Subject: THE HISTORY OF GRIEF part I (f/F spanking)
MaxWarlock
Subject: =93THE HISTORY OF GRIEF=94 part I (f/F spanking, consensual, sev=
ere,
emotional--mostly plot)
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction depicting spanking between a mother and
daughter. If you are under the age of majority in your jurisdiction, or i=
f
the community standards of your jurisdiction disallows such tales, or if
you are offended or disturbed by any aspect of corporal punishment (eroti=
c
or otherwise), please read no further.
Note: This is part one of a four part story. It concerns itself with the
emotional background to the spanking which forms the climax of the story
and which does not begin until part three. If you=92re looking for nothin=
g
but climax, as it were, this isn=92t for you, though you may enjoy parts =
III
and IV. If you=92re looking for spanking with more psychological and
emotional underpinnings, you may like it. Comments are appreciated, eithe=
r
in NG or via email.
Also, just in case you=92re wondering, I did NOT reverse the labels in th=
e
description. I said exactly what I meant.
THE HISTORY OF GRIEF, Part I:
Confrontation
=93Zoe?=94 my mother said. =93Are you there?=94
It was the third time she=92d called out my name since she=92d come insid=
e. At
least the third time; it might have been the fourth, or fifth, or tenth. =
I
was in the attic in my father=92s house =97 her house, now =97 and, if sh=
e=92d
called my name out while in the foyer, I might not have heard her.
I didn=92t reply. Instead, I turned back to the old trunk I=92d dragged i=
nto
the middle of the attic bedroom and put the end of my crowbar back under
the clasp of the padlock. The last things I wanted would be in that trunk=
,
I hoped. As soon as I got it open, I=92d be done.
=93Zoe?=94 she called out again. =93Why don=92t you answer me?=94
She was still downstairs. She=92d be going through the house room by room=
, I
thought. In the family room she=92d find the stereo and CDs missing, but =
not
the television or VCR. In the kitchen, a few pots and pans would be gone.=
A
casual observer might think we=92d be burglarized. But I knew she wouldn=92=
t
think that. She=92d have seen the rental truck in the driveway when she d=
rove
up; that was why she was searching for me. She=92d know that when a woman=
=92s
only living child leaves home without explanation or warning, she=92s
supposed to be concerned. She=92d want to keep appearances up.
I don=92t know who she thought she was fooling.
I pressed against the crowbar again. I =91d felt the padlock begin to giv=
e a
little the last time.
Now I heard the click-clack-click-clack of her shoes as she came upstairs.
She wouldn=92t find much missing there. In my bedroom, she=92d see the co=
mputer
and printer had been taken, but not the bed or the dresser. In the librar=
y,
half the books would have left the shelves. Everthing I=92d paid for was
gone, but nothing she had.
The padlock snapped. I lay it and the crowbar aside and opened the trunk.
=93Zoe, will you please answer me?=94 my mother said.
Click-clack-click-clack. She=92d be in the master bedroom by now. Nothing
would be missing from there; nothing I had a right to was in there. Daddy=
=92s
office she=92d pass by without bothering to check. She had the only key t=
o
the lock on the door, and, anyway, she=92d stripped that room bare six mo=
nths
ago, within a day of putting him and the twins in the ground. No desk, no
chair, no pictures or books or files, was left: nothing to suggest anyone
had ever worked or played or slept or lived in that room. Likewise, my
brothers=92 bedroom was stripped and locked.
I started taking things out of the trunk and putting them beside the
garment bag I=92d brought up with me. I didn=92t take much: some old shir=
ts,
two equally ancient suits, shoes. I=92d have been done in seconds had it =
not
been for one item: a belt. It was old and black and hadn=92t been worn, I
thought, in at least fifteen years. When I saw it, I couldn=92t bear to j=
ust
put it in the bag, as if it meant nothing. Instead, I sat on the old bed,
facing out the window so that I could see the street, and cradled it in m=
y
lap like a child. This was the greatest treasure of all.
The click-clack had stopped. Now I heard a creak. The ancient floorboards
by the laundry room protested audibly whenever anything larger than a cat
walked over them. She=92d be in here soon, I thought. She=92d look in the
laundry room, see I wasn=92t there, and then glance at the doorway leadin=
g up
the stairs to this attic bedroom.
The belt was still in my lap. I brought up up to my face and examined it
more closely, as if some secret were hidden in its creases and wrinkles. =
I
stroked it, and smelled it, and ran it along my cheek. I wasn=92t sure
whether to smile or cry.
=93Zoe?=94 my mother said.
She was in the attic now. I didn=92t want to look at her; I didn=92t want=
to
see her ever again. But my father had raised me to respect my elders, eve=
n
those who didn=92t deserve respect; and though I didn=92t feel I owed her
anything, I owed his memory something.
