Surprise

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

I thought Susan and I had a good marriage.  Nothing special, but I loved her and we had some fun times.  In retrospect, I suppose most of those good times occurred early in our life together, but still, we’d been married for twelve years when she surprised me Friday night as I came in the door.

“John, I want a divorce.”

“What?  A divorce?  Why, what brought this on?”.

Susan has been growing more distant lately, and I’d been away from home a lot.  I’m Senior Foreman for a major construction company, and we signed a contract on a large project across the state.  I only make it home on the occasional weekend.  Senior Foreman sounds more impressive than it is, I still get my hands dirty, but it pays well.  At least it pays well for a man with a high school education.

Susan was never thrilled with our income—my income.  Susan’s never held a job in her life, and she spends my paycheck almost before I receive it.  I don’t mind; I want the best for my wife.  Consequently, we’re mortgaged to the hilt and the credit cards are all maxed out.  Still, I had no idea she was thinking of divorce.

Anyway, when I arrived home, there were two suitcases sitting on the floor of the entrance hall, and Susan was telling me, “You’re a nobody, John, and you’ll always be a nobody.  Harry is a somebody and he’s on the way up.  He’s asked me to go away with him when he takes a new position in Maryland.  He’s an executive, and the new job will be a promotion with even higher pay and benefits.  He already makes four times the measly salary you bring in.”

Harry is the senior architect in our company, and yes, he rakes in a lot more cash than I do.  Men at the top in our business get the cream while us workers make do with the skim.  But this was still a surprise, I didn’t know that Susan even knew Harry Belcher.

“My lawyer has drawn up the paperwork; its sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for your signature.  Use a notary.  Oh, that horn means my cab is here,” she added, grasping the handles of her bags.  “I left the Lexus at Harry’s.  Get the door for me, John?”

I held the door for Susan, reeling from the bomb she’d dropped on me, sending what I thought was our happy life together up in smoke.

“Take care of yourself, John, and get those papers signed.  The terms are not negotiable.  If you take me to court, I’ll take everything you’ve got.  You can’t afford a lawyer, and Harry hired the best.  Good bye, John.”

I watched her walk down the sidewalk—her ass swaying in her Adriano Goldschmied Jeans, the heels of her Alexander McQueen boots clicking, her Bergdorf Goodman luggage in tow—until she got into the cab and it drove away.

Finally, I came to my senses and slammed the door.

I was on my second whiskey before I looked at the papers Susan wanted me to sign.  Shit, she wanted everything we had that did not require a moving van to take away.  She left me with all of our credit card and loan debt.  She was nice enough to leave me my old pickup, not request alimony, and only demanded half the value of the house.  I’ll have to sell the house to cash her out, and then I’ll have no place to live.  After the bank takes its cut, my share won’t cover the down payment on a one-room shack in this town.  I wonder what I can borrow against my life insurance policy? I thought, and threw the paperwork back on the counter.  I’ll probably have to kill myself and collect the death benefit to get enough cash to satisfy the bitch.  I finished my whiskey in one huge gulp and poured another.

I woke up Saturday morning with a pounding and ringing in my head, and the taste of stale whiskey in my mouth.  I was slumped on the couch, an empty glass in my hand, an empty Bushmills bottle on the floor and the flatscreen showing snow and hissing at me.  I rarely drink to excess, but if I’m going under, what’s the sense in doing it sober?  It took me a minute to realize that the pounding and ringing was not just in my head. Someone was at the front door.

As the realization dawned, and I struggled to my feet, I heard a key in the lock and the door swung open.  Susan is the only one besides me who has keys to our house.  Why the hell would she be pounding and ringing rather than using them to come in?  Is there some loot she missed, and she wants my help to lug it out to her car?  I dropped back down on the couch, my head in my hands, trying to keep my aching eyeballs from falling out of my skull.  Or the booze I’d drunk from splattering out onto the carpet.

