by Lawrence Harwood
A few years ago Laura and Edward sat at the table wondering how to respond to each other. Earlier, they had opened the letter from the bank. They were going broke: they both had good jobs, they both earned good bonuses, and they both had the habit of spending twelve hundred dollars every time they earned an extra thousand. The discussion soon turned into an argument, and when that solved nothing, they fought.
This one was the fight of the century; later on, they joked that they should have sold tickets. They spared no feelings as they tongue-lashed each other - his height, her weight, every one of the in-laws, family members and their perceived faults, ancient history, ancient wounds, spending habits. Nothing was sacred, and nothing was left out. Never in their lives had they ever experienced the viciousness that unrestrained argument can bring - perhaps they had enjoyed sheltered childhoods - nothing in their two years of marriage or the two decades of life prior to that happy event had prepared them for the sort of wounding, cutting words they were throwing at each other.
Neither one had raised a hand. There was no need: the sheer viciousness of her verbal attacks made him physically ill, while his left her bereft and forlorn, crying pitiful, anguished tears. Their physical agonies finally brought them a blessed respite from argument. It is impossible to hurl insults when unable to draw breath.
They were as punch-drunk fighters in the prize-ring, seeking the safety of a neutral corner. She tottered into the powder room, wanting to dry her eyes and repair her makeup; he staggered to the closet, found a suitcase, and started packing some clothes.
Laura snarled at him. "Don't you dare walk out of here, mister. We're married, remember? For better, or for worse. This was one of the worst. Now it's time we make it better."
Edward glared back at her. "Right, so what do you do now? Wave a wand? Will that make it better?"
Her eyes flashed with sudden fury. "Wave a wand? Wave a wand?! What I ought to wave is my hand, right across your face!"
He interrupted her. "No one's slapping any faces, Laura; what ought to be slapped is your bottom." She gasped in horror, remembering her parents' discipline. "You know you deserve it."
"You deserve it just as much as I do!" she shrieked. "How dare you say those horrible things! How dare you call me all those awful names! You're the one who needs a spanking, Edward, and I'm just the one to give it to you."
He folded his arms. "You're screaming again, Laura. I thought you wanted to make it better?" He started to walk out of the room, but she stood in his way. "I'm not going to fight any more," he told her. "Not today. I can't stand this. I can't go through this again. I'd rather leave than say those things again." He paused - two heartbeats - "Or hear them."
She looked away from him, and murmured, "I'm sorry I said what I said."
"I'm sorry too," he apologized. "I never meant it."
They both stared at each other, ashamed now, wanting to approach, but wary. Laura finally stumbled into his arms, and buried her face in his chest. Her crying resumed. Somehow, he kept his feet. Edward embraced her in his accustomed manner, wrapping his arms completely around her, rubbing and patting her seat. She squirmed suddenly, electrified by the hand-to-bottom contact.
"Relax," he whispered. "Relax. I haven't spanked your bottom... yet." He felt her bridle, and begin to tense up. He anticipated her attempt to push him away, and tightened his arms, remembering her words 'for better or worse'. She wasn't going anywhere, yet, and neither was he. Still whispering, he said, "You know you need it." He paused, waiting for the sudden eye flash. "And so do I."
He had known his last remark would temper her sudden fury, or at least put it on a back burner to simmer. He understood quite well, because he felt exactly the same way. It was not like him to flare up suddenly, the way she did, but he was still angry, actually as enraged as she. His big hand, of its own volition, began opening and closing around her cheeks. He had never seen a spanking, but it wasn't hard for him to imagine Laura's bare bottom bouncing over his lap - her legs kicking frantically, while the tears came pouring from her eyes.
He had almost perfectly tapped right into her thought. Unlike him, she had grown up in a large Latin family, where spanking was both normal and frequent. Laura had spanked her younger brothers from time to time; her current mental picture was one of Edward held tightly, unable to move, the fire in her eyes kindling a fire on his bottom, while she fanned the flames with a hard wooden paddle.
"I need to get something." He let her go when she stopped struggling. She opened the bottom bathroom cabinet drawer - the one that they never used - and took out a gold and white box. Then she reached into her purse, handed him a protein bar, took one for herself, and sat across from him at the dinner table.
Out from the box came a buff manila envelope, and a wide, flat-backed, ebony hairbrush. One of their relatives, she couldn't remember which one, had given them a copy of the 1936 Spencer Spanking Plan as a wedding gift. At the time, they had thought it a joke, laughed it off, and buried it. Now it seemed that their unknown relative was either prescient, psychic, or both.
