From: misslilyo@aol.com (MissLilyO) Subject: Story: AULD LANG SYNE by MissLilyO(posted last yr, but hey, it's New Yrs) Miss Date: 31 Dec 1996 03:07:32 GMT
Hi, I wrote this and posted it last year at New Years, but it seemed appropriate, so I hauled it out. M/F, cons, sex. If you're 18, yada yada. Hope you like it (again), Love, Lily
Amanda gave a final cheery wave to George and Meleta, but she could clearly see their air of disbelief at her protestations that she did, indeed, have plans for New Year's Eve. They were good neighbors and she was fond of them, but she had told the truth. She had a date.
At five, she showered and put on her favorite dress. It clung to her, accentuating her slenderness and fluid grace, and brought out the blue in her eyes. She swept her dark shining hair up into a twist and applied a shade of lipstick that had always flattered her coloring. On the bed she laid out the other clothing she'd wear for the evening, and hummed an old song that was a favorite, "Sentimental Journey."
She puttered in the kitchen arranging things for a late night repast that she knew would please him. The hands on the clock moved with glacial speed. As her last preparation, she put two martini glasses in the freezer, dug out some fat green olives, and filled the ice bucket.
As she knew he would, he came at precisely 7 p.m. and swept her into his arms for a long kiss, filled with all the love and longing in the world. It left her breathless and flushed, and he laughed as she patted her hair and straightened her dress.
"You look so beautiful," he told her warmly, his eyes feasting on her.
"Oh, Franklin! I- .." He shushed her with another kiss, and then he took her shoulders and pushed her back a little.
"Careful, you'll crush this!" He took a slender gold box wrapped in a gold ribbon from inside his overcoat. As she took the lid off, he hung his coat in the hall closet.
"Oh! It's so PERfect!" she cried, as she lifted the single rose bud from its swaddling of tissue. "Perfect" hardly was adequate. The bud was flawless in configuration and of a color that completely defied description. If you could look at a blue glacier when it was first kissed by an early dawn sky, or pour liquid sapphires into a glass of amethysts, you might come close to the shimmering cerulean of this bloom. "Wherever did you find it?"
Laughing, he pulled her close again and said, "I had it grown for you in heaven, Amanda!"
She laughed with him. "What is it called?" she asked, fascinated by the unique hue. When he told her, her eyes misted and she hurried to find the bud vase, lest he see tears sparkling in her eyes.
He had lit the fire and the living room was bathed in the softness of candles and the firelight. He put a record on the old turntable and gave her his hand when the first strains of Tommy Dorsey's orchestra playing "Moonlight Serenade" began. They danced in the way people do who have shared many a waltz together, fitting naturally together and moving dreamily around the small room.
She poured him a martini and waited anxiously for his grin of approval. "Ah! You always know JUST how I love them, Amanda, darling!" he smiled, and lifted his glass to hers in a private toast. "To you, my forever love," he said.
They danced, and laughed, and nibbled grapes and the brie she had baked in a round of crusty French bread. She was nervous, knowing that the time would be soon. At last, he sat back on the couch with a satisfied sigh and put his feet up on the coffee table. "Why don't you go and get ready now, love," he told her gently. "You know just what to do, don't you?"
"Yes, I know," she said, and rose to obey him, trembling, aware of his eyes watching her as she moved from the room.
In the bedroom she had laid out the clothing she would put on for her spanking--the short pleated school skirt he always had her wear, the crisp white blouse, plain white underthings, and penny loafers. She had them on and was just letting the combs out of her hair when he came in. "Let me," he said, and took up the brush that would soon warm her bottom and began brushing out her hair in long, smooth strokes. She nearly purred with the sweetness of it.
With her dark waves hanging on her shoulders, he judged her ready for the discipline he knew she needed and craved. "It's time," he said, and moved to place a chair in the middle of the room. When he was seated on it, he motioned her to him, and waited.
Knowing what he expected, she choked out the words, "Please give me my spanking now, Sir," and placed herself over his lap.
He raised her skirt up well over her back. As she lifted for him, he pulled down the white cotton panties she'd put on, drawing them down to below her knees. "Amanda, you're 'way overdue for a hard spanking and I'm going to see to it tonight. I'll give you a warm up with my hand, and then you'll have forty with the hairbrush. You must also take ten with the strop. Can you do that?"
"Y-yes, Sir," she answered in a voice that suddenly sounded like a naughty girl about to be chastened.
Smoothing her creamy bottom cheeks, he smiled down at her, "That's my good girl."
