The Jade Brooch

Annabelle entered the small shop on Dauphine, east side of the French Quarter. A remote jingle announced her presence. An attractive clerk fussing behind the jewelry counter looked up. Smiled. Sparsely staged collections of couture dresses flanked the quietly hued space. Each designer's latest propped and lit like sculpture. Another patron, a tall, too skinny blond in dark shades, lingered by the Dior. The clerk, precisely dressed and accessorized, about forty with jet black hair in a bun, properly ignored all from behind the arced counter .

Annabelle headed for the Vera Wang collection and worked her way around the store perimeter. She looked for something sexy, mood setting, flattering as second skin. A black evening dress with a little something extraordinary was her preconception, but she was open to anything dazzling. She would know it when she saw it.

At the Versace display, a slinky number in plummy black caught her eye. Plucking out her size, Annabelle draped the garment in front of her full-figure, well toned at thirty-seven years, and scrutinized the potential in a tall, elliptical wall mirror.

The dress consisted of horizontal bands of silk charmeuse finely stitched together about a hand's width apart. Delicate black lace substituted the bottom three bands, drawing the layered rhythm to a coda just above the knee. Across the slightly angled top, a narrow black velvet strip capped the strapless piece.

Perfect.

She circled the jewelry case en route to the fitting room. To complete the vision, she picked out a pair of locally crafted platinum hoop earrings. She searched further. There must be something else.

The clerk drifted over. "May I help you?"

A little nervous, Annabelle replied, "I'm looking for a brooch. Just a small something. Maybe in...jade?"

The clerk's eyes dropped and rose almost imperceptibly, assessing her customer. Annabelle looked like any other tourist, dressed in baggy sweats and sneakers, though her curly hair was freshly styled. The clerk nodded and pulled out a striking piece from a small wooden box, a diminutive jade scarab. She ceremoniously placed it onto a velvet cushion.

"Oh, yes. That's it," Annabelle said. "It's exactly what I need."

The clerk raised an eyebrow. "The cost is ... substantial."

"I deserve it. I really need this."

The clerk smiled. "Excellent. I admire a woman willing to bend to little indulgences."

Annabelle picked it up and nodded toward the fitting room. "May I?"

The clerk reached for the pin. Her fingertips grazed Annabelle's hand. "It's a rare piece. I'll need a deposit."

"Of course." Annabelle reached into her purse and pulled out a one hundred dollar bill.

"Will you need assistance?" the clerk queried as she placed the bill in an antique cash box.

Annabelle declined and carried her finds to the fitting room to begin her transformation.

She kicked off her tennies and stripped off her frumpy sweats. Like a chrysalis, the shed togs revealed metallic black stockings clasped to a black lace garter belt, matching panties, and unfettered, firmly conical breasts. Over her head slid the dress and with a deft tug on the side zipper she became ... a vision.

She pushed in the earrings as she read a sign next to the mirror. "This fitting room may be under observation by female staff." Annabelle turned her back to the mirror and positioned the brooch first above her right breast, then her left. At the last moment, she nervously dropped it into her cleavage. With a deep exhalation, she left the fitting room and strut to the tri-part mirror.

"Good afternoon," a warm baritone intoned behind her. "Welcome to Strictly Fashion."

Annabelle's gaze shifted from her admittedly fetching visage in the mirror to a darkly attired figure standing near her. She turned and surveyed his sharp single buttoned black suit highlighted by a crimson shirt and complexly hued tie. The only other adornment was a stainless Rolex and shiny leather wingtips.

"What do you think?" she inquired coyly.

"Very fine indeed," he responded after a beat. "Exceptional."

Annabelle's skin suffused with a rosy blush.

"If you please," he said as he handed her a pair of pointy-heeled black sling-backs he had behind his back. "Consider these."

'Oh, they're gorgeous!" She slipped them on, second skin. "They're just my size. How did you...?"

"Greta, my clerk, has a keen eye for the female form."

Annabelle spun in a slow circle, admiring the new addition in the mirror. "I love them."

