Bad Girls (18 page)

Was that really the sort of thing she would tell a widower? She should be glad I was a fake. A real widower would probably slit his wrists after consolation like that.

‘Does it really get easier?' I urged her to step deeper into it.

‘Oh, yes, I'm so over Ted, now. It's just great to be able to be me for a change.'

‘Well, you look great. Have you been working out?'

‘How sweet of you to notice. I've been going to the gym. I haven't been at this weight since Lucy was born. You like?'

She gave a twirl, pirouetting into me, pretending it was an accident. I caught and held her while I kissed her.

‘I guess that means you like,' she laughed, after we kissed.

‘You haven't changed a bit. You always were the cutest girl in school.'

‘This is for saying that,' she said before she pounced, surprising me with her neediness.

‘What about the pineapple?' I asked, just to make her have to work a little harder.

‘I'll show you something a lot better than how to cut a pineapple.'

Oh, alright.

The bedroom looked like a floor display at the furniture store, with enough burgundy and deep green to make me think her ex-husband had a hand in picking it out and she couldn't afford to wipe out his influence. There were clothes strewn everywhere, yet most of the hangers hung unused in the walk-in closet. The house was too big for her alone. Her daughter's bedroom looked underused, like she spent as little time as she could here. I wondered why. I guess losing custody battles is an occupational hazard for attorneys' wives.

While I was taking in my surroundings, she was mauling me like she'd been studying late night movies on how to be a lustful woman. She ran her tongue up and down my neck, closing her eyes and moaning like a sex goddess wannabe. She pawed at me in rhythm with her moans, squeezing me harder with each breathy crescendo. I've known women who've come with less of a fuss. Ashley seemed to be the kind of woman who, in an exaggerated effort to show enthusiasm, would stick her tongue halfway down your throat the first time you kissed.

At that moment I didn't really want her. It sounds crazy, but she seemed below me. After all the years I'd worshipped her it had only taken her twenty minutes to reveal herself as needy, pathetic, manipulative and controlling. It made me want to spank her even more than I had before, but how to raise the subject was still a mystery. My plan hadn't gotten that far, but the grieving widower angle had worked so far, so I thought I'd stick with a winner.

‘Wait. Please, Ashley.' I stopped her after she had already pulled her turtleneck over her head and was untucking my shirt and unbuckling my belt.

‘Oh, Bruce, your cock is so big.' She purred in faux porn star fashion as she kneaded my crotch through my pants.

‘Ashley, please. This isn't easy for me.'

‘I'll make it good for you. I'll make sure you're not lonely anymore.'

‘There hasn't been anyone since…'

‘Oh, don't worry. The first time's the hardest, but it's part of the healing process. I'll take good care of you, Brucie.'

Brucie? Her determination was nearly overwhelming. She practically had my cock in her mouth, but I knew that if I gave up now I might lose the high ground for good.

‘Ashley. Stop. I'm not ready. Please, Ashley.'

I pushed her head away and she ran across the room. She stood with her back to me, looking out her bedroom window. Then she turned towards me, confused. At first I thought she was going to be mad, but then she flopped down on the bed and began to wail. It was completely over the top.

‘Oh, Bruce, I'm so sorry. I was just trying to make it better. I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm such a bitch. I've always been such a bitch to you. I thought I could make it up to you, but I've even ruined that.'

‘It's okay, Ashley. I know you were just trying your best.'

‘No, Bruce, it's not okay. I've been such a bitch to you. I told all these lies about you in high school and you were always so nice to me. Now I just wanted to make you feel better, but I've only made it worse.'

‘Ashley, it's not you; it's me. I'm just not ready.' I was being as phony as she was, but then something unexpectedly perfect happened. She looked up at me, with a look that was half contrite, half seductive, like she'd figured out a way to regain her footing.

‘I've been a bad, bad girl, Brucie. Ashley has been a bad, bad girl.' She practically purred it the second time. The final piece was falling into place.

‘What happens to bad girls, Ashley?'

‘Bad girls get spankings, Brucie. Are you going to spank bad Ashley?'

‘Does Ashley deserve a spanking?' The sudden move to the third person seemed weird, but I played along. She was walking right into my trap.

‘Ashley has been bitchy to you, Brucie. Ashley has been a real bitch.'

‘Then I'd say Ashley does deserve a spanking.'

‘But Ashley is real sorry, Brucie. Please don't spank Ashley too hard.'

‘Ashley is just going to get what she deserves. No more. No less.'

‘Does Brucie want to see Ashley's bare bottom?'

‘Atta good girl, Ashley. Show Brucie your bare bottom.'

She raised her hips so she could lower her slacks and panties, which she did with a playful shimmy. This was just a game to her. She thought this was just for fun. At first I was disappointed that she wasn't more scared, that she didn't feel the same shame and dread that she'd inspired in so many others through the years, but then I figured it was for the best. She would never have consented like this if she knew what I had in mind. I knew she wouldn't stand for it once I started either, so I played the Dom role to the hilt, taking the bathrobe tie lying on the floor and binding her hands to the bed frame.

‘Ashley is gonna get it,' I said, overacting while I knelt above her and tightened the knots.

‘Oh, be nice to Ashley, sir. She's just a little girl with such a tender butt.'

The ‘sir' was completely over the top. I was noticing a funny thing about Ashley: she couldn't let herself be outdone. If I flirted she flirted more; if I missed my wife she missed her husband more; if I overacted she overacted more. It was like she wouldn't share the spotlight with anyone.

‘You haven't changed a bit, Ashley. You always were the biggest bitch in school.'

‘Oh, Brucie.'

