Monday February 14, 2011. 5:51 PM.

Verna stared at the screen until the next minute rolled, then set her Blackberry down on the table beside her. What was it that Dean Sheridan had said – five o’clock, five-thirty at the latest?

Despite the date, she hadn’t expected their dinner to be anything more than professional – the Dean was a pleasant enough companion for a woman of Verna’s age even if he had ‘gone to seed’ as her mother would have said. He was also quite married, and Verna would have liked to believe that homewrecking was beneath her.

So why did his absence feel so much like rejection?

She opened the compact from her purse and considered the face looking back at her. In her youth, she’d been called ‘striking’ for her high cheekbones (Although, tellingly, never ‘pretty’). At forty-five, those same sharp features now gave her a look of perpetual dissatisfaction. She’d tried to brighten up her appearance with a flattering pink pantsuit and a vibrant lipstick, but the woman she saw in the mirror resembled a real estate agent more than an administrative professional. No wonder Dean Sheridan had stood her up.

And she was wearing her best black bra and panty set underneath as well. Purely for professional reasons, of course.

5:55. If she was to be dining alone, then another G&T was in order.

Trying to signal for service was pointless – even if being a middle-aged woman dining alone hadn’t already made her invisible, she’d only seen the occasional waitress since she’d sat down (Waitstaff, she corrected herself, as per the current guidelines). It seemed that the employees had collectively decided to take a Valentines Day holiday.

Snapping the compact shut, she approached the bar. There were at least a half-dozen bodies clamouring for the attention of the single bartender, but by this point Verna had been warming her table for an hour, and the gin in her otherwise empty belly hadn’t helped to cultivate any patience.

“Excuse me,” she called, raising her voice only a little to be heard over the small TV playing a local hockey game. When that failed, she tried again. “Excuse me!”

“Go away, Verna. I’m off the clock.”

The comment had come from a short shock of hair next to Verna’s elbow. Drawing her arm back, she recognized that the buzzcut belonged to Lacey, one of her subordinates… kind of.

Mr. Davis, the chief university librarian, was due for his pension the following year, but he hadn’t yet announced his retirement, just as Verna hadn’t officially been named as his successor. But given her seniority, she was the logical choice, and Verna had spent most of the last year establishing her authority. Her reputation was only as good as that of her department, however, and she expected everyone to pull their weight – even those who owed their position to diversity quotas.

She’d had known from the beginning that Lacey was a lesbian, of course. Not that she minded, provided that the tomboyish younger woman kept her business behind closed doors.

“Oh, hello!” greeted Verna, as pleasantly as she could manage, “Are you here to watch the game?”

Lacey didn’t answer, and instead gulped down a mouthful of the beer from the stein in front of her. Verna could swear she saw the other woman’s eyes roll behind her glasses.

An unsettling thought occurred to her. “Are you here with… I want to say Rhea?”

Verna wasn’t just asking out of courtesy. She’d met Lacey’s girlfriend only the once. Small woman. Big attitude. Admittedly, Verna had incorrectly assumed that Lacey was dating a student, but it was an innocent mistake, and in no way justified the girlfriend’s overreaction. Voices had been raised. Glasses had been broken. There had been a scene.

“Rae,” Lacey answered, “And you don’t have to worry. We broke up two weeks ago.”

“Oh. Why, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Lacey gave her a look that said that she did in fact mind, but humoured her anyhow.

“We weren’t a good fit, I guess. Too many differences between us – differences in income, work ethic… basic personality stuff, really. Or maybe she just got tired of the spankings.”

Verna knew she should be relieved, but what she felt instead was… disappointment? Rae and Lacey had made a cute couple - in Verna’s entirely heterosexual opinion - but it was more than that.

“Wait… did you say spankings?”

Lacey chortled, flashing a mouth of buckteeth. “I did, didn’t I?”

The bartender interfered before she could elaborate. Verna ordered her drink and paid her bill, then ushered Lacey back toward her table, hoping to continue the conversation with her now much more fascinating coworker.

“Were you expecting someone?” asked Lacey.

“It doesn’t matter. You were telling me about Rae.”

“Right,” murmured Lacey. “You know, she didn’t even have a place to live when we first—“

Verna lowered her voice. “Not that. I mean… the spanking.”

“Ah, right. It was her idea, kind of. I mean, something she did with her ex. Whenever Rae got lazy or argumentative…” Lacey struggled with the last word, but continued, “…over the knee she went. Pop! Pop!”

Her hand rose and fell in listless imitation. Verna felt herself blushing.

“Do you think it helped?” she dared.

Lacey shrugged. “Helped with what? You saw her at the party last year. I have no idea what she got out of it.”

But Verna did. It was a fantasy she’d had for years – to be pulled over an authoritative knee, her panties at her ankles, to have her bare bottom smacked until she cried for mercy. She’d shared that fantasy with two of her most trusted former lovers, but both had cared too much about Verna to risk hurting her.

Lacey, however… Lacey didn’t like her at all.

Verna realized that she’d been quiet for too long. She cleared her throat and took a sip of her drink, savouring the way it burned on the way down.

