by Ross Mariner
"Enough of that, young lady!" he said, and slipped her panties down.
Only moments before, Sophie, clad only in her short, sheer nightie and silky panties had been standing by the bed, contemplating both the significance of the day and her morning ablutions. She had, before heading for the bathroom, muttered in a most unhappy tone, something about being very unhappy with the result she got on adding a one to the number to which she had been accustomed for the past 365 days of her life. One more year, and that number would end in a Zero! "I don't like it," she had said in a rather grumpy tone. She had been amazed at how rapidly he had moved.
In spite of the fact that in a few months he would be entering what, according to his calculations, would be his last decade, there was still a certain amount of agility in the old man. She was not quite certain exactly how it all came about, but instead of starting her short walk to the bathroom, she was over his lap, head and upper body supported by the bed, legs dangling toward the floor, and her bottom raised in the manner she still remembered from certain painful and embarrassing childhood moments.
From past experience, Sophie knew that the arm about her which made her feel comfortable and wanted, would also hold her firmly in place, no matter how she tried to get up. There was no sense fighting the inevitable, and she settled herself to accept what was coming. It began as it always did, with her panties being taken down. At least she did not have to do that herself, something she'd always hated doing as a little girl. Things were different for the big girl, though, there were times when she wanted him to see her acceptance, submission, and most of all, her gift to him. However, if he was serious, like now, the preparations were done for her. No nonsense. Into position, panties down, stingy spanks, panties up, a hug and it was over.
She could not help enjoying the hug, and there was no time for butterflies in her tummy as she felt his hands doing things with the skirt of her nightie and then her panties. There was a moment of tingliness as she felt her panties slide over the mounds of her behind, and then her lower curves were bare and ready.
His arm tightly about her once more, she felt the warmth of his open hand pressed into the soft flesh of her bottom for a few seconds, one light pat and the first good smack landed. It was quickly followed by more, each landing on a different part of her mature and very, very pretty bum. The spanks were applied as punctuation marks while he talked. "You ... will ... not ... keep talking about your age ... as though you are ... getting ... old." He paused here, and rubbed her delightfully soft cushions. Three more quick spanks, each leaving his hand print as it landed, before he continued. "You ... are ... young ... my dear one ... and will never ... be as old as I am ... at least as long as I'm alive ... " More massaging to ease the sting, which was not bad at all, actually. In fact she rather liked it. Sophie always enjoyed that comforting part of her spankings, and so did he. Another set of three smacks landed, right, left and centre. He stopped then, and massaged the warm cheeks of Sophie's voluptuous behind.
"Was that my birthday spanking?" she asked, while delighting in the pleasurable sensations elicited by his stroking and petting hand, enhanced by the position she was in, and the arm about her waist.
"Your birthday spanking? Hardly. Did you count the smacks?"
"Umm ... No, Sir. I was too lost in how they felt to keep track."
"Well, my dear, I think there were only twenty two. Just a reminder about your attitude toward being your new age, so very young. You'll think more positively for the rest of the day, my very young lady?"
"I'll try, Sir."
"You'd better!"
She tensed, expecting more smacks from his tone of voice. Instead, though, he let his hand stroke over both warm, pink cheeks, not missing a spot. That felt good to both of them. Sophie wondered why, if her spanking was over, he had not let her up. Still, she was quite comfortable where she was, enjoying the glowing sensation.
"You're a big girl now," he continued, petting and stroking.
"Yes, Sir," she answered.
"You have a lovely bottom."
"I'm glad you like what you see, Sir."
"I like what I feel, too," he responded.
She giggled. She enjoyed feeling his hand there.
"But my hand doesn't cover all of your pretty behind at once." He patted her all over to prove his point. Next he rested his hand on each cheek and then across the centre valley, touching both cushions at once.
She remembered her little girl spankings again, and how a grown-up hand had covered her whole bottom with each spank. She clenched, and squirmed a little at the memory.
"I think your birthday spanking should be a real one, don't you, after this nonsense this morning?"
She was not quite sure what that meant, but decided to agree. "Yes, Sir."
"When you were a child, it was one spank for each year, and one to grow on, right? And maybe one for luck?"
"Yes, Sir. The one for luck is nice."
"I have an idea, Sophie."
That did not sound too promising. "Yes?"
"Don't you think three spanks for each year would be better now?"
"Three?"
"Yes, dear. That would be the same as one spank when you were small, right?"
"I guess so..."
"Then that's how it will be. We'll get started before dinner tonight. How does that sound?"
Sophie did the math in her head. There would be a lot of spanks. Still ... they would be from him. Why not?