Her voice, breathy with seduction not with fear, showed me just how ignorant she was about what was about to happen. How could she understand? No one had ever held her accountable before. It only emphasized how badly she needed the lesson I was about to teach her.

‘How did daddy spank little Ashley when she was naughty?'

‘Daddy didn't spank little Ashley at all. Daddy let her do anything she wanted.'

‘No wonder Ashley needs a spanking so badly. She's never had one before.'

‘That's not true,' she pouted. ‘I got one when I pledged my sorority. It hurt, too. I hated that paddle. You don't have one of those, do you, Bruce?'

I made a note to myself for next time.

It was still all fun and games with her. I could tell she had read too many stories that made getting a spanking into a bit of frisky foreplay or a Kiss Me Kate-style battle of the sexes. In these stories cute girls squeal with delight and writhe against your knee to add a little clit-action to their butt warming. Sure, those are great stories. I always get hard when I read them. But that wasn't the sort of spanking I had in mind. This spanking was going to hurt. There wouldn't be any clit grinding, squealing, or pouting. Ashley didn't get it.

When I began by rubbing my hand on her ass, she lifted her hips to my touch, practically raising herself on her hands and knees. She spread her legs like I was going to fuck her doggie-style and I got quite a view. She was so excited it wet her pubes, which were
au natural
, quite a statement of neglect in this day and age. She really was letting herself go to hell. I wondered how long it had been since a man bushwhacked his way through it.

Then I spanked her softly and she giggled. I did it a few more times, beginning to enjoy my cruel secret. I knew what she had in store and the longer she thought it was a game – the longer she thought she was in control – the more satisfaction I stood to gain from my eventual victory. I made the spankings a little harder and she began to coo.

‘Oh, Brucie, make it hurt so good.'

I was careful to progress slowly. I was in no hurry. For a while she continued with her brave face, like this was what she expected and it was still all in good fun. There were still the little comments that were meant to be light-hearted, but she made them through clenched teeth. ‘You must be turning little Ashley's bottom red as an apple, aren't you Bruce?' and ‘You've done this before, haven't you Brucie? You're a strict daddy to little Ashley.'

She was loath to admit that I had gotten the upper hand. She pulled at the bathrobe ties, but I'd secured them well. Then she began sliding her ass back and forth, trying to evade the spanking. I was bringing my hand down hard. Her flesh jiggled with each spank and the redness spread over both cheeks. I was quite engaged with the experience, losing myself in details like how to cup my hand to spank the crowns of her buttocks and how to flatten my hand to deliver the most sting to the sides of each cheek. Soon I was using my other hand to hold her in place, pinning her so I could deliver my blows right where I wanted them. She'd been silent for a long time, but finally, after a vicious volley, she spoke up.

‘Hey, take it easy.'

‘Excuse me?' I said, and spanked her even harder.

‘This isn't funny.'

‘Funny?' I asked as I hit her almost as hard as I could. ‘Who said anything about it being funny?'

‘You can't do this to me. It's not like…'

‘It's not like what, Ashley?' She had no answer, but that could be because I was spanking her relentlessly and it was all she could do to bear it. ‘It's not like you don't deserve it?' I asked. ‘Is that what you were going to say? Was all that stuff about being a bitch to me just talk? I guess you just assumed you would get away with it. You've always gotten away with it, so nothing would lead you to think otherwise. No one has ever had the guts to do what I'm doing now. No one has ever stood up to you. No one has ever called you on your manipulative bullshit, have they? Well, this is what you deserve for all that. Do you think that being a bitch didn't hurt other people? You've hurt other people worse than I could ever hurt you. It's about time you owned up to that.'

I had really been laying it on as I spoke to her. I felt a giant sense of relief saying it. It was the truth and there was something satisfying about telling her about the pain she'd caused and causing her pain at the same time. If she hadn't been bound and stinging, vulnerable and sad, I doubt she could have ever really heard what I had to say. In another context she would have come back with some smart-ass remark, some oblique reference to her superiority. As long as she was in her element – in control, coasting on the old habit of Ashley-worship we all carried from high school – she would have never acknowledged the darker parts, the parts that hurt. But here, exposed and at my mercy, I hoped she could imagine what it had been like for me all those years ago. I hoped I could force her to feel a little empathy.

I stopped spanking her, giving her ass a break so the next volley could make her go through it all again. I was also curious what she would have to say. I continued stroking her ass, taking a detached interest in the damage I'd done, noticing the parts particularly battered and the parts relatively untouched. I studied the places where the red glow began to turn to bruising, and observed odd phenomena like the prevalence of goose bumps on some parts of her skin, and the way some parts were neither red nor bruised but a sort of pale white. I guess it had to do with the way the blood was flowing around that traumatized flesh.

After she stopped squirming and I could stop holding her in place, I was able to use both my hands to stroke her flesh. At one point I put a hand on both her cheeks and spread them apart, looking at her asshole and down between her legs. I blew on her asshole, a bit mischievously, and watched it pucker.

‘Stop that,' she said, not at all playfully but not with any real conviction either.

‘What's wrong, Ashley? Embarrassed by your little asshole? Are you suddenly regretting your immodest behavior? A few minutes ago you were the brazen slut, seducing widowers in the grocery store, and now look at you. I can think of a lot of reasons for you to be ashamed, but your asshole is the least of them. Why aren't you ashamed of all the lies and the gossip, the insults and the manipulation? Why aren't you ashamed of all the feelings you've hurt and all the ways you've gotten what you've wanted by stepping on others? Aren't those things more shameful than what's between your legs?'

‘Why are you doing this to me, Bruce? Why are you saying all these mean things? I was just trying to be nice to you.'