Bottoms Up Page 2

  He told her that Martin had sent him to look after her because he couldn’t come himself. She started to cry and angrily asked him to leave, but he kept on talking, very calmly, never raising his voice, despite her shouting at him, and she eventually stopped, feeling totally drained of energy, and began to listen.

  He said Martin was worried about her, especially her drinking and pushing away everyone who cared about her and wanted to help. He couldn’t visit himself, it wasn’t allowed.

  Sarah frowned and walked across the room. She sat down beside the stranger and touched his hand. He felt real. She quickly pulled her hand away and asked if he was a ghost. He shook his head and laughed. He held his hand out to her and she reluctantly shook it, as he introduced himself as Andrew Scott.

  He told her he was killed five years ago and he now had his wings and could visit those struggling to cope with the loss of a loved one. He told her he’d been working with Martin, helping with his training, but it isn’t permitted for him to visit her, it would be too traumatic.

  Sarah stood up and turned away, blinking several times before turning back to the settee. Andrew was still there. She thought her mind was playing tricks on her, but was intrigued by this strange man. She asked him if he’d really said he was an angel and he nodded.

  She then got very abusive, she believed this man was mocking her and she told him so. She said he was no angel, they didn’t exist. He didn’t know Martin and she wanted him out of her house immediately.

  He smiled and said Martin told him she would react in this way. He told her to go upstairs and look in Martin’s bedside table, in the top drawer, right at the back. She’d find a small box. It was her Christmas present, but as Martin died a few days before Christmas he didn’t get to give it to her.

  She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to leave this man alone in her living room, not even wanting him in her house. She eventually went upstairs, hoping he would be gone when she returned and that would prove she’d simply had too much to drink and was imagining things.

  She looked in his drawer and was shocked to find a small red box with a gold bow on top. She lifted the lid and began to cry. She’d asked for an eternity ring and shortly before Martin’s death they’d looked at rings. She’d fallen in love with a thin gold band with a row of five diamonds. He said they’d look again at a later date and choose one for their anniversary in a few months time. What she didn’t realise was that he’d gone back later that day and bought the ring as a Christmas present for her.

  She took it out of the box. It was more beautiful than she remembered and she slipped it onto her finger. It fitted perfectly. She smiled as she remembered how good Martin was with gifts. Whatever he bought her always fitted perfectly, and she always loved everything he got for her. He was the rare type of guy who knew your size and knew what suited you and what you liked. The voice behind her startled her. She hadn’t heard Andrew come upstairs. In fact she’d almost forgotten he was there.

  She instinctively threw herself into his arms and sobbed. She still couldn’t quite believe what was happening. She still believed Andrew was a figment of her imagination. She cried for a long time and he held her close, stroking her hair and rocking her in his arms. When she eventually calmed down she was slightly embarrassed and pulled away from him.

  “What the hell did you do, how did we get down here?” She looked around, startled. They were back in her living room.

  “I carried you.”

  She glared at him, hands on her hips. “The hell you did, we were upstairs and we did not come down.”

  Smiling he replied: “I did carry you, just not in the way you’re used to. Surely that’s further proof I am your guardian angel?”

  He laughed, trying to lighten the situation, but Sarah got really annoyed and started to shout and swear at him, slapping him hard across the face. He didn’t react to the slap. Instead he stood up and took her firmly by the wrist.

  Forcing her to look at him, he said Martin told him he may encounter some problems with her and told him exactly what to do if she turned into a brat. In a flash they were back in her bedroom.

  “Will you stop doing that, if you want to take me upstairs then walk me there … in fact you have no right to bring me upstairs. Take me down again now.” She was screaming now, a mixture of fear, confusion and too much alcohol.

  He ignored her and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her across his knees with no effort at all. He raised her dressing gown and she screamed loudly and kicked her legs, embarrassed that he could now see her bare bottom.

