Not a story…

But it is something, at least. 🙂

This little fantasy was inspired by a couple of things, including a hot-looking wooden implement and a remark made by my sometimes-top, intending to help me with my current writer’s block. Although her suggestion isn’t practical in RL, it does make for a nice fantasy. *g*

This is dedicated to my sometimes-top and my brat, both of whom have shown me so much patience in their own ways recently. Thank you, TMT and Fizzy — I can’t tell you how much your support means to me. *hug* This is also dedicated to you, my readers…because your support and patience are appreciated more than you know.

~~~~~~~

The Switch and the Seat of the Problem

“All right, missy, no more Freecell. It’s time we address this procrastination problem of yours.”

The Switch scowled to herself and kept her eyes on the computer screen. She could hear her Top going through her implement bag, which was not at all a good sign, but she decided to ignore that for now.

“It’s not procrastination,” she said sullenly.

“No?” Her Top sounded amused. “You think because you punish some other naughty young lady for the same thing, it couldn’t possibly apply to you?”

That made the Switch grin inwardly, thinking about her Brat. It’s true that she punished her for that rather often, second only to missing her bedtimes. What was it about brats, that they couldn’t seem to keep from getting into trouble over bedtimes, studying, and chores? But if her Top was trying to paint her with the same brush, well, that just wasn’t accurate.

“It’s NOT procrastination,” she insisted. “Procrastination is when you know you ought to do something, and you put it off. Whereas I WANT to do something but can’t seem to find a way to do it!”

“Well, I am going to help you with that, sweetie.” Her Top was seated on the sofa now, and patted her thigh encouragingly. “Come over here.”

“That’s not going to help, and that’s not fair!” The Switch’s tone was aggrieved. “You of all people should know the muse can’t be forced!”

“Young lady, I am not going to argue the definition of procrastination with you, nor what inspires your muse. I gave you an instruction, and if you make me come get you, you are going to regret it.” Whereas her Top’s tone originally had been good-natured, even cheerful, it now held an edge. That was warning enough for the Switch, but she still resented it.

“I’m coming, but it’s still not fair,” she muttered. “And I was right in the middle of winning that game!” Her walk over more of a stomp, she stopped next to the sofa, arms crossed obstinately.

“Trousers down and over you go, please.”

Dark brown eyes met hazel ones in a direct challenge. An eyebrow crooked, and the hazel ones took on a steely gleam. “I have another game for you, but you have already lost and the penalty is severe,” the Top said. She reached out and unfastened the Switch’s jeans and yanked them down to her ankles, then pulled the surly girl over her lap. Six hard smacks to the back of her thighs had the Switch crying out and kicking helplessly.

“Okay, okay, I’m here, all right?!” The Switch settled down over her Top’s lap, but the injustice of it rankled. She felt a warm hand come up to rub her back, while the other palm rested against her bottom. She fought the desire to relax against the muscular thighs beneath her – she wasn’t going to give any sign that she agreed with this unfair punishment, no matter what.

But it was difficult not to give in, when what followed next was the feel of her Top’s palm against her buttocks, with firm unhurried swats that made her cheeks jiggle till she could feel a warm glow beneath her panties. The slight ache that developed was deeply familiar to her – the very personal application of a caring hand on one of the body’s most impressionable areas. She’d employed it with her own Brat often enough… she knew how well it brought about a submissive mindset, and she was determined to resist it. She closed her eyes and rested her chin on her hands, but her body remained rigid.

Now her Top was drawing down her underwear, and she braced herself for the sharper smacks that would follow, but nothing happened.

“I meant this to be a surprise later, but decided to use it now to help you with your problem,” her Top said quietly. “Though I’ve no doubt it will prove useful again in future applications.”

Startled, the Switch opened her eyes to see what her Top was talking about. To her dismay it was a small wooden paddle being held up – its oval shape made it look exactly like a hairbrush, but without the bristles.

“It was a hairbrush,” her Top confirmed. “I found it in an antique shop. The boar bristles were long past restoring, but I thought I could find a better use for it anyway. It’s smooth and heavy, good old-fashioned English walnut. I removed the bristles, sanded it till all the surfaces were rounded, then polished it with some lovely beeswax. Isn’t it beautiful?”

It was beautiful, actually. The satin finish glowed with a soft luster and the grain in the dark wood rippled in a way that was unusual and eye-catching. It nearly brought a smile to her face, because she loved the way her Top enjoyed working with her hands and taking on all sorts of projects. But the result of this particular DIY adventure looked like it would sting like holy hell, and it was about to be used on her backside.

“It’s not fair!” she wailed again. “Writing stories isn’t my job, and it’s not like I was avoiding it on purpose! I’ve had health issues, and I’ve been swamped at work, and—”

“And recently you’ve been grieving, I realize that,” her Top finished quietly. “And in between those moments, what have you been doing?”

“Reading and watching the TV, I know,” the Switch said defensively. “But those things can help inspire you, you know! You can never tell when…OUCH!”

The Top had begun applying her new paddle, and just as the Switch had feared, the sting was formidable. Especially when the Top was using just the tip and working around the surface of her right buttock only.

“What else have you been doing?” The voice was soft, but inexorable.

