Saturday, September 27, 2014

The Brat (Act Your Age ) Ch 01- Responsibility

 Dear Reader,
As I got to later chapters I realized I needed to change Chapter 1 significantly as what I was describing in the beginning of the chapter needed some scenes to flesh out Shane's misbehaving.  I have moved the incident here of Mr. Grant's ultimatum to a later chapter and worked in a part of narrative I thought would come right after this when I wrote it.  

This is the writing process for me. Yes, it's like revealing the man behind the curtain, but stick with me as I am excited about the chapters ahead. I will leave this chapter as is, to have a draft reference, but have also posted the new Chapter 01 and Chapter 02. I hope you enjoy.

Here is the first chapter of my new book The Brat which is a continuation of Act Your Age. This first chapter came to me pretty easily along with some ideas for future chapters. I just wrote an edging scene last night that got me pretty excited. The full book will be out Dec. 21, 2014.

Right now I don't believe I will be posting the whole book on my blog but will post the first few chapters (10%) that would be seen through Kindle and possibly a few other chapters. This will be sporadic when I feel they are 100% complete.

I will still be posting other erotica short stories on the blog though.


Once you start living with someone, like I had with Mr. Grant, it is easy to fall into old habits.  This was especially true when I bought a new video game system and flat screen television and put them in the guest room.  I had little else to spend my money from work on so I decided on an impulse to get something for myself.  It was easy to play a game for hours at a time in the morning and between classes and work.  I kept up my homework as usual for my new classes but when I didn’t have an important responsibility, when Mr. Grant wasn’t home, I played my games.  It was even better when Ethan was on at the same time.  We chatted a little as we played but mostly we talked strategy. 

Ethan didn’t ask for another session with Mr. Grant and I didn’t bring it up.  He told me about guys he met and that none of them seemed to be into spanking.  He said most of them were too superficial.  He said he liked the idea of someone being athletic, even a little self-centered, but when they started getting judgmental then he had a problem.  Our conversations made me think about my own experiences ‘dating’ and how Tucker had been my ‘fuck-buddy’ but I didn’t miss it. 

Being single, trying to find a new guy every night, hoping one of them would mean something all felt so desperate.  I liked the idea of being with someone, having a home, a warm body to cling to in bed, and the feeling of knowing someone would be there for me.

Mr. Grant seemed to take little notice of my new distraction.  He had been a little different since we got back from Las Vegas.  He reprimanded me, gave me a few corrective smacks on the ass, but we hadn’t had an intense session like the ones we had before and we didn’t talk about Ethan.  We did have sex on a regular basis though, usually after work.  It was the perfect release when we got home and it helped us both get to sleep easier. 

This went on for several weeks.  I thought about saying something to him but I didn’t know how to bring up the subject.  Why don’t you give me a good spanking?  It felt ridiculous to ask so I kept pushing it to the side of my mind and focused on the good things instead like how we seemed close in every other way.  Well, not every other way because really we didn’t talk about our past.  We talked about our present a little.  We talked about our future a little, maybe a vacation during Thanksgiving break. 

It all felt so predictable and comfortable until one Sunday in early Fall when Mr. Grant and I were both home but I was playing a video game with Ethan, who was online, in the living room while Mr. Grant was doing chores.  I had thought about helping him several times but somehow I convinced myself I’d be interfering with his ability and would only anger him. 

Things seemed to be going okay until I saw him carrying a load of laundry from the bedroom to the washer and my stomach sunk.  I remembered I had left a load of my whites in there and for a moment I thought to jump up and go after him, apologize, and switch them to the dryer but he was too quick and I felt like I’d be letting Ethan down to stop the game.  There was no yelling like my parents would have done.  I didn’t hear anything when I pulled off my headset, just the sound of him loading the dryer, starting it, and then loading the washer.  It was easy and I pulled the speakers back over my ears as Ethan asked me why I wasn’t moving my character.

“Sorry, just thought I’d be getting yelled at because I left some of my clothes in the washer.  It doesn’t seem to be a big deal.”

“Do you need to do something?” Ethan asked.

“I don’t think so,” I replied.

We continued to play the game for another hour before Ethan finally said he had to take a break.  I was feeling pretty drained myself as I felt over stimulated and said I needed one as well.  I turned off the system, made my way to the hallway.  I hadn’t seen Mr. Grant for some time so I checked our room first but he wasn’t there.  I walked through the house, checked the living room, the dining room, and finally I found him in the kitchen.  He was in a pair of shorts and a tank top, one knee over the other as he read a book, a cup of coffee on the table nearby. 

At the sight of him I felt horny and mischievous.  He looked confident, well groomed, and stylish even as casually as he was dressed.  I was the opposite.  My hair was uncombed, I was still in my underwear and a t-shirt, and I hadn’t showered yet.  It was an easy Sunday to me.  That is so far. 

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Pretty good,” he replied with a brief glance up from his book.  “Are you done with your video game?”

“Yeah, I’m done for now,” I said.

I felt a bit of a cold shoulder from him so I headed to the refrigerator where I got myself a soda before I went to the kitchen table chair opposite of him and sat.  He turned the page of his book.  I opened the can and took a sip.  He continued to read for several more pages until he finished the chapter and then put the book down.  I shifted on my seat as I felt something had changed.  He stroked his beard and then turned in his seat to me.  He looked very serious. 

