FIC: Late Attitude

Sadly, this spanking didn’t really happen, although, it should have, which is why I wrote it!

– Marie


Groggy, I looked at the alarm clock on the other side of the bed. Does that really say 8:40? I stumble out of bed and down the hall. There are no lights on so I wonder if he’s already left. But no, there he is on the couch.

“What the hell?” I say, pointing at the VCR, which reads 8:41, “I asked you to wake me at 8! I have an interview at 10:30!”

“I thought you said to make sure you were up.” he’s as calm as can be.

“No, I asked you to make sure I am up and in the shower by 8, and you said you would!” I am pissed, thinking he never listens.

Now in a bad mood, I storm to the bathroom catching the tail end of what he’s saying, “…that tone young lady!”

There’s no time for a shower so after I dowse my hair, blow-dry it, and put on enough makeup to look human, I head to the bedroom for clothes. Pulling on some jeans and the first t-shirt I can find, I stumble into the living room.

“Where is your interview?” he asks, innocently from the couch.

“Broadway-Lafayette,” I grumble my answer, without thinking much.  I know it’s between Broadway and Lafayette and figure that’s enough of an answer.  Quickly I go back and say, “Well not at Broadway-Lafayette, (knowing that’s a train station) but near.”

“Well, you can take the train to 36th Street and just transfer to a D,” he offers.

I snap, “It’s not _at_ Broadway-Lafayette (a train stop off the D) -” he cuts me off with “You just said it – ” and I cut him off with a quick snap, “I just said it was near there!”

He looks decidedly unhappy by now.  And I’ve become more aggravated.  “Watch your tone with me young lady.”

“Well, I’m in a bad mood.” I get up and stomp to our room to look for my iPod.  He follows.  Shit.  Before I can think, he’s behind me, closing the door, and reaching to his nightstand.  Quickly, he sits on our bed and pulls me over his lap.

“Max, stop! This isn’t funny.  I have to finish getting ready!” I struggle, kicking my feet, only to have him catch them underneath his own leg, obviously wanting to get on with this.  His arm is pressing into my back, pinning me down, as the first smack of the hairbrush lands on my now taught jeans.  I hate being spanked in jeans.  It hurts more, in my opinion.  I yelp and stop trying to squirm away.

“Please please please not that brush!” My plea falls on deaf ears.

“You’re getting twelve, and that one doesn’t count.  Take them well, and we’ll be finished, otherwise you’re going to be late.

A dozen from the Shadow Lane brush later (well taken, I must say), I was rubbing a stinging bottom through tight jeans.  The walk to the train seemed to take extra long today.

1 Comment

  1. devlinoneill said,

    October 14, 2009 at 9:39 pm

    Glad to see you’re writing, missy. Keep at it.

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