Bottom’s Dream

(This is not what you might think from the title. I wrote it and the denouement in December 2008 while at my attorney’s house in Vegas when I had too much time on my hands and access to far too much alcohol. The comments on the two pieces are fun too though, and you can read them in the archive pages under “Bottom’s Dream” and “Having Escaped The Trite Hackneyed etc.” –Dev)

PROLOGUE

“… it shall be called Bottom’s Dream, because it hath no bottom …”
–    Nick Bottom the Weaver, “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” IV. i.

“BOTTOM’S DREAM”
Devlin O’Neill

Torchlight glared from damp stone walls and illuminated the sinister dungeon. Sinister looking machinery and apparatus, banks of sinister, inexplicable dials and gauges no doubt stolen from Kenneth Strickfaden’s basement, and row upon row of sinister bubbling vats and beakers filled the enormous space.

I blinked foggily at the huge, sinister, slowly rotating exhaust fan in the ceiling above me, and then slowly pulled my head up with aching neck muscles to peer across the torchlit gloom at my sinister lab-coated captor. He gave me a sinister smile.

“Ah, Professor O’Neill, awake at last.”

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“Merely your destruction and that of everything you stand for and hold most dear,” he said. “Are you quite comfortable?”

“Not particularly. The sinister force field that’s holding me is a bit itchy, and just by the way, chloroform is SO 1930s as an abduction tool, or don’t your sinister and brutish minions keep up with the literature?”

“Sinister brutish minions aren’t what they used to be, I grant, but they get the job done. What is it, Professor? Nausea from the chloroform?”

“Yeah, in spades. You got any Tums?”

He turned. “Igor! Fetch the Pepto!”

A sinister one-eyed hunchback cowering behind a mediaeval rack slouched quickly off.

I sneered. “You’re nothing but a trite hackneyed mad scientist.”

He bowed. “My friends call me Trite. You may call me Herr Professor Doctor Scientist.”

“Yeah sure, Doc. So what is it about me and everything I stand for and hold most dear that’s got your sinister panties in such a knot?”

He sighed and clicked his tongue.

“It’s this pseudo-philosophy you espouse in your writings and on your web log, that girls are somehow worthy of and entitled to, well, to cuddling and things of that sort.” He grimaced and spat on the floor. “We both know that girls are bad and wicked and awful and deserve nothing more than to have their backsides beaten, severely and repeatedly if not continuously, especially …”

“Now wait, I never said …”

“Shut up while I’m monologing!”

“Sorry. Didn’t realize. Please continue.”

“Why, you yourself have stated on numerous occasions that all girls are naughty, and naughty girls must be spanked, and yet you not only condone but even encourage your readers and your staff to speak of such ghastly concepts as AFTERCARE with lotions and emollients and so forth, and … and post-spanking HUGS, and perhaps worst of all, hot steamy erotic sex – not even rape, mind you, but the CONSENSUAL sort – once you’ve blistered their bottoms purple!

“This pasty-faced balderdash is diametrically opposed to everything I believe in, and not only that but my best friend and sinister companion from university, Dr. Claude Awful, began reading your blog a while ago and has now dismantled his marvelously sinister dungeon on Elm Street and started attending local spanking parties, where no one at all gets a blistered purple backside! You are a menace to my sinister way of life, Devlin O’Neill, so I intend to terminate yours!”

He reached over and threw a nasty looking switch that turned on a carbon arc spotlight. In its harsh glare 20 feet from where I sat was a girl of around 27, completely naked, held bent over a rough trestle by invisible force fields such as the ones securing me to a rather uncomfortable chair. Clumsy servo gears clanked and whined, and a really ugly and heavy holey wooden paddle attached to a mechanical arm swept around and collided harshly with her plump bottom.

“THIS is the way it’s done, sir!” the evil doctor expostulated. “Forcefully, dispassionately, and preferably by remote control!”

His eyes blazed as he leered at the horrific and sinister paddling in progress, the girl’s screams of pain muffled by a ball gag, and I turned away.

“Oh do look at it, O’Neill! You can’t be that big a hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?”

“I based this diabolical paddling machine’s design on one of your science fiction riffs, as you call that blathering you do, so don’t come all offended sensibilities with me. Ah. Here’s Igor with the medicine. Drink up.”

“Uh, thanks anyway. I’m fine now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If I wanted to poison you I’d simply inject botulism toxin into a vein and watch while your internal organs slowly and painfully shut down. Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“That evil and sinister laugh isn’t nearly as entertaining as you’ve been led to believe, Doc.”

