Here we go!
The last handful of the ‘Spanking Wish’ contest entries.
This is a true story about a guy named Reed and his girlfriend, Amelie. I think it’s true. I heard it all from Reed, and why would he lie? It’s actually pretty hard to believe. Let’s just go with it’s a true story.
So Reed and Amelie were driving through Arizona on their way back to Southern California. Reed had a rusted blue Ford pickup he inherited from his old man, and on this particular day in July, somewhere between the desert and nowhere, it was getting low on gas.
“Get out the map, Am.” He turned his head to see his girlfriend looking straight ahead, arms folded against her chest. “I know you’re pissed, baby. Sulking isn’t going to get us home any faster.”
She didn’t move a muscle, but she cursed at him. I should explain here that Amelie was not the girl you’d bring home to mother. “Get it yourself.”
“I’m driving. It’s in the glove compartment.”
“So are your brains.”
“Come on, Baby, don’t be like that.” Such were their conversations. Knowing Reed at the time, he was looking and sounding apologetic. Trust me, he was really into this girl.
With a sudden movement, she raked open the glove compartment, grabbed the Rand McNally easy-fold, full-color map of the Western United States, and slapped it down onto Reed’s denimed thigh. With a sigh, he pulled the truck to a stop, still running, off the side of the highway.
As the long cloud of dust slowly dissipated behind them, he saw on the map it would be best if they turned up on 347. He told her he thought they could make it.
She kicked the dashboard. “Well, isn’t that special.” She finally turned to look at him. He noted the shine of sweat on her forehead under damp strands of pretty, multi-colored hair. “You mean we could be stuck out here? I told you we should have had your dad wire the money.” She cursed the truck again, its lack of air conditioning, and her poor luck in choosing boyfriends.
They had been over this before. “It’s not like going to the ATM.” He explained carefully. “I hate asking him for money, Am. You know how it is. The credit card? The speeding tickets?”
She cursed again. She was tired of him throwing that in her face.
“I know, baby, it’s not all your fault. We’ll be home soon, and everything’ll be cool, I promise.”
They did make it to a gas station, two pumps and a little gift shop off a road McNally must have missed. Reed wasn’t sure what he’d do if not for that luck, but maybe he was due. In the shop he went to pay for the gas while Amelie found the rest room. Behind the counter an old woman stood wearing a shawl, and around her dark head were pretty strings of beads. “Hello, Ma’am. Sure is a scorcher today,” he said, holding out a crisp B. Franklin extracted from his wallet. She didn’t take the money. She didn’t move. Was she made of wood? The woman was studying Reed’s face. He was a little spooked by it, but he thought he saw compassion in her eyes. She held up a finger then disappeared through a door behind the register.
When the woman returned, she held out her palm. “This is for you,” she said. He took the object from her as if it might break at his touch. “What is this?” he asked. “It is very old,” she said. “From the Navaho.”
He could see it was a silver and turquoise bracelet. “Sorry, it’s very nice.” He tried to give it back to her.
“It brings good luck,” she said, as if that should change his mind.
Did this sales pitch ever work? He wanted to ask her if he looked that stupid, but instead he smiled. He told her he would love to buy it, but that he just couldn’t afford it right then.
She reached for the money in his other hand. “One hundred. The gas and the charm,” she said, nodding at the bracelet. “It is worth far more, I assure you.”
Reed studied the piece of Indian jewelry. The silver needed polishing. Maybe it was only because the turquoise matched the color with which Amelie had streaked her hair, or that she would probably love the thing at least as soon as she got over her latest snit, but he wanted to buy it for her.
“You can make a single wish,” she said.
“Just one?” Reed smiled again at the old woman. He heard the sound of the door behind him. Am was cursing again. She wanted to know if Reed planned to spend the whole day in this hell hole.
He wished his girlfriend wasn’t such a spoiled brat.