“Whew!  Open a window!  It smells like an Irish pub the morning after Saint Patrick’s Day.”

That voice was familiar.  Its strident cadence and critical manner all too familiar.  I raised my head and opened one bloodshot eye.  Sure enough, it’s Victoria, my ex-mother-in-law.  Well, soon to be ex.  There’s some good in every tragedy; you just have to look for it.  I put my head back into my hands, gently, and said, “Go away.”

“Now John, that’s no way to speak to me.  I see by your condition that my daughter has shared her good news.  I assume you never made it to bed last night.  No, of course you didn’t.  It’s after ten AM; past time for you to be up and about.”

I did not make the mistake of raising my head again.  The motion was a challenge to my stomach, and the brilliant morning light was a dagger in my eye.  Victoria and I have never gotten along.  As my wife’s mother, she treated me as one of her children when Susan and I married, an insignificant, ill-favored, pitiable child.  Now, the sound of her voice was driving needles through my ears and into my brain.  “Go away,” I moaned again.

“No, John, I am not going to ‘go away’ as you so rudely requested.  I’m here to help and to look after my daughter’s interests.  Give me that glass,” she said, grabbing the item out of my hand.  “Looks and smells like you spilled it all over yourself.  On your feet and into the shower.  You smell like a homeless alcoholic just in off the street.”

“I don’t care how I smell.  I don’t care how I look.  Your daughter destroyed my life.  So go away.  How did you even get in here in the first place?  No, don’t answer, just go.”  I still was not looking at the old witch, and my head was still pounding, but the whirlies subsided and I no longer felt like I was going to vomit at any moment, which was a major improvement.  Now if the old battleax would just leave, closing the door quietly behind her, I might make it to the sink for a glass of water to wash this taste out of my mouth.

Victoria grabbed my right arm, somebody else grabbed my left, and the two of them yanked me to my feet.  The nausea I thought I’d beat came roaring back with the sudden motion.  The room revolved around me and I expelled the contents of my stomach, violently.

“Well, shit!  That’s disgusting.  I’m not cleaning that up.”

Ah.  Second person identified.  Sharon—Victoria’s other daughter, two years younger than Susan, and at least fifty percent nastier—had my left arm.  I tried to shrug them both off, but my imbalance betrayed me and I damned near fell on my face.

“Come this way, John, one foot in front of the other,” Victoria coaxed.

“Where are we taking him?”

“The bathroom.  Down the hall, second door on the right.  That’s it, John.  Try not to fall down.”

“You sure this is worth the trouble?  Why don’t we just let him drink himself to death and be done with him?”

“Can’t.  Not yet.  He owes me and I plan to collect no matter how long it takes,” Victoria said.

“I don’t owe you shit,” I said.  Well, that’s what I meant to say.  I can’t swear to what Victoria heard coming out past my lips.  If a person drinks most of a bottle of Irish whiskey and passes out, that person will not be cold sober when he’s awakened by a mad woman and her daughter beating on his front door four or five hours later.  And here’s another fact to file away: The taste of morning-mouth after throwing down vast quantities of booze in an all-night bender is not improved by the passage of that whiskey back up the other way.

I felt like crap warmed over.  The hall was whirling, my stomach cramping, my head pounding, and it was too bright for me to open my eyes all the way.  I mostly staggered down the hall, squinting and ricocheting off the walls, kept from crumpling to my knees by the two women.

“Step up, John.  Lift your foot, get into the tub.  That’s it, now the other foot.  Okay, Sharon, hold him up while I turn on the water.”

Suddenly, I was blasted with ice cold water from the shower.  I sputtered, trying to not drown, and soon had the shivers.  The women both held me again, keeping me in the frigid spray.

“Help me get his shirt off,” Victoria said.  The two of them stripped me from the waist up, then I felt one of them unbuckle my belt and open my fly.

“It’s fine to wash this idiot down with cold water,” Sharon said, “but half the spray is soaking me.”

