~FAILING IN REVERSE~ (spanking story)

Chapter 1: Welcome Home.

You toss and turn all night, dreading the morning, knowing that a future unknown awaits you. Thoughts.

Thoughts.

Weighty thoughts swarm your mind, drowning you in streams of cold sweat. Then come the regrets—pounding you ruthlessly into the oblivion you fear—no, you know is just around the corner. You're destined for it because no one with a life such as yours, filled with misguided misdeeds and an empty wallet gets anywhere. Ever. Crime doesn't pay. You know that now. But your current knowledge is just knowledge, and it will get you nowhere. You're stuck at the mercy of those who don't know you and probably don't care to know you either.

Tomorrow is the day when your case worker tells you to leave behind your regrets, your past of auto theft and addiction, to catapult you into a new life, someone else's world that has unfamiliar rules and structure. You crave adventure and thrills—independence and cold, hard cash—none of which you'll be seeing any time soon.

Because you're eighteen.

Sure, you're kind of an "adult" but with no prospects, no support, no license (that was taken away by the courts), and no high school diploma. You got your looks. Maybe you could find an agent somehow and model to get that money to roll in, but hell, that's a far off pipe dream. No one would hire you because of your record. You have never kept a straight job. You're better off just taking the plea bargain, starting your childhood over with new parents who will get you on the straight and narrow. How fun.

Knock knock

"What?" Irritation drips from your tone, but really you're relieved to be disrupted from your chaotic thought storm.

"(Your name), you up? It's time to move out. Your professional guardians have arrived. You're not even dressed."

You hope your new guardians will be a bit less anal than your case worker Chase. He gets on your case a lot. Maybe that's why he's called a caseworker. Chase's broad build and receding hairline both stand over you. It's sort of intimidating but mostly god awful annoying, and he smells like cheese. You hate cheese (except on pizza).

You growl at him then give a sarcastic smirk. You do it because you know he hates attitude. You make sure you give him nothing but. "Yeah. I'm up. I've been up all fucking night, thank you. Give me ten minutes."

"I'm sorry, scout. You get five. As I said, they are already waiting in the front. Don't doddle."

You roll your eyes intensely just to infuriate him. It works. "Yes sir. May I have one more sir?"

Chase scoffs and walks toward the door. "You better hope your new parents enjoy your smart ass charm 'caus you only get one impression. And one set of parents. No do-overs." He hits the doorframe. "Chop chop."

You groan as your bare feet slump to the chilly floor. "Welp, this is it. I hope it's better than prison."

Five minutes tick by faster than you'd like. You barely had the time to fix your hair, and your five o' clock shadow has turned into more of a ten o' clock. You quickly slip on some comfy jeans, the only pair you own that were donated to you. At least their wear and tear is in fashion. Depressed and jaded, just like you. Chase gave you his old leather jacket, it too, old and worn but beyond cozy.

Today is the day. You slick back your hair and shove the donated toiletries and one cherished comic book (insert favorite here) into your garbage bag. You're off. This will get interesting.

The first person you see you assume is your "adopted" mother. Wow she is a sight to behold. Her thick, dark hair folds in on itself so gracefully, sending pin pricks down your back. She is beautiful. Her smile is warm too, but when you go in for a handshake, as per Chase's stern advice, you are welcomed with an icicle. You quickly move your hand away, shocked at the frigidness. Maybe you'll just enjoy her from a distance.

Right when this thought flits away, she shoves off the polite reserve with a hug that pins your elbows to your sides. It's weird. The last hug you received was when you were thirteen from your own mother. You haven't seen her in going on two years. Your whole family quit visiting you. They still send letters on special days, but the sting of abandonment makes the letters feel more like obligations, and you read them like a textbook. You can't say you've missed your family, although you almost wish you had the capacity to.

This sunny woman with her bold dress lets out a kindly British accent. "Well, (your name), let's not be so formal. We're your new parents! Come come, meet your daddy."

Ew, daddy? No thanks. You cringe at the thought of pet names. First name basis will do. You stop her before she leads you to her husband. "Um...what's your name? You kind of skipped that part."

"Oh pardon me, I'm just too excited. My name is Kamila Lanceworth. Your father's name is Ben. Ben? Oh come dear, don't be shy."

"I'm not shy." This Ben guy, with his dark and calculating eyes, stares you up and down for a solid minute, unsure what to make of you. "Hi. Nice to meet you." He shakes your hand firmly and very businesslike. You don't mind that. At least it's within your comfort zone.

"Hi, Daddy." Your sarcastic smirk resurfaces, and you can tell that it makes the man uncomfortable.

"Yeah, hello," he says with a cringe. "Alright, let's go. We have some things to square away."

Kamila gawks at you for a minute, and at the pathetic garbage bag in your hands. "Is that all you have with you?"

You nod, but your nod comes across more like a dejected sigh.

She gives you a pitiful glance. "Well, don't you worry. We'll make sure you have more than enough to get you started."

"C'mon, let's go." Ben is not the chatty type. That's okay with you. The less chat, the better.

When you see their upscale SUV, you begin to realize that they must be filthy rich. That's great for you. That means if you play your cards right, you could sneak some cash. Hopefully they don't stow it away too tightly.

"Nice ride, my dude!" You want to squeal with excitement. You've never seen such a fancy car in your life, and you just have to check out the cool features in the backseat.

"Thanks but, kid, read the sign." Ben has signs. Ugh. That means he's probably got lots of rules too. That bites. He points to a laminated sheet of paper pinned to the inside fold-down passenger mirror. "NO touchy. We plan to trade this in for a newer one in the future."

You hope touching doesn't also involve driving. One day, with or without your license, you are going to find a way to drive this thing. You must. You reply with a "mm hmm" to shut him up.

"I'm serious, (Y/N). Don't touch this vehicle. Let me hear a 'yes sir.'"

He raises his eyebrows at you through the front mirror. He means business. You want to laugh because all this reminds you of the year you were in military school before getting kicked out for a DUI. "Would you rather I just call you drill sergeant? I can if that suits you."

His eyebrows turn down, and you know you've hit a nerve. "Excuse me? Did you just-"

"Dear, dear, calm down. Let's address this when we get home, alright?" Kamila gives you a wink, a knowing wink. You're not sure what that means, and you don't like it.

You decide to ride in silence for the rest of the way. Ben does too, except for the occasional "yes dear" in response to his chittering wife.

The first thing that happens when you enter the driveway is your side door opens and a big leathery hand snatches your arm. "C'mon kiddo. Let's work on our first impressions." With that, you feel a strange sting heating up your right thigh.

"What the fuck?" You scream but it falls on deaf ears. You try to get away by kicking, but the man has you in too firm a grip. After about three heavy-laiden blows, Ben plants both hands on your shoulders and escorts you inside. Your mind is stunned.

What just happened?

Did he just—spank you?

Uncalled for.

Un. Called. For. You will not let this stand. You want revenge.