  “Let me up now or I’ll kill you, you bastard.” Andrew laughed. “Sorry sweetheart, someone beat you to that.” She screamed in frustration and kicked her legs harder.

  “Let me go!”

  Andrew responded with a smack to her right cheek, followed by an equally stinging smack to her left. Sarah squealed in shock. She’d forgotten how much a spanking could hurt, but she couldn’t ever remember one that hurt quite this much, especially not just with someone’s hand. She momentarily considered apologising and promising to be good, anything to get her up from this position, but instead she kicked him hard in the leg.

  He laughed and delivered another two hard smacks to her bottom. She squealed again and swore at him. Sighing deeply Andrew held her firmly in position and began a hard and fast spanking, all over her bottom and down the backs of her thighs.

  Sarah fought hard to escape but it was impossible. She kicked her legs hard, screamed and squirmed around as much as she possibly could, but it did nothing to ease the building sting in her bottom, and it certainly didn’t help her to escape from his vice-like grip.

  She was desperate to rub the sting away and reached back, but her hand was immediately grabbed and held firmly against her back. She was determined not to cry and continued with her futile efforts to escape. Eventually exhausted she gave up fighting and concentrated on holding back her tears. He would not make her cry, she could promise him that much.

  He delivered another six smacks then stopped. Gently rubbing her bottom he asked if she was ready to apologise yet. He shook his head and sighed as he was bombarded with foul language and threats. Martin had said she was prone to tantrums, but Andrew had seriously underestimated how much trouble she would actually be.

  “I’m sorry young lady, but you’ve brought this on yourself.” Andrew continued her spanking, but this time with a wooden paddle. Sarah screamed and struggled, twisting her body and kicking her legs in her continued attempts to get away from him.

  He kept spanking her at a steady pace, never once breaking his rhythm. The smacks were hard and her bottom, which was already bright pink from her hand spanking, quickly reddened.

  Andrew started to lecture her. At first she wasn’t really listening, she was too busy trying to break free, but his words eventually started to get through to her and she calmed down. Her eyes filled up and despite her best efforts to hold them back, her tears started to drip onto the carpet. Within seconds she was sobbing pitifully.

  He continued to talk to her, but eased off a little on the strength of his smacks, telling her that Martin loved her and didn’t want her to waste her life, and he certainly didn’t want her to take her own life just to be with him again. She had so much to live for. She had her memories of him and they would never go away. She also had friends and family who wanted to help her through this and Martin couldn’t bear to see her pushing everyone away.

  Andrew put the paddle down and continued to spank her with his hand, but much gentler now. He was trying to calm her down before letting her up. He continued talking to her until finally she said she was sorry and asked him to please stop. He immediately stopped spanking her and lifted her up. He held his arms out to her and she gratefully threw herself into his embrace, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  He smiled. He was quite unprepared for this reaction. He’d expected another slap around the face. He was already mentally prepared to spank her yet again. Inst
ead he held her tightly in his arms until her sobbing had stopped, then he gently rubbed her very hot and red bottom.

  He stood up and she clung tightly to him, her arms around his neck and her legs still wrapped around his waist. He carried her around to the side of the bed, pulled back the covers and lay her down, prising her legs and arms away from him.

  He kissed her tears away and asked if she was feeling better. She nodded. She’d always struggled to understand why a spanking made her feel better, especially a hard spanking that made her cry so much, but it never failed to take away her guilt. Hours of talking could never make her feel the way that a hard and well deserved punishment did.

  She reached for Andrew’s hand and asked him to stay with her. He said he couldn’t. She asked him to lay with her for a while and he reluctantly agreed. He laughed when she pulled his hand under the covers and tried to put it between her legs. He’d been forewarned that despite her hating punishment spankings, she always ended up very horny afterwards.

  Andrew removed his hand, kissed her on the cheek and said it was time for him to go. Standing to the side of her bed, he stroked her hair away from her tear-stained face. “Goodnight Sarah, take care.”