“Just keep holding him,” Victoria said.  “Damn.  We should have taken his shoes off before we put him in the tub.  Lift your foot, John.”

I struggled to comply.  I’ve no idea why, but maybe I thought they’d let me out of this icy blast if I cooperated.  Damn, Sharon is strong.  I could whip her if I was sober.  I’m a construction worker, not some sissy executive.  I work hard for a living and have the body to prove it, but in my current state, I could not have escaped the grasp of a little old grandmother.

“No, don’t do that,” I said (I think) when Victoria yanked my pants down and off.  I reached for them, but she just slapped my hands out of the way.  Next went my boxers.  I now stood naked in front of these two women.  I don’t mind being naked in front of women I like, especially if I’ve had a drink or two, but I didn’t like these women.  Not even a little.  And the cold water was doing nothing to make my equipment appear substantial.

“He sure has nothing to write home about,” Sharon said.  “No wonder Suzzie left the sissy.”

“Okay, hold him, Sharon.  I’m going to sober him up a bit.”

Sharon had my arm in a hammer lock, holding me in place against the end of the stall.  Ice cold water cascaded over my shoulders and down my back.  Next thing I know, SMACK!! somebody smacked me in the ass.  Hard.  I blinked the water out of my eyes and saw Victoria standing next to the tub swinging a long-handled bathbrush.

Cold water may sooth the bruises after a beating, but it was doing nothing to decrease the sting of that brush’s impact.  SMACK!!  The bitch was taking her time, going for maximum impact, and maximum sting is what I felt.  SMACK!!

I struggled to get free.  Pushed against the wall with my free hand, but my feet slid out from under me and I fell hard to my knees, my head just missing the tub’s water spout on the way down.  Sharon rode me down, not releasing her armlock.

“Even better,” Victoria said, and took a huge overhand swing at my ass with that wooden brush.  SMACK!!  The tub is not long enough for me to straighten my legs and lower my ass out of the target zone, and Sharon was having no trouble keeping me in place.  SMACK!!

I was yelling and struggling, but I could get no purchase in that slippery wet tub.  The water was streaming down on me and it was icy cold, but the fire Victoria was lighting in my ass had all my attention.  SMACK!!

Victoria probably delivered at least two dozen hard spanks before she quit.  My struggles ceased; I had given up, just sobbed and pleaded for her to stop.

“Okay, you can let him up now,” Victoria said to Sharon.

Sharon released her grip on my arm and turned off the shower while I raised up and sat back on my heels.  Turns out that was a mistake, so I raised up higher, relieving the pressure of my heels against my bruised backside.

I glanced up at Sharon, who was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, now soaked and clinging to her bra underneath.  Her nipples had hardened and poked out against the material.  In a wet T-shirt contest, she may have won despite the bra.  Like her mother and her older sister, Sharon is very well endowed.  Under normal circumstances, my member might have sprung to attention, but it still felt coated with ice.

“Do you have control of your faculties now, John?” Victoria asked.  “Do I need to apply this attention getter any more to get you to listen to me?” she added, brandishing the bathbrush.

“No, you have my attention.  Why the fuck are you here?  In case you haven’t heard, your daughter is divorcing me.  Your status of mother-in-law is about to end.  So, take your act and inflict it on Harry Belcher; the two of you deserve each other.  I’ll even donate that bathbrush so you can apply it to his ass.  It’s one of the few things Susan left behind.  I’m sure it was an oversight, so take it and get out.  This is still my house, and you are not welcome here.”

“Are you through?  Have you finished your little tantrum?  Should I give you a few more minutes, or are you ready to listen to why I’m here and why I took the trouble to sober you up?”

I didn’t like it, but she was making no move to leave and the shivers were setting in.  “Hand me a towel,” I managed through my chattering teeth.

Sharon tossed me a washcloth off the towel rack.

“Funny.  The towel, please.”

