Dear God, it was good to be home!

Rachel looped her purse around the doorknob as it swung closed, and stepped gaily into the kitchen of her single-bedroom apartment. This night’s gig had been a slog – a nearly empty bar, and those that had stayed through the night had only done so to try to cop a feel of her ass as she tore down.

Sometimes she thought she hated her job. If it wasn’t the drunks or the frequent, pounding headaches, it was that she couldn’t spend any time with her friends on weekends. Still, she made twice as much an hour as a DJ as Bertie did as a restaurant manager, so that didn’t hurt. And truth be told, she’d been a night owl since she was a teenager, so what else would she be doing at this time?

She could hear Bertie dozing from the next room. She hadn’t held out much hope that he’d be awake when she got home, but after her gig she was still too wired to join him in bed. Maybe in an hour or two she’d be ready to hit the sack.

Rachel thought fleetingly about breaking out the vibrator in her bedside table, but quickly dismissed it. She was more frustrated than horny, and in any case the drawers on that table squeaked.  Much as she would like to be able to spend time with Bertie tonight, she would rather he have his sleep.

As for herself, there was still popcorn and Netflix. As the bag inflated in the microwave, she switched on the TV. She held her breath and hit the mute button, afraid for a moment that the startup noise would rouse her sleeping boyfriend. It didn’t, and she slumped down into the couch in relief.

A half hour later, there was a knock on the door. She looked up with a start, neither she or Bertie were used to having callers, certainly none at – she glanced at the timer on her Blu-Ray Player – 3:50 in the morning.

She cautiously opened the door. In the hallway stood a middle-aged Indian man with a drooping mustache and thinning hair. The bathrobe that he’d thrown over himself had probably been orange in days long past, but she’d be hard-pressed to call it anything but a faded pink now. As he regarded her with tired eyes, she remembered seeing him many times passing in and out of the apartment complex. He was probably another tenant.

“Young miss,” he began with as much courtesy he could muster given the hour, “Might you be so kind as to lower your volume? My family is trying to sleep and I have to work in the morning.”

His words were polite, but Rachel couldn’t miss the paternal condescension in his voice. Young miss? She’d be the first to admit she looked young for thirty, but did he really think that the tiny woman in front of him with the green hair and tattoos was a teenager?

Rolling her eyes, she adjusted the strap on her tank top and replied, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was so loud. I’ll turn it down, I promise.”

The man harrumphed and returned down the hall, no doubt grumbling about the insolence of this generation’s children. Rachel sat back down on the couch, her face reddening. The walls were too thin; she decided. If she hadn’t managed to rouse Bertie, then why was one of her neighbours complaining?

She restarted the program and obligingly lowered the volume. The show was talk-heavy. She’d only raised the volume in the first place to hear what they were saying. Only as the number dropped did she see how high she’d had it to begin. Her seat should have been shaking! So how could she not have noticed?

Then again, she had just gotten home from the club… a noisy place where she worked surrounded by speakers. Bertie had said in the past that she had a habit of shouting when she left work because she couldn’t hear the sound of her own voice.

Because she couldn’t hear… she shut off the TV.  

Embarrassment crawled up her neck in a flash of heat. Should she knock on the man’s door and apologize? That was how she’d been raised to react when she’d done something rude, but which apartment was his? And how thankful would he be to see her again right after he’d gone back to bed?

As she sat stewing on the couch, she heard the toilet flush, then the light slapping on tile as her boyfriend’s flat feet stepped out of the bathroom. Bertie stopped outside the bedroom and peered in to find her sitting in front of a blank screen.

“Still awake, honey?”

“Yeah.”

“Who was that a minute ago?”

So he’d been awake for that. “One of the neighbours,” she replied.

“Ah. About the noise, then.”

“What?” She turned on him suddenly. “You knew I was that loud and you didn’t tell me?”

“I told you last weekend you had the volume up too high. And the weekend before.”

“That was then! Did you hear how he was talking to me?” She wanted to add like a misbehaving child, but held off.

Bertie’s eyes narrowed. “Rachel, I am not responsible for what you do when I’m asleep. You were inconsiderate and you apologized. It’s done.”

“You don’t need to be asleep. You don’t even work tomorrow!”

