The Meadow (A Short Story)

A rumble in the distance caused Jessica to glance up from her book. The trees at the edge of the meadow seemed to wave at her, bidding her to get to safety before the storm reached her. With a sigh and a small smile up on her lips, she closed her book, using a fallen maple leaf to mark her spot. She quickly but carefully packed the empty dishes back into the basket before standing to fold the blanket she’d been sitting on. The long blades of grass seemed to kiss her ankles as the breeze began to increase. Picking up her basket, the blanket, and her book, she made her way through the dense trees to the path that led to her “hobbit” like cottage. She ignored the scurry of the small animals as they seemed to “batten down the hatches” in anticipation of the pending storm. As she approached the clearing she could see his shadow in the window, watching for her. She started over the small bridge, but stopped part way to look over the side at the creak. The water seemed to be laughing as it tripped and tumbled from one side to the other. “Come and play” it seemed to say just to her. She glanced out the corner of her eye as the front door opened, now more than just a shadow loomed in the doorway. She knew she was expected to come in, but decided to look a bit longer at the water. She bent over more, quite a bit more, her voluptuous bottom pushed up in her long skirt. She could sense his grin and raised eyebrow. A firm, gentle but strong hand seemed to both support and restrain her in this opportune position. She felt the hem of her skirt being raised, exposing the bloomers he required her to wear. The ribbon holding them up in back was loosened and fell freely to her ankles. His free hand gently squeezed her milky white cushions.. Suddenly the hand was gone. With a flick of his wrist a light paddle slapped sharply on her right cheek. He always kept this paddle handy for situations like this. He followed with eleven more slaps before moving to the left cheek and applying twelve to slaps to it. Back and forth he applied twelve slaps with the paddle to each cheek. Her white orbs were no longer white but now shown with a soft pink glow. The color continued to deepen as the slaps continued to work over her bottom and down her thighs. She felt him lightly tap between her legs to indicate she was to spread her legs wider. As she did so, she braced herself. She knew this was going to hurt. The paddle slapped down with the same intensity to the insides of her thighs, but the pain was exquisite. No matter how often he spanked her there, it seemed as if they never got used to the pain. Tears started to form in her eyes, but she bit her lip and pushed her bottom up offering a better target. “Good girl” he whispered in her ear. The spanking stopped and his hand was caressing her where the paddle had landed. Every inch of pink or red was traced as if with a feather. As the first few drops of rain splashed down, his fingers stopped their exploration and helped her stand up. She started to bend to pull up her bloomers, but he stopped her, instead he swept her up in his arms and carried her into the cottage. As the door closed behind she looked out at the rain and smiled, knowing it was a perfect day.

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