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I stare at the juncture of the walls. The bump of
hardened, painted over plaster; the center line, just a little whiter
than the rest where the roller couldn't reach; dust collected along the
baseboard where the cable wire runs. I know by heart every inch of this
I shift slightly, trying to ease the discomfort of feet standing still on hard wooden floors; of bottom, burning and itching from cane and hairbrush and hand; of eyes dry and scratchy from tears.
I feel a little flap of fabric inch its way down over my bottom and carefully, carefully gather the fabric of the skirt clutched tight in my hands, higher above my burning bottom. The six cane weals laid atop the bright red hue the hairbrush produced are enough motivation to not let the skirt fall...again.
Was it only yesterday that I teased you about being too lenient...goading and taunting you to land a few smacks on my white bottom before work?
Was it just last week that I laughed as I claimed that you just couldn't make the "red" last?
"My skin just won't stay red" I challengingly teased "at least, not the way you spank" and then I stuck my tongue out at you.
The memory reminds of me of the bitter residue of soap at the back of my mouth. Standing at the sink, bottom stinging slightly from the "first round" of your hand, as you run the fresh bar of ivory under the running water.
"Open" you said, no hint of a smile in your voice or eyes. Something in your tone made me comply without even a foot stamp. You were right, I won't be sticking my tongue out at you again any time soon.
I shift again, longing to rub the itch away. Last week I would have, glancing impishly over my shoulder, to see if you were looking. Now I resist, not quite daring.
I sigh and try to puzzle out the physics responsible for the time warp that exists in corners everywhere. Fifteen minutes is a blink of an eye when we laugh and cuddle and wrestle on the bed, and yet, as soon as my eyes come to rest on these walls, my feet to stand in this spot, time moves at the speed of the catsup in those old Heinz commercials.
I sigh again, and wonder why I wish my time in this purgatory bedroom corner over. Your parting words as you left me here "The evening is still young..." are still ringing in my ears.
I feel, more than hear, you come up behind me. Strong hands, so recently punishing, lovingly rub the sting away from my burning bottom. I lean back slightly, wanting to touch more of you than just your hands. You pull me to you tightly, your arms coming around to hug my waist and your mouth moves to my ear. You kiss me lightly and then whisper...