As part of the Spank or Treat festivities last month, I offered a contest on my blog: one randomly chosen commenter would receive a custom-written short-short spanking story of his or her choice. The lucky winner was the lovely Cara Bristol. I asked Cara what she would like for her story, and she had only a few requests: F/M, characters named Caroline and Zack, and to be very clear that the story is completely fictional. “I’ll let you run with it,” she said.
With names like Caroline and Zack, the story wrote itself. This was my first foray into F/M, and it certainly was delightful. I will never see Cara quite the same way again! 😀
I do have one disclaimer. Cara pointed out that the company Caroline calls should be a water jug company like Sparklett’s rather than Culligan. It’s just that “Hey, Culligan Man!” sounds nicer than “Hey, Sparklett’s Man!” Sparklett’s doesn’t have the same name recognition.
(Celeste wanted the title “Cara Gets New Jugs,” but this charming suggestion was politely ignored by the Cara in question. I can’t imagine why.)
I hope you enjoy the story!
P.S. An additional disclaimer: Governing Ana and Anastasia Vitsky can not guarantee that calling your local water jug company will have the same results as in the story. But if it does, please let us know which company and where. 🙂
“Hey. New kid. What’s your name again?”
“Got a delivery for you. 55431 Bristin Road. Make it snappy.”
“Bristin…That’s Caroline Roberson, isn’t it? How come Zack gets to go? I’m available.”
“Yeah, me too!”
“I’ve been here for five years. I should get it!”
“All right boys, settle down. She said she wanted someone new. Trent, Jordan, Asher…here are your assignments.”
Asher cuffed Zack across the back of the head. “She might want someone new this time, but we’ll see how long you last.”
Zack shook his head as he got into his delivery truck. Last? How hard could it be to change a water bottle?
The door opened before he got out of his truck.
“My,” she called, “it’s a hot day, isn’t it?”
Zack hefted the clear blue plastic jug over his shoulder in one effortless motion. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. She smiled as he entered the doorway, her eyes lingering appreciatively on his arm.
“Come inside before you melt,” she urged, laying a cool hand on his bicep. She stepped behind him to close the door. A faint scent of gardenias hung in the air wherever she walked. Zack shrugged a bit as he followed her through a long hallway to the sky-lit kitchen. A jaunty water jug, nearly empty, sat atop the white cooler in the corner.
She handed him some sanitizer cloths. “Please keep it clean,” she said. Her bright-pink sundress clung distractingly to her curves as she turned to the fridge. Bent over as she searched through the shelves, her delectable bottom outlined through the silky fabric. Zack had difficulty concentrating on wiping and removing the plastic seal from the new jug.
“Oh!” she exclaimed straightening up with a juice pitcher in her hand. “Silly me. You need to unplug the cooler when you change the jugs. I’m always afraid my boys will mix the water and electricity.”
Zack followed her pointing finger to lean behind the cooler. The plug was just out of reach in the lower corner. He was straining to reach in between the wall and cooler and trying to reach to plug when he felt unmistakable fingers against his rear end. Pushing him just far enough to unplug the cooler. His eyes bugged out at the touch, but he forced himself to focus on the task. After removing the empty jug and fastidiously wiping the spout clean several times until meeting her satisfaction, he put the new jug in place. The water bubbled and gurgled as it settled into its new home.
“Don’t forget to plug the cooler back in,” she reminded, and Zack felt his heart race. Was she going to…would she? How could he reach? He turned his deeply red face to the corner as he fumbled for the cord. It was too far down to reach. God help him, he’d have to bend further over…
“Need some help?” came the purring offer even as her hand rested again on his rear. Pushing firmly again as her other arm steadied his back. “Can you reach?”
“Not…yet…ma’am…” he managed to answer between heavy breathing.
“Let me help you,” she answered, raising her knee just far enough to serve as support as she pushed him until he was resting over it. The extra few inches were enough for him to reach the cord and plug it into the socket. The water cooler whirred to life. He knew he should stand up, but he was afraid that he would be unable to do so. She showed no signs of letting him up.
“What is your name?” she asked, her hands still holding him in place.
He wasn’t sure what his name was.
“Oh my, do we have a shy boy? Maybe you don’t like it when I”…she gave a small slap to the back pocket of his jeans…”do this. Do you?”
His cheeks burned. “Yes! Ma’am.”
Another slap, followed by a slow, sensuous circling of his buttocks. “Yes you don’t like it? Or yes you do like it?”
Why did her questions have to be so hard? Why did everything have to be so hard? He was perspiring as heavily as if he were outside in the 95-degree sun.
“Like it. Mrs. Robinson. Ma’am,” he answered in short, jerky breaths. Breathing and speaking at the same time was too much to expect of him at the moment.
Still more rubbing and then a dismayed quiet laugh.
“I haven’t even offered you something to drink. Where are my manners?” She drew him backward and upward, standing him on his feet as she went to take a glass out of the cupboard. She poured a generous amount of juice into the glass and offered it to him, but he didn’t see because he was still facing the corner. He wasn’t sure if facing her was a good idea right then.
She held out the glass to his back. “Why, have I offended you? Hurt your feelings? I’m so sorry…what was your name again?”
“Zack,” he whispered, turning around slowly. His voice was little boy but the stirrings inside were anything but. His eyes met hers briefly before they dropped to the floor.
“Zacky,” she cooed, setting the spurned juice glass on the counter. “You didn’t like my help?” A glint of red-gold hair shaken and settling into its perfectly groomed layers around the gold-rimmed pearls in her ears.
“I liked it,” he admitted, his eyes on the floor. He could feel the heat rising on the back of his neck up to his ears.
“Then,” she said serenely, “perhaps I should remind you that my name is Mrs. Roberson. Not Robinson.”
“S-s-sorry ma’am,” he bleated. Idiotically.
She raised a white strappy sandaled foot to prop her leg on a chair and motioned for him to go toward her. Uncertainly, he shuffled forward. He made no protest as she lowered him across her knee. He gripped the back of the chair praying not to make a fool of himself.
A hand came down again. Harder this time. He struggled to remain perfectly still. For a few frustratingly all-too-short minutes, he knew bliss formerly unknown.
As he walked back to his truck, he didn’t notice the hundred-dollar bill she had tucked into his pocket. Instead he thought only of how to make sure he was the one sent the next time Mrs. Roberson made her call.
“Hello? This is Caroline Roberson. My lawn sprinklers stopped working again. I don’t think the last boy did the job properly. Can you send a new one this time?”