“Baby-sitting! I was baby-sitting my nephew, remember? And my Brat needed some attention when she OD’d on video games, and…OW! Okay, okay, I was playing Freecell a lot too! I can’t help it if it’s mentally soothing!” She was squirming a great deal, but her Top’s strong arm held her in place easily. The burn was building steadily, till it felt like her right cheek was one big ball of flames.

“There’s nothing wrong with being mentally soothed,” her Top said reassuringly. “You’ve been under a lot of stress recently.” She paused to admire her handiwork. The surface of one cheek was beautifully rosy, with the red color spreading down to the top of the Switch’s right thigh. Whereas the untouched left cheek was still very pale. The Top chuckled. “You look like the yin and yang of spanking.”

The Switch stopped kicking and caught her breath. “Sometimes I hate your artistic visual sense, you know that?” she growled.

“Oh ho, you’ll not take that tone with me, missy!” She began to even things up by concentrating her smacks on the Switch’s left cheek.

“Ow! Ow! Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” It was not the first time she’d made an unwise remark while in a vulnerable position, and it would no doubt not be her last. But she still felt it was unfair. Her Top was using the new paddle in short, quick strokes to paint every inch of her bottom bright red, the same way an impressionist painter uses brushstrokes in tiny daubs. But whereas Monet used licks of paint to create a scene of riotous, energetic color, her Top was using licks of her paddle, and the conflagration of color was all in shades of red.

“Procrastination is the putting off any task, regardless of whether it’s your job,” the Top was saying now. “And you know very well your readers are waiting for a new story.”

“Yes, but writing a story isn’t a made-to-order task! It’s not just having the time or having the energy…it has to be there for you emotionally too!” the Switch protested. “And if you know I’ve been under stress, why are you punishing me for it?”

The Top paused. “Darling,” she said gently, “I’m not punishing you. Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I dunno… maybe because I’m over your knee and you’re whacking me with a wooden implement?!” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm.

“Is that the only reason you administer a spanking?” the Top asked, with surprising restraint.

In spite of the burning in her backside, or perhaps because of it, the Switch considered that carefully. When she spanked her Brat, wasn’t it for punishment? Most of the time, but not always, she acknowledged. Usually it WAS because her Brat needed the correction, to pay for her misdeeds in a way that they had agreed was intended as both punishment and deterrent. But sometimes, she knew her Brat had learned her lesson and the punishment aspect was rather superfluous. She administered a spanking on those occasions more for structure: when someone entrusts their welfare to you, it’s important that they know they can count on consistency, and that you’ll follow through to enforce established boundaries.

And then there were times she administered a spanking to help her Brat release some of her guilt. For those times, it was more important that the emotional support and belief in her worth be emphasized with swats right where she needed it most. Finally, she also used it as a sign of caring, as she knew that affection expresses itself as much in the walloping as it does in the cuddling afterward. And okay, maybe there was once or twice it happened just because she felt like it. Let’s face it, it’s FUN to watch a scarlet rump bounce and to hear yelps of remorse, isn’t it?

“Oh,” she said.

“Indeed,” her Top agreed, the amusement back in her tone. And then she began laying on the paddle in a serious fashion, with broad strokes which alternated between the sit spots of each cheek.

If the Switch had thought the paddle stingy before, she had no idea as to the extent of its evilness. It was hard beyond belief…like iron…like AN iron heated to a “Linen” setting…detonating little pain explosions in her cheeks till she was convinced she would be the first person to DIE from a thoroughly spanked bottom.

“Stop, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she howled, then realized that wouldn’t work. She wasn’t being punished, so why should she apologize? Though she WAS feeling extremely sorry for herself at the moment. As the blasted paddle continued to roast her hindquarters, she struggled frantically for the magic phrase that would halt her Top’s heavy hand.

“Thank you…ma’am!” Blessedly, the tortuous paddle paused, resting against her throbbing buttocks.

“Thank you? What are you thanking me for, sweetie?”

Oddly enough, even with the tears which had been threatening at the corners of her eyes, even in her unusually submissive frame of mind, the Switch had a sudden mental picture of herself sitting upright, with another penitent and reddened bottom draped over her own lap. She recalled suddenly her own Brat’s attempts to “weaken her arm by making her laugh.”

“Thank you for warming me up on a cold winter’s day, ma’am,” was her solemn answer.

Fortunately, her Top was no more immune than she was, and she could feel the silent shaking under her which denoted suppressed laughter. Two more stinging swats followed. “YEOW, I’m sorry!”

“My pleasure, darling.” She lifted her upright and cuddled her gently. “No, no, don’t pull your pants up, I want you bare-bottomed.”

“What? Why?” The Switch almost whimpered at this instruction, evidence that her ordeal wasn’t over yet.

“I want you to come sit at the computer,” she stood and pulled her reluctant charge to the nearby desk, “and finish writing something.”

“Writing? Write what?” She did whimper as she sat her extremely sore bottom down on the computer chair, in spite of its cushion.

“It doesn’t matter. A poem, a blog post, an email….I just want you to start and finish something. It doesn’t have to be a story, you know. It can be a….story-lette. Just write something.”

And so she did.