Chapter 1 #2
“Octopus. Okay. And I can trust you to use it should you feel the need?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Good. Lower your garments, bare your bottom and place your elbows and forearms on my desk.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered, my voice cracking this time.
I lifted my skirt, and hooking my thumbs into my panties, I lowered them.
The paddle on my bare bottom was going to be awful.
I leaned forward, forearms flat against the cool, polished wood surface of her desk.
She took a minute to adjust me, opening my legs slightly with her foot, and pulling my hips back and tilting them so my bottom was further out.
The exposure was humiliating, but also a little exciting and, for a flash, I imagined someone watching my humiliation, peeking at my pussy which was likely a little visible.
But then I remembered what was about to come, and I focused my attention on the professor.
I didn’t dare miss anything she said while I was in this position or else I might earn extra punishment.
I so did not want extra.
“Once I’m through with your paddling, I want you to have a seat on that chair.”
I glanced at her finger which pointed to a wooden chair in the corner.
“You’ll sit there on your bare bottom while we find a time slot in both of our schedules for our weekly meetings.”
“Thank you for helping me, Professor Stahlbaum,” I said, a tremor to my voice.
“You’re welcome, Mira. Now prepare yourself.”
Acceptance washed over me, it didn’t completely stop the nerves but there was a click of something fitting into place inside me and I welcomed it.
I’m not sure which of my senses alerted me of the first swat. There was a rush of air that blew against my skirt and a thwack so loud it echoed, and a sting and burn so intense my eyes popped wide. I took in a sharp hissing breath and rose to my tiptoes; the air was momentarily trapped in my lungs.
My bottom clenched involuntarily as my lungs clawed for fresh oxygen.
After ten seconds, I was finally able to release the breath I was holding only to immediately suck it in again with the next paddle whack.
Before the burn eased from that one, another loud pop of wood on flesh rang out.
I choked out a whimper and fell forward against the desk.
“Relax your breathing and your bottom, Mira.” She placed her hand on my lower back, a steady pressure. “Back into position.”
I nodded, unable to speak. She hadn’t told me how many swats I was to receive and that made me a little panicky since the first three were worse than I’d expected. Much worse. But I did as I was told and the swats continued, each compounding the sting and burn of the last.
“Last one, Mira. You’re being such a good girl.”
I nodded, and it landed with a jolting swat.
This time, I let go. I stopped holding on so desperately to my emotional control and just released everything.
Sobbing, my shoulders shook. Emotions poured out of me.
Yes, the paddling was awful, yes, my ass was on fire, but the wracking sobs carried so much more than that away.
Like a tsunami, the pain, anguish, fear, and unknowing, was swept out of me like crumbling buildings and debris.
What would I do when school ended, and as I promised myself, I moved out on my own?
What would I do when my mother died, and I had no family?
What would I do if my mother was right and I couldn’t make it on my own without her?
“Good girl,” Professor Stahlbaum crooned, rubbing my lower back. “Your punishment’s over but we’re not finished just yet.” Her voice was gentle and reassuring like her hand on my back.
She helped me up, guiding me to the wooden chair where I sat with a hiss. And then she went back to her own chair and let me drain myself of tears. And when I was finally nothing more than languid limbs, hiccups and sniffles, we went through our schedules and picked the best time to meet.
“You may right yourself and be on your way, Mira. I hope this will prove an effective deterrent to tardiness in the future.”
I stood, feeling a bit wobbly and nodded. She came to me, gave me a quick hug and three gentle pats on the back. “You took that well. Do you need anything else?”
I swallowed hard. “No, Ma’am.”
She nodded, wiping some tears from my cheeks. “You’ve got some bruising. Drink plenty of fluids, have a nap, and if you need it, Nurse MacIntosh can provide you with some arnica cream. I’ll let her know.”
“Thank you, Professor Stahlbaum,” I said, and I meant it too. I hadn’t felt this light in months. My paddling had an unintended benefit. For the last half hour, I hadn’t thought of my mother, her diagnosis, or her prognosis at all.
Professor Stahlbaum’s clear eyes held mine, and in that moment, I knew that she knew there was more to what happened today. I think she knew I needed the harsh physicality of the paddling she’d given me, but with grace and gentleness of heart.
“Honey, if you need to talk. At any time. I’m here.”
I nodded, thanked her and left.
In my room, Cleo took one look at me and threw her arms around me. “Why didn’t you tell her? She would have let you off. I know she would have. And being late with an assignment isn’t a failure—not really. You still know your stuff. This is just a difficult time for you.”
I shrugged as she released me. “I don’t want any special treatment. And at some point, everyone loses their mom.” My gaze sharpened on her. “And remember you were sworn to secrecy.”
She rolled her eyes and nodded. “And when they do, they get compassion —even in the real world.” She put her hands on her hips. “What if I were in your position, would you judge me for being late with a few assignments?”
I thought about it and shrugged again. I’d have fought like hell to convince her to talk to her professors, because no one should have to go through something like that without being given at least a little lenience.
“You made your point, Clee. Can we stop talking about it now?”
“Why do you have to carry it alone? Is there a prize at the end? An award? You’re being a martyr and it’s not necessary.” Her tone was sharp, and she crossed her arms. But even though she was right, I didn’t feel like giving in.