“Go ahead, dear,” Victoria said.  “Give him the towel.”  To me she said, “Dry yourself off, but don’t get to your feet or step out of the tub until we’ve completed our discussion.”

I considered lunging out of the tub and tackling the bitch, but with the slippery footing and two fairly strong women watching my every move, I rejected the idea.  Plus, they were clothed, and I was naked.  There is something about that arrangement that makes a man feel vulnerable.  I’d hate to think where Victoria might swing that heavy bathbrush if I tried to assault her and her daughter physically.

Sharon tossed me the towel, and I used it to dry myself.  Then I wrapped it around my shoulders to get warm.  That cold water, on top of the hangover, really sapped the strength from my body.

“Alright, pay attention now,” Victoria said.

I looked at her but said nothing.

“We are here because you owe me money.  Forty-two thousand, eight hundred ninety-two dollars and change, as of yesterday.  And I am here to arrange collection.”

“The hell I do.  I’ve never taken a dime from you.”

“That is the amount you owe on the loan I made your wife so you could buy this pleasant house.”

“I never borrowed…  Wait a minute.  Are you telling me that the money Susan came up with for the house was actually a loan from you?  She told me it was some kind of dowry or savings or something, not a loan.  Well, if she still owes you money from a loan that she took from you without my knowledge, you need to go talk to her.  I never would have accepted your money, and as far as I know, I never did.”

“I thought you might say that, but here’s the thing.  You’ve been making monthly payments of one hundred dollars to Barrymore Investments in the form of checks from your account with your electronic signature.  Stu Barrymore is my lawyer, and those checks have been applied to the interest on the loan I made to you and Susan.  They constitute clear evidence that you did know about the loan and have acknowledged your responsibility to pay it back.”

“Barrymore Investments?  Susan told me that was a contribution to a savings plan in her name.  I didn’t see the harm in contributing that small amount to keep her happy.  She never mentioned a debt to her mother.”

“Think you can prove that?  In court?”

“Screw it.  I’m going to have to sell the house and declare bankruptcy, anyway.  You can just get in line and sing for your money along with all the other creditors your daughter saddled me with over the twelve years we’ve been married.  I expect when the dust settles, I’ll be able to pay about twenty cents on the dollar for the lot of you to fight over.”

“Got it all figured out, have you?  Well, you’re not going to sell this house, and you’re not going to declare bankruptcy.  Because, if you do, my lawyer is going to go after your employer and they will drop you like a wet turd.  And any other employment you might seek?  We’ll blanket the industry.  You’ll have trouble getting a job flipping burgers by the time we’re through with you.”

The sky was falling.  I felt like I was in a hole so deep I would never see the sun again.  Damn Susan and her entire damned mercenary, fucking family.  I sagged back onto my heels; remembered why I did not want to do that, and rose back up.

“I’m going to get out of the tub now,” I said, feeling and sounding utterly defeated.

“You may do that, and put on some clothes.  We’ll be waiting for you in the family room where I’ll lay out your options.  Just so you know, they’re not great, but probably not as bad as you think.”

“He puked all over the family room,” Sharon said.

“Right.  We’ll be waiting at the kitchen table.  Be quick.  Don’t make me come back to get you.”

I finished toweling off, then went to the bedroom to get dressed.  I wasn’t quick.  Depression had set in, and nothing seemed worth any effort.  But I guess I didn’t take too long, because the ladies were still at the table when I entered the kitchen.  I pulled out a chair to sit down, forgetting, once again, why that was not a good idea.

“Don’t sit,” Victoria ordered.  “Stand there at the end of the table.”  When I did so, that put Victoria seated to my left and Sharon to my right.

“Now, John, I will tell you how your life is about to change.  You will remain silent until I am done.  If you understand me, nod your head.”

I suppose I should have taken that opportunity to usher the two women out the door, and gone ahead with Plan A, bankruptcy.  Now that I was dressed, I did not feel nearly as vulnerable.  But, what the hell, might as well wait and see what the old hag has to say.

