This short story is an entry in the 2003 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
Ancient One
By
She was old. They sometimes called her the Ancient One: behind her back, never to her face. She had been in the home so long that her records had not completely survived changes in staff and technology. She was sure she had been here for at least thirty-five years, perhaps more.
She was old, but thought herself middle aged. Clutching her skein of experiences, she brought with her a tangled and unshakable burden of past times and actions. There were cherished memories in her collection, but they were mixed with many she had never managed to erase.
She was old, yet certain memories were as bright and new as she had been, so many years ago. Some memories were pictures, polished by time and love or hate. Some were faces, transformed by her mind to be as they were, not as now, under forgotten stones. Some memories were sounds, or tastes, or smells. Hated for their power to hurt, or treasured and renewed by her need, these sensations might have been an hour or a day ago: not somewhere in her far dim past.
She was old, and just now, dozing in the sun from the window, she remembered her childhood. The memory brightest in her collection was the face of her dear Daddy, eyes glowing with love, or narrowing in exasperation. His mouth grinning with excitement, or a firm line of impatience with her antics. Right now, his mouth was a grim frown of upset with her naughty behavior.
She was old, and she remembered his huge hand, a locking weight on her small shoulder, guiding her to her place of retribution and expiation. His big lap was most times safe, but sometimes dangerous. Right now it was not a safe place and the feeling of his legs shifting under her tummy as her dress came up was scary.
She was old, but she could still feel his hand, a warm weight covering her bottom, as he detailed her little crime: his voice sharp with anger. The memory was like being there: so powerful she felt her panties sliding down to tighten around the backs of her knees, so strong that she heard the deep voice scolding in her ear.
She was old, yet her face was wet with young tears: remembering the fear, anticipating the pain. When the spanking began, she felt again the consuming fire and hot tears squeezing from eyelids clenched tight. Then came the after-delicious: that timeless interval when he held her close, cleansing her tears with kisses and a big blue handkerchief. She snuggled her face under his chin, loving the scratchy feel and the scent of him. Just for this moment, he was completely hers, all of him, entirely devoted to confirming his unquenchable love.
She was old, but with no one to hug, she hugged herself: holding her memory of his arms, being in his arms.
The End
© Copyright Koalabear, 02 August 2003
Sir Hal <janhal(at)midsouth(dot)rr(dot)com>
I enjoyed reading this story. It was simple, clear and fun. It made me stop and think. At times that is good. It almost seemed that the words could be set to music.
After reading it for a second time, I still have nothing to add. The story is complete. Please, keep up the good work. Write stories that make people stop and think like this one. You don't always need Smack, smack to make a spanking story work. This one proves that point.
Thanks.
Trisha Allen <trishaallen(at)mindspring(dot)com>
Loved the memory! Complete story, beginning, middle and end. Enough detail to understand both characters well. Well described, with enough detail to paint the entire picture of the events that followed.
Rosa
I absolutely loved this story. Brilliant, clear, evocative writing that left tears in my eyes. A superb visual; rich with emotion and a sense of time and place, in both the present and past. Thank you so very much for this entry!