From: misslilyo@aol.com (MissLilyO)
Subject: New Story:  THE WILL by MissLilyO  M/F, cons
Date: 12 Aug 1996 12:03:26 -0400

Hi, gang.  This story has been swirling around in my head for awhile, but
it finally took shape.  All the great fiction on this group lately has
been an inspiration, I guess.  It contains M/F consentual spanking, so if
you're under 18 you're too young to consent to this kind of thing. 
Besides, you should be outside playing, not glued to your puter.  Everyone
else, I hope you like it!  Love,  Lily.
______________________________

THE WILL by MissLilyO

Only years of careful self-discipline enabled George Holmes to
keep a look of shock from his pleasant features when Edwina
opened the door.  She was haggard, her usual simple coif stringy
and just this side of unkempt.  It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon
and she was still in a bathrobe, and she was clearly not pleased
to see him.

"What is it, George?" she said shortly.  "There had better be a
good explanation for this."

"It's good to see you, Edwina," George said kindly.  "I assure
you, the matter is of great importance.  May I come in?"

Grudgingly, she took a step back and opened the door just enough
to admit her visitor.  He was taken aback by the drawn drapes and
slight disorder he could observe in the downstairs foyer.  "Where
is Mary?" he asked, inquiring about the maid who had worked in
this house for Edwina and Philip for twenty-five years.

"She's off visiting her sister," Edwina said, distractedly.
"She's getting on in years and I suppose she'll be retiring
soon."  She spoke as if Mary's plans were of no more consequence
than whether the paperboy had left the Daily Examiner on the
porch or not.

"Why don't I wait here while you change into slacks and a
sweater, Edwina, and we'll take a short walk through the
neighborhood.  The weather is just lovely outside," he suggested.

"Get to the point, George," she replied acerbically.  "I resent
your insistence on intruding like this."

George paused before responding, struggling to control his face
and his voice.  Before him stood the widow of the man who had
been his best friend for more than thirty years, and George had loved
her for all of them.

He and Philip had been high school chums despite Philip's prowess
as an athlete and George's excellence as a scholar.  They went on
to a prestigious college, where Philip made local headlines as a
quarterback and George ultimately was the editor of the Law Review.  The
friendship had endured without faltering for all the years
intervening, each man finding ways to help and support the other
in careers, finance, and life choices.  Philip had the most
infectious laugh, the most engaging personality, and kept his
more serious friend from becoming pompous or stodgy.  In turn,
George's astute advice had made Philip a wealthy man.  George
counted himself lucky to have had a friend as in tune with his
heart as Philip, and he knew Philip had loved him in turn.

When Philip had thundered into George's apartment one evening with a
bottle of good Kentucky Bourbon in one fist and announced that he
was in love, George beamed in shared pleasure.  But the moment he
laid eyes on Edwina, George had shared something else as well--he
fell deeply and unwaveringly in love with the woman Philip was to
marry.  She was tall, fine-boned, lovely in her patrician
perfection.  Although her social credentials were impeccable, she
had none of the stuffy, self-indulgent vapidness that George so
disliked in many young women in her circle.  Edwina had a wit and
style about her, an easy grace and keen mind.  Soon she was a
natural part of the relationship between Philip and George and
then spent many wine-kissed nights discussing authors, world
politics, the arts, and the merits of Bugs Bunny vs. Mickey
Mouse.

George never once, through word or deed, betrayed his feelings
for the wife of his best friend, and he contented himself with
basking in the affection of a friendship built to last a
lifetime.  Neither did he choose a wife of his own, knowing he
could never love another with a complete heart.

Her coldness now chilled him to the bone, though he understood
that when Philip's heart stopped, Edwina's froze in her chest in
the same moment.  He would have been too daunted by her quiet
anger at his visit to continue, had it not been for the letter
left to him by Philip in the last days of his battle with cancer.
The words were seared on George's brain:  "To be opened exactly
six months after my death by my friend and attorney, George
Holmes."

George had drawn the envelope from his safe on Monday, six months
to the day after Philip died, and had stared at it for long
moments before breaking the seal.  He had, of course, handled
Philip's will for him following the funeral, a simple matter of
transferring all of Philip's holdings to Edwina's name.  George
had gone on directing the business and real estate holdings and
the stock portfolio for Edwina, just as he had always done, and
his careful money management continued to pay her substantial
dividends.  George had a gift with money, and had himself amassed
a large fortune through wise and far-sighted investments of his
own dollars.  What could his friend have in mind, to reach out,
as it were, from the grave to him with such deliberateness, he
wondered?

"My old friend," began Philip's letter, penned in Philip's own
bold hand, no trace of his failing health revealed in the sure
strokes on the bond paper.  "When you read this, I shall have
been dead for six months and you will be handling my affairs as
you have in the past, with brilliance and integrity--only one of
the reasons I have loved and appreciated you throughout the years
of our friendship.  You'll still be at the club once a week,
you'll still be whipping unsuspecting fools on the tennis court,
and you'll still be wearing those abominable vests that have
become your trademark lawyering uniform."

George paused and smiled at his friend's unfailingly accurate
assessment.

"George, I've always known most everything about you, including
the fact that you've been in love with Edwina from the day you
met her.  I've never minded.  It always seemed right, and it
never seemed to cause you pain.  She loves you too, old friend.
I believe she's always loved us both as though we were a unit, a
part of the whole.  I was just lucky enough to wed and bed the
wench, who brought the same zest to the bedroom as she ever did
to sailing, or tennis, or bridge.