“Once you sign those divorce papers, you will immediately owe my daughter her share of the house’s value.  That is on top of all the other debt already in your name.  Selling the house is no solution.  I know that you have no savings.  I doubt you even have the wherewithal to come up with the first and last month’s payment on a decent apartment in this town.  So, you will not sell the house.”

“But…”

Victoria glared at me and held up a finger to silence me.  It worked.  Maybe I was still remembering how expert she is with a bathbrush.  When it was clear that I would not interrupt further, she continued.

“What you will do instead is borrow the additional seventeen thousand from me to cash out my daughter.”

“What?!  Do you think I’m crazy, or is it just you that’s the crazy one?  How do you expect me to ever pay you back?  And besides, I’d rather be in hock to the mob than take a single dime from you.”

“Are you done?” Victoria said.

“Yes, I’m done.  In fact, we’re both done.  Get the hell out of my house.  Come to think of it, how did you get in in the first place?”

“We are not done, young man, and as to your second question, Susan gave me her key and I’ve had another copy made for Sharon.”

Sharon was sitting there across from her mother, looking at me with a smirk on her face.  I wanted to slap her.  Hell, I wanted to slap the both of them.  Then the strangest thing happened, I pictured myself in a compact, greasy kitchen flipping burgers.  (“Will you have fries with that?”)  So, I stood there thinking once again about my life insurance policy.

“As I said, I will loan you the money to cash out my daughter, on the same terms as the existing loan, and you will pay me back in two ways.  First, you’ll raise your monthly payment to Barrymore Investments to two-hundred-fifty dollars.  With my daughter out of your life, I expect that you will have enough excess income to make that change.”

More than enough, I thought.  Way, way more than enough.

“I will have my accountant go over your finances and set you up on a budget so you will simultaneously pay off your other creditors in a reasonable timeframe.

Damn, I thought, that will take a bite out of my beer money.

“Second, Sharon will move in with you here to keep an eye on my investment and…”

“What?!  No way!  I just said goodbye to Susan.  I will not have her little sister underfoot.  You can forget that.”

“As I was saying,” Victoria said more forcefully, “Sharon will move into this house to keep an eye on my investment and to keep you motivated to meet your responsibilities.  She will have complete authority to monitor your financial dealings, and also monitor other aspects of your lifestyle.  It will be up to her, but I expect that your drinking days are over, for starters.”

“Right.  So, she’s to be my babysitter in this grand scheme of yours?”

“You may think of it in those terms if you like.  I was thinking more along the lines of a House Mother.  She will have authority over you, much as your mother did when you were an obnoxious little boy, and she will live here in this house.  Do not expect her to take on the role of wife, she is not your wife and will not take care of you as though she were.  You will do the bulk of the work around this place, much as you would have to do if she were not here, so her presence should make little difference in that regard.”

“So, I’m to clean up after her, am I?  And I suppose I’m to fix her meals and wipe her ass when she takes a dump.”

“The former, almost certainly,” Victoria said.  The latter would be up to her.”

I glanced at Sharon and her smirk was now a grin, but she still had an evil look in her eyes.

“In return for Sharon’s room and board, I will deduct an additional seven-hundred-fifty dollars per month from your debt to me.  Provided,” she said, raising a finger, “the reports she gives me each month on your industry and deportment are satisfactory.”

I stood there thinking, This woman is absolutely bonkers.  Why in the world would she think I’d be willing to agree to these terms?  On the other hand, bankruptcy would not get the weight of debt completely off of my shoulders.  A judge would likely set up a garnishment of my salary until whatever debt he stuck me with was met.  And at burger flipping wages, that was likely to be a long time, a very long time.  I guess her plan would be better than committing suicide for the death benefits.  Well, hell.  My life insurance probably doesn’t pay out for suicides, and I’d have no access to the money even if it did.  What am I thinking?!  I’m not going to kill myself just so my ex-wife can get her money.  And if Victoria really paid her off, I wouldn’t have to put up with her nagging for her share of the settlement.  That’s a plus.  Yeah, a plus.  I can’t believe I’m even considering this offer.

