The Sandstone Affair

“No, I told her I needed a transfer document and couldn’t find it in Blake’s mess. Later he came into my office and asked why I was rooting around his desk. I told him I needed a transfer document to wrap up a file, and mentioned that with the new regulations we should go over all recent transfers, including Lynx, to make sure everything was audited and right. He got pissy and said ‘Of course everything is right!’ and stomped out of the office.”

“Well, good. I have the T-list for Valerie. I’ll give it to Janice and she can turn it over, although I can’t imagine why she would want a source list so bad.”

“She doesn’t,” he replies confidently and stands, holding out his hand. I rise and take it as he walks me to the “playroom” we used before. There’s just a box of Kleenex and a hairbrush.

“Then why am I giving it to her?” I ask nervously as he sits on the bed and pats the mattress for me to sit down too.

“Because you aren’t willing to give her whatever you have that she really wants. You’re no better a liar than Blake is, my dear. I know you’re hiding something from Valerie, and you’re hiding it from me too. I don’t know what it is, or care. But we need to give her something.”

“Mark, I’m not...” I look in his eyes, so beautiful, so solid. I can’t lie to him. “I’m not ready to tell you what it is. I’m not ready to let it go. It’s not you, really, it’s just that—”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s not why we’re here anyway.”

I look around the room again and point out the large wooden hairbrush on the dresser.

“We’re here to change hairstyles?” I ask jokingly. He laughs, thank goodness.

“We’re here to change lifestyles, or at least how you deal with life.” His voice is stern again.

“With a hairbrush? How on earth are—” A blinding picture flashes through my imagination. The Kleenex, the hairbrush, the bed. “Oh, no, you’re not serious.”

“This time, I’m very serious,” Mark says as he rolls up his shirt sleeve, one and then the other. He adjusts his position on the bed and looks at me with a slight grin.

“You’re going to spank me? With a hairbrush? Like a little kid getting punished?” I can’t tell if I’m giggling because this is so silly or trembling because I’m a little scared but my voice is shaking.

“I’m going to spank you, with my hands, and then maybe the brush, like you are a grown woman who needs some release. You bottle everything up inside you, Julia. Your fear, your doubt, your guilt. This is one of the quickest and best ways I know to strip off the armor and get to the soul of the problem.”

“Mark, I know I’ve been a bitch lately, but really,” I begin but I know the look in his eyes, it’s the ‘I’m patiently waiting for you to stop talking so we can go on’ look.

“I can’t promise you’ll like it. But what I can promise is that when I’m done you’ll have one red backside and one happy inside because you’re going to cry out all the stuff that’s blocking you from thinking, laughing and loving.”

“And if I don’t feel happy and joyous after your little spanking fiasco is done?”

“Then I’ll happily refund your money, and enjoy your red backside anyway,” he says with a wink and a sexy smile. “Look, Julia, this can be ‘win-win’ or it can just be ‘I win’ but, either way, you’re getting a spanking. Now stand over there and pull your pants off. You can leave the rest on for now.”

I feel like such a fool. Standing here in front of Mark, with his sleeves rolled up in a very no-nonsense fashion. My parents didn’t believe in spanking and I was raised in the era when it had been voted out of schools. I had to do extra chores or be grounded a few times, but I’ve never had anything like this. So here I am, a grown woman, about to go through a silly childhood ritual.

Mark instructs me to lie over his lap. He puts a pillow on his legs so it raises my bottom slightly in the air. I put my head down on the bed and stare at the wall. Maybe if I act entirely uninterested in this nonsense, he will cut this short and we can get down to some lovin’.

He begins by rubbing my bottom in circles, my mound instantly alive at his touch. He rubs and grasps my rear, even leaning over and giving one of my cheeks a little kiss. His hand slips underneath my panties and I feel his finger flit against my lips. Then his left arm goes around my waist and his right hand gives my rear a series of short swats. They pop against my skin like little jolts. Not entirely unpleasant at all. After a couple of volleys, he rubs me again and I feel some warmth rising on my pinkish globes.

“This is just the warm up. Warming you up slowly will help you endure when the real challenge begins.”

“We could just stop here,” I joke, and earn another volley of short smacks on my rear. Then his hands continue rubbing and press against me. I wish I would have volunteered to take my panties off, because my wetness is sure to be apparent any moment. He shifts his legs under me, raising my bottom a little higher and gives me about twenty quick smacks, one right after the other. I feel the heat rising on my globes.

“Deep transformation,” he says as he is rubbing my warmed rear and running his fingers under the waistband of my panties, “takes time and you must remove your outside shell to release what’s hidden in your soul.”

Mark slowly pulls my panties down. I feel the cooling sensation of the air on my rear and it gives me delicious goose bumps. At the same time, I feel him peeling off my defenses, cutting through my hard-ass demeanor and exposing me.

“Sometimes,” Mark continues, speaking slowly and deliberately, as if to a child. “We need someone else to remove that shell for us.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Mark starts spanking me harder, his hand unrelenting, the warmness I felt before is turning into a consistent hot presence. I put my head down and try to endure. I’m not going to end up like some kicking screaming three-year-old no matter how much he thinks that should happen. I steel myself and grit my teeth but the stinging hits just keep coming and coming.

I discover I am moving back and forth across his lap, subconsciously trying to dodge his hand even though it seems to hit the target every time. This last volley is hard and sharp, the pain and heat radiating from my behind throughout my whole body. My legs give in and start kicking back and forth in the air. He pauses for a moment to let me catch my breath while he rubs my sore behind in a soothing, arousing manner. Then, just when I am ready for him to turn me over and take me, the spanking starts again.