She hadn’t meant to sound quite so petulant, but there it was. Bertie fixed her with a glare and trod back to the bedroom, leaving Rachel alone with her thoughts.

Moments later, she followed him into the bedroom. Bertie was face-down in his pillow – a pose he only took when he was trying to sleep but couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

He mumbled, “It’s okay.”

Rachel shook her head.

“It’s not okay. I was bitchy with the guy next door, but he was right. And then I freaked out on you when you were trying to be reasonable.”

Bertie was silent. Not affirming, but not disagreeing either.

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you,” she finished. Like a misbehaving child, she said to herself. Her stomach was in knots – not exactly guilt, but a foul blend of guilt and foiled self-righteousness. She had been a misbehaving child, she admitted, and with that she knew what had to happen next.

“Bertie?”

“Rachel. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“Will you spank me?”

***

He’d spanked her once before. Well, that wasn’t quite the case, since the beginning of their courtship he’d run his hands all over her plump bubble butt, squeezing, pinching and slapping – he’d even turned her over his knee a couple of times during foreplay. But there had only ever been the one time he’d done so as a real punishment.

It had been over two years ago, when they’d still been getting to know each other. He’d introduced her to some friends of his family, and she’d returned the favour by bringing him to a gathering of her own extended clan of uncles, aunts and cousins. He’d been eager to make a good impression, and had dressed the part. As a child of stock-boom yuppies, he’d been drilled on the importance of proper grooming, speech and introductions – none of which was appreciated by Rachel’s blue-collar family. He was a good sport about it, but after hearing the fourth joke about whether this was a reunion or a wedding, his discomfort was clear.

Rachel had whispered in his ear and offered a complimentary blowjob if he was able to endure the next two hours, but Bertie hadn’t been impressed. He had been forced to sit down to disguise his arousal and informed her in no uncertain terms that if she was going to act like a brat she would be treated as one.

She hadn’t believed he was serious at the time and stuck her tongue out at him. That night when they returned to her apartment, he’d hoisted her over his lap, torn off her panties and peppered her with spanks her until she was crying, then told her to stand in the corner while he redressed in casual clothes.

He afterward admitted that his response had been excessive and he’d gotten carried away. And while she still received more than the occasional smack on the butt when she teased him or mouthed off, it was never more than a phantom threat. By mutual consent, they never brought it up again. It had been resigned to a dark corner of their memory box.

So why was she bringing it out again? Rachel asked herself that question while turning over Bertie’s non-answer in her head for the rest of the night.

***

It was nearly noon when she finally awoke. Bertie was gone, but that was hardly unexpected, as he would have been up hours ago. She found a note posted to the refrigerator door.

Rachel. Spoke with Mr. Nasra in 920 this morning. I thought about what you said last night and you were right. I’ve gone for a walk, I should be back in a couple of hours. I suggest that in the meantime you shower, brush your teeth, maybe have a coffee (I’ve left some robusto in the machine). When I get back, we’ll settle the matter from last night. –B

It was… vague. She wasn’t sure at this point if Bertie had even heard her offer from the night before, and found herself in equal parts relieved and disappointed thinking that he hadn’t. At this point, she noticed an arrow drawn at the bottom corner of the note and folded the side of the paper to find a postscript written beneath.

PS – You are to remain naked from the waist down until I return.

Oh. He’d heard, all right.

Hands trembling, she reached down to her hips and pulled her briefs down to her ankles, resisting the urge to tug her flimsy tank down to cover herself. She’d walked around naked in her apartment before. She reassured herself that as long as nobody came to visit, or she didn’t have to leave before Bertie returned, it would be just like old times. Stepping aside, she opened the top cupboard to pull down a coffee mug for herself and her pubic hair brushed the silverware drawer. Maybe, she conceded, not entirely like old times.

She wasn’t entirely sure when he’d left, but it was over an hour before Bertie made his way back. He was sweating in his turtleneck, causing his hair to stand up in spikes in a way that Rachel usually found so adorable.  He’d overdressed again. Stripping off the turtleneck revealed the bare, hairy and just slightly flabby chest of the man she’d slept beside for years. Yet her thoughts were immediately drawn to her own body – or at least the part she was sitting on.

