P o s t - I t s
“Uh huh. I see,” she said into the phone.
Hearing a key in the front door she looked up. He walked into the apartment, home from work. She mouthed a greeting to him wordlessly, rolling her eyes as she continued her phone conversation. He gave her a smile before moving into the dining room to put down his briefcase and take off his coat. Loosening his tie, he walked back into the living room to take a seat on the sofa.
“Ok. That’s fine. I’ll call him tomorrow. Ok. Bye.” She clicked off the phone and tossed it onto the end table before sitting next to him.
“Hello,” she said, snuggling up to him.
He leaned to kiss her. “Hi.”
“Oh, wait.” She jumped up, interrupting the moment. Grabbing a pen, she scribbled a note on the stack of post-its by the phone.
He read aloud over her shoulder. “Call Dan.”
“For work,” she explained as she stuck the note to the top of her phone.
“You’re going to forget,” he warned.
“No, I won’t. I have my own working system.”
He pointed to the refrigerator, visible from their location, covered in multi-colored post-it notes. “You mean that?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Where do I start? You forget about them if they’re there for a long time. Let’s not forget losing them too.”
She laughed sheepishly. “Ok, it needs a little work.”
“Hold on,” he said, getting up.
He walked into the dining room to retrieve his briefcase. Coming back to the sofa he sat down again. She watched as he opened his bag, pulling out a package.
“Here,” he said, handing it to her.
The question forming in her head was answered with one look at the package. She let out an involuntary laugh. “I don’t need this.”
“Yes, you do,” he countered. “Trust me. It makes things easier.”
She opened the box and pulled out the palm pilot. “Oh great,” she teased, making a face. “I get to be you.”
“Yeah. Perfect.” With a gigantic grin, he dodged the playful slap she aimed at his head.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, her demeanor slightly more serious. “That was really thoughtful of you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She sorted through the mountainous amount of paperwork on her desk. Having spent most of the morning in meetings, reports and updates had piled higher than usual. With the completion of projects contingent upon her review of certain documents and another long meeting beginning in minutes, she hurried through them as quickly as possible.
The beep of her intercom startled her. “Mr. Pearson is here to see you in conference room three.”
“She pushed the button for the intercom. “Thank you. I’ll be right there.”
Grabbing some papers as her as her tote, she hurried out of her office and into her waiting room.
“Wait,” her secretary called out. “You’re husband is on the phone.”
Halfway out the door, she looked at her watch. “Tell him I’ll call him after I’m done.” Scribbling a reminder on a post-it, she left for her meeting.
Hours later she pulled into her parking garage. Despite wanting nothing more than to go home after a three hour meeting with a demanding client, she had stayed late finishing paperwork. Her commute home had also been work filled; discussing last minute strategies for a presentation over the phone with one of the project managers until the battery of her cell had just about given out. After giving her neighbors a pasted smile in the elevator, she finally walked into her apartment.
“Hi! I’m home,” she called out, as she walked through the door. Greeted with silence, she peeked into his office, half-expecting to find him in there.
Assuming he was working late, she made her way to their bedroom. Taking off her jacket, she hung it in her closet. Too tired to change, she kicked off her heels and curled up on the bed, not caring if she wrinkled her work clothes. Exhausted from a grueling day, she quickly fell asleep, oblivious to her phone ringing in her bag.
A sharp pain in her bottom jolted her awake. “Oh my God,” she gasped, straightening up immediately. She noticed him standing over the bed at the same time she heard crumpling beneath her as she pulled herself into a sitting position.
“What time is it?” she asked, still half-asleep. Reaching behind herself, she felt paper sticking to her skirt. Peeling it off, she recognized it as a post-it reading: Spank this bottom. Now wide awake, she looked up at him and shook her head.
“Where were you?” he demanded.
“What?” she asked confused. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. “I got home hours ago. I must have fallen asleep waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me? We were supposed to have dinner with the VP from Chicago.”
“Oh,” she gasped again. “Was that tonight?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”
“You forgot? I called your secretary, and she said that you would call me back.”
Her mind instantly recalled her hasty scribbling on the post-it. Picturing the personal organizer somewhere in a desk drawer, she flushed guiltily. He caught it immediately.
“Where did you write down our dinner plans when I told you about it?” he asked.