“Spanking a grown woman... it just seems rather silly.”

“Have you ever been spanked yourself, Verna?”

Verna’s breath hitched, but Lacey wasn’t showing any more than usual interest with the question. And Verna was the one who’d pursued this line of conversation.

“I was a very well-behaved child,” she responded carefully, “Not even a broken curfew until I was seventeen.”

“This sounds like a story,” said Lacey as she leaned forward in her chair.

“No, it’s—“ Verna started, but the memory tugged at her. “I took a ride from a boy that my parents didn’t approve of. My father was furious, but I didn’t think it was anything but noise. The second time I did it, he took me out to the woodshed. I remember him standing in that cold room, the creak of that strap in his hands. I was so scared…”

She trailed off, halfway hoping that Lacey was still absorbed in her own private drama. Instead Verna saw the other woman waiting with bated breath to hear the end of the tale.

“I was so scared…” Why was she telling Lacey this?

“Yes?”

“I, uh… wet myself.” She gulped. “My dad was so embarrassed that he dropped the subject and never brought it up again.” Verna took a much-needed swig from her glass.

“You never got that spanking, then?”

Verna shook her head. While she’d been terrified at the time, she’d internalized that terror, even coming to fetishize it (Her therapist’s words, not her own). She’d even sought out men who reminded her of her father.

Now that she thought about it, even Lacey looked kind of like him in this light. She was much thinner, of course, her features softer, but she had a sort of masculine energy about her that extended farther than just the haircut. Their shared taste in checkered flannel only strengthened the resemblance…

“Verna, are you asking me for something?”

She felt the colour drain from her face.

“Look, if you weren’t such a bitch I’d probably be flattered,” Lacey continued, “Frankly, any self-respecting gay woman would have tuned you out the moment you asked about Rae. But lucky you – I’m two weeks out from a breakup, so my self-respect is in the crapper right now. And because you’re such a bitch, I might even be enjoying the thought of spanking you.” She finished her beer. “Thirty seconds.”

“And then what?”

“Then I’m calling it a night. We both have to work tomorrow, remember?” She opened her wallet and retrieved her credit card, gesturing toward the bar. “I’ve got to go pay the piper.”

Verna watched her leave, her opportunity slipping away like sands in an hourglass. She wasn’t attracted to women, she reminded herself, but something in the way that Lacey had so nonchalantly read her was stirring new feelings in her.

“…Wait.”

***

What was she doing?

“I appreciate you paying my bill,” Lacey was saying taking both of their coats, “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you because of it. The bathroom’s just around the corner.”

“Thank you, but I don’t need to—“

“I insist. I don’t want you peeing on me.”

Verna went red at the rebuke, and followed the younger woman’s direction. She hardly needed a guide – the bungalows surrounding the university campus were built to an identical standard. Verna might have lived in the very same house when she’d first started working in the library.

What her house hadn’t included was a matted grey tomcat perched on top of the toilet seat. He met Verna’s gaze with a deep amber glare of his own.

“Meow,” said Prince Charming. A warning?

“Meow?” Verna replied.

Apparently satisfied with her answer, the cat leapt off the commode and left Verna to do her business. While she was certain that Lacey’s pet was in violation of the housing policy, it didn’t feel like the time to bring it up.

Once Verna had wiped off, she redressed hastily, straightening her blouse and hair as best she could before wondering why she would even bother - after all, her composure was the least of the things she could expect to lose.

She found Lacey standing over the couch in the next room. She’d taken off her jacket, revealing a sleeveless band tee, and past that a pair of long arms lined with wiry muscle. Verna became suddenly aware of the pounding of her own heart.

“I’ve been thinking it over,” said Lacey idly, “Look, we’re not friends, you don’t owe me anything. If you want to back out now…”

“No, miss. I mean, no.” She winced.

“’Miss’, eh?” Lacey rolled her tongue over her teeth as if tasting her new title. “I guess it’s better than ‘Daddy’. Come on then, let’s get this over with.”

Verna swallowed her frustration. How could Lacey be so casual about this? Didn’t she recognize how important this was for her?

“How should I—ooh!”

As she approached the couch, Lacey’s hand snaked between Verna’s shoulder and neck, bending her forward, braced on the cushions. She barely had time to register her new position before that same hand splashed across the seat of her trousers.

Verna gasped from the impact, but the polyester had taken the brunt of it. Lacey held her down and repeated the swing, then again, pushing Verna against the couch with each strike.

After a dozen or so swats, the weight of Lacey’s hand vanished from her back. Breathing heavily, Verna reached back and clutched her backside. While the fabric was warm, she was more shocked by the experience than injured.

“Is that…” she considered her words, “…is that how you spanked your girlfriend, Miss?”

Lacey chuckled. “The couple of times I did, I put her over my knee. But one, she was a bit smaller than you…“

“There’s room enough on the couch, I could stretch out.”

“Sure, sure. And two, both of those times she was naked.”

The statement stood between them. Verna hesitated, and then came to a decision. Standing up straight, she began to loosen the ties on her blouse.

“Verna, I didn’t mean that. You really want this, don’t you?”