As it turned out, Reed was right. Once they got home and settled, Amelie loved her new bracelet. In fact, she was wearing it a week later when she wanted to talk to him about something. It was strange, really. They were on the couch having just watched another rerun of Twilight. Reed was busy kissing his girlfriend on the neck, whispering in her ear, preparing to lead her to the bedroom. A typical night would involve her acting bored and hard to get before deigning to be the girl of his dreams. That night she was different. Reed was worried because the way she was acting could only be a sign of bad news. Her mouth said she wanted to tell him something, but her eyes clearly did not. He had never seen her so unsure of anything.
“I met someone online,” she said.
“Oh.” His heart felt like a bag of coal.
“It’s not what you think.” She pinched his leg reassuringly. Whatever it was, it was too hard for her to talk about.
“How about just telling me who you met?” She told him she had met a woman. An older woman. Disturbing images flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t make out what they were. “How did you meet?”
“I was curious about something. I googled around.”
He had no idea where she was going with this. He asked her what she was curious about.
“First I have to tell you something.” She was biting at the ring through her lower lip. She appeared to be studying the tattoos on her ankle and the one on the top of her milky foot. “I know I’m not always the best girlfriend.” He heard her mumble under her breath. “I know you’re pissed sometimes.”
He told her he loved her, that that was all that mattered.
“I know you do.” She glanced up at him quickly, then back to her feet. “Admit it, though. You’d change me if you could.”
He palmed her cheek to gently turn her face to his and assured her that she was the sweetest brat he’d ever known.
“What about the debt I got us in? The reckless shit I do?”
“We don’t need to get into this, baby.” He tried to kiss her.
“Reed, stop. I looked for someone online because I need to be punished.”
The room they were in was a vacuum. The two floated in the silence of space.
He asked her what she meant by punished.
“Ms K is a professional disciplinarian.”
They continued to float, around them the universe spinning slowly.
“I can’t explain this so it makes sense to you,” she said. “I don’t really understand it. I got to thinking last week, and I knew what I had to do.”
“Is this safe, Am?” He was afraid to know what she was actually talking about.
She told him she was going to meet Ms K the next day at Starbucks so they could talk more.
Two days later they had an appointment for something crazy. Reed pulled the pickup to the curb in front of a well-manicured ranch house in the San Fernando Valley. Neither he nor his girlfriend had said much on the drive through the basin. Reed was on edge. Amelie could not seem to get comfortable on the worn seat on the passenger side, and she was looking more pale, if that was possible. Streaks of pink had been added to her hair.
“Reed, you have to promise me.” She pinned him to his spot with sober eyes. “Whatever happens in there,” she nodded at the ranch house, “you have to sit quiet and just watch. Can you do that?”
“I don’t know. You won’t tell me what’s really going on.”
“I can’t. Promise me.”
He sighed, rubbed his rough face with two hands. He hadn’t shaved in two days. She asked him if he trusted her. He felt he had no real choice in the matter.
So Reed played along. He shook the woman’s hand, partook in the introductions, and sat through the preliminary small talk. What do you say to a disciplinarian? Ushered into a room set up as a home office, they were asked to take two seats at a large desk. The scene reminded him of the time he and his girlfriend had tried getting a loan at their local bank. Despite her conservative retro-attire, Ms K looked younger than expected, tall and attractive. Reed had pictured a middle-aged woman. Still she was Amelie’s polar opposite. The contrast between the two females was strikingly evident. Head-to-head, one could believe they were a starchy PTA mom and her wild child teen.
“Is this how you dress for an important meeting?” Ms K had focused on Amelie, her tone shifting abruptly to scolding. “You’re not out for a night of clubbing.”
His girlfriend was gothic punk. Lip and septum rings were shining. Reed felt a moment of amusement. Had this all been staged? He was aware of the idea of role-playing. Now that he thought of it, Ms K was dressed rather odd. An apron with pictures of cupcakes all over it seemed a bit much. He had noticed the tattoos on her ankles. The 1950’s housewife look and attitude had to be affected.
“This is what I like to wear,” Amelie said. “You didn’t say anything about a dress code.”
“I assumed you were mature enough to know better, but then the choices you’ve been making in your life are what bring you here today, aren’t they?”