“We need to talk,” he said.

That’s when I remembered my clothes in the washer.  I let out a moan of frustration, the can felt extra cold against my fingertips, the condensation felt too slick. 

“You may have noticed but I have been going easy on you after our vacation.  We had such a good time and I feel so close to you that I’m worried about ruining it somehow, that if I hold you to some standard then you might not want to be in a relationship anymore.  I really care for you but I can’t just let things slide.

“You’ve been slacking around here, little things.  I know I should have mentioned it but I‘m so used to just getting things done I went ahead and took care of them anyway.  I know it might feel like my house and that you’re a guest but really you live here too.  I’m not asking you to do all of the chores but I feel like you should participate.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I was thinking we could come up with a list of chores,” he said.  “We’d share them of course.  We’d rotate them so no one gets stuck doing something for too long, but still I feel like we need to be equal in this.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” I said.

“That will be the deal going forward but today I found some laundry of yours in the washing machine.  I could lecture you about how I spent money on those clothes.  I could tell you about how they get damaged, and I know that you feel bad about it but I think you should be punished.”

I thought about making some kind of argument, some kind of excuse but I knew they would be futile.  My fate, my consequence, had been decided.  There was truly only one thing I could say.

“Yes sir.”

“Good, now bring me the wooden spoon.”

I swallowed hard at the mention of it.  The wooden spoon had last been used on Ethan and I had even avoided using it since for cooking.  Every time I saw it at the bottom of the drawer I couldn’t help but think of that day, the sound of it clapping against his bare bottom.  It was a mixture of fear and arousal that made me feel confused about such a simple implement.  And there he was telling me to get it.  I would have traded it for anything, even the paddle he used on me before we went to Vegas.  It wasn’t the pain of it.  No, I could live with that, live through it.  It was seeing him being spanked, watching his pale ass turn pink and then red, the thrill I got as he hugged me and the feeling of leading him to the bedroom where I covered him with a sheet.  It was a memento of baring witness to his punishment.  He had told me he felt so good afterwards, right back on track and on his best behavior.

I got up from the chair and walked to the drawer where I opened it and took out the wooden spoon.  It was light and breakable.  I noted the texture of it before I carried it to Mr. Grant who took it from me and set it on the table.  He had repositioned himself and was ready for me.  I squatted, laid myself over his lap, put my hands down to the floor.  My fingertips touched the linoleum, bent back a little. 

“Pull your underwear down over your ass,” Mr. Grant said.

I did as he ordered.  The fabric would have done little to protect me but it would have muffled the sound a little.  I put my fingers back down to the floor as I felt him steady me, put his left hand down on my back.  He was almost ready.

“Do you want to give me your hand now?  I don’t want you to try and stop me.”

I pulled my right hand from the floor and reached to the middle of my back where he took hold of it.  I closed my eyes, tried to focus on my breathing, but I couldn’t ready myself because of the pressure on my chest.  I could feel the exactness of the band of my underwear as it stretched across my thighs just under my buttocks.  The air was cool and I could smell his cologne but something else, the smell of the kitchen.  It was a mixture of floor cleaner and food.

The first slap landed on my right cheek and I was surprised to realize it was a hand, Mr. Grant’s hand.  One then the other, back and forth, he turned my white bottom to pink and I knew he was just getting me ready.  He was starting off easy which I needed because it had been some time but I also felt a certain impatience that I just wanted him to get to the severe part, get it over with and be done with it.  He went on longer than I could have expected.  How tough was his hand anyway?  Just when I felt the continuous throb that lasted after each hit is when he shifted me a little to get my underwear down completely, pulled it from where it still covered my erection.  My hard dick touched his shorts and I felt it was slippery as it pressed up into my pubic hair.  I knew what was coming next and that’s when I felt like I had to do anything I could to endure the pain.

Instinctively I tried to pull my hand back down to put it on the floor, to grab at the leg of the chair or even his ankle if I could get hold of it but he kept my wrist pinned there at the small of my back.  I heard the scrape of the spoon as he picked it up and I readied myself.  The crack of the spoon hitting my ass was louder than I remembered it being.  He worked the roundness of my ass thoroughly before he moved to my thighs where he started fresh.  It was a new, second kind of pain and that’s when I began to cry and squirm.  It was a pain so complete and yet two distinct areas, far enough apart that I could really feel the burn, the red heat of my skin. 

He beat the tears and screams from me until I had been thoroughly reduced, gone into some other state of consciousness, and that’s when he stopped.  He let go of my wrist, my hand fell from my back and I put it out to the floor.  It too had turned red from lack of circulation.  I felt pins and needles as the blood returned.  I heard him set the spoon back down and I knew it was over.  I cried some more until he signaled for me to get up.  He helped me to my feet, pulled my briefs back up over my dick and balls, my ass. I thought for a moment he would pull me back down to his lap to sit so he could hold me but I thought about resisting because of the pain in my thighs. 

Instead he got up and pulled me into a hug, pressed my cheek into his shoulder.  His shirt got wet easily and I could taste the salty tears run down my cheeks.  We stayed like that for a long time until the moment passed and then he took me by the hand and led me back to our bedroom.  He lay me face down and retrieved lotion from the bathroom.  The smell of it reminded me of how long it had been since it had been used on me.  It was a smell I would forever associate with a severe spanking, a needed punishment, a lesson learned.

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