She looked down at the bedspread. “On a post-it.”
“And a note to call me back?”
“On a post-it,” she whispered.
He stood stiffly with his arms crossed. “Get up,” he ordered.
“Oh, please,” she begged, knowing what was coming. “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”
He stared at her silently. Uncomfortable, she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. Hugging herself, she looked away from him.
“I’m going to tell you once more, and that’s it,” he said evenly. “Get up.”
She slowly slid off the bed to stand in front of him. Feeling dwarfed by his frame, she increased the space between them.
He stopped her mid-step. “No, come here.”
Feeling as though she was placing her head on the chopping block, she forced herself to move closer to him. Despite the urge in every fiber of her being to dash around him and make an escape, she stood still. Apparently satisfied with the few inches she had edged towards him; he took hold of her wrist and pulled her a few more steps forwards as he took a seat on the bed.
He let go of her wrist. “Take off your skirt.”
She hesitated for only a second before undoing the tiny clasp and zipper to her pencil skirt. It slipped off effortlessly.
“Stockings too,” he added, taking the skirt from her.
Without looking at him, she began to peel off her flesh toned nylons. He returned her skirt to her after she had finished stepping out of her stockings.
“Go put them away and come back.”
She walked to her closet. The floor felt cool beneath her bare feet. Although he had seen her in less than her silk camisole and panties, she felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over her. In no hurry, she slowly put away her work clothes. Almost holding her breath, she walked back to stand in front of him. Immediately, she found herself pulled over his lap.
Despite her attempts to mentally prepare herself for the pain, she squirmed with the first stinging swat to her backside. The first was soon followed by another dozen.
“Ow!” she squealed. “Please. Just let me explain.”
“Go head,” he replied calmly.
“I can’t think like this!”
“Let me help you.” Without warning he quickly pulled her panties down to her thighs; bereaving her of the marginal amount of protection they afforded her.
That’s not helping!”
He began spanking her again. “Don’t you dare use that tone of voice with me.”
The harder spanks now falling on skin, she gasped at the pain. Unconsciously, her feet began to kick, sending her panties further down her legs. He spanked wordlessly; turning her bottom an increasingly deeper shade of red.
“Wait, wait!” she cried. She made a move to push herself off his lap.
He paused for a moment and readjusted his grip. “Wait for what?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed. “Just wait!”
Ignoring her request, he continued undeterred.
“Why did you miss dinner?” he asked.
She whimpered pitifully. She rushed to answer as an especially harsh smack landed on an already sensitive area. “Because I wrote it on a post-it somewhere and forgot.”
“Didn’t I warn you?” He punctuated each word of the question with a swat.
Her eyes welled with tears. Sniffing, she answered, “Yes.”
“I guess it’s too bad for you then,” he said unsympathetically.
“Please! Please! Please!” she begged, unable to think of an alternative plea. Her hand reached behind to cover her bottom.
Still continuing to spank her, he grabbed hold of her wrist. “Please, what?”
“Please, stop! I’m sorry!”
“It’s not about you being sorry,” he began. “It’s about you being more organized.”
“I will! I will!” she shrieked. “I promise I will.”
With a final set of spanks, he stopped. Gently helping her up, he stood her on her feet. Covering her face with her hands, she cried pathetically.
“Poor, baby,” he said, standing himself. Pulling her closer, he wrapped his arms around her. He smoothed her hair comfortingly. When he pulled away, she remained hidden behind her hands. He helped her back into her panties. Walking to the other side of the room, he retrieved a favorite t-shirt of hers.
He waited for her patiently. Feeling drained, she was grateful for the help he gave her in getting into comfortable clothes. She caught a glimpse of her disheveled form in the mirror. Messy hair and running mascara, she hardly recognized her reflection.
She turned to him. “I’m sorry I missed dinner. I know that it was important for you.”
He smiled. “It’s fine. Forget it. It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you sure?” she asked concerned.
“It’s fine,” he said reassuringly. Looking at her, he recognized a sleepy look in her eyes. “Are you tired?
She nodded slowly. “I’ve had a long day.”
He reached out and touched her cheek. “I’m going to get changed. Go get cleaned up. You can tell me about it in bed.”
Wiping away the last of her tears, she smiled. “Ok.”
