|This snippet is for Dice, my SS. Enjoy -- you earned it. ;-)
NOW WITH CORRECT
May: month of shining suns, fragrant flowers, fresh-cut grass, and, more importantly, low-cut tops.
This morning I was lounging in the redwood chairs on our deck, admiring all of the abovementioned features of spring.
Sun...check. It was a bright and warm day with pleasantly cool breezes.
Flowers...check. The apple-blossom tree in the yard was pink and puffy, and the neighbors' tulips made colorful cups across their lawn.
Grass...check. Old Mr. Leffler was mowing three houses down and that wonderful cut-grass smell wafted toward us on the wind.
Low-cut tops...check. Well, low-cut TOP, just one, but there was really only one top I was interested in ogling. Britta was sitting across from me, hips propped on the picnic table (why sit on chairs when you can sit on tables? is more or less her approach to life), wearing a white tank top that set off her golden skin and more or less screamed SPRING!
She must have noticed me watching her, because she looked up from her textbook (although admittedly she'll take any excuse to distract her from studying!) and announced, pout written all over her voice, "I'm hot!"
Mature woman that I am, I refrained from any of several snarky responses: pouring my glass of ice water over her head (the vision of soaking-wet dark-blond hair and a see-through shirt were awfully tempting), or responding: "Damn straight you're hot!" Which was certainly true, if not really what she'd meant.
Instead, I put on my Semi-Sympathetic Face. "You can go study in the air-conditioning," I suggested helpfully.
She rolled her eyes. "How about we go swimming instead?" she asked hopefully.
Britta in a bikini. Hmm. No, we couldn't possibly. Brit had to study. Britta in a bikini...damn, I hate the hard choices!
"We can so swimming as soon as you take your last final," I said firmly. Her face reflected the disappointment I felt too.
"Come on, Brit," I coaxed. "One more exam and you're done for the year."
She sighed. "Yeah, and a whole week of freedom before I spend the entire summer chasing brats around the Y pool."
I hid a smile, since she was sort of the pot calling the kettle black, wasn't she? I guess the difference was that chasing MY brat around the pool was one of my favorite summertime activities, second only to chasing her around the bedroom.
"You love that job," I reminded her. "Every year you cry on the last day of camp and spend the next month rhapsodizing about how cute the kids were."
"I guess," she said grudgingly. She looked down at the open textbook resting on her bare thighs. I tried not to get distracted by how splendid she looked in her cut-offs. Being Britta, she cuts her own cut-offs, and being Britta, she considers them to be modest so long as they cover most of her underwear.
Not that I object. We WERE just lounging on the deck.
"Brit, finish reviewing," I told her. "I'll quiz you this afternoon."
"I'm sick of history!"
"How can you be sick of history?"
"It's easy. YOU try studying it for three years straight!"
"You chose that major," I reminded her.
She shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
Oh, if I had a dollar for every time she used THAT line, I could support us both in Tahiti, and NO textbooks would go along in our luggage.
I put down the book I was reading. "Listen, I have some errands to run. You finish your reviewing, and when I get back we'll have lunch and then I'll quiz you. How does that sound?"
She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Do I have a choice?"
I shook my head. "Nope. And don't even think of touching that computer."
"Lise! I might need to...check some research!"
"Pretend it's 1902 instead of 2002, and you have to study the old-fashioned way."
"Uh uh." I fixed her with a firm look. "You are going to spend the next few hours studying, and that's that. You'll be glad, I promise you. NO checking your e-mail. I mean it. We'll work together this afternoon, you'll take the final on Thursday, and you'll be DONE. Won't that feel great?" I cajoled.
I kissed her good-bye, lingering, admittedly, longer than I'd intended. I started to pull away but she linked her arms around my neck and pulled me closer for another kiss. She tasted cool and delicious, like the glass of chilled iced tea sitting on the picnic table beside her. I withdrew reluctantly, ran my tongue across lemony lips, and combed my fingers through a handful of her soft blond hair.
"Be good," I told her as I headed down the steps toward the driveway.
She laughed and blew me a kiss as I roared away in our Jeep.
I wasn't laughing when I returned two hours later to find her on the couch in the den, long legs sprawled over the arm, laptop perched on her knee.
She looked up, eyes wide. "You weren't supposed to be back until lunchtime!" she sputtered.
"You sign off right now," I said in response. "I guess I shouldn't ask if you were on history.com?"
She flushed. "I only came in for a sec to check my e-mail," she admitted. "I needed a study break! I spent all the rest of the time studying, I swear!"
"Well, DON'T swear," I corrected her. I put my hands on my hips. "Honestly, Britta, I told you to study while I was gone. Your final is in two days and we have GOT to do something about your internet addiction!"
"I'm not addicted," she protested.