"Perhaps," he continued, "I might suggest a slight tuck at the small of the back."

"Really?" Annabelle looked over her shoulder at the mirror. "You're right. It does pucker a little. Wow, you're good."

The man tipped a slight nod of acknowledgement. "I can pin it. Then see what you think."

"If it's not too much trouble.."

"Let's adjourn to my office. I'll fix you right up." A puzzling grin figured his face as he gestured her ahead of him.

Annabelle brushed past him, noting a subtle musk of Aramis. She didn't realize until she was inside the room that it was quite an elegantly appointed office with a mahogany desk and bookcases along an entire wall. A modern leather sofa stretched the long leg of a seating ell anchored by a black and chrome Barcelona chair. Several French fashion magazines fanned across a black leather coffee table.

She heard the door click shut and the tumble of the lock. Alarmed, she turned.

"One, um, trifling matter," the man proffered, his back against the door.

"Y-yes?" Annabelle uttered meekly.

"The brooch, if you please."

She swallowed hard. "Sorry?"

"You brought a brooch into the dressing room, along with the earrings." He pointed to her right ear. "Where is it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Annabelle said, adopting a defiant stance.

"I thought as much."

The man crossed the room quickly and grabbed her just above the elbow.

"Ow, that hurts."

He dragged her to the sofa, and in one fluid motion sat down while lifting her bodily into the air and turned her over his lap.

"What are you doing?" she gasped as she suddenly found herself staring at the fibers of the intricate rug.

Without a word, he swung his meaty hand into the air and brought it down sharply across her bottom.

She yelped in surprise, "Stop! You can't do that."

"Yes, young lady, I can," he barked as he clamped down her wiggling hips. "You'll answer to my satisfaction."

With methodical rigor, he smacked both her cheeks in quick succession.

"Yeow! Ouch!" Annabelle cried. "This is outrageous."

He responded with a nasty volley of spanks that got Annabelle's legs kicking. She couldn't believe the sting.

"You are absolutely correct, miss," he said sternly, accenting each word with a swat. "Not only is this outrageous, it's ridiculous. You should see yourself, bent over my lap like a naughty school girl." Each firm smack generated a jiggle across her curvy bottom, even in the form-fitting dress. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Now tell me, what-did-you-do-with-the-brooch?"

"S-s-stop. Stop. I don't have it." Annabelle squirmed so much her breasts fell out of her dress, as did the brooch. She quickly pushed it under the sofa while simultaneously struggling to stuff herself back into the dress and thrusting her hand back to prevent the roaring fire from spreading further across her bottom.

To her surprise, he stopped spanking.

"Get up," he ordered.

Annabelle awkwardly righted herself, adjusting her dress as she rose. "I told you I didn't take it."

"Take off your dress," he said simply, his face as hard and cold as granite.

Annabelle's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Sorry?"

"The dress belongs to me. You may no longer wear it."

"Fine, I'll go change."

"No, ma'am. Take it off here."

"You can't make me," she snorted.

"I can, and I will. You have two things of mine. I will now get one back. You have a simple choice." The man stood. "On my desk you will find two implements. If you comply, I will finish off your spanking with that hairbrush." He pointed to an oval shaped, maple brush with a long handle. "A stinger, yes, but nothing like a few swishes of that cane, which I will use if you don't comply while we await the arrival of our fearless men in blue."

Annabelle scanned the desk. A bead of perspiration formed on her brow. With a sniffle, she unzipped the dress and it fell in a puddle at her feet. Remarkably, the man stood unflinching at her scant, incendiary fashion. Had she looked in his eyes, though, she would have seen barely tamed, white-hot hunger.

"Excellent," he said calmly as he scooped the dress from the floor. "And what is your selection then?"

Annabelle turned her downcast face to his desk and reached for the hairbrush. She handed it to him.

"Smart girl." He held out his open hand. "And the brooch?"

Without looking, she pointed to the couch, where a glimmer of silver peeked out from underneath. Without warning, his hand shot out in a sweeping arc and slapped the lower, exposed half of her bottom. The sharp smack was nearly as loud as the yelp that escaped her lips.