  He stepped away and she reached out for him. “Please, wait!” He knelt down beside the bed so his face was close to hers. He waited patiently as she struggled to find the words. Eventually she blurted out: “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have taken them, the tablets I mean. I was just so sad, I really am sorry … I’m sorry you had to spank me, I’m sorry I used bad language, I’m sorry I kicked you...” Sobbing again, she added: “Please don’t hate me.”

  Andrew smiled and pulled her close to him. “I don’t hate you, and more importantly neither does Martin, and he never will. He loves you, and that’s why he sent me to help you.”

  Pulling away from him, she wiped away her tears and smiled. “So am I forgiven?” Smiling brightly, Andrew nodded. “Of course you are.”

  He knew forgiveness was a big thing for Sarah. Martin said when she felt bad about something and knew she deserved to be punished, she always fought him, but eventually she’d give up and let her tears come and allow him to punish her. She always felt better after, when she was sobbing in his arms with a very sore bottom, but she always needed to know that he didn’t hate her and she was forgiven, it seemed to be the most important thing to her.

  It never ceased to amaze Martin how she changed from sobbing uncontrollably and being desperately unhappy to smiling and being blissfully happy in a matter of seconds, once she heard those words of forgiveness.

  Andrew kissed her gently, said goodnight and was gone. Sarah was sleeping soundly the second he left the room.

  Sarah woke up the next morning feeling bright and refreshed. She sat for a while trying to remember her dreams. She thought she’d maybe been dreaming of Martin, of how he used to spank her. But for once this didn’t make her feel sad, it made her feel happy. She reached down between her legs and realised she was very wet, and she spent a very happy half an hour or so bringing herself to countless orgasms.

  But she had the strangest feeling in her bottom, she actually felt like she had been spanked. She laughed, got out of bed, got washed and went downstairs. Frowning at the empty vodka bottle and the tablets on the table, she tidied up the mess and put everything in the bin. She certainly didn’t need this kind of rubbish anymore.

  She sat down at the table, wincing as her bottom made contact with the hard wooden seat, and started to slowly piece together the events of the previous night. She felt very foolish as she remembered how close she came to ending it all.

  She remembered Andrew and the reason why she was feeling sore. She reached back and rubbed her bottom. Had he really been here or was her mind – and body – playing tricks on her? She certainly felt like she’d been spanked.

  She went back upstairs to the bedroom, turned her back to her full length mirror, lifted her dressing gown and gasped loudly. Her bottom and thighs were showing definite signs of a very hard spanking. She glanced towards the bedside table and saw the paddle. Looking again at her bottom she wondered had she perhaps done it to herself.

  A voice behind her broke her from her thoughts and she turned around. Andrew was standing there with a smile on his face. “I’m sorry I had to be so hard on you, but you were so naughty.” She ran towards him and threw herself into his arms, hugging him tight. “Thank you so much.”

  He nodded. “That’s OK, glad to be of help. How’s your bottom this morning?”

  Pouting, she reached behind her and rubbed her bottom. “It hurts.”

  He smiled. “Well deserved spankings are supposed to hurt, young lady.” Sarah’s eyes widened. She looked back and Andrew was now gone. Standing before her, in his place, was Martin.

  “Martin!” She took a step back from him, excited but afraid.

  “I’m sorry, please don’t be frightened, Sarah. I needed to see you, make sure you’re OK.”

  Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. Holding her hands out to him, he reached out and squeezed them gently. They kissed and held each other. Breaking away from her, he asked her to turn around. Caressing her bottom, he chuckled. “Looks like you still haven’t learned when to keep your mouth shut.”

  She turned quickly to face him, giggling and intending to come back with some cheeky reply, but she could barely believe he was here. She was, for the first time ever, lost for words. Martin smiled at her as her tears started to roll down her cheeks.

  Holding out his arms to her he said they didn’t have long. Andrew might well lose his wings for allowing him to come to her. It was totally against the rules.

