~FAILING IN REVERSE~ (spanking story)

Chapter 6: Taking Matters Into Your Own Hands

~I must say, life sucks sometimes. Don't mean to be a downer, but it really does. I love writing and am excited about this book, but I've also gotta deal with a dying family member, a move, a new job, a partner and now my own health (nothing terminal). Anyway, so please excuse the shorter chapter. It's about eight pages. Need some space to breathe. I'll try my best to update more frequently! Enjoy!~

Today. Today is different. A good different. This time, you won't let anything get you down. Like Ben said, you are smart, at least as smart as the average Joe, and although you don't fully believe it yet, you intend on proving it to yourself. You've gotta admit, you're sort of looking forward to the GED prep, if anything, just so it can distract you from those inevitable intrusive thoughts that try to pummel you.

Speaking of distractions, you want to slap yourself for still not having completed the task you've meant to deal with for days now—your mound of new clothes and other shit. You scooch yourself out of bed with extra friction to test how sore you are today, but soon regret the experiment. You've had your first ever two real spankings and several "love taps" in a week, and you're not sure how comfortable your body is going to be with bending a bunch to pick up the clothes.

Much like a grandpa bracing his lower back full of arthritis, you cautiously proceed to sort through your clothes. Soon you realize that this task is more of a feat because of the contact between your butt and the underwear you had slept in. But you stubbornly want to carry on, so you rip them off and caveman it, pleading to the universe that no one walks into your room unannounced. But then again, both mentors have already now seen your bare ass (and hopefully not more than that). You hope not more than that. Still, it's the principle of the thing. You want privacy and dignity no matter what. You console yourself with a thought. The majority of the time, the two adults would knock, giving you fair warning—however—on occasion they didn't remember to. You wish they just won't come your way at all. Here's to hoping.

Pullover sweatshirts.

Denim jackets.

Lots of polos.

A necktie.

Couple warm vests.

Jeans. With no rips.

Of course.

Mostly muted, responsible colors.

Knowing Kamilla and how classy she is, you expect you all may eventually find yourselves at a fancy restaurant, so you'll be in need of something fancy in a pinch. Hence the tie.

There.

Haphazardly, you had managed to suspend the majority of your clothes in your–admittedly–nice closet. More than nice. A space that is bigger than your former joint juvie cell. Impressive, really. You still can't believe that this is all yours while you stay here. But you refuse to feel guilty about it. You do NOT want a repeat of yesterday with Ben and the rickety discussion about guilt and blame. You try to tell yourself that sometimes nice things are just, well, nice. And everyone gets nice things sometimes, even the bad people. You're not quite sure which category you fall into yet–the bad or the good people–but at least you have Ben and Kamilla to help you figure that out.

You glance at your watch, and it reads quarter past seven. Not terrible. This means you have a solid hour before you have to book it to Ben's work. You have to admit that yesterday wasn't awful, not like you expected it to be, however you are still curious to see what Kamilla does. Maybe if you yank Ben's arm just so, he'll let you stay home with her, just once. But first, you change into some clothes. A no brainer when someone is fully awake despite the morning. You got lucky. You happened to feel alert today, alert enough not to strut out without any clothes.