He sneered. “Your false bravado impresses me not, Professor, but I want you in good shape for the picturesquely violent, bloody, and untimely demise I have in store for you, so take the freaking Pepto already!”

I let the hunchback pour pink fluid between my lips but I didn’t say thank you, and he looked a little hurt. The automatic paddle continued its hellish and sinister smacking of the girl’s behind, bruising more than reddening her soft flesh.

“You’re giving Tops a bad name, Doc.”

“It’s YOU who gives us a bad name, with your mewling, pusillanimous approach to discipline! Allowing wicked women to have their wanton way in their public postings!”

“You’ve got quite a knack for alliteration, Doc, and did you know you spit when you yell?”

“Cease taunting me, you arrogant buffoon! You’re no bodice ripper hero, and there is no escape from my lair for you! But before I dispatch you mercilessly and bloodily you will see the love of your life beaten within an inch of hers in front of your very eyes!”

“No kidding? You brought Kitty Eyes here? I’m pretty sure she has a spa treatment today, and she won’t be happy if she misses it.”

“See! See!” His finger wagged and veins stood out on his neck. “Mewling, pusillanimous, and WAY too precious, you pretentious word whore!”

“I’m just saying, Doc, you come between my little girl and a good shiatsu at your peril.”

He growled and slathered unbecomingly for a while, and then turned to thumb an intercom button.

“Bring forth the next victim!”

The nasty looking switch clicked when he shut it off, and the arc light went out, the ferocious claps of wood on flesh ceased, and only the quiet sobs of the unfortunate anonymous girl filled the silence.

His eyes darted back and forth from me to an iron door in the dungeon wall, while he twirled the ends of his mustache and fidgeted. Finally he cleared his throat, picked up a Thunder 5 revolver, arguably the ugliest and most inaccurate handgun ever produced, and brandished it at me.

“You’ll see, O’Neill, you’ll understand before I terminate your vital functions that I’m a very good Top, strict and rigid, and no nonsense, and girls KNOW they’ve been punished when I’m done with them, and … and none of this ridiculous hugging and cuddling and aftercare baloney, believe you me!”

He glanced at his watch and fidgeted some more, then growled and slathered a bit, and pushed the intercom button again.

“The victim, you demented dullards! Where is she?”

With an exasperated sigh he stalked to the iron door and yanked on the handle. While he was doing that I slipped my boot toe through the gap in the force field at floor level and switched off the power strip into which the device was plugged, freeing myself.

The door finally opened with a most satisfying Vincent-Price-movie rusty-hinge squeal, and the two sinister and brutish minions who shanghaied me fell unconscious, face first at the evil doctor’s feet.

Gwen gingerly stepped on their inert bodies with this season’s Manolo Blahniks and slammed the heel of her palm into Trite Hackneyed Mad Scientist’s solar plexus. He dropped as if pole axed, and she held up a finger as she walked briskly toward me.

“Look, Uncle D, I chipped a nail using it to cut through the ropes they tied me up with, and I told them I didn’t like to be tied up but they did it anyway, and wasn’t that mean, Uncle D? And you know I don’t like mean people so you can’t be mad ’cause I hit them on their stupid heads a little bit, can you, and anyway … who’s that?”

I turned from releasing the naked, crying anonymous girl from the paddling apparatus. “You’ll have to ask her when she stops crying.”

“Well put some clothes on her first, Uncle D, and stop hugging her!”

“She needs a hug, Princess. Just look at her bottom.”

“Did you do that?”

“Of course not.”

“Whaddaya mean, of course not? Looks like something you’d do.”

“Not even! Well, not this time.”

“So if you didn’t do it, why are you hugging her and soothing her sorely bruised bare tushy?”

“Can we talk about it after we escape this diabolical dungeon?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Her pouty assent told me that the issue was far from resolved, but just then the evil doctor and his sinister and brutish minions jumped to their feet, and it was all I could do to untangle the crying anonymous girl’s arms from my neck and run to grab the ugly yet inaccurate .45 caliber Thunder 5 from the table where Trite Hackneyed Mad Scientist left it.

“That’s far enough, Trite. We’re leaving now, the girls and I, after we set fire to your evil lair.”

He clamped his fists on his hips and glared at me petulantly. “Could you just for once spare me the cliché, O’Neill?”

“Nope. Worked for Poe, always works for Bond, so a big industrial-strength fire it is, and hopefully a few major explosions.”

“Damn! That’ll make three times this year, and my insurance rates are through the roof already.”

