and my bottom feels like it has to be bruised and swollen everywhere. She keeps going, helpfully letting me know when we’re halfway done. “We wouldn’t be here if you would have made better choices last night. It’s ok to have fun with your friends. I remember being in college. It’s NOT okay to take shot after shot when you know you’re already drunk. It’s not okay to wander alone outside, freezing cold and wasted. The fake ID is absolutely never going to happen again. This spanking is better than a criminal penalty, or worse, being unconscious or dead or having someone hurt you while you’re vulnerable.” Her words hurt because she’s absolutely right. The last 15 smacks cause more crying and quivering, but I’m able to relax my body and submit fully to the spanking. When she finishes, she puts the brush down and rubs my lower back, praising how well I did. “I hope we don’t have to repeat this,” she says softly, “I know that you can make better choices and still have fun.” With that, she pulls me up and brushes the tears off of my face. “We still have six with the belt, baby. I hope it will drive home the importance of self care, and standing up to your friends when they’re out of control. I won’t swing it too hard,” she says kindly, seeing the pain and horror on my face.

Melissa gently walks me over to a kitchen chair and bends me over. I stare at the belt with wide, fearful eyes. “You’re perfectly safe,” she says soothingly, rubbing my back while I calm down. She pulls her arm back and lands the belt against my upper thighs with an anti-climactic swish and a small crack. I know she’s making an effort not to hit me hard. It still stings, so I hiss a little bit and let out a cry, but my feet stay firmly planted. “Why don’t you count down from five for me?” she suggests. I oblige.

“FIVE!” I cry urgently when the belt hits the center of my behind. “FOUR. THREE.” She gets two new spots, leaving my entire ass stinging like it was lit on fire. “TWO!” I say, letting out a deep breath. “ONE!” She drops the belt and pulls me into her arms. She hugs me tightly and kisses the top of my head.

“Good job, baby,” she praises, “Let’s have some snuggles before you write your lines.” She leads me to the couch, holding my hand firmly. She sits down and pulls me onto her lap. I wince when my bottom makes contact with her yoga pants, but I’m content to be held while I cry softly and apologize.

“Thank you again for picking me up,” I sniffle, “And going through all of this trouble.”

“Shh, you might be a trouble maker, but taking care of you is no trouble at all,” says Melissa as she continues to rub my back. When I’ve calmed down, she helps me sit up again. “Do you want to talk about what you said last night… about being worried that you might be gay?”

I blush deeply. “Oh, that…” I stutter nervously, “Yeah, I guess I just feel like I don’t like men. I mean, I keep trying because I always thought I did, but I saw this cute girl from my running group last night and I guess maybe I think I could be bisexual or a lesbian.”

Melissa’s face is full of compassion and understanding. She doesn’t say much, but she rubs my legs and asks why I seem so upset about it. We talk it over gently, with her reassuring and supporting me as we work through my thoughts and fears and hopes. When we’re both satisfied, she gently guides me to the dining room table to write my lines. I ask for a pillow, but my request is denied with a sympathetic kiss to the side of my head. Melissa does assorted chores while I write my lines, hand and bottom both burning. I know I’ve found someone that will hold me accountable… painfully… but I can’t be resentful when she also takes care of me and supports me so well.

I quickly text my friends and room mate to let them know I’m ok. It’s 10:30 and they just woke up, and I already have a fried behind! The injustice… As I finish up my lines, I look up at Melissa. She is really pretty. Stop it, I chastise myself, she’s a doctor and a mom and way older than you and probably isn’t attracted to you. Shaking the thought out of my head, I politely turn in my sheet of lines and give her one last hug.

“I can grab a cab so that you’re not inconvenienced,” I offer.

“I have to pick my son up from his sleepover at 11 anyway,” she says, “And please. Stop acting like an inconvenience or you’ll get another spanking.”

“Yes, ma’am! My butt is killing me. In that case, thanks for the ride!”

What. A. Day.

It’s a Friday night, and I’m currently being felt up by a banana. Ok, it’s some fratty college bro dressed as a banana for Halloween, so I guess that was misleading 😉 Regardless, banana bro had found me on the dance floor, already drunk on the warm vodka and Pepsi that my friends and I had pregamed with briefly on our rainy walk to another frat party. He grabbed my ass sans permission, and when I turned around to yell at him, my voice was concealed by the pounding music. Probably taking my angry expression as some weird sort of consent, he tried again at grabbing my ass. Disgusted and frustrated, I shoved him away and went to find my friends. Staying together at a frat party is always a challenge, but on Halloween night things are especially packed.

