Getting Into Trouble
John Benson
Getting Into Trouble
Mr. Card liked looking at pretty girls, especially Viki,
especially when she wore a skirt. So when she needed a favor,
she wore a skirt. It's not wrong to use one's looks to give
oneself an edge, now, is it? After all, it wasn't as if she
were going to let anything actually happen. Yet when Viki
approached his cube that day, she was nervous and sweaty. Must
have known she was exposing herself to a certain amount of risk.
"Excuse me. Mr. Card?"
She felt his eyes scan her, toes on up, paying loving
attention to her thighs. His smile was open, though, more
pleasant than lustful. "Miss Hart. How may I help you?"
She almost changed her mind and bolted, even though he
wasn't acting like a creep. It was hard to ask for things,
admit a lack of self reliance. "I, um, I know we don't know
each other well, but, uh, could I possibly trouble you for a
very short term loan?"
He swiveled more towards her, leaned back a bit in his
chair. "Depends," he said. "How much? Just how short term?"
"Eight fifty, sir, just for a week. My rent's late, and
Rick owes me money from the divorce settlement. His lawyer
says I should be seeing it some time this week, but my landlord
is out of patience. I know I'm imposing, but I don't know
where else to go."
He turned back toward his work surface and drew a checkbook
out of a drawer. "Sure," he said, "but I'll insist on a form
of collateral."
Viki laughed a hollow laugh. "My net worth is negative,
sir. There's nothing I could pledge."
"A promise," Mr. Card said. He signed the check with a
little flourish and tore it out of his checkbook. "You must
promise me that if you're late, you'll submit to a forfeit of
my choosing."
Sex. She felt a naughty thrill. Mustn't do that, mustn't
have sex for money. But it wasn't being a whore if she really
did intend to pay him back, right? "Okay, you've got a deal.
You get your money back in a week, or I let you do what you
want. It's not as if I have a lot of choice."
"Then I can't really lose," he said softly. "I hope I'm
helping, Viki. I hope this does more good than harm."
He looked like he was actually fond of her, as if he
really cared. In a way, that was actually worse. It would
be easier to use him if he was just a creep. "Thank you,"
she said. "I promise you won't regret this."
She hurried back to her own cube with the precious check
clutched between thumb and forefinger and then she looked
at it, written oh so legibly in Mr. Card's precise hand. He
hadn't given her eight fifty, he'd given her a thousand. Either
an act of generosity or a trap, trying to get her into trouble.
So who was gaming whom? The sense of danger was much stronger,
now. But the thought of being trapped by her own promise into
having to have sex was making her get wet.
. . .
Each day they met in the hallway and Mr. Card smiled
strongly and Viki smiled weakly back, and each evening when
she came home from work she checked the mailbox looking for
her check. She hadn't had a man since Rick and the bad girl
part kept whispering that it might be best if the check didn't
come, if she were forced to give herself without it quite being
her fault. The good girl part knew she was naughty for even
wanting that. Must pay him. Must get off the hook. No fucking
allowed, unless she was in love.
Last day, and her heart pounded as she checked the mail.
Ad. Bill. Bill. Postcard from Hawaii. "Dear Viki. You want
it? So sue me. Love, Rick." The bastard had stiffed her.
The good girl cowered in the hallway near the mail box,
teary-eyed, ashamed, afraid. The bad girl imagined being
undressed by Mr. Card, and was getting kind of horny.
. . .
Shame faced, blushing scarlet. "Excuse me, Mr. Card?"
He turned, brightened. "Oh, Viki. Judgment day, you
have something for me?"
Gulp. "An apology. He stiffed me, sir. The bastard
wrote to tell me I'd have to sue if I wanted my money out of
him, and if I did the lawyer would get it all. I goofed, I
guess. Didn't trust him when we were together, so why did I
trust him now."
"Plan 'B,' then," he said. He scrawled something on a
post-it note. "Eight o'clock tonight. Please don't be late."
"Yes, sir," said Viki. Tears drizzled down her cheeks
as she slunk back to her own cube, metaphorical tail tucked
between unsteady legs. She stuck the post-it note to the
edge of her computer screen. An address. Mr. Card's address.
"I have to let him fuck me," she whispered to herself soundlessly.
The good girl mourned the loss of honor. The naughty girl
rejoiced.
. . .
He liked her in a skirt? She wore the shortest one that
fit. Chose silky underthings. Going to happen anyway, the
bad girl whispered, might as well enjoy it. Let Mr. Card
enjoy it. It isn't as if you wanted this to happen. You're
not a whore, exactly.