“Sorry. Maybe you can bunk with Dr. Awful while you rebuild, unless you want to go up in smoke along with the dungeon.”

He waved a hand. “Not my style. Do your worst, Professor.”

His foot moved quickly and a hidden latch clicked, and suddenly a trap door opened and the bad guys disappeared through the floor. The door shut again just as quickly, sending the villains down a chute and on hiatus until the sequel.

“Well hell,” I said, and tucked the weapon into my belt.

Gwen crossed her arms. “Really, Uncle D, don’t bring that ugly yet inaccurate weapon home with you, okay? And put some clothes on the crying anonymous girl.”

“But I don’t have anything to … um, okay.”

I tossed the ugly yet inaccurate revolver into a nearby vat of boiling acid, then removed my shirt and wrapped the crying anonymous girl in it. Gwen squeezed my shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, much more heroic with your shirt off, Uncle D. Come on, crying anonymous girl. Kristina and CJ are waiting outside in the Bratmobile.”

“What are those two doing here, Gwen?”

“I triggered my Brat Alert GPS ankle bracelet as soon as I was kidnapped.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss me. “Don’t take too long torching the place.”

“You’ve been giving a lot of orders here, young lady, and I can’t say I like that.”

She bit her lip and shrugged. “Doesn’t saving your life earn me the right?”

“You did not. I had already escaped the sinister scientist’s nefarious device when you came in.”

“Yeah, but I beat up all the bad guys.”

“Only because I wrote it that way.”

“Don’t be pedantic, Uncle D.”

She grinned, and I smiled and kissed her grin.

“Just wait ’til I get you home, little girl.”

“You’re not really gonna spank me, are you?” She pouted when I nodded, then frowned. “Not fair, Uncle D, and anyway I don’t want to see you spanking the other girls, much less cuddling them after.”

“Don’t worry, Princess, you won’t see it.”

She stamped a doe hoof and stormed away, then sparks popped and sizzled, and flames shot from control panels as I overloaded circuits and opened valves to release sinister beakers of volatile liquids.

Gwen herded the crying anonymous girl through the iron door, turned and stuck out her tongue. I returned the salute as huge stones loosed from the ceiling by massive explosions narrowly and picturesquely missed me, then I grabbed the ugly but perhaps not entirely useless holey wooden paddle from the diabolical paddling machine.

Igor cackled and danced joyously amid catastrophic destruction and sent me off with a friendly wave as I followed the girls through wrack and ruin up labyrinthine passageways and into the fresh free air.

EPILOGUE

“It’s an AHKSHUN movie.” –Arnold Schwartzenegger

(And then by popular demand, although I’d already got most of the silliness out of my system …)
“BOTTOM’S DREAM: THE DENOUEMENT”
-Devlin O’Neill

Smoke and flame billowed around us like a George Lucas wet dream as we emerged from the labyrinthine depths of Dr. Trite Hackneyed Mad Scientist’s underground lair and into a disused and decrepit warehouse. The floor was littered with debris and sharp objects so I picked up crying anonymous girl and tossed her over my shoulder. Gwen stopped and glared at me.

“WHAT are you doing, Uncle D?”

“Uh, saving crying anonymous girl’s bare feet from the debris and sharp objects that litter the floor.”

“You also have crying anonymous girl’s sorely bruised bare bottom right next to your face, in case you didn’t notice.”

I pulled the shirttail – my shirttail, in fact – down over crying anonymous girl’s sorely bruised and nicely rounded bare bottom, but it didn’t stay.

“Well, I was going to carry you on the other side, Kitty Eyes, so as not to risk damage to your this season’s Manolo Blahniks.”

“Sure you were, Uncle D, but I’ll be very careful with my shoes, so you need to carry crying anonymous girl somehow that doesn’t involve her tushy being two inches from your eyes, and her naughty bits rubbing your bare shoulder.”

“I do, huh?”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Okay, but you really are asking for it, young lady.”

Anonymous girl, now whimpering more than crying, sighed and clung to my neck when I shifted her off my shoulder and cradled her in my arms. Kitty Eyes smiled as she picked her way through the debris and sharp objects that littered the floor.

“Much better, Uncle D.”

“A lot tougher on my back though.”

“Heroes don’t whine.”

“I know a heroine who’s going to once we get home.”

My comment and toppish snarl impressed her not at all since they were lost beneath the roar of a major underground explosion. We hurried on, dodging glass and bits of metal shaken loose from the upper reaches of the disused and decrepit warehouse.

