"Werner von Braun and the Simian Deficit"
(c) 2007 Eiffelcrisp
All human rights reserved

"We did so not land on the moon, you know."

I look up.

"Its a hoax, you know, like Sasquatch"

Camille is leaning over, her brown hair falling over her eyes. She seems to want something.

"Darling, I thought you believed in Sasquatch"

She wrinkles her mouth into a scornful moue: "No, silly, those awful people on TV telling us that there is no Sasquatch, just a fellow with a harelip in Eureka who's fond of gorilla suits-- they're a hoax, right? That damn Morley Safer or what's his name, John . . . John . . ."

"Stossel?"

"That's him. You can't trust a man like that when he tells you that there's no Sasquatch. He's one of those weird Tom Cruise people, i think-- a Scientologist, right?"

"I think he's a Libertarian, actually . . ."

"What's the difference?"

I am all set for a lengthy lecture on the difference between Scientology and Libertarianism, when Camille spills her mimosa on my paper.

"Ooops. Were you enjoying your reading?"

"That's it, young lady, you will respect my authority!"

"Ooooh, I love it when you do that Eric Cartman voice-- he's so commanding."

"One of these days, young lady, one of these days . . ." and I grab her by the ear, and pull her over my lap.

"One of these days-- what? You're going to spank me? As if. Do you know how desperately negligent you are as a spanker? They're going to take your license away."

SWAT . . . the satisfying sound of palm meeting buttock on a Sunday morning.

"Mmmm hmmmm. . .. you're going to have to go down to a dingy office, and they're going to make fill out lots and lots of forms"

Camille is wearing sweatpants . . . there is some theory that she was going to go for a run this morning, but as yet it hasn't born fruit. I decide to work them down below her bottom, revealing suprisingly dainty white lace panties, cut high on the cheek.

"You're going to be there all day. A woman smelling of cheese is going to administer an eyetest, lose the results, and then you'll have to come back the next day. I'll pack you a lunch."

"And all because you left a girl unspanked. Such a simple thing, like cleaning the gutters, or changing the oil, or flossing, it seems there's no hope now, just lots and lots of paperwork."

I smile: "Well let's just see about that, shall we?"

She does love her spankings. Loves them. For reasons that are a little less clear, she does not love the space program, except for Sputnik, Laika the dog, and her particular favorites Zhakonya and Zabiyaka, the Russian space monkeys . . . "what's the point of sending stuff into space without monkeys?" she asks, and I really don't have an answer.

"You're getting a good hard spanking, you're really in for it this time . . . I hope you weren't expected anywhere."

"Just down at the chemo center where my exquisitely rare blood type is needed by desperately ill infants, but go on, spank away . . . those kids'll wait. . . I think they can still breathe and all"

Swat. And another Swat and several more SWATs . A lovely swatticato rhythm builds on her bottom till she starts to squirm and mewl 

"All right, darling, who was Robert Goddard?"

"I have no idea, but he sounds mean. Some kind of shop teacher?"

Swat SWAT swat . . . my hand on her bottom, her hips moving, pressing into my lap, faint sweat and discomfort growing. . .

"He was some kind of idiot Massachussetts rocket engineer"

Swat Swat Swat.

Ow!!

"Why do you call him an 'idiot'?"

Camille turns her head, twisting her back so her gaze meets mine. She tosses her hair, for effect and to get it out of her eyes, and then tosses it again. She really likes her hair.

"Uh duhhhh. . . . no monkeys, right?"