‘Want’ didn’t go far enough, she wanted to say. She didn’t ‘want’ to be stripped, to be punished, to be humbled – but there was a need that she couldn’t put into words. Instead, she pulled off the blouse, leaving her hair in disarray. She unzipped her pants and left them folded on the floor.

And then, down to the lingerie that she’d worn for Dean Sheridan… she stopped.

Not for the first time she was reminded that over a decade separated Lacey and herself – and Lacey’s girlfriend had been younger still. Rae’s body had been firm and supple, not at all like Verna’s, with her flat ass and sagging breasts. What was she doing, humiliating herself like this for this… this woman that hated her?

“For fuck’s sakes,” Lacey sighed. She took Verna’s wrist in a strong but gentle grip and carried her down across her skinny legs. Much to her own surprise, Verna didn’t even consider resisting.

She felt Lacey tensing, followed by a loud smack and a sting like she’d never felt before. The pain settled and Verna groaned.

“It sounds like you’re feeling it now. You still want more?”

Verna nodded, and earned another smack in response. Like a hot coal it flared as it struck, sank in and faded out. Lacey let the cycle play out and slowly continued, her hand fanning the flame over the width of Verna’s tender bottom.

It was agonizing.

It was exquisite.

It wasn’t enough.

“You don’t need to –ow! – hold back so much,” Verna growled, “I’m probably –ah! – tougher than your girlfriend was.”

She couldn’t see Lacey’s face from her compromised position, but the younger woman’s posture stiffened beneath her.

“I wouldn’t bring up Rae if I were you. I mean, if you want to get me mad, you can just remind me of all the times you talked over me in department meetings….” Verna’s right flank erupted in flame as Lacey fired a volley of sharp smacks.

“…Or those times you lectured me or gave me extra work so you could suck up to the admin heads...” She changed her target and unleashed her full force against the spots where Verna’s cheeks met her thighs.

“…Or any time where you pushed me in front of a camera to make the office look more ‘progressive’...” Verna’s hand shot back on its own accord, but Lacey seized the offending limb with her free hand and pinned it against Verna’s back.

“Those are reason enough, right? Because the thing about Rae is, we broke up because of you.”

A lifetime ago, a young Verna had found her father taking a wrench to her bicycle in the garage. When she saw what he was doing, she’d wept, said she wasn’t ready to ride without help. In return, her father had told her she had to let them go in order to be ready.

The training wheels were off now. Verna had quite literally put herself in Lacey’s hands, and she was receiving no less than what she’d asked for – maybe even what she deserved.

She’d expected the spanking to hurt – the slap of skin against skin, the burn that it left behind, these she remembered from her earlier forays. But the sting continued to build exponentially as each second passed, taking her breath away.

“Please…” she whined, barely hearing herself over Lacey’s efforts.

“Not so tough after all? Go on.”

“Please…” She would have to ask. Lacey didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, but Verna needed to go all the way. “My… my panties. Please…”

For an instant she thought she might have pushed Lacey too far. Then the thin fabric lifted, scraping at her raw flesh as it was dragged down to her knees. At the touch of fresh air, she shuddered.

“Be honest, Verna. This is really some kind of sex thing, isn’t it?”

Verna winced. “It’s not exactly a sex thing—ooh!”

Impatient or unwilling to accept the answer, Lacey sought out her own in Verna’s moist crevice. Verna clenched her thighs shut, trapping the wandering hand, but Lacey’s practiced fingers continued to explore deeper, drawing out of Verna a most unladylike moan.

“I didn’t bring you here to get you off,” Lacey admonished her, yanking her hand loose, “But if you take the rest of your spanking like a good slut… maybe I will.”

Verna didn’t ask for mercy, nor did she expect any. Despite the pain and humiliation, this was what she’d spawned in her darkest imagination, brought to life by the unlikeliest hand. And when that touch turned from pain back to pleasure, she eagerly thrust herself upon it until relief finally came over her.

Minutes later, Verna mustered her voice again.

“Lacey? Did you really break up with Rae because of me?”

The response was slow in coming. “Not really, no. After that party last year, I told her that she had to apologize for what she said to you, or else. I thought I was being authoritative like she wanted me to be, but she saw through it. So between saving face and saving my relationship… I chose wrong.”

Verna staggered to her feet and was immediately reminded of her own tender posterior. She’d tried rubbing it right after Lacey had let up, and had nearly burned her fingertips. She didn’t envy Rae at all.

Well, maybe just a little.

Her clothes were still folded on the floor where she’d left them, but she’d lost track of her panties – she must have kicked them off during that excruciating last stretch. She wondered if Lacey might keep them as a souvenir.

“So as much as I’d rather blame you for what happened,” Lacey continued behind her, “the truth was that Rae and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things. But after that, we stopped trying.”

Verna leaned over and kissed the other woman on the forehead, much to Lacey’s shock. Even after what they’d shared, the tiny act of intimacy was still bewildering to her.  

“I still feel sort of responsible,” said Verna softly, and her lips formed a wry smile. “Maybe you can punish me for that next time.”

Lacey’s eyes widened even further behind her glasses.

“What do you mean, ‘next time’?”