~FAILING IN REVERSE~ (spanking story)

Chapter 2: Blah Blah. Rules and such

Yeah right. Your eyes roll on their own in disbelief.

They seem sort of satisfied with this, despite your obvious displeasure and stinking attitude. Your blood pressure rises and your knees begin to bounce when "that man's" hand reaches for a pair of jeans that is covering most of your weed. (Which you managed to pawn from one of your deadbeat cousins who's actually out of prison.)

So you think fast, however irrationally, and your hand swipes the weed to push it beneath your thigh. You obviously know you've been caught but a part of you wishes against hope that he'll pretend he didn't see it.

No such luck.

His grabby hand flits up and down. "Give it here."

This is when you stand your ground. Right here. "Nope, this is mine. I paid for it."

"Oh yeah?" His hips prop up those leathery, rough hands. "How'd you get the money, being fresh out of juvie?"

You stumble for the words. "Connections."

"Another word for 'stole' or 'bummed,' I bet. Nonetheless, you have five seconds for that little baggy to reach my hand. One. Two."

Tension rises again, and you blurt out a series of on running sentences. "Wait-wait-wait, what's going on? Why're you doing that? And what happens at 'five'?"

He huffs out his annoyance. "You'll soon find out if you choose to not oblige." 

"Oh, sweetie," Kamila sings. You begin to wonder if her airy, desperate voice will begin to grate on you. It probably will. "Just do what Ben asks, please. It will go way better for you."

You stand up to match his stance, arms folded. "I think not. It's mine, and you can't just take it."

His lips go tight and he seems to grow an inch taller. "That's it. Here's what's going to happen then: I will not go easy on you unless you go easy on us. It's called mutual respect. Learn it—or don't and suffer the consequences. Your choice how you want our relationship to be, how you want your life to be here. So now, I will try this again, since you're obviously new to all this. I'm going to count to five. If your weed is not in my hands by then, not only are you not doing anything fun we had planned tonight, but you're also gonna feel what an actual spanking is like. Which, I might add, is an incredibly awkward and humiliating experience, especially for almost total strangers. One in which should make you think twice before causing further problems. Ready?"

You pretend you're not here. Maybe you're somewhere in that enchanted, Dorito-infested forest.

"One."

You've resolved not to accept his deal, just to see if he's really going to go through with it, or if it's just a bluff. Most adults have either blown you off or haven't given you the time of day, so why would he be any different? Who cares what you do or don't do? Adults are sadistic assholes who hurt you for no reason but to hurt you, even when you're trying to be a good person. It makes no fucking sense.

Okay, in this instance, you're trying to be the opposite of good. But it's for science.

His position has now changed from hands-on-hips to folded-across-chest. Hmm. Interesting. You wonder if this is something he does often when he's counting. This is important for future situations, especially ones involving pushing buttons but stopping just before the blow up. It's a talent you've earned by lots of practice.

"Two."

"Three."

He changes positions again, this time rolling on his toes, ready to pounce.