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: First/Last
Full Frontal
By
The night burned with barely a hot, dry breeze.
Marine Laire blew ashore, his usual chill, a cool and icy burn. Three days trapped just off the coast hadn't improved his mood. Then, just as he landed, he heard the news about Flo and his ice cracked into sub-zero rage.
Rumor had it that Flo was at it again, pushing herself against that desert rat Santa Ana. The two of them had been, so it was said, all hot and heavy while he was trapped out at sea. Clearly, she hadn't missed him, nor had she spent these summer nights alone.
The news was a sharp sliver of ice shoved into his brain. Flo was his and it was time he claimed her once again. He flew across the port city searching for her, scanning the streets for her, drawn eastward as if by unnatural forces.
Flo had long been able to twist him around her -- make him hard and solid. It made him hate her touch almost as much as he loved her touching.
The marine hated being reminded of Flo's power over him, the way she could move him at her will, hold him a bay. Sure, occasionally he called forth her moisture -- he knew how to wrap her up and hold her to him -- but part of her was always elusive, seeming to rise just above and outside his grasp. She would never say she loved him. Never surrender everything as he knew he had surrendered.
But not tonight.
Tonight, people Laire brushed past felt his chill and turned away.
Then Flo was there. And she was all there was. Laire hadn't considered what he'd do when he caught her and could wrap her up in himself, but suddenly she was over his lap, his hand raising her temperature to match his cool.
Santa Ana faded away, no match for the marine's fierce blows. Laire knew he was right -- that this was right.
Flo struggled, tried to slip off Laire and escape, maybe follow Santa Ana, but Laire was having none of it and held her close. She raged and stormed, feeling as though the pressure in her head must finally burst.
Still he spanked on as Flo's shrieks turned to howls, then cries and sobs.
Finally it happened. At long last, in the midst of summer...it was raining in Los Angeles.
The End
© Copyright Summer, 2002
Reviews
John <johnb(at)ssec(dot)wisc(dot)edu>
Clever. The first/last lines fit seemlessly and don't appear tacked on. The weather angle is constantly and consistantly present without coming up to consciousness until it overwhelms us at the ending. A piece of work that obviously took both effort and imagination.
Frank <sswitcher(at)yahoo(dot)com>
I'm sorry, but I have almost no clue what this is all about, and who (or what) was spanked. Who on Earth are Flo and Laire? I did a Google search for that pair, and came up only with obscure academic documents, mostly in foreign languages. I'm sure it's my fault for missing some subtle or not-so-subtle allusions, but my almost complete inability to get this one left me bemused and slightly frustrated.
Margaret <wessyLA(at)aol(dot)com>
As a fellow LA inhabitant, I found this very clever. The concept of weather patterns fighting with each other makes this foggy morning all the more interesting. Thank you for sending this along.
Alex Birch <alexbirch(at)blueyonder(dot)co(dot)uk>
After a little assistance in understanding the subtlety of this one,not being au fait with Californian weather conditions, I think its very well written as one would expect, but personally I think the attempt to slot the effects of a weather pattern in to a spanking theme, while admirable, really weakened it as a spanking story. It didnt really do a lot for me unlike much of the authors other work. All credit for trying something different though.