That was to become the topic for discussion. Ms K was cool, calm, and collected as she talked from a list of offenses that read like a rap sheet of adolescent rebellion and irresponsibility. Public indecency… Ecstasy… The party she threw in their rec room that got them thrown out of their condo. Reed knew full well that his girlfriend was a free spirit, but when actually confronted with an itemized accounting, he was suddenly struck by the fact that Amelie Jane Adams did have a problem. The sobering thought was that changes in her life were needed. Could this nice cupcake lady seated imperially across the desk from them help in any meaningful way? What were her qualifications?
If you think this story is strange so far, believe me, this is the part you’re going to be shaking your head. After discussing Amelie’s bad behavior, Ms K informed her that things were, indeed, going to change. It was time Amelie learned to be a proper young lady.
“There is a bathroom down that hall,” she said. “You will get out of those clothes, wash your face and come back here to this office when you are finished. Is that clear?”
He expected she would be laughing. Certainly she would have a suggestion for where Ms K could get psychiatric help, but what Amelie did was say, “This is stupid,” got up from her chair and walked to the door. With mouth open, Reed watched his obedient girlfriend leave the room, then listened to the echo of combat boots on wood flooring as they clattered down the hall.
“Are you okay?” Ms K’s attention was now on Reed. Her eyes had softened. “Amelie tells me you’re not sure about this.”
“About what?” He didn’t want to sound confrontational. “Are you guys playing some kind of game?”
“You can think of it that way if you like. It is not going to be a game for your friend.”
Reed didn’t understand. “Can I ask you something? Why did you get into… what you do?”
“I enjoy everything about it.”
He just wanted to be sure Am was going to be alright. Ms K assured him that she would be fine. She said, “Throughout history, countless boys and girls have not only survived this form of discipline, but were better off for having experienced it.”
His mind abuzz, he noticed that Amelie had slipped back into the room and was standing behind the chair next to him. Her silent entry was aided by the fact that she wore no clothes to rustle, no shoes to clatter. She had nothing on but a pair of small, white underpants and her silver and turquoise bracelet.
“Come with me, young lady.” Ms K had Amelie’s upper right arm firmly in grip and was marching her back out the door she had just entered. In a trance, Reed followed behind. Down the dim hall they went, silhouettes against the light ahead. Was his girlfriend resisting? He couldn’t tell for sure. Her feet were reluctant, as if she were being forced to keep up with the quicker pace Ms K was setting. The sight of Amelie under the control of this powerful woman stunned his senses. He saw a girl exposed and fragile. He was aroused.
His girlfriend had been marched into the kitchen, a clean, ordered room filled with yellow sunshine streaming through a large bay window. In the corner next to the stove was a thigh-high wooden stool that Ms K dragged scraping the floor into the center of the room. Resting on the seat of the stool was a hairbrush. Reed described it as old and worn. The bristles appeared to be backed by a substantial amount of dark, solid wood. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, so he sat at the small breakfast table facing the scene to be played out before him.
If you had seen Reed sitting at that kitchen table, I don’t know what you’d have been thinking. The best I can describe it is he looked confused, like all sound he heard was coming from an old radio, where everything around him had suddenly turned black, white, and grainy. As Ms K, seated on the stool, was guiding Amelie up and over her lap, and then tugging down the little white pants, pasted on Reed’s face was a bewildered smile. “Where do bad girls get punished?” Ms K asked. If Amelie knew, she did not care to answer. Reed knew. As you might expect, he was a big fan of his girl’s body. He loved her butt. Her ass… her booty… you know, the words used to identify that area of the anatomy. That wasn’t the word Ms K used. Reed could not help but grin because this girl’s discipline was going to be a spanking on her bottom. Her bare bottom.
A spanking? The more specific term for what Amelie was to receive that afternoon is a hairbrush spanking. Her boyfriend had no time to think about what that could mean before Ms K was in the process of administering the punishment. Before Reed could be fearful of the potential for pain, he recognized that Amelie’s disciplinarian was taking it easy. He was relieved to see that the inherent weight of that hard round object was being applied with only quick snaps of the wrist, what looked to be no more than a child’s punishment, though the reaction from Am indicated that she was feeling the effect, a stinging to inspire a string of breathy exclamations and some restless squirming. Reed was loving it. He thought she was just as cute as she could be, a naughty little girl over her Mommy’s cupcake decorated knee.