The street door was locked from the outside, and no amount of kicking with my Durango boot heel even budged it. I had decided to put whimpering anonymous girl down and have a go at it with my shoulder, painful as I knew that would be, when I heard a whirring and crunching behind me.

“Out of the way, Uncle D!”

I stepped aside just in time, and Gwen drove a forklift into the door, smashing it off its hinges and onto the sidewalk.

“Odd they would leave a perfectly good forklift when they abandoned the warehouse.”

Kitty Eyes grinned as she jumped down. “Good thing though, huh? Otherwise I would have had to build an IED out of floor dust, cobwebs, and sheet metal filings.”

I sighed and followed her out into the salt-tanged night air on the seedier side of Boston Harbor. Kristina waved and got out of the passenger’s door of a car parked across the street. I snickered.

“The Bratmobile is a Ford Fiesta?”

“Snicker all you want, Uncle D, but it’s just camouflage. There’s a 4.6 liter supercharged Shelby engine under the hood.”

“No way. It wouldn’t fit.”

“It did when CJ moved the front firewall back three inches.”

“Oh. Um, hi, Kristina.”

“Hi, Dev. You guys all right? We got your Brat Alert, Gwen. Who’s this?”

“Don’t know exactly, but she has a really sore bottom.”

Kristina rolled her eyes. “Geeze, Dev! I’ll get the ice packs.”

Another thunderous explosion rocked the street and blew plywood off the warehouse windows. I put whimpering anonymous girl into the Fiesta’s back seat.

“Do the first aid driving, Kristina. Hi, CJ.”

“Hey, Dev. Is that your latest victim whimpering in the back seat?”

“Not mine. What are you doing in Boston?”

“Selling alpaca wool blankets on the Commons. Why are you here?”

“Long story. Last thing I remember I was watching the water show on the sidewalk in front of the Bellagio, and then I woke up downstairs.”

“No fooling? So you wanna buy a blanket?”

“Later, yeah. Let’s get moving before the whole block goes up.”

“Um …”

CJ looked at Kristina, and Kristina looked at Gwen. She shrugged and took my arm.

“Sorry, Uncle D. Tops can’t ride in the Bratmobile. It’s a rule.”

“So you’re going to leave me stranded in the seediest and at the moment most volatile place in Boston, with no wallet or money, no shirt, and thanks to you, no gun?”

“Silly Uncle D, of course not.” Gwen reached into her bra and retrieved a folded fifty-dollar bill. “I’ve got cab fare.” She pushed Kristina into the passenger’s seat. “Get her some clothes and arnica at the union hall and then take her home.”

Kristina nodded and pulled the door shut. “Her name is Jill. I asked.”

“Jill Hennesy?” I chuckled at Kristina’s puzzled expression. “Never mind. I just thought I recognized this disused and decrepit warehouse from a ‘Crossing Jordan’ episode. Take good care of her, whoever she is.”

CJ switched on the ignition and the little Fiesta rocked with torque from the Shelby engine, and smoke poured off the tires as the car peeled away into the foggy darkness.

I put an arm around Gwen and we ducked into an alley when fire trucks and police cars converged on the scene. There was a tavern three streets inland, and a cab parked in front.

“Will fifty bucks get us to your place, Princess?”

“Sure, Uncle D. Twenty, thirty at most, with tip.”

“Good.” I pointed at the tavern door. “Get me a shot of Glenlivet to go. Make it a double.”

“Uncle D! You don’t need a drink.”

She pulled me toward the cab, and then squeaked when I grabbed her, wrapped her tightly in my arms, and kissed her hard.

“Quit giving me orders, little girl, or shirtless or not, I’ll take you inside and spank your bare bottom in front of God and a dozen drunken Irishmen before I order my own whisky and make you pay for it. Is that understood?”

I squeezed her short-skirted bottom for emphasis and kissed her again, and then gave her a push. She walked two steps, then turned and opened her mouth, but I held up a warning finger and she grumbled as she yanked open the door.

The cabby got out of his car, a cell phone in one hand and a box of Marlboros in the other, his eyes fixed on me. He nodded.

“Rough night, sailor?”

“You could say.”

“Where’s your shirt?”

“Gave it to a homeless guy.”

“Yeah?” He shook a cigarette into his mouth, and then held out the pack. “Smoke?”

“God yes.”

He flicked a Bic and we puffed delicious toxins into the night air. Gwen barged through the tavern door, a plastic cup in her hand, a furious scowl on her face.

“Uncle D!”

