The summer I proposed to Crystal, we did a lot of travelling.

All of our friends, most of which already married, would invite us here and there, wanting us to visit, wanting to see “The” ring I’d bought, and so on. Typical pre-marriage euphoria, even though it was still a good six months before the actual wedding.

John and Elizabeth Caldwell were the couple we’d been least involved with... which is a nice way of saying they ignored us, and we ignored them. That was sad, because Lizzie had been a very close school-friend of Crystal’s, and therefore mine. Then, upon marrying this mysterious John guy, she practically disappeared.

It was voiced he was very rich and would take her all kinds of places, and that she didn’t even have a job. I’m not sure where such rumours came from; it’s the kind of thing you hear one night at a party and don’t quite remember which half-drunk guest said it.

Still, Lizzie’s e-mail address was in my future-wife’s contact list, and the happy news was forwarded to them as well. It came as a pleasant surprise to be invited for a brief stay at their summer household... and a much more shocking surprise to learn they’d moved to Florida, right across the ocean. Lizzie had never even left her hometown Limerick!

Late July found Crystal and me travel to Orlando, which was only a few miles from the Caldwell property. By then, our curiosity was largely overcoming the annoyance of having been cut out of Elizabeth’s life so abruptly a couple years aback.

We were escorted to their house in a limo, and Crystal giggled at how many liquors there were in that car. “You know, I think there’s a law here,” I reminded her. “Can’t drink till you’re 21.”

“Me? Drinking?” she batted her eyelashes. “I wouldn’t dare!”

“Brat.”

I slapped her bottom mildly as I took her into my arms and we kissed most of the way to the house on the beach, thankful for the black screen between us and the driver.

The term ‘house’ is actually a major underestimation, for it was a white-marble three-story building with a large deck, a garden, a pool, and other amenities. It qualified as a mansion to me.

“Liam! Crys!”

We saw Lizzie dash out of the front door as the limo arrived. She hadn’t changed much physically: barely 5’3 (or 160cm, for my fellow Europeans), of petite build, and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen – but her long, flaming red hair was now cropped into a blonde cask that topped her small head like a helmet, and her milky-white skin was slightly tanned.

“Oh Liz! For crying out loud, what have you done to your hair?” asked my still-redhead sweetheart, a grimace on her beautiful face.

“Aww I like it better, and so does John by the way. Liam, you sly ol’ dog!”

That, definitely hadn’t changed.

She instructed the limo driver to take our luggage in, and escorted us back into the house. We were given a brief tour of the atrium, or at least, what we found out was the atrium, while we’d thought it might have been the whole floor. Our flat in Liverpool certainly was smaller.

“Who IS this nice boy you’ve hooked, huh?” Crystal asked.

“Oh I wouldn’t... err... wouldn’t quite call him a ‘boy’ you know.” Lizzie was blushing.

I cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve married a girl?”

“Nooo silly!” she laughed. “He’s just, well, you know...”

“I am just disappointed to not have been able to welcome you to my house the proper way.”

The voice came from a large stairway leading upstairs, and it was calm and deep. A man in white loose pants and shirt came into view, descending the staircase with a constant stride.

“Elizabeth, my naughty girl. You could have said they were here.”

Lizzie blushed again and hid a laugh behind her hand. Both Crystal’s eyes and mine, though, were fixed on the man, and we understood our friend’s hesitation at calling him a ‘boy’. The partly-grey hair was perhaps misleading, and he could have been in his forties maybe... but still...

“Crystal and Liam, I presume. Welcome to my humble residence. I am Dr Jonathan Caldwell, but please just call me John.”

He offered his hand, that I shook. Crystal had hers gentlemanly kissed while she fixed him a look that just said ‘huh?’.

“I... my pleasure, Mr Caldwell... John,” I smiled. “Quite a beautiful property you have here.”

He smiled back and nodded, and circled Lizzie’s shoulders with an arm. She snuggled in closer. “Yes, she’s young, beautiful and... oh! You mean the house!”

“Oh stop that!” Lizzie cried, smacking his arm playfully and giggling.

“Alright, alright,” said John. “Thanks, Liam. It was my father’s before mine.”

Crystal was giving me another one of her looks, and I could tell she was unsure whether to like the man or not. She is the kind of person who judges people in the first five minutes she meets them, and rarely if ever changes her mind. Although I must admit I didn’t exactly fancy him either. There was something about that person... I wasn’t sure how to call it, yet.

“But, come. I’ll show you your bedrooms,” he said. “Unless you guys already do as husband and wife.” He winked at me.

“I think one bedroom will be just fine, thank you,” Crystal said, not without a tiny bit of mock in her voice.

“The King’s Suite, then!” Lizzie exclaimed.

“Indeed, my dear. Make the way?”

Lizzie took Crystal’s hand and practically shoved her upstairs. “No King has ever slept there, mind you!... but it’s cool to call it that. You’ll see, there’s a...”

Their chatter died away in the distance, and John and I were left behind. “So that is your future bride, my young friend,” he said.

“Err... yes, that she definitely is.”