  Smiling she stepped forward and touched his face, running her fingers through his short dark hair, smiling as his stubble scratched her fingers. “I see there’s a shortage of razors in heaven too,” she teased. She leaned forward and kissed his lips gently, feeling those strong arms that she loved so much holding her tight.

  Martin stepped back and held her face in his hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’s time to go. I love you. Be strong.”

  Blinking back tears, Sarah smiled. “I love you too. I’ll never forget you. And I promise I’ll be good.”

  Grinning, Martin told her not to make promises she could never keep. They laughed as he began to fade away, as he was once again taken from her. But this time it didn’t hurt quite so much.

  “I hope you like your ring.”

  She’d forgotten about her eternity ring. That was one part of last night she hadn’t yet remembered. Looking down she saw it sparkling on her finger. “I absolutely love it, thank you.” Looking back, he’d gone.

  Sarah turned away, confused. Half of her wanted to cry with sorrow, the other half of her wanted to sing with joy. A sharp smack on her bottom jolted her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Andrew standing behind her.

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t have any longer with him, I shouldn’t even have let you have that. I’ll probably be in big trouble but never mind, it was for a good cause.”

  “Thank you so much, I hope you haven’t got yourself into too much trouble on my account, but I really appreciate what you did.” Kissing him on the cheek, she said she was ready for him to leave her now.

  Andrew nodded, patted her on the bottom and smiled. “Try to keep yourself out of trouble, and be safe.” With that he was gone.

  Sarah raised her hand, looked at her beautiful ring and kissed it. Martin would always be with her and she would make him proud of her. With a smile on her face and a spring in her step, she set out to begin her new life, starting with getting dressed, getting back to work and rebuilding bridges with friends and family.

  Rubious

  by Marissa Moon

  I was a teenage Satanist.

  In other words, I was a Goth embarrassment, a Sylvia Plath fan, a pale, thin brunette sealed in black. Red was my second favourite colour, particular the shade of soundly smacked bottoms. Cane lines crayoned on white flesh. Red passion flowers. O
r perhaps it was the canvas on which they were etched. Artists need a flat easel but those who work on flesh prefer curves. This sort of work should be done as slowly as possible, preferably on chubby buttocks, the sort one must fondle before, during and after a punishment. Just to ascertain whether the skin can take any more reddening, of course. One wouldn’t want to besmirch the noble art of chastisement with sexuality. At least not until the receiver has been allowed to rub their bottom, perhaps while pouting defiantly, and after they have spread themselves in whatever position in which they like to receive oral sex. Or something a little more invasive...

  My teenage hobbies were mooching around and deciding how suicidal I was. Usually while reading Sylvia Plath. I would wonder who would miss me after I was gone. How much I could hurt them. How they would rue the day they upset me, the centre of the known universe.

  Perhaps I just needed someone to thrash some sense into me, fortunately I met a wise older woman. Her name was also Sylvia, although, unlike Plath, there was nothing remotely masochist about her. She taught me the benefits of a sound scourging on a moonlit night. Black clothes, red wine, white moon, scarlet bottoms and shared sighs – we were the cruel sisters, taking it in turns to whip each other into a frenzy. I was fond of my teacher. She whipped me well. She showed me how to make money from my passion, helping me to become a pro-Domme. She even taught me new words to describe a beating, sometimes over her knee, with one spank for each letter.

  “Vapulation” – an obscure word for flogging – how it hurt memorising that one! “Rubious” was another one of Sylvia’s obscure words, one that would drive any Scrabble opponent into a red mist rage. It took less smacks to learn that one, perhaps because ‘the colour of rubies’ was poetic enough to be memorable.

  Now I’m on my fourth twenty-ninth birthday I still persevere with men.

  Heaven knows why, as they’re mostly useless. But I much prefer spanking women. And the most recent jewel in my crown was Svetlana, a Russian mafia princess.