When the spanking stopped, Amelie was sporting two bright red spots on her white skin, each reflecting the shape of the hairbrush. Ms K scolded her again for her very bad behavior, making certain the reason for this old-fashioned lesson was clearly understood. Proper young ladies are well-mannered. They are modest. They do not use foul language. They are not excessively self-indulgent. They do not smoke or drink or ingest harmful substances. They respect other people’s property. They obey all laws, and above all, they are kind and considerate of others, especially their boyfriends.
Reed was enjoying this immensely. That was about to change. Amelie’s disciplinarian informed the room that when girls have been very bad, they lose their sitting privileges. The hairbrush was raised, and in the blink of an eye, a girl was getting her first real spanking, the one she would never forget. Reed was startled right out of his complacency, his notion that he was witness to a charming little game. The color in the kitchen had turned cooler. The sunflowers watching from the window sill were grim. Ms K had warned him. No game. She was entirely focused, peppering a spoiled brat’s upturned nakedness with snaps of wrist much sharper than before, the sound of hard wood to delicate flesh now lush with corporeal resonance. His girlfriend quickly wanted no part of what was happening to her as evidenced by the yelping, the kicking, and what appeared to be the sincere effort to wriggle and twist off of her disciplinarian’s apron. Ms K simply held fast, her assault on that raised behind relentless. Reed didn’t know what to do. He was being pushed and pulled by two opposing forces. One insisted that he yell for it to stop, and if that didn’t save his sweetheart from her agony, then he must get up from his chair and stop it. The other was Am’s own voice. Whatever happens, he must not interfere.
We can never read her mind, but Amelie was probably hoping her boyfriend had forgotten any promises made since leaving their apartment that day. She was acting like she needed to be rescued. The way it worked out is that the spanking ended without the need for heroics. Ms K was soon satisfied, and that was that. Reed watched his wet-faced girl helped down, two palms all consumed with rubbing as if they might smother a fire. The color inflicted could have inspired a Baskin-Robbins flavor of the month. Reed remembered to breathe. His heart was tripping, but all that remained were the hugs. Amelie was forgiven. Her slate was clean.
On the passenger side in Reed’s pickup, she was more uncomfortable on her seat going home than she had been on the way to see her disciplinarian, but that’s not to say she was unhappy. On the contrary, Am was giddy. Once they got over some initial embarrassment, an awkwardness they felt when finally alone after what had happened, she was more relaxed and talkative than he could remember her having been in a long time. I’m not saying she was a different person. I’m not saying that in the days ahead she would behave like Ms K’s proper young lady. Amelie was created by nature a brat, however, she was no longer an unaccountable one. She would make a better effort at being good. After all, there were consequences to consider because very naughty girls got taken back to see Ms K, who always had ways to induce sorrow and shame for misbehavior. It was during this time that the lightbulb came on for Reed. One evening in a fit of inspiration, he provided his cranky, ill-mannered girl with his own attempt at sound traditional discipline.
It was soon after that, I was standing as best man at their wedding. Aside from the groom himself, I would bet I was the only person in the over one hundred gathered who knew the whole story behind Amelie’s bracelet. The bride with neon pink hair and matching pink sneakers was the girl everyone expected, but I understood that the vows taken were more than just platitudes. You may not be buying it, but I watched the exchange of rings and the groom kissing the bride. I listened to the judge’s reading of the Navaho Wedding Blessing.
Now you have lit a fire and that fire should not go out.
The two of you now have a fire that represents love,
understanding and a philosophy of life.
It will give you heat, food, warmth and happiness.
The new fire represents a new beginning –
a new life and a new family.
The fire should keep burning; you should stay together.
You have lit the fire for life, until old age separates you.
I saw it in their eyes. Reed’s one wish had become the best of luck for both of them.