This short story is an entry in the 2002 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Adult
Mansions Of Glory, Suicide Machines
By
Mara Maharakshasa <MaraMahaRakshasa@aol.com>
Everyone can tell you were they were, those two days. When JFK went down in Dealey Plaza, I was bending over a stool in grade school, taking a dozen sharp strokes on the bare bottom with the cane from Father O'Malley, for smoking and swearing. I'm selective about who I tell this.
When the towers fell?
We decided to give up on further tests around 7 a.m. The network was almost functional, but we weren't getting reliable feeds from the data center in Brooklyn. The brokerage client's due date was a week hence, and I told Wanda: "Let's leave it till after the markets close, like six or so?"
"Right, you can't move for suits here. Never get anything done."
"Got any plans?"
She smiles tolerantly. "Oh, carry on where we left off?
How does that strike you?"
"You're a very project-oriented young lady," I tell her, bowing and showing her a Buddhist handclasp.
"And you're a very dirty old man," she replies. "Come on, grab your stuff. Out of here!"
We take the PATH to Christopher Street. Her Village apartment is in a beautiful old building, up five flights. A little bit of a climb, but worth it. And nearer than my Upper West side pad.
"Have you set numbers?" I ask, as we snuggle on the half-empty train.
"Oh yes."
"Going to tell me?"
"Big, scary numbers," she grins. "I want you to beg me to stop."
"You're mean. Nasty."
"No, you're nasty. And it's time for you to spend a few hours strapped down tightly," she hisses. "You're going to get a very thorough beating. The cane, the strap. That riding crop I found?"
"Yes," I gasp, excited at this idea. Yesterday, she'd started on her 'training program,' undressing and inspecting me, taking nude photographs, studying my cock's response, before paddling me fiercely.
Why? Career advancement? Maybe. But she is the typical bisexual, twenty-something New York girl, always interested in trying something new. She might even like me, I don't know.
"You're panting for it now, but you'll be sorry when I'm through."
"Will it turn you on, too?"
"Of course!" she replied, offended. "And you'll find out. Because you're going to be cleaning me up and pleasing me, with that big wet tongue of yours?]"
And so it was. She had me firmly bound before long, and began work on me, teasing and mistreating me in turn.
"Forget about coming till I give you permission," she snapped, as I pleaded for relief.
After a while, she asked dreamily. "What in the hell is all that noise? Jesus, that's a lot of sirens!"
"Never mind."
She shuts them out, with a Shostakovich CD. In
I'm sore and muscle cramped before she begrudgingly frees me for a stretch. I hear her piddling in the adjacent bathroom, then turning on the TV.
At the same moment, I cautiously peek to see what all the fuss outside is about. Just as the first tower crumples, in a ballooning cloud of dust.
The End
© Copyright by Mara Maharakshasa, 2002. All rights are reserved by the author. Do not retransmit, store (except for personal use) or publish without permission.
Reviews
Anne <Ladyanne60(at)aol(dot)com>
In the occurrence of national tragedy, this man always seems to have his pants pulled down, in the act of being disciplined. It makes you wonder who will be disciplining him in the next disaster?
MollyB <mollyb(at)newsguy(dot)com>
Interesting to think about what we're doing in our private lives when large public events are taking place. And it's also interesting to think that these 2 characters, who don't really seem to be all that close to each other, end up having a bond they probably never expected to. But this one's still a little too soon for me. Other's MMV.
Pablo Stubbs <Pablo.Stubbs(at)newsguy(dot)com>
There feels something rather exploitative here. Perhaps it's the explicit, utter disconnection between the characters and the momentous events taking place in the background. Are we being told that those events aren't important, or that what the characters believe is important (a rather tawdry bump and grind) is actually shallow and meaningless. It feels like the latter. Or perhaps the Breughel picture of the fall of Icarus: everyday life goes on whatever happens. In any event, the foreground of this story is the same as usual from this author. What's *different* about this story is the background, and that's not really integrated enough to give the story any resonance.
Steve <steve(at)circuslights(dot)com>
This one is very well written... but it also succeeds in making me feel uncomfortable...