by Rue Chapman
Grace stared in horror at the man groaning on the floor.
"My God Grace, you've killed him! We've barely had this one a day. You're in SO much trouble!" Becka giggled, then knelt to check the body, which was starting to mutter and trying to stand up, "Come on, here we go, up you get, just sit on this chair and I'll get the First Aid kit. We always keep it handy." She bustled out of the office, leaving Grace alone with her victim.
"I - I'm so sorry, I just - I opened the door - I didn't know you were behind it..."
The moaning got louder. Grace stood, helpless and useless, wishing the floor would open up and swallow one of them.
"Here we are, now we'll set you right," Becka scurried back in. As she often pointed out, twenty years of marriage to a DIY 'expert', and four sons navigating through the dangerous waters of the teenage years, meant she could deal with almost anything without turning a hair.
Oddly, twenty-eight years of creating havoc had left Grace totally unable to deal with the results, despite countless opportunities for practice. She watched her latest victim, her blue eyes mournful.
"I just opened the door..."
Two dark eyes glared at her for a moment, then refocussed on Becka as she held a coldpack to the egg-sized swelling on his forehead.
This was a new record. Usually they lasted at least a week.
They were called Administrators, or Co-ordinators, or Managers, but the job was the same, whatever the title. They were the constant effort by the company to keep control of the crazy geniuses in the Research division. The exact proportion of craze to genius was under debate, but the labs kept producing, bringing in the big contracts, including certain work done for the government, involving terms like Top Secret, and High Security. Which meant that someone had to supervise, and check, and make it look like there was some sort of control over the brilliant, lucrative lunatics.
There was a ferociously high turnover in the job. Currently the new Administrative Supervisor was slumped in a chair, seeing double.
"Gracie, what have you done? Oh you poor man, let me look after you!" Gina swept into the room in a cloud of concern and expensive perfume. She fluttered over to her target and scooped the coldpack out of Becka's hand, deftly elbowing her out of the way at the same time. "What happened? Has Gracie been clumsy again? Honestly, she's a disaster, isn't she! We should call her Grace-LESS!"
Becka shrugged and stepped back. Grace stood there hating Gina for being taller, slimmer, blonder and totally NOT clumsy. Any one of those was hard to forgive, but all of them together were nauseating. And calling her 'Gracie' was almost grounds on its own for justifiable homicide.
Gina made a few more soothing noises over the sufferer, took a few steps towards Grace then hissed softly, "Haven't you done enough? He won't want to see you right now, will he? As if he ever would. Now why don't you run along and try to keep out of trouble, if you can, you clumsy oaf. And remember, I saw him first!"
Of course she saw him first. Gina had an inbuilt radar system that located all good-looking men within a ten-mile radius. As Grace stumbled out of the room she could hear Gina cooing, "Poor Jake, how can I make you feel better?"
Becka followed Grace out, simmering. "Make him feel better, indeed! Hope her implants explode."
Grace managed a rather miserable giggle. "But she's right, I'm a disaster! We haven't had him for a whole day and I've already damaged him." And how did Gina get to call him 'Jake', when the rest of them hadn't met him properly yet?
The rest of the afternoon was torment for Grace, everyone seeming to know that she'd broken the new boss before he'd even settled in.
"So, who do you attack next?"
"You, Matt, so you'd better start running now."
"Can I introduce you to my brother in law? I can't afford to pay someone to take him out. One date with you should finish him off."
"Not funny Greg."
"Was it something he said, or did he just look at you wrong?"
"Dave, it was an ACCIDENT."
Finally she couldn't take it any more, she grabbed a few files to work on over the weekend and headed for the car park.
"Grace, are you ok?" Becka was worried, Grace was usually the last to leave, never the first.
"I - I have some things to work on at home."
"Ok, but call me if you need to talk. Look, don't worry about it. He'll recover over the weekend, and you can talk to him on Monday. Explain that you don't usually attack men before you've been properly introduced."
She managed a watery smile before she sped out of the car park, narrowly missing several other cars and a few innocent signposts on the way.
Becka hoped Grace would be ok, but she had more on her mind. It was Friday, after all.
Like many long-term married couples, life had settled into a routine for Becka and Tony. It's not easy being spontaneously romantic when you have four children (although, as Tony often pointed out, that was how they got the four kids in the first place.) But they had a pattern that suited them. Through the week they were lucky to have a longer conversation than "Will you be home in time to take the twins to soccer training?" But on Friday the kids went to spend the night with their grandparents ("It's so important that they get a chance to bond....") Friday was THE night.
Becka knew most people would think she and Tony were so dull and boring, having their sex life timetabled like this, but it worked for them. And when you got to your forties you tended to settle down a bit, and take things steadily. So when she walked through the door she knew what to expect. Pretty much the same old routine.
Becka and Tony both had the dark hair and eyes, and olive skin of their Maltese ancestors. Twenty years and four children had thickened her figure a little, but Becka still had the full breasts and rounded bottom that had made Tony's pulse quicken all those years ago. Tony had his own business hiring out heavy equipment to construction sites, often doing the subcontracting himself. He was of medium height, but stocky and well-muscled. Becka still thought he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen.
Tony was waiting in the kitchen, frowning. "And just what time do you call this?"