You knew, the good girl scolded, knew Rick's not to be
trusted. You trapped yourself. Wanted to be taken without
exactly deciding. Be able to say it's not your fault. They
both knew her, the good girl, the bad girl, they both were
her, and both of them were right. She'd expected an area of
single family homes, but the address was an apartment building
and when she checked the directory, Mr. Card was on the third
floor. He buzzed her up. Strange, she thought, he doesn't
live that much better then I do, and makes three times as
much. He met her at the door.
"Right on time," he said. "That's really pretty."
"Thank you sir," she said. She blushed. She twirled.
Inside it was nicer than her place, furnished with style and
overall theme. Her impulse buying produced mere mishmash,
eclecticism without the charm of inspiration. "I've never
done anything like this before, sir," she said. Bad girl. Bad
girl.
He faced her, put his hands on her shoulders. She forced
herself not to flinch. "Eight fifty is too much for you to
pay in rent, Viki," he said. "You make ten bucks an hour.
How long have you been divorced?"
"Eighteen months, sir. And it's eight twenty without the
late fee."
"Anyway," he said. "You're maxing your credit cards, aren't
you?"
She looked down at the carpet. Beige, slightly discolored
in one spot. "Um, yeah. So now we end up in bed and then we
call it square?" Her heart pumped. Bad girl. Bad girl.
"I promised myself I wouldn't take that much advantage
of your predicament, Viki. I'm going to spank you, not sleep
with you. Maybe it'll teach you to be more frugal. But I
won't pretend I'm not taking advantage. The idea of punishing
a pretty girl is a dream come true for me, especially one who
actually deserves it. Come here."
There was a big long-handled wooden brush lying on his
coffee table. This couldn't be real, people aren't allowed
to do this. But the bad girl actually wanted to be punished
for being fiscally irresponsible, and the good girl wanted to
get it for wanting to have sex. Viki couldn't fight them
both, and they made her follow Mr. Card passively as he sat
in the center of his leather sofa, made her sit beside him,
let him drag her down across his lap. The cute little skirt
came up. Silky panties came down to her knees. She felt so
helpless as he leaned forward to pick up the brush.
Oh! It hurt, it hurt, this wasn't foreplay, this wasn't
slap-and-tickle, this was punishment, and Viki felt young and
naughty. She was the eleven year old who came in late for
dinner and almost got a spanking. She was the thirteen year
old who stole money from her mom and almost got a spanking.
She was the fifteen year old caught necking in the garage who
almost got a spanking. Except now all the spankings she'd
deserved were coming home to roost and her hind end stung so
and she whimpered and wriggled.
"I'm sorry," she whined. "I'm sorry. I'll do anything
you want."
It stopped. Her bottom throbbed. The idea of sex was
starting to appeal to the bad girl again. The good girl was
nowhere in evidence. Mr. Card caressed her butt.
"I promised myself this is as far as I was going to go,"
he said. She felt the panties come back up, slowly, reluctantly.
"Better go now while I'm still feeling virtuous."
He helped her up. She hugged him. "I'll do what you
want," she whispered in his ear.
"And what I want is to keep my promise to myself," he said.
"Go home, Viki. But I'm not made of stone. If you ever win
another trip across my lap, you're going to stay the night."
"Yes sir, thank you sir," said Viki. The good girl was
back and was grateful to get out of this unfucked. The bad
girl was disappointed. She didn't miss her shithead husband
at all, his insensitivity, his mind games, but she was lonely,
and still missed getting laid.
. . .
She met him in the hall next day, and he smiled fondly
and she blushed. She had deserved it, hadn't she? And the
bad girl was telling her she should have another go.
Prostitution, the good girl whispered.
But look at the olden days, the bad girl argued. She
was pretty good at argument when it suited her. Women didn't
used to be able to survive on their own, so marriage was often
more about security than love. That's prostitution, isn't it?
Whoredom by another name?
There's a difference between doing what you have to do
to survive and having an income that's twice minimum wage but
not being willing to live within it, the good girl countered.
You're willing to give yourself because you're lazy.
And lonely, the bad girl answered, and horny.
And Viki crawled back to her work station and tried to
ignore the whole damn thing and just do her goddamn job.
. . .
She'd worn jeans so as not to be too sexy, but as Mr.
Card swiveled towards her and spent time looking at her legs
she realized they were pretty tight jeans. Damn. Had that
been an accident, or had she done that on purpose?
"Um, hi. I wanted to let you know. I got a check from
Rick's attorney. $2,499. Just like Rick, do what you have
to do but do it at the last minute but play mind fuck on me
first. So anyway, now I can pay you back."
"We're all square, Viki," he said. "Let's just say we
both got what we needed. But you remember what I said about
next time, right?"
She knew that she was blushing. "Yes sir," she said.
"I remember very clearly." Even the good girl admired his
integrity. And the bad girl found the whole situation very
hot.
. . .