“How wonderful,” he sighed happily. “You have been quite lucky, if I say so myself. Now you’re going to have to work hard to maintain that luck, my boy.”

Whatever meaning his words might have held, it was lost on me. I did get his patronizing tone, though, and it didn’t sound all that good. Not that it’s wrong for a man in his forties... or more... to patronize to a twenty-four year old – but I sure didn’t expect that from my school-friend’s husband.

~*~

That evening, dinner was served at seven on the back patio. That was yet another understatement, as it was larger than the living room and richly furnished down to the smallest detail. However, there was nothing kitsch or braggingly exaggerated throughout the place.

We ate seafood like I’d never eaten any before. Calamari, an assortment of shrimp, and a flaming-red lobster topped by caviar as the main course. Crystal and I were unbelieving of such scrumptiousness, but ate heartily. Hard not to, after all, when the ocean waves crash gently on the shoreline not fifty feet away. It was, quite honestly, a memorable evening.

Conversation with John and Lizzie turned out to be interesting. She was more or less the direct, rambunctious girl we’d left two years earlier, and would talk a mile a minute if we didn’t stop her from time to time! Especially John. He was rather controlled, but not in a stuffed-up, tedious way; he seemed quite in control of everything he did and said, and that was strangely comforting.

We spent the rest of the evening chatting good-naturedly and touring the estate, which took almost an hour on foot. We went to bed watching the moon rise over the ocean and casting pearly reflections in the ocean waters. We were tired, but neither Crystal nor I could resist sweet, ardent lovemaking in the four-poster bed of our assigned room.

~*~

It’s like when you get drunk; the morning found us a little dizzy and not quite with it. I slithered out of bed and went downstairs, to find the living room empty. If there was a butler or any maid in the house, I hadn’t seen any, not even at dinner.

I looked for Lizzie or John but the place was deserted. I took a brief walk on the seaside to stretch and wake up fully. Then, upon making my way back to the house, I heard talking coming from the west wing.

John liked to call his study and library that. He’d showed us his collection of books and sculptures the night before, and it was remarkable. The window to his study was cracked open, and I could hear him and Lizzie. I didn’t catch the words, but he seemed to be doing most of the talking.

Back into the house I went, and I thought I’d drop by to say good morning. The closer I walked to the west wing, the clearer the voices were in the silent morning. I stopped just a few feet short of his study, and by now I could make out what was being said...

“... extremely irresponsible. I don’t think I need to say that, do I? Do I, Elizabeth Shannon?”

I didn’t hear Lizzie’s reply. John’s voice was calm, but still loud and clear.

“Very well. Then, please, fetch the...”

“No no no no no John, please!” came Lizzie’s voice, and it was quite distressed.

I flattened against the wall and listened in, knowing I should have just walked away, but completely unable to by now.

“Elizabeth? Do not interrupt. As I was saying, please fetch the strap.”

My ears burned and my heart sped upon hearing that.

Again, no reply from Lizzie, but I could clearly hear her whimper. Then I heard footsteps, that made the floor planks crackle. I wondered if Lizzie was coming my way, so I panicked for a second, but apparently she was walking the other way. I relaxed.

That made me more daring, ironically, and I moved a few steps forward. The door to the study was open, and on both sides there were decorated windows of coloured-glass. I stood near one and peeked past the glass, until I could get a fairly complete view of the study.

John was standing by the mahogany desk, wearing a white morning robe. Lizzie was just as scantily dressed, yellow T-shirt and underwear, and barefoot; she stood before an open cabinet at the other end of the room, and produced a nasty-looking implement that made my hair stand.

The strap was a twenty-inches long leather band attached to a rigid handle. It was brown and lucid, and would wind like a vicious snake when Lizzie didn’t support it in her small hands. Holding that formidable tool, and looking at it with a mixture of fright and reverie, the girl brought it to her husband, who simply took it from her hand.

He placed it on the desk, and I flinched at the sound it made. Lizzie did too, and she hid her face in her hands. John then proceeded to take a chair out from beneath the desk, and coolly sat down. He took hold of his wife’s hands and drew her nearer.

“I am sorry that we would come to this, Elizabeth, especially when your friends are staying...”

“P-please, John... they can hear...”

“They are sleeping,” said he, and I felt a pang of guilt. “But even if not, it’s okay if they hear. We’ve got nothing to hide, honey, do we.”

That silenced her. Now I could hear Lizzie sniffle and whimper, and for a good reason: John was raising her T-shirt, and then with both hands he peeled her white cotton panties past her hips and all the way down to her knees. I almost gasped aloud...

– End of Part One –

This story does not necessarily represent the author’s point of view about anything. It is simply a work of fiction . The characters herein portrayed are invented and do not resemble reality to the best of the author’s knowledge. This account is entirely fictitious . Any similarities to other persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

This story is written for the sane amusement of adult readers. It does not intend harm and does not promote violence of any kind, including spanking. No offence is meant to any group, ethnicity or individuals.

The author does in no way endorse the non-consensual disciplinary spanking of actual children and / or teenagers.

Copyright © 2005 Haley Brimley . Contact for information and / or feedback.