The cabby chuckled. “Your niece, huh?”

“It’s a California thing, don’t worry about it.”

“I figured. So where are you two going?”

I took the cup from Gwen and endured the violence that shot from her green eyes as I swallowed heady 12-year-old malt. It burned most agreeably in my throat, and I tossed away the cigarette.

“Tell him, Princess.”

The cabby opened the rear door and endured a few eye daggers of his own as Gwen got in and gave him the address. He grinned at me and took a final puff on the Marlboro before dropping it in the gutter, and then slid behind the wheel.

Gwen squirmed and turned her head when I tried to kiss her, so I concentrated on the whisky. After a minute she looked up.

“You said you wouldn’t smoke around me.”

“Exigent circumstances, Kitty Eyes. You want a sip of this?”

“No! And I hope we have enough to pay this guy, ’cause that’s wicked expensive stuff.”

“If we don’t I’ll give him an IOU and call my attorney in the morning so he can wire me some cash. I should do that anyhow.”

She glared for a few seconds, and then sighed and cuddled my bare chest, her fingers twining thick hair.

“I missed you, Uncle D, and I don’t understand why we can’t ever be together without a lot of scenes and drama and stuff going on.”

“Neither do I, Princess. Just the nature of the beast, I suppose.”

“You’re calling me a beast?”

“I may be calling the paramedics to treat your seriously scorched fanny if you don’t behave.”

She gasped and changed the subject.

“Um … should we call the police about that mad scientist?”

I shook my head and kissed her cheek. “Anybody who can get me from Vegas to Boston overnight without waking me up is way beyond the reach of the Boston PD.”

“But he kidnapped me too, and isn’t kidnapping FBI business?”

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow. What I need right now is a good night’s sleep. After I spank your naughty little bottom, of course.”

Her eyes widened and she glanced at the cabby before turning a baleful glare on me.

“Don’t you dare even think about – “

I stilled her protest with my lips, and kept her quiet until the taxi stopped in front of a townhouse in a much nicer neighborhood than the one we just left. The cabby opened the right rear door from behind the wheel, and smiled when Gwen paid him.

“Thanks, miss, and sorry about what’s gonna happen to your naughty little bottom, but you were kind of rough on him.”

He winked, and Gwen mouthed soundlessly for a second before jumping from the car and running up the walk. I chuckled and shook the cabby’s hand.

“Appreciate the ride, buddy.”

“Any time.” He handed me his card. “And it wouldn’t be the first bare ass spanking I watched in my rearview.”

“Good to know.” I stuck the card in my trouser pocket. “I’ll hang onto this.”

I got out and followed Gwen. She dug a key from under a rock in the garden and opened the door. I shut it behind us, and shivered in spite of the warmth as the chill and adrenaline backlash caught up with me. Gwen wrapped me in her arms and smiled her adorable kitty smile.

“How about I draw us a nice hot bath, Uncle D? And I’ll get your robe first, and you left a bottle of whisky here last time so I’ll get you another drink, and I’ll bet you’re hungry, huh? I’ll make some scrambled eggs and …”

She moaned when I kissed her and squeezed her naughty little bottom with both hands.

“I think you know what’s first on the agenda, Kitty Eyes, so forget the buttering up.”

“Uncle D, no! You can’t, you really truly can’t, not after the horrible day I had, and got kidnapped and chipped a nail and nearly got blown up and … no!”

I tossed her over my shoulder just as I had crying anonymous girl, only this time I paid very close attention to the bottom just inches from my face. Her short woolen skirt slipped away of its own accord to reveal a very cute pair of pink boyshort panties, which she frantically tried to cover up again, but to no avail since I grabbed the only hand she could reach the skirt with, her left, and held it against her thigh, which I also held onto, though that didn’t keep her from scissoring her calves and kicking her ridiculously expensive shoes off her feet and across the living room. I gave her a few sharp swats on her cute pink panties as I carried her toward the stairs.

“Owee! Uncle D!”

“You really truly need to quit telling me no, young lady.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t tell you … not my panties!”

I laughed and tugged the tight little wisp down so I could smack her wriggly bare bottom as I climbed to the loft.

“What did I just say, Kitty Eyes? Don’t. Tell. Me. NO.”

“Ow! Ow! OW! OUCH! Uncle D! This is very undignified, and – and my tummy hurts from your hard muscular shoulder!”

“So when bossy doesn’t work, try flattery?”

“No! I mean I’m not! Your shoulder really is hurting my tummy so put me down! Please?”