I looked at Sharon again.  I’ll bet she could be a right pain in the ass.  But hell, she’s just a girl.  I’ve got what, six years on her?  That’d make her twenty-eight; that looks about right.  I should be able to handle her.  Worse comes to worst, I’ll just ignore her, or throw her out and say fuckit to her momma’s deal.  I could stand flipping burgers… ‘til I go on Social Security when I’m sixty-five.  Shit.

“All right, you win.  Draw up the agreement so I can read it first, and if it’s as you say, I’ll sign.  I should have my head examined, but I’ll sign.”

“Very well, John, now you may take your seat at the table,” Victoria said as she reached into her purse, pulled out a sheaf of papers and slid them my way.

“Confident, weren’t you,” I said.  I winced when I put weight on my ass, but it wasn’t too bad.

“It’s really your only option, John, and a generous one on my part.  Read these over carefully, initial each page at the bottom and sign it at the end.  The agreement is between you and me, so Sharon can act as notary.  She’s licensed in this state.

“Sharon, go get the divorce agreement.  John might as well take care of that at the same time.”

I skimmed through Victoria’s contract.  The parts related to a “third party to be appointed by the creditor”—that would be Sharon—having responsibility for and authority over my actions were a little more absolute and all-encompassing than I expected, as were the rights that third party had to provide discipline and correction “up to and including corporal punishment at his/her discretion.”  Not sure what all of that means, but I can always cancel this damn contract if the bitch gets to be too much of a pain.  Or… maybe not.  I’d just reached the section on Breach of Contract, and the penalties were substantial.  Still, she’s just a kid.

“I assume you have a pen with you,” I said.

Victoria handed me a fancy Montblanc and said, “You assume correctly.  Make sure you understand all the details before you sign, John.  I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings.”

“Right.”  I initialed the bottoms of three pages, signed at the bottom of the fourth, and slid the whole thing over to Victoria for her signature.  She signed and passed it to Sharon, who filled in the Notary portion to make it all official.

I did the same with Sharon’s lawyer’s divorce agreement, taking less time to read it all.  Sharon was right that there was no way I could stand up to her legal team in court.  Sharon also notarized that, and said, “I’ll see that you get copies of both of these,” as she put them each in folders and slid them into a briefcase she’d parked under the table.  They’d come prepared.  Damn, I hate to be predictable.

“Now what?” I asked.  “Are we done?  I’m about ready for a bottle of aspirin and a nap.”

“Not yet, John.  Stand up, please, drop your pants and put this on.”  Sharon slid a small box across the table to me.

“Drop my pants?  What is this?”  I opened the box to find it contained a stainless-steel chastity cage.  “I’m not going to wear this,” I said.

“Yes, you are,” Sharon said.  “It’s called out as a condition of my residence in this house in the contract you just initialed and signed.  And, if you give me any more lip, I’ll invoke the clause on discipline.”  Sharon reached back into her briefcase and withdrew a heavy, flat-backed, wooden hairbrush.”

“I’m not about to let you live under the same roof with my daughter without taking simple precautions,” Victoria said.  “Seeing your reaction, it would appear that ‘babysitter’ was the more accurate description after all.  Who would guess you’d act like a naughty boy who didn’t get his way after agreeing in writing to be obedient to my designated third party?”

She was enjoying this.  They both were.  So, do I launch myself across the table, beat them both senseless and tear up the contract I just signed?  I dropped my pants to the floor, turned my back to the women and shoved my boxers down just far enough.

“Turn back around, John,” Sharon said.  “I want to witness this so I can assert that you met this requirement under the terms of the contract.”