They sat at the table, looking carefully at each other, wondering what to do next. There seemed little doubt that they were going to go through with it. Given their mutual anger it was truly remarkable that they were willing to calmly read the plan, catalog their unwelcome behaviors, and agree to be punished for them. Their new lists reflected the earlier, still-simmering fight: all manner of yelling, fighting, asperity, and insults, would be punished by bare-bottomed spankings, which would continue until 'beneficial tears' were flowing. Spankings were also mandatory for spending money unwisely.
Edward was shaking his head at the magnitude of their misdeeds. "You know, if we follow this list exactly, we'll be spanking each other every day, twice a day, for the next several weeks."
Laura picked up the hairbrush from the gift box, trying the handle with her fingers, tapping it gently against her palm. "I think we should reconcile with one big spanking each, but I think we should go all the way with it."
Edward raised an eyebrow. According to the Spencer Plan, only he would suffer the wooden brush on his bottom, while he was limited to using his hand on hers. Warily, he asked, "What do you mean, 'all the way?'"
"For the time being, I think we should set aside that part about not raising welts or bruises. You said a lot of bad things to me, and I have a lot of anger inside and I want to take it out on your bottom. I don't want to hold back right now, Edward. I want to get it all out, and that means I bruise your ass with this hairbrush. It won't work otherwise."
Motionless, for a full minute he stood, thinking, balancing his latent guilt with his latent anger. Finally, he nodded, admonishing her. "That's going to have to work both ways, Laura. You're not the only one wanting to hammer some anger into a bared bottom." He looked directly into her eyes. "You really want to go all the way to town on my ass? With that hairbrush? No limits? No restrictions? That's fine. You go ahead. But I get the same rights."
Now it was Laura's turn to squirm apprehensively in her chair. She knew how hard she wanted to spank him, how much she wanted to see him squirm and cry out in pain. She also knew in her secret heart that turnabout was fair play. She was just as guilty as he, and she deserved to be punished as severely.
She drew a deep breath. "Edward? Please don't use the hairbrush on me."
He shook his head. "I'm not holding back either, Laura. You're not the only one with leftover anger around here. I don't know what your butt will look like by the time it's all gone." He paused, unaccustomed to these thoughts - not liking them - but knowing they were necessary. "I'm really mad right now, Laura. I've never done this before. I'm hoping my hand will be enough. Otherwise, yes, I will use that brush." She started as he continued, "You deserve this just as much as I do. You know you do. So, you spank me all you want until your anger is gone, and I mean completely gone, every bit of it, because I'm turning you over my knee, and doing the same thing to you."
He gestured to the plan on the table, resting his hand on it, pointing to the words 'beneficial tears.' "I'm willing to lie down on the bed for you, right now. I'm giving you carte-blanche with your hairbrush. When you're finished, you will do the same for me. We are going to spank each other, until we cry, and then this fight is over."
She lowered her eyes, nodding, biting her lip. The tears would come - of that, she was sure - it didn't really matter what implement he used. The price of their reconciliation would be the mutual suffering of physical pain. She experienced a sudden cold moment of anxiety, thinking If this doesn't work, I'll have a sore bottom for nothing. But the greater fear, Is this the end of our marriage? pushed the doubts away. With a pen, she hand-wrote her consent for Edward to spank her with the brush, and then put her hand over his, deliberately touching both him and the agreement, acknowledging the next steps of their difficult journey.
"I'll go first," she whispered.
"What?"
Blushing furiously, unable to meet his eyes she said, "You can spank me first."
She'd always done her share; she'd never shirked hard or disagreeable tasks, but it was unlike her to take the lead. He was tempted - his hand was truly itching to blister her bottom - he took out a quarter, and handed it to her. "You flip it. You call it. Winner gets to choose."
The coin had almost landed when she remembered to call. "Heads!" The quarter landed on its edge, spun a few times around and landed, head-down.
"Tails!" He smiled, grimly. "How utterly and completely appropriate." She cringed when he picked up the hairbrush, and then almost fainted when he handed it to her. Suddenly embarrassed, he had trouble meeting her eyes. She had to strain to hear him. "Laura, wife of my heart, I am sorry. I have violated every rule we have made, and I have hurt you. Please, take this hairbrush, spank me until your hurt and anger is completely gone, and I have been, well ... completely punished." He stammered the last words, anxious and abashed by the dire sanction he had just invoked. "I'll be ready in five minutes."
Edward had undressed completely and was stretched out on their bed with a pillow beneath his hips. Laura was fascinated. The tableau in front of her was the very 'act of surrender' described in their spanking plan. He was placing himself in her furious hands, naked and defenseless, offering of his own free will to suffer a very painful correction to redeem her anger. She reflected for a moment, hoping that their plan was truly as helpful and effective as it seemed on paper. I want to forgive and be forgiven, she thought.
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