And her spanking began. His hand rose and fell with the kind of precision she had come to expect from him, each smack landing on a new spot, bringing an instant blush with it. Soon her bottom had pinkened beautifully and she made small whimpering noises as the sting intensified.
She lay vulnerable to his hungry gaze, the moist lips of her womanhood glistening in the cradle of her rosy, sweet bottom. He couldn't resist running his hand over the warm skin before reaching for the hairbrush.
"Be brave now, darling," he told her, knowing she needed him to push her much harder than he had yet.
The smooth oval of the brush felt cool on Amanda's skin as he touched its surface to her briefly. Then he lifted it and brought it sizzling down on her upturned bottom. The resounding smack was satisfying to giver and receiver, and brought a firebrand of sensation to her. She grunted a bit with the first stroke. Each succeeding one increased the intensity of the fire. As they fell on a spot he'd spanked before with the brush, she began to yelp a little. He was uncanny in his ability to place each smarting blow just hard enough and far enough apart in the stroke to allow the full impact to sink in. At last she gave him what he wanted and she needed desperately. She cried. Her tears began slowly and then the floodgates opened and she sobbed and cried, letting out all the loneliness and longing and bad feelings that were so pent up inside her.
At last he knew she'd taken all she could, and he lifted her up, gathering her into his arms, holding her on his lap and rocking her as she cried out her pain into his chest. After a time, he urged her up and helped her to bend over the chair back. She gripped the seat and he picked up the smooth leather strop and brought it whistling through the air. Ten times it caressed her stinging flesh, and the final stage of utter surrender was reached by Amanda and she gave herself to it completely.
And then they were on the bed, she was straddling him, her hair streaming behind her as she rose and fell, his hot length opening her as easily as the petals on her perfect rose. She offered up her ripe breasts and he suckled on her swollen nipples. It was almost as if some unseen force brought them along on a wave of pleasure at the same moment, for as they both found their release, the big mantle clock struck midnight.
"Ohhh, Franklin," she cried out in her ecstasy. "Franklin, I ...oh, God!" His answering murmur hummed in her ear.
They could hear the church bells ringing and horns honking outside as people rang in the new year, each with their own special closure to the year past and unique hope for the year ahead. For the two lovers, this moment each year meant everything. He stroked her hair as she lay quietly in his arms. And then it was time for him to go.
The next day, Amanda sat with the girls.
"You really should try to get out a bit more, you know," said Stephanie in her motherly sort of way. She'd always been a bit bossy and Amanda and Franklin had had to keep a firm hand on her. Lizbeth was the quieter of the two, and just gave her mother a conspiratorial wink.
"I'd really rather just be home," said Amanda, a trifle wistfully.
"Now, Mother, you know you're not able to be home on your own any more, and we both have such small places."
Amanda smiled reassuringly at them. "Yes, honey," she said, "I know. At least I can have some of my own furniture here, and that gives one the sense of home."
It didn't, of course. Springdale Assisted Living Retirement Center was the best facility of its kind in the state, with roomy private apartments, large enough to bring furniture and decorations from home. By no stretch of the imagination, however, was it the same the same as when she and Franklin had their own lovely place on Sturgis Grove. But it was a new year, and she felt renewed, looking forward instead of into the past.
"I must say, you're looking really good, Mother," Stephanie added, almost grudgingly as if her mother shouldn't flourish so well without her daily advice and guidance.
"Yes, Mother, you really do look exceptionally pretty this morning. What's your secret?"
Amanda pushed a stray strand of snowy white hair back into place. "Oh, maybe just good dreams, girls," Amanda laughed, lightly brushing aside their interested inspection of her vibrant sparkle this morning. "Let the kids come in and see me now."
The grandchildren scampered in, Thad jumping squarely in the middle of Amanda's bed for his hug. She relished the times she spent with them, and for their part, she was their favorite person in their universe, charming them with stories and little songs, displaying their art work around her apartment in obvious pride and delight. They loved to look at her photo albums and have her tell them all about "the olden days" before the cancer claimed Franklin and she grew too old to stay at home by herself any more.
When Lizbeth saw her mother was tiring, she gathered up kids and older sister and herded them all out. As she bent to kiss her mother's wrinkled cheek, she exclaimed at the perfect rose bud resting in the cut crystal vase beside the bed. "Oh MOTHER! What an amazing bloom! Whatever do you call that rose? Is it an American Beauty?"
Amanda gave her a dazzling smile, shifted her weight on her still smarting bottom a little, and looked at the translucent blue/lavender bud, just beginning to open.
"No, darling. It's called Auld Lang Syne."
MissLilyO@aol.com