Becka froze for a moment. "I'm sorry, I... work ran late... I tried to be home earlier..."
"Wasn't that your excuse last week? And the week before?"
"I know, I'm sorry, I just get caught up in things..."
"Well, maybe it's time you got caught up in something else!" And before she knew it she was thrown over his shoulder and carried up the stairs to their bedroom.
"Tony please! Tony, I'll do better I promise!"
The only answer was a stinging slap to her rump.
Once in their room she was deposited on her feet. "Panties down now."
"Tony, I..." He took her shoulders, turned her around and delivered another resounding swat.
"OW!"
"Becka, I won't say it twice."
Sniffling, she slowly reached up under her skirt and edged her panties to her knees.
"Hands on the bed."
There was no choice. She bent over and put her hands on the bed. He raised her skirt slowly, lifting it clear and folding it onto her back, leaving her bottom totally exposed.
Tony paused a moment, enjoying the sight of those full cheeks. But they were far too pale. "This is to remind you to obey promptly when I give you an order."
"OW!" The first hard smack echoed in the room. Becka flinched, but kept in position. She could feel his handprint burning on her left cheek. He waited until the stinging had built, then her right cheek was given its own brand.
"OW! Tony, I'm sorry!"
"You will be."
Two more and she was gasping, he was really laying it on hard. Two more, she was jiggling from foot to foot now.
"Stay in position."
"OW! Tony please, I'm - OW! - I'm sorry!" Two more and the fire was burning high.
"Corner." Becka fled to the corner, relieved that he'd stopped. "Keep that skirt up."
Corner time always lasted forever. Becka hated it, right up until the moment he said, "Back here." She scuttled over to stand in front of him. He looked so stern, she shivered and waited to see if it was over.
"Strip."
"Tony... please... I..." He spun her and added two more stinging slaps. "Are you DARING to argue with me?"
"NO! No sir, I... I'll do whatever you tell me."
Soon she was naked, trembling, hands by her sides as he surveyed her. "I think it's time you had a reminder session. You've been forgetting your place lately." Becka shuddered. "Are you arguing with me?"
"No sir."
"Well then?"
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Please sir, I haven't been behaving well lately, I know. I've been disobedient, and I've argued with you. Please... please punish me for my misdeeds."
"Punish how?"
"Please spank me sir. Please spank my bottom so hard that I can't sit down all weekend."
"Very well, since you ask so nicely. You know you deserve this." He took the chair from her dressing-table and placed it carefully in the centre of the room, then sat down. "Over. Now."
Trembling, she took up the position over his knees, hands reaching out to the floor one side, toes just touching the other, bottom high.
"This is to help you improve your attitude."
There was no warm-up. He spanked fast, and very hard. Becka tried to take it well, but she was soon gasping, then yelping, then the words broke through. "I'm sorry!... Tony, it HURTS, I'm sorry, truly, I'll be good! I'll be good. I PROMISE!"
He was a methodical man. He started at the top of one cheek, working down with overlapping slaps until he reached the halfway point on her thigh. Then the other side received the same treatment. Then the whole cycle was repeated. Hard, fast, deliberate slaps, paying no attention to her pleading. Her skin glowed pink, then red, as he continued.
Finally it was too much, her hand flying back of its own accord to try to protect her poor bottom. Tony caught her wrist, pinning it in the small of her back. "You'll pay for that."
The slaps continued, falling even harder. At last Becka had no more words, she could only sob helplessly, crying out when particularly hard slaps fell on the most tender places. This was going to be a long one, he'd really decided to teach her a lesson this time. By the ten-minute mark she'd lost all resistance, and finally his hand stilled. He held her in position for a while as she sobbed, then when she'd fallen silent she was lifted onto her feet. He stood, unbuckling his belt. "Hand."
He wound most of the belt around his fist, leaving about eighteen inches free. When Becka had her hand out, and high enough to satisfy him, he raised the belt and brought it down across her palm. "Again." Twice more he strapped her hand, then three times on the other.
This time the corner was a welcome refuge.
When she was called back she glanced at his face, hopefully. But he still looked so stern that she shivered. "You've had a firm lesson that should teach you your place. But I want to be sure you remember it. Get the spoon."
Becka whimpered. She wasn't fond of that wooden spoon, and she was so sore already. "Tony, please, I PROMISE I'll be good. Really, you don't need... I promise...I...please."
His face looked like thunder. "You DARE to argue with me? That lesson obviously didn't take. Get on the bed!"
Becka moaned and backed up to the bed. She didn't dare plead for mercy now. In seconds she was lying on the bed, over a pile of pillows. Tony took hold of her hips and moved her forward until her bottom was positioned perfectly for its punishment, the lower curves totally exposed, her sit spot the perfect target.
Then he picked up her brush. Becka moaned again and buried her face in the quilt. Her hands clenched into fists, bracing for the onslaught.
The sound echoed round the room before she felt the first one, leaving her sit spot blazing. Becka couldn't hold back the wails as the brush fell again and again on the same spot until he was satisfied with the throbbing dark crimson oval. Then he treated the other side the same. Then a little higher, half a dozen on the soft undercurve of her cheeks, then the tops of her thighs. Then the same areas over again.
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