I also didn’t feel like admitting that the paddling had helped me.
I’d tried yoga, meditation, exercise, even a massage, though I couldn’t afford it, but nothing had eased the stress and tension I’d been carrying over my mother’s terminal diagnosis, and my impending family-less life, like the several minutes I’d spent bent across Professor Stahlbaum’s desk. And that I was grateful for it.
I grabbed my bag, shoved a pair of pajamas and some toiletries in it. “I won’t be back tonight.”
“You’re leaving?” Her voice rose to a panicked pitch. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I don’t have any plans or shifts this weekend, so I’m going to stay at my mom’s.” I looked up at her frantic expression. “You didn’t upset me, Cleo. This was always my plan.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” She paced in the small room, scrubbing her hands over her face. “You usually have at least one scene on your weekend off and I’ve scared you off from getting your needs met.” She looked up and grabbed my shoulders. “I’m a horrible friend.”
“You’re the best friend I have, Clee. Do not blame yourself. And remember I just had my ass torn up. I couldn’t handle a scene this weekend even if my life depended on it.” I pulled her into a firm hug before stepping back to throw my bag over my shoulder. “I love you, but I need to go.”
“Call me later? At least to let me know how your mom is doing.”
I gave her a small smile and nodded, walking out. “I will.”
I wanted to nap. That’s what I really wanted. There was nothing like the exhaustion from a good spanking and a cry, but throw in that it was with a paddle for something I deserved to be punished for, and I was absolutely and blissfully spent.
For a split second I had a flash of the past. A night years ago when I’d felt like this—no, better than this, but I let the memory fall away before it fully came into focus. It hurt to think about. My future, life, BDSM, back then, all of it had held so much promise.
When I got to my mom’s, she looked even more exhausted than me, so I made her some scrambled eggs and toast, which was all she seemed to be able to keep down since her last chemo treatment. While she ate, I popped in a DVD.
I fell asleep within minutes and when I woke up to the credits, she was fast asleep on the other side of the sectional.
I rose, tucking a blanket around her and went to my room to grab my quilt.
Lying down on the opposite side of the sectional, I pulled my quilt under my chin, turned the TV off, and went right back to sleep.
The next morning, while my mother was with her home-care aide, Greta, I cleaned the house and went grocery shopping. They were just coming back from a walk as I was putting away the groceries.
“Want to sit here and tell me how to make your beef stew?” I pointed at one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “They had stewing beef on sale. I thought I’d make a batch and freeze it for later.”
“Don’t you need to study?” she asked as she slowly sat on the closest stool.
“No, I’m all caught up on my work.” She looked so frail that I moved my gaze to the window, but then I was reminded by the too-long grass outside that it needed to be cut. “I need to mow the lawn after too.”
“Please come sit next to me, honey.”
Glancing at my mother’s sunken eyes, I nodded. “Okay.”
Leaving the stewing beef on the counter, I grabbed a small throw blanket from the couch and draped it over her shoulders before taking the spot next to her. Placing her hand on top of mine, she held it tightly until I made eye contact with her.
“Tell me about school.”
I wanted to sigh, to brush her off, go out and mow the lawn, but she gave my hand an urgent squeeze.
“Mira, I need this, okay? I’m so worried about you.”
“Me? Mom, I’m not the one who’s dying.” There was a bit of frustration in my voice, so I buried it. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”
Her look brought my frustration back to the surface. “You’re not fine. You’ve only been away from Josh for a few years, you’re not back on your feet yet. And you’ve got school, your job. And me. It’s so much…”
I felt the rest of her sentence. It’s so much… for someone like you.
Instead of focusing on that though, I grabbed on to her last words like grappling hooks. “I want to take care of you, Mom. It’s not a burden or anything extra on my plate. The only thing weighing on me is whether or not I’ll be eating the last of the frozen stew by myself.”
That was the truth but also a low blow. My mother had come to terms with her diagnosis—even if she was hanging on for as long as she could, because my life would implode once she was gone—but she knew I hadn’t. Therefore, my mention of it usually brought on enough guilt to stop her nagging.
“Mira Louise Wilcox, do not lie to me or try to guilt me into dropping the subject.” Her tone was sharp and chastened me. “You have a lot on your plate and denying it only worries me even more.”
“Fine. I have a lot on my plate. But I can handle it.”
It was her look of doubt then that crushed the air from my lungs.
She was sure I was in over my head because I wasn’t strong like other people—like her.
And because of that she was going to fight through round after round of excruciating poison, exhausting every last possible treatment until it killed her.
And that was the guilt I carried.
I swallowed hard, ignoring the heat behind my eyes. God, I was practically forcing my mother to suffer through unimaginable pain because of my incompetence.
“Mama, I’m doing well. I’m going to graduate early, and on the Dean’s list. I like the people I work with at the university.
I have friends. I’m going to be okay.” A tear slipped down my cheek and I swiped it away almost aggressively, because I couldn’t control it and it was just another sign of weakness.
“I’m going to be devastated when you’re gone, but not because I can’t take care of myself, okay? I’m just going to miss you.”
She swallowed her judgment, and her own tears, and held her arms open for me. And like the fucking child I was, I fell into them, because I didn’t know if I believed what I was telling her.