She paced. Her place was too big for one person, she
should find something smaller, something she could afford.
But that meant a bad neighborhood, loud fights at night,
worries about personal safety. Damn. And Rick's money had
all gone to pay her cards up close to current, and now she
was in the hole again. Damn. The bad girl was thinking about
Mr. Card.
And the good girl was thinking whore. He'd take her to
bed next time. No more almost chaste spanking. He'd render
her obedient and then... oh God.
Borrow the money, the bad girl suggested. Just let it
sit in your account and think about it. You'll have a whole
week to decide, and if you chicken out, you can just give it
back. What do you say?
That's how you get into trouble, the good girl told her.
Tempting fate. Not quite deciding, but putting yourself in
situations where you wind up getting screwed. Don't do it.
You'll be sorry.
But Viki wasn't listening.
. . .
The teller smiled at her vaguely and handed her the
receipt. There. Mr. Card's check was in the bank. Now what?
The VISA still needed to get caught up. Or she could just be
a good girl.
Being spanked was a big deal for you, the bad girl told
her. In a way, you sort of liked it. It touched you on
some emotional level. You'd like going there again.
Would not, insisted Viki. Inside her somewhere she
sensed the good girl sulking, not knowing quite what to say.
Viki wanted to be a good girl, didn't she? Except she was
also lazy, and being a bad girl was easier. The path of
least resistance. The Viki thing to do.
. . .
The phone fell from her nerveless fingers and she stood
in her kitchen, stunned. The car repair place had attached
her checking account. $695. She'd forgotten all about them.
Now she couldn't pay back Mr. Card. Too late to do anything
about it. She was going to get laid.
At least you're getting spanked first, the good girl
grumbled, so it won't all be fun and games.
Yes, yes, the bad girl panted. We deserve it. I hope
he does it hard.
. . .
Wilted spinach salad and chateaubriand and a wonderful
Cabernet, and Viki in a little black dress feeling like a
little girl pretending, a little girl who was going to be
caught playing dress-up and spanked until she cried. "You
could've just gotten it over with," she said, "you didn't have
to wine and dine me first."
"I want it to feel more like a real date," Mr. Card said.
"In a way, I guess I'm courting you."
The bad girl liked to flirt. "Oh?" she said. She sipped
the wine. It really was superior.
"Let's say there's this girl," he said. "She's coming
off a divorce and doesn't quite know how to say 'no' to herself
where spending is concerned, and so she's gotten in over her
head. Maybe she's binging on credit to try to regain her
self esteem. Maybe her ex was a shit who was too frugal and
now she's overreacting."
Blame Rick. She'd love to, expect that wasn't really
right. "Maybe she's always had that problem," Viki said.
"Maybe her husband was a psychological bully and she tried to
pay him back by overspending, and now it's a habit she doesn't
know how to break."
"Ah," Mr. Card said. "Yes, I see. Well, anyway, what
if this girl had a friend who liked her and wanted to help
and was willing to give her a place to stay. She could get
caught up pretty easily if she suddenly had another $850 a
month that wasn't going out, right? Of course there is a catch.
As long as she was accepting his generosity she'd have to shall
we say, submit to his authority. Does that make any sense?"
Submit. The word was doing things inside her. It's a
trap, the good girl told her. You don't love him. It would
be wrong.
It's what you've always wanted, the bad girl answered.
A man who's dominant, not psychologically cruel. You're naughty
because you want to be stopped. Spanked. You always have.
The set-up's perfect. And he's a nice guy. I bet you learn to
love him.
Don't you dare, the good girl said.
Suddenly, Viki realized she didn't know which one was
which. Was the good girl her conscience, or just the ghost of
a strict childhood. Was the bad girl a temptress, or the one
who really cared to make her happy? Was the easy way sometimes
the right way, too, only easy because it meant you were following
your heart?
"I, um," Viki said. She cleared her throat. "This girl.
The one we're talking about. She's naughty for putting herself
in this position. Naughty for accepting. She should have to
be punished frequently, and have to share his bed."
She saw the relief spread over his face, like the sun
peeking out from behind a cloud. "Will the naughty girl be
wanting dessert?" he asked.
She felt the involuntary smile. "I think it's time you
took her home and began to deal with her, sir," she said.
She listened deep inside herself, felt the simultaneous thrusts
of lust and apprehension, but the meddlesome spirits both
were silent. A man was going to take her home and spank her
hard and screw her. And she was totally on her own.
archive at: http://unseemly.org
meri
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Loved it. You write so many different stories that this, mature man
rescues young woman, must seem cliche to you. I loved it.
The good girl/bad girl tug of war in her mind. That is so realistic,
and you do it so well.
ty for posting.
Kessily
that.. *blissful sigh*
imtribeca
me to thinking :-)