“Very well.” I dropped her onto a high four-poster, and she grabbed for her undies as she bounced on her back. “Now, now, Princess, you won’t need your panties for a while so I’ll just take them off.”

“No! I mean please! I – I – I – Uncle D!”

The little wisp of pinkness floated into the corner when I slung it, and she skittered like an upside down crab toward the headboard but I snatched her by both ankles and dragged her to where I could catch her, picked her up and plopped her facedown over my lap as I sat on the bedside.

I wrapped her waist with my left arm, snugging her tightly and lifting her pert bare bottom off my thighs and into optimal spanking range for my right hand, and gave her a dozen swats, not terribly hard but brisk enough to draw squeaks and squeals from her.

“You know you deserve this, Princess, and you’re not going anywhere until I say so.”

“But I don’t deserve it, Uncle D, and it’s not fair to spank me after all the – ow! OW! OWITCHEE!”

I slapped her adorable tushy a dozen more times with extra oomph, and she kicked and squirmed and pounded the duvet with both little fists as the heat increased.

“You have been lippy, and stubborn, and disrespectful all evening, and I warned you what would happen when I got you home.”

Her bottom jiggled and wriggled prettily to the sharp smacks I inflicted along with the scolding, and I couldn’t help smile at her verbal response to the continuous spanking.

“Nadish mah gollom burtz, Hunka Z!”

Firm round cheeks rosened quickly, and her wriggles grew more frantic as her pleas for clemency, or so I assumed, became less coherent but much louder.

“The very idea, Gwendolyn. Bossing me around, telling me how to carry a distressed damsel, nearly running me over with a forklift. I have a good mind to get the hairbrush and blister your situpon properly.”

The screech that followed that comment reached into the ultrasonic range, and my left arm muscles burned most agreeably keeping hold of her amid frenetic gyrations, while my right palm enflamed pleasantly. I had no intention of following through with the threat, but I do so love the look in her eyes when she turns and begs me not to do anything worse to her tender little behind, although I have to believe she realized what she said at that point was pure gibberish.

So I merely cranked up the heat a notch or two, and reveled in the sight of her bouncy behind, her scissoring legs, and the way her boy-short hair haloed about her head as she shook it. There was no point scolding anymore – she wasn’t listening in any case – and frankly I was a bit tired, so I poured everything I had into a final couple hundred swats that brought her little cheeks to a bright red polish, and then flipped her around to sit on my lap.

“Are you going to be a good girl now?”

She nodded vigorously while she swiped dampness from her face and blathered nonsense syllables. I began to unbutton her very becoming and no doubt very expensive teal silk blouse.

“I love you more than anyone in the world, Princess, but when you act naughty I have to spank you very hard. You know that, right?”

“Bu-but I wasn’t, Uncle D, not on p-purpose.”

“No, probably not.” I slipped the blouse off and she cuddled into my chest. “I know sometimes you just can’t help yourself, although I’m sure you understand that I spank you not only because I love you so much, but because you need to be spanked.”

“Nuh-no I don’t!”

“What happens to a little girl who contradicts her uncle?”

She clapped a hand to her mouth. I smiled and unhooked her brassiere, and she hid her face in my chest once I had it off. There was a button and a zipper to the tiny woolen skirt furled about her waist, and I unfastened them and lifted her to slip the garment off. Her face flushed and she wrapped her arms around my neck, and whispered in my ear.

“I’m all naked, Uncle D.”

“You certainly are. And your little bare bottom is hot as a waffle iron.”

“That’s your fault.”

“No, it’s yours for being so naughty.”

“Hrumph! Well I think you’re naughty too, making me all naked.”

I shook my head, and then kissed her long and hard.

“You know I like you all naked and red behind.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll get all naked anytime you want, but I don’t suppose it would do any good to recommend you use a pancake blusher for that red behind look you like so much.”

“None whatsoever. Now go get the aloe lotion.”

“Mmm, okay. You’re gonna be nice to me now, huh?”

“I’m always nice to you, Princess.” I grinned when she scoffed. “And your red behind needs to be slippery outside and in for what’s coming next.”

Her eyes widened as she got up and backed away, both hands on her firm, rosy situpon.

“Uncle D, you’re not gonna …”

I stood suddenly and unbuckled my belt. “Don’t tell me I’m not gonna ANYTHING, young lady. Now do as you’re told.”

She squealed and hurried to the dresser for the lotion, and I fought back a smile at the fear and longing I could see in her face as I tugged off my boots and tossed my trousers in a heap beside her little pink panties.