So I turned around. She was still a beautiful woman, I thought. At forty,
she still had the lithe swimmer=92s body she must have at my age. That I =
had
now. Her face was still unwrinkled: no laugh lines, of course because she
never laughed, or cried, or showed any sign of emotion or vulnerability.
The only sign of her age was the sprinkling of grey in her hair, snowflak=
es
in a black forest. She=92d had that since she was in her late twenties,
though, and the grey had never detracted from her beauty. Every boyfriend
I=92d ever had =97 and even some of my girlfriends =97 had had a crush on=
her.
Part of me hoped I=92d look that good in twenty-one years. But most of me
felt that, if the price of eternal youth was her icy perfection, her
complete inability to feel or express any warm emotion, then I=92d rather=
be
fat and wrinkled by thirty.
In fact, I thought, I=92d rather be dead than be like her.
=93Why didn=92t you answer me, Zoe?=94 she said.
=93You know why, Anne,=94 I replied at last. =93I don=92t have anything t=
o say to you.=94
A flicker of feeling appeared and disappeared from her face, like a
mirage. =93I wish you wouldn=92t say that,=94 she said. =93I don=92t like=
to think
that we can never be close.=94
I didn=92t have anything to say about that either. I picked up the belt a=
nd
walked over to the garment bag.
=93What are you doing?=94 she asked me.
=93Just taking a few things. Don=92t worry, none of it=92s yours.=94
=93Don=92t talk like that. You know you=92re welcome to anything of mine =
=97
furniture, books, clothes =97=94
I laughed. =93Clothes,=94 I said. =93That makes you so proud, doesn=92t i=
t? That
you and I are the same size.=94
She blushed just a little. =93Why shouldn=92t it make me proud?=94
I tried not to snort. Daddy would have called it unladylike. =93Look at y=
ou,
Anne. So trim, so strong, a testament to Nautilus and personal trainers.
From your hips and thighs no one would think you=92d had even one baby, l=
et
alone three. But then, you never were all that motherly anyway, Anne.=94
=93Don=92t call me by my first name. I=92m still your mother.=94
This time I did snort. =93You=92re the woman who carried me in her uterus=
for
nine months, Anne. You were never a mother.=94
I turned my back on her and started packing the clothes into the garment
bag. For a long while she was quiet. Then: =93Where are you going?=94
=93To Liz=92s, for a couple of weeks. Then to the dorm when the semester =
starts.=94
=93I ... I don=92t think I know Liz. Can I have her number?=94
I zipped up the garment bag. =93I don=92t think so,=94 I said. =93I don=92=
t want to
hear from you anymore, Anne.=94 I hoisted the bag over my shoulder and
started down the stairs.
=93Please, Zoe ... at least promise you=92ll call?=94
I meant to ignore that. Then I realized, to my chagrin, that I=92d left t=
he
most valuable of my treasures behind. I turned around, went back into the
attic, and got the belt off the bed. I started to walk past her again.
=93Zoe, wait!=94 she cried. She put a hand on me shoulder.
I hissed. It was all I could do not to slap her. =93Don=92t touch me agai=
n,=94 I
said as I yanked away from her, =93and don=92t say my name again, *Anne.*=
=94
=93Please,=94 my mother said. =93Please *listen* to me, Zoe. You can take
anything you want out of this house. I don=92t care. It=92s as much yours=
as
mine. But you can=92t take that belt.=94
TO BE CONTINUED.
Maxie
"In our sleep, pain, which cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart
Until in our despair, against our will, comes wisdom by the awful grace o=
f
God."
Debbie Ann
In article <19970910074...@ladder02.news.aol.com>,
MaxWarlock <maxwa...@aol.com> wrote:
>Subject: =93THE HISTORY OF GRIEF=94 part I (f/F spanking, consensual, sev=
>ere,
>emotional--mostly plot)
>
>Disclaimer:
>This is a work of fiction depicting spanking between a mother and
>daughter. If you are under the age of majority in your jurisdiction, or i=
>f
>the community standards of your jurisdiction disallows such tales, or if
>you are offended or disturbed by any aspect of corporal punishment (eroti=
>c
>or otherwise), please read no further.
>
>Note: This is part one of a four part story. It concerns itself with the
>emotional background to the spanking which forms the climax of the story
>and which does not begin until part three. If you=92re looking for nothin=
>g
The formatting on this is making it hard to read. I _think_ you need to
turn off something called smartquotes in your word processing software,
and make your line length shorter. Other than that, I like the build up
so far.
MaxWarlock
Thanks for the advice, Debbie. I'll try it ONCE more...and next time I
attempt something new, I'll ask advice first.
Maxie
"In our sleep, pain, which cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart
Until in our despair, against our will, comes wisdom by the awful grace of
God."