"Okay," she said, remembering wisely to add, "Sir," which she had been omitting.
"Fine," he said, pulling up her panties for her, after sorting out the slight tangle where the fabric had been gathered just below her lower cheeks. "That's all over," and he gave her a loving slap on the now-covered bottom. "Up you get." For a few moments, or maybe more than a few moments, he held her close as they stood together. Her head was resting against him, eyes closed, as he whispered, "Try not to think about it, dear, but by 6:00 o'clock this evening, I'd like you over my knee for your spanking, okay?" Together they headed for the shower, aware of the need to conserve energy from fossil fuels in this period of restraint.
They spent the day languorously enjoying themselves and each other, not straying far from their hotel room in the morning. He gave her a few little gifts for her birthday, but for these they had to be circumspect, and he chose things that would mean something to them, but seem innocuous to anyone else. She was a musician, and leader of a Church choir, so a little book of Christmas carols edited and arranged by a famous English composer, conductor and organist was something she might obtain for herself. This copy, however, was one he had used and in which were occasional notes made during his years as an organist and choir director. Then here was a microphone for a computer that had once been attached to his. He had been thinking of a CD, a performance on his favoured instrument, personally copied for her ... nothing that she might not acquire herself, without question.
There was time spent playing tourist, looking about the older part of the great city. The subway along Bloor to Yonge, and a transfer south on the Yonge Street line to Dundas, then lunch in the Atrium on Bay at an Indian restaurant, which was surprisingly good and authentic, despite the chromed, modern decor beneath the crystal sky of the place. After lunch they wandered south, passing the Eaton Centre, aware of the sky-scrapers soaring upward to their right. Then it was along King Street, east to Church and a visit to St. James' Cathedral. A slender spire reaching for the sky, gorgeous windows of stained glass, Gothic arches rising into the heavens, and the voice of the Cathedral, the magnificent pipe organ housed behind its carved cases.
He told her of the various furnishings they saw, the bishop's throne, or cathedra, from which a cathedral gets its name. The font, memorial tablets, the altars and the many symbols of the faith. Sophie found it beautiful, but a glance at her watch showed that time was passing. He had been quite clear this morning, and although he had not mentioned it again, she had not forgotten. At 6:00 o'clock, or thereabouts, she would be getting ready for her spanking.
'A real one,' he had said. 'Three spanks for every year.' She did the math again, and felt that familiar tingle of anticipation. In a couple of hours she would having her bare bottom soundly spanked. A birthday spanking, true, but a real one. Why had she not refused? She knew the answer, though, and so did he. Strange thoughts to have in this sacred place.
Leaving the Cathedral, they went back outside, and walking westward were awed by the towers of the cathedrals of commerce. A dramatic contrast with the solemn peace and quiet of St. James in its holy splendour was the teeming underground mall that connects many of the skyscrapers, so workers and visitors can walk about the city centre from edifice to edifice, never coming up to the surface if they do not wish to. Shops, bars, restaurants and even greenery adorn the subterranean streets.
Finally they passed into the lobby of the Royal York, flagship of the hotel division of Canadian Pacific, which has taken over the less nationally identified name 'Fairmont,' with expansion south of the border and across the seas. From the Royal York, they proceeded to the Great Hall of Union Station for a look at that historic structure, then the subway once again, and eventually back to Old Mill Station, the little red car, and the Beach Motel.
As they entered the room, he glanced at his watch. "Fifteen minutes, dear," he said, and poured an ounce of single malt.
Fifteen minutes! Sophie suddenly realized the inevitability of what was coming. A birthday spanking, that would be a real one. Three smacks on her bare bottom for each year of her life, including the one that was beginning today. She did the math again, and got the same result as this morning. This time there were only fifteen minutes left, though before it would be actually taking place. Fifteen minutes that would be longer than the whole delightful day had been, and yet would pass in an instant! How much would it hurt? The butterflies were back with a vengeance, the tingling in her nether cheeks became excitingly intense, and she felt the goose bumps returning, in spite of being fully clothed. She began to pace about the room. How could he be so relaxed? Him and that Glenlivet! The seconds and minutes moved inexorably on.
Putting his glass down for a moment on the table by the easy chair where he had been sitting, he wandered over to the desk, and took the straight backed, armless chair from its place, and deposited in the centre of the open space between the window and the bed. Satisfied, he returned to his more comfortable chair to finish the shot of single malt. Glancing at Sophie and her nervous pacing, he spoke quietly, but firmly. "Darling, you have ten more minutes before you lie over my lap. Relax, dear."
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