"Brit, you were supposed to study and you were NOT supposed to check your e-mail. Either you're addicted or you just disobeyed me because you felt like it...which is it?"
She pursed her lips, thinking. I watched her, biting back a smile. She looks so cute when she's trying to figure out the lesser of two evils.
"Okay, I'm addicted!" she said. She lowered her eyes, attempting to look serious, and chewed on her lower lip. "I need help," she said plaintively, looking up at me, blue eyes shimmering with crocodile tears.
It was all I could do not to burst out laughing and shout "Oscar, Oscar!"
"I understand," I said gravely and watched hope flicker across her face. "I certainly can't spank you for being addicted then, can I? It's not YOUR fault, after all."
Usually she picks up on the note of sarcastic danger faster than today, but she looked far too pleased at her good fortune to be subtle.
"That's big of you," she said, clearly struggling not to grin. "I'll work on the addiction. Anyway, how about lunch?" she asked, batting her lashes.
"Oh sweetheart, you don't have to do it alone!" I cried. "I'll work WITH you."
"Of course," I assured her. "I love you."
"I love you too," she said warily.
"In fact, let's start right now!"
"Oh, good." I clapped my hands. "Aversion therapy, here we come!"
"Aversion therapy?" She asked, the slightest flicker of concern crossing her face.
"Yes, and we'd better start right away. We can start conquering your addiction to make sure you have plenty of time left to study."
She nodded slowly. "Okay...but what's aversion therapy?"
I gave her a warm smile. "Congratulations on taking this important first step to beat your addiction," I told her, then took the laptop off her lap and held out a hand to hoist her off the sofa. She stood beside me, looking puzzled as I signed back onto the internet, then propped the laptop on the end of the couch, leaning against the arm. Then I sat back down in the middle of the couch and, before she could quite register what I was doing, caught her wrist and pulled her down over my lap.
"Lise? What are you doing?" She wriggled in shock, twisting to see my face.
I patted her bottom reassuringly. "Don't you worry," I told her. "We're in this together." Swiftly I reached under her, unbuttoned the barely-there denim cut-offs and swept them down to her knees. Her lemon-colored panties followed suit.
"Lis -- I thought you weren't going to spank me -- what ARE you doing? What happened to the therapy?" She asked, sounding increasingly panicked.
I rubbed her rear soothingly. "Shhh, it's fine. Now, let's start your therapy, shall we?"
I tapped the back of her head. "Start typing," I told her.
"You heard me. Start typing. Go back to what you were doing -- check your e-mail, surf your favorite sites."
"I don't understand."
"There's not much to understand, babe. Just go back to playing on the computer."
She paused, looking confused even from this angle. I swatted her gently. "Go ahead."
Slowly, puzzled, she signed on to her e-mail account and started checking her messages.
I swallowed a smile. It was an awfully strange scene, Britta stretched half-naked across my lap, bare bottom upended over my knees, checking her e-mail.
"HEY!" she yelped as the first swat landed. "What are you doing?"
"Keep playing on that computer," I ordered her grimly, swatting her several more times. Her bottom bounced appealingly as I warmed the flesh, moving from one cheek to the other.
"Keep going, I mean it!" I told her.
"But what about..."
"This IS your therapy," I told her, smacking the underside of each cheek, which made her howl. "So keep going!"
I let that sink in for a minute. "Lise!" she shrieked indignantly as it registered. I swatted her upper thighs a few times. "Back on that computer!" I ordered her and swiftly she returned to surfing as I returned to the relatively tougher skin of her buttocks. And so, between cries of "ouch!" when the smacks landed, she continued checking her e-mail, visiting her favorite sites, and playing on the computer. If she took her hands off the keys, I peppered her thighs with spanks until she put them back.
"I hate aversion therapy!" she sobbed finally.
"Then it must be working," I said matter-of-factly, swatting her heated backside a few more times. Her skin was a deep, flushed pink as I started winding the spanking down. Finally I just rested my hand on the hot flesh and rubbed gently.
"Can I sign off the computer now? PLEASE?" she begged as I stroked the soft, firm curves of her bottom.
"I don't know..." I said slowly, pinching her very lightly. She yelped.
"Please, Lise!" She begged, sniffling hard. She twisted around and sat up on my lap, wincing as her bottom touched my legs. She looked right at me, blue eyes teary and swollen. "Please let me sign off the computer and go study! Please?!"
"Well, Britta, if that's really what you want, then yes, you may go study now."
"Oh, thank you!" She threw her arms around me, kissed me enthusiastically, and hobbled away from the couch, hindered by the shorts around her ankles. She cast the computer a look of hatred on her way out of the den and rushed off to study.
I smiled after her, quite pleased with myself, and began straightening up the den, humming softly to myself as I worked. The distant sound of Britta shuffling her textbooks was music to my ears.
May: the magic month.