"Fetch it," he growled.

She fell to her knees and retrieved the scarab. Sitting back on her haunches, she looked up obediently and handed him the brooch.

"Well, well," the man remarked sardonically. "What have we here?" He took the jewelry and flipped it in the air like a quarter. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Annabelle sighed. "Shit."

"Ah, yes, quite clever. And articulate. I like that in a woman. Now kindly bend yourself over my desk. You have now earned yourself a bare-bottomed spanking, my princess."

She started to object, but then covered her mouth. He stepped back and watched her meekly bend over the desktop, placing her forearms on the blotter. She lowered her head to her arms and pushed her bottom outward.

The man paused a moment to admire his handiwork. Annabelle's pink cheeks bubbled out of her wedged lace panties. He admired, too, the shapely curves of her stocking covered thighs and calves. The man picked up the hairbrush and slid the broad, flat side over her naked, goose bumped flesh. He let her agonize a little longer about what was to come. A quiver rippled through her body.

He arced the brush away from her and Annabelle cried out, "Wait...don't!"

He stopped an inch from her twin mounds and exclaimed, "Good gracious, my dear, you're right." With his free hand, he yanked her panties to mid-thigh. "What was I thinking?" Before she could react, he renewed her spanking with a distinctly more severe bite.

"Oh, oh God, that kills."

He expertly delivered a dozen swats, deftly bouncing the wooden implement rather than slamming it against her naked buns.

"You can not walk into stores and simply take what you please," he said. "This is the behavior of spoiled brats and spoiled brats get soundly spanked."

Her hand drifted back again and he easily nabbed her wrist and pinned it against her lower back. For her efforts, she received six sharp swats. An amorphous rose tattoo decorated each summit of her wiggling mounds.

With his hand on her back, he moved closer and she felt the itchy wool of his trousers brush against her thigh. She also noticed a firm bump that she wriggled against with each swat. She felt a bit light-headed as a torrent of long pent up emotions and unexplainable desires flooded to the surface. An explosion of remorse erupted and she cried out, "I'm sorryyyyy. Ow, Ow. Please stop. I took the...ow...brooch. I promise I...ouch, ouch... won't steal again. I... oweee...I promise."

Four final smacks struck her burning backside, just above her thighs. She nearly crawled onto the desk to avoid the last.

When he stopped, the man caressed her hot skin, lightly dragging his fingernails across the prickly fire. She moaned and pressed against him, arching her bottom higher, wanting...something...more.

Never breaking his professional demeanor, he helped her stand and held her close, stroking her back and shoulders until her sobbing ceased. "You may purchase the dress and the hoops, if you wish," he said matter-of-factly, "but of course, the brooch must remain."

"Thank you," Annabelle said and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. With all modesty gone, she stepped back against the desk. She displayed for him. "Is there anything else I can do to amend my behavior?"

He turned stoically away and looked at the door. She understood. Annabelle collected her dress and slipped it back on. He opened the door and, with a brief touch on his arm, left his office. As she entered the fitting room, she noticed the clerk standing at the front door turning the open/closed sign. She realized, thankfully, the store had been closed.

After she folded up her sweats, she tried to walk confidently in her new attire to the jewelry case. Blushing furiously, she handed the scarab to the cashier. As Annabelle paid for the other articles, she noticed the clerk's blouse was mis-buttoned. She smiled, remembering the mirror in the fitting room. What other avenues of sight were scattered throughout the store? In the office?

As she paid for her dress, Annabelle handed the clerk her business card. "Call me," she said. "I would like to speak with you later...young lady."

The clerk almost dropped the change.

"Yes, ma'am," she stammered.

With a jingle, the front door opened. A shapely woman entered in an exquisitely tailored business suit. Annabelle exchanged smiles with the clerk and turned to leave. She lingered a little at a few of the displays, truly admiring the exotic pieces.

Just as she reached the door, she heard the newcomer say to the clerk, "I'm looking for a brooch. Do you have something...in jade?"

THE END