I gritted my teeth. I would have had to turn back to get the device out of its package anyway, and they both saw me naked in the shower.  I turned to face them, put my dick and my testicles through the ring one at a time, then forced my dick into the steel mesh tube.  It was a tight fit now that I was no longer under a cascade of frigid water.

When I had everything put together, Victoria handed me a small but sturdy looking padlock, which I put in place and closed with an ominous click.  “I’ll be your keyholder, John.  If you’re a good boy, do your chores and listen to Sharon as you should, I’ll let you free on a regular schedule.  Let’s say, every two weeks.”

“Two weeks!  You gotta be shittin’ me.”

“Perhaps you’re right.  Let’s make it three weeks.  Unless you’d prefer four?”

I bit down on the scathing response I wanted to make, took a breath and said, “No, three weeks.  But listen.  We’re all adults here.  Three weeks without a little relief is a very long time for a man in his prime.  How about I only wear this cage when I’m actually here, living in this house with your daughter?  There really is no need for me to wear it while I’m out on the job.  I’m an honorable man, and certainly no danger to your daughter when I’m not even here.”

“I don’t think that would work, John.  Practically, you’d have to have access to the key to remove the device whenever you left the house.  No, I don’t see that working at all.  I’ll keep the key which is safely hidden in my condo, and I’ll bring it out when it is needed three weeks from today.  If, that is, I receive positive reports from my daughter in the meantime.”

“There’s just one more thing,” Sharon said, rising from her chair and turning it around to face into the room.  “I’ve decided that you need an initial demonstration of my powers of discipline under the terms of the contract.  Leave your pants where they are, come over here and lay over my knee.”

“No way.  I’m not going to let you hit me with that damned brush.  Besides, my stomach is still upset.  I’m likely to puke all over your foot if I lay over your lap.”  Actually, my head was still suffering a throbbing ache and a pressure behind the eyes, but my stomach had settled.

“No excuses,” Sharon said.  “Do as you’re told, or I’ll up the ante.”

“What are you going to do, tell your mommy?  Oh, she’s right here, isn’t she?”

Sharon reached back into her briefcase and lifted out a heavy leather strap about eighteen inches long with the end split down eight inches forming two tails.

“Damn, woman.  What else have you got in that magic case?”

“You’ll no doubt find out in time.  So, over my knee for the hairbrush or over the back of that chair for the strap.  I’d choose the first option if it were me, but it isn’t me.  So, take your pick, but do it quick or I’ll exercise both options.  That might be the wisest course, give you a sample of both.”

Damn this is embarrassing, pants at my ankles, my junk in prison and two women watching me like a side of prime beef.  Well hell, she’s just a kid.  That hairbrush in her hand isn’t nearly as scary as the bathbrush in her mother’s.  Wish I wasn’t already bruised back there.  Damned contract!  Damned ex-wife!  Damned in-laws!  I took a breath, then folded my body over Sharon’s left thigh.

“I have a little surprise for you, John,” Sharon said as she used her right leg to clamp my legs in place, reached over me to grab my right wrist and force it up behind my back.  “I just love to spank a man’s ass.”  SMACK!  “In fact, the ass is really”  SMACK!  “the only part of a man that interests me.”  SMACK!  “There are just so many”  SMACK!  “entertaining and painful”  SMACK!  SMACK!  “things a woman like me”  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  “can do with a deserving male ass.”  SMACK!  “I can do things to yours”  SMACK!  “that you’ve probably never even heard of.”  SMACK!  “And it’s all perfectly legal”  SMACK!  “thanks to that contract you signed.”  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

“You seem to have Johnny well in hand,” Victoria said, “so I’ll be off now.  Remember, Johnny boy, you’ll see my little gold key three weeks from today, provided Sharon gives you a satisfactory report.”

SMACK!  “Ow!  Not so hard!”  Damn!  I am so screwed.  SMACK!

END

Copyright © 2020 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.