He nodded wordlessly at her bare legs. “You’ve showered already?” he asked.

“Yes,” she squeaked.

“Good. I’m going to grab one. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Rachel swallowed. “Aren’t you going to…”

He hesitated for a moment, and in that moment she could have sworn she saw a smirk cross those handsome features. He was enjoying watching her squirm like this.

“Here, then?” He pointed to the couch.

She thought about it for a second, then shook her head. The couch backed on to a picture window that their blinds weren’t long enough to fully cover. Even if they were off the ground, she couldn’t bear the thought of someone peeking in. She raised a trembling finger toward the bedroom.

Bertie nodded and picked up one of the chairs from their breakfast table. As he crossed toward their room, he turned back and asked, “Are you coming?”

Rachel lifted herself from the cushions, suddenly again conscious of her nudity, the minute wobbling of her cheeks with every step. He held out his arm, and she passed under him. She sat on the bed. He raised a curious eyebrow, and she reflexively stood at attention.

Bertie perched his chair on the floor. She’d hoped against the odds that he’d lay her over the bed.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, “Really, I am.”

“I believe you, honey. But you asked for this, and you know you deserve it.”

She nodded miserably.

“Come here, Rachel.”

The moment of truth was upon her. He seized her arm in a grip that was both soft but resolute, and carried her across his knees. As he adjusted her hips over his right leg, she could feel a stiffening of muscle under her belly. Even if he was determined not to show it, he was definitely enjoying himself.

Her self-satisfaction lasted for only a moment. His hand rested on her bottom, giving her a gentle rub, then it was gone. It came back with a resounding crack that splashed across the walls of the tiny room. Rachel gasped. It didn’t hurt as much as she remembered from the last time, but it certainly got her attention…

The next swat made her jump, and she quickly found his arm wrapped around her midsection. The burn was starting to set in, but Bertie didn’t let up. He paced himself, waiting to hear each squeal and shriek before raising his hand and starting again. She clenched her teeth, determined to tough it out, but he was pacing himself, his hand working its way ever so methodically over her round flesh. She let out a cry, and suddenly he stopped.

He grazed her bottom with his fingers, soaking up the heat from her glowing cheeks. His touch was soft, and she sighed in relief. Without a word, he continued his caress, moving down her crevasse with probing fingers. He paused for a moment, and Rachel cautiously flexed her legs. He idly brushed her clit, and she shivered.

“You know you’re wet, right?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Her face flushed red with his discovery. He teased her again and chuckled to himself. “You naughty thing…”

The word “naughty” echoed inside her head for a moment before she felt his hand come down with a vengeance. She kicked out her feet in a futile dance over his lap, feeling the heat coming not only from her poor bottom, but her own traitorous sex. The first time he’d taken her over his knee he’d been embarrassed and trying to prove a point to himself as much as her. This time… This time he wasn’t just punishing her, he was torturing her. Torturing her, and making her love it. The bastard!

She scissored her legs across his, throwing both of them off balance. He grabbed the chair for balance, but it only slowed their descent as they both tumbled to the floor. She gasped, her breath coming to her in short spurts. For a moment, he was confused.

“Are you alright?”

She sat upright, still half-dressed and half-balanced on his knee. Before he’d figured out what was happening, she grabbed his hair in her hands and kissed him deeply, her tongue wresting its way past surprised teeth. He slapped her bottom again, a warning. But as she forced him down and wrestled with his zipper, she was long past warnings.

*** 

Rachel could hear him from the bathroom, whistling loudly and off-key as he ran shampoo through his hair. It had taken him almost fifteen minutes to regain his footing, but clearly his energy was coming back to him. Bertie was such a puppy in the afterglow, holding her to his chest and whispering in her ear how much he loved her, even as his other hand snaked around to cop a feel of her sore behind. She’d squealed again, and he’d laughed.

She ‘d returned to a somewhat less comfortable seat on the couch, having grabbed a set of leggings from the bedroom floor that scratched when sat down. She had nearly six hours to go before she had to prepare for work, and dinner was already in the fridge. Certainly more than enough time to put in an episode or two of Chäos Head.

She pulled up her last viewed episode, and hesitated, her finger hovering over the volume control. She considered her action for a moment, then on reflection brought it down.