Eventually, I spot a couple of my skinny dance friends vying for more liquor at the makeshift bar in the back of the room, and I quickly make a beeline for them. When they see me, Leah squeals and says, “MORE SHOTS, BABY!” Caroline nods her approval enthusiastically, and I’m handed a small paper cup filled with pineapple juice and more warm vodka. Damn college students and their inability to buy (and chill) liquor appropriately. I’m already feeling the effects of our irresponsible pre-gaming, but I also know that I won’t have any fun with these sleazy college men unless I keep the alcohol coming. I pound another two shots with my girlfriends at the bar, and then we stumble away red-cheeked and giggling to see what trouble we can get into.

The three of us are a “sexy oreo.” I know. It’s dumb. But all I had to do to be a “sexy oreo cookie” was don a tight black spandex skirt and an equally tight black spandex crop top. It was cheap, easy, and group costumes always give you an excuse to ditch the sweaty, gross boy you’re dancing with in favor of gabbing another photo with your companions. “You guysssss,” I drawl, a little drunk for sure, “I think we should just go to a bar. It’s hot and crowded and I don’t know any of these weird guys.”

Carolyn frowns. “My fake ID isn’t that good,” she whines, “So if we don’t all get in you have to promise to leave the bar with me.” We all pinky promise, and we head out into the cool October night. Walking to the bar in the cold helps me sober up at least a tiny bit. When we arrive, we wait our turns in line, shivering and giggling, and then boldly fork over IDs that used to belong to older dancers. They aren’t fake, they just don’t belong to us. Borrowing a fakie from an older dancer is sort of a right of passage. The bouncer is overwhelmed by the Halloween crowds and ushers us in without really comparing us to the pictures of similar looking- but decidedly different- girls on our ID cards. Whooping in glee, we hightail it to the bar and order more drinks. And more drinks. We dance and we chat and we keep ordering. Eventually, Leah wanders off and starts making out with someone seemingly dressed as a dead professor. Charming. Caroline sees some friends from a religious group she’s in, and is suddenly dancing on a table with a couple of them. My friends are still in sight, so I ditch my half-full drink and run off to the bathroom to pee.

The moment that I sit down in a stall, away from the blaring music and loud voices, I realize just how drunk I am. The room is starting to spin a little, and my tongue and lips are completely numb. I try to text Caroline, but my hand-eye coordination has plummeted. Shit. I stand up and make my way over to the sink to wash my hands. I give myself a few minutes to catch my breath and vow to return to the bar for some water. Nearly to the bar, I’m intercepted by a cute girl named Teresa that I know from a running club that I briefly joined during the compulsive exercise phase of my freshman year. “HI!!!!” I say in a voice that’s probably a bit over-excited, and I pull her into an embrace.

“Heyyy, so good to see you, too,” she smiles, “are you a ninja or something?” she asks while assessing my black-on-black spandex and converse situation.

“No, I’m an oreo, well… part of an oreo… it’s whatever.”

“That’s AMAZING,” she says with a big laugh, “c’mon, let me buy you a drink real fast.” I start to say no, but I haven’t seen her in a while and I’m in a good mood. What’s one more shot. She insists on rum, which I grudgingly accept. We take it straight with no chaser and then high-five while giggling. I haven’t giggled this much in ages. It’s both freeing and a little concerning, especially as I feel my legs get more wobbly by the minute. Teresa gives me another hug and disappears to find her running club friends. She vows to text me soon. I nod politely, but am starting to really not feel well. I’m getting dizzier and dizzier and I’m starting to panic.

I look around for my friends, but the Halloween crowds are unreal. I decide to grab some fresh air outside. I stumble out the door and sit down on the cool concrete, leaning against the wall of the bar. I suddenly realize that I’m starving. I had a normal-sized piece of chicken for dinner, and several pieces of broccoli. I guess the meal was barely 300 calories, but protein is supposed to help absorb alcohol. That’s what they say, anyway. I’m certain that there is a greasy by-the-slice pizza place not far from here. Determined, I stand up and walk towards what I think the right intersection is. The problem is, it’s dark, I haven’t ever actually gone to this pizza place, and my legs are not doing a great job getting me down the sidewalk. There are plenty of crowds of partygoers in costume around, so I feel safe, but I’ve never been this drunk and I’m starting to doubt whether I can make it without passing out. My eyes feel heavy even though I wasn’t tired a few minutes ago, and like usual, I’m stuck outside in the cold air with no jacket and no tights. “FUCK,” I exclaim to no one in particular.

I have my phone, ID, fake ID, a few hair ties, and $5. That won’t cut it for a cab ride. I think about returning to the bar, but Caroline and Leah aren’t answering my texts and calls anyway. With my stomach in knots- either from nausea or nervousness- I get out my phone to call Melissa. She said she was always here for me, and I *really* need a lift. I can’t call anyone else in my sorority, because I could get kicked out for an offense like using a fake ID if they found out where I was. None of my other friends have cars. I press the call button by her name, hands shaking, and hope that she’s still awake.

TO BE CONTINUED.