"You damn fool, turn that racket off! Come help me fix something to eat tonight," yelled Lisey up the stairs.
"Lay chilly baby, you know old Live helps me get in a creative little zone," Stockton replied. Or at least she better understand, he thought to himself. He had gotten roughly three chapters into his new book before some writer's block set it, something he felt Lisey remained oblivious to.
"But baby, I just want a little help down here, I thought we could have a nice little dinner with some wine and maybe it would take your mind off everything," she pushed. Pushing was just that, she knew he had been having a tough time and was damn determined to take his mind off it and help him unwind, even if it meant her ass. Figuratively or literally.
"Yeah I'll give you your damn help," he retorted. Might not be the help you are looking for right now little miss, but I'll damn sure help you he allowed himself to indulge. With that, he began his tired trudge downstairs, decked out in what he had begun to call his "Robe of Despair". A tattered old mess of green rag missing its cloth belt from one to many stumble-bum trips into the bathroom followed by haphazard dunks in toilet water as it hung too low to begin with. A trashy looking garment if there ever was one.
"C'mon now sweetie, no need to be snarky with your favoritist girl," she flirtatiously added while batting her loving eyelashes at him, one of many weak-in-the-knee makers she had in her arsenal. That damn robe, she thought, one way or the other I'm getting him out of that and into something much, much better for the both of us tonight. "You know I'm a shortie and can't reach the top shelves, so do you think you could drag your 6'1 frame over here and help me out?"
"Sure puddin', I could use the break anyway, not like I was actually getting anywhere." The sarcasm was almost as alive as they were and not going over well with Lisey. She couldn't stand his sarcasm when all she wanted to do was help and maybe letting him know would be just the ticket to punch.
"Ok, you know, you can be a real ass sometimes, all I am really trying to do is get you away from the damn book so you can clear your head," she started cracking towards the end of what she was saying. "Maybe even spend a little time with me tonight." The longing was obvious.
He had been striking away at that keyboard of his for the past two weeks. Two weeks of no affection for this tender young wife who was so easily romanticized by the idea of shacking up with an "up-and-coming" writer. A writer who hit a nice pile of cash and was now dealing with different stresses involved with both being a provider and hitting deadlines that he never had when he completed his first novel on his own.
"Listen woman," ... she shuddered noticeably ... "that damn book is exactly what is going to keep us from the poor house so why don't you just be a good wife and support me and what I am trying to do or do I have to take matters into my own hands and show you how?" She does not know what she is getting herself into, he thought. One more cranky look-at-me outburst and I'm going to spank the daylights out her.
"W-w-woman?" she tried her best to spit out. "How dare you! You son of a bitch I am your wife and I love you and that's how....."
Before she could finish stammering and pretending not to be both a little scared and undeniably aroused he had taken her in hand and was leading her to a chair he set in the middle of the room.
"What, what the hell are you doing!" she demanded, the sharp grab of his hand on her arm left her blank. She knew what was going to happen, he had threatened her with it before, but she couldn't believe it was actually happening.
"What am I doing? I'm done putting up with your impatient nonsense regarding what I do to keep everything here up and running! I have told you time and time again Lisey that if you didn't start handling what I do with some patience that I was going to put you across my knee and spank you and now I'm damn sure going to!"
Whether her head was spinning faster than the room she might never be able to remember. A woman's first trip over her man's lap can do that to her; the subspace takes over and reality becomes the hazy dream while the line of fantasy is crossed over, never to be returned to and only to be wondered about by those who never jump over it.
"Oh, b-b-but Stockton, honey, I was only trying to help." She was talking, she could hear it, but she barely knew it was her. The inadvertent attempts to squirm off his lap weren't doing anything to stem his proverbial tide either; a rather foreign and slightly uncomfortable poke to her stomach made her wonder...
"Only one but about it baby, and it has nothing to do with words..."
SWAT!
Landing his strong hand firmly on her upraised ass certainly caught her attention, very little chance of conversational resolve now she realized.
"Are you listening to me Lisey?"
SWAT SWAT