"By now, she will have cut off all contact with you.  She will
wither and die if you don't act for us both, George.  Edwina was
always a handful.  Fortunately, her father recognized her willful
ways early on and took her in hand before she became a silly,
shallow spoiled rich girl.  I continued that fine tradition from
the day of our wedding vows, and she blossomed under such
attention.  And now that she has had a respectable time to grieve
and get her affairs in order, you must take over her tutelage in
my place, George."

George had had to pause and wipe his eyes, blinking back tears as
he tried to press forward.  He clearly had no idea what Philip
was talking about.

"You must go and spank Edwina for me.  Yes, I said 'spank' and I
mean 'spank.'  Nearly every day, and certainly no less than four
or five times a week, Edwina has received an old-fashioned, bare-
bottomed spanking from her loving spouse.  It was as much a part
of our relationship as a good morning kiss, the long-running
jokes we shared, and the soaring passion that was God's sweet
gift to us during the entire period of our marriage.  She will be
in desperate need of a spanking by now, dear friend, and you are
the man who must give it to her."

George's hands trembled as he held the pages.

Had Philip known of his secret kink?  They had NEVER spoken of
it, yet he had secreted magazines and photographs on the subject
of spankings, not once dreaming that his best friends were
actually living his fantasies!!  George read and reread the
letter at least a hundred times.  Now that he thought back on it,
he could remember odd references exchanged with knowing glances
between Edwina and Philip that now made sense within the
context of his newfound knowledge.

Smiling ruefully, he shook his head.  Philip may have left his
wealth to Edwina, but he gave the most valuable gift to his
oldest friend.  Afterall, how many men would have their most
powerful fantasy wish fulfilled with one sweep of a friend's pen?

So it was that he now stood in Edwina's foyer, implacable and
firm.  "The point has been 'gotten to,' Edwina," he said.  "Go
upstairs and get dressed.  We're going out for a walk.  Now."

"We're doing no such thing..." she began, but was brought up
short by the set of her old friend's face.

"Edwina, I don't intend to debate the issue with you.  If you
don't go upstairs immediately, I'll drag you there and throw you
into the shower myself.  You have five minutes."

They engaged in a brief staring match, but George  won as
Edwina gave him one last baleful glance, set her mouth in a thin,
angry line, and stomped upstairs.  Moments later she clumped down
again looking considerably better than when he'd first seen her.
Her hair was still damp, and now was swept back from her face and
caught at the nape of her neck, showing off the still-exquisite
bone structure of her face.  She wore a heather gray turtleneck
sweater and camel pants which seemed large on her too-
slender frame.

"Well, come on, if you're so determined to intrude in my life
this way," she snapped.

Smiling calmly, he held the door for her and followed her into
the autumn sunlight.

By the time they returned, Edwina's color was noticeably improved
and she actually responded to several of George's stories about
mutual friends, and references to shared memories.  She turned at
the door dismissively, but George ignored her obvious posture and
pushed past into the foyer once more.

"Really, George, this is just too much," Edwina protested.  "I
went on the obligatory outing.  Now get the hell out of here and
leave me alone.  I'm not up to this."

"Edwina, dear," he said patiently, "I didn't merely come to take
you for a stroll.  You and I have some business to attend to.
Please go in the living room and sit down.  There's something you
need to read.  It...it's from Philip."

He watched as she fought to control her expression, her face
settling into a mask.  "Oh, very well.  And when this 'business'
is concluded, George, I don't want to see you here anymore."

Clearing his throat, George ignored her rebuke.  He extended his
hand, as if he were the host, and brought her into the sitting
room, waiting till she was settled on the couch before taking his
place in the adjacent easy chair where he had so often sat during
his frequent visits to this home.

Behind her, the big oil painting of Philip seemed to oversee the
proceedings sternly.  They had all laughed at the solemn
expression on Philip's face as captured by the artist, only the
lively eyes dancing with restrained amusement betrayed the joy
with which Philip greeted every day of his life.  Edwina had
fallen in love with the portrait at once and, despite the good-
natured teasing among them about it, George had known his friend
was pleased when she insisted on hanging it prominently in the
sitting room.

Reaching into his briefcase, George extracted an envelope on
which were written the words, in Philip's distinctive hand, "For
Edwina."  George had no idea what was in the letter, as it had
remained sealed according to Philip's wishes, but he watched the
words play on Edwina's beautiful features as she read her
husband's instructions.  Though she made no sound, tears spilled
over in Edwina's eyes and coursed down her face,
dropping unheeded onto her chest, a few of them staining the
pages in her hands.  Once she let out the smallest gasp, blushed
deeply, looked under lowered lashes at George, and then continued
reading.  Deliberately she read the letter several times before
putting it aside.

George held his breath as she sat looking down at her hands
folded in her lap for a long moment.  When she finally lifted her
eyes and met his, he saw what he had prayed for in them--the same
complete acceptance of Philip's words to them both.  Without a
word, Edwina rose gracefully and started for the stairs.  "Wait
here," she said softly.

In a few moments, she returned with a small round paddle, the
handle of which was made of fine hard wood, and the round surface
covered with dark leather.  The handle had obviously seen much
use.  Without a word, she held the paddle out to George.  He rose
and took a seat on the couch. When he took the paddle from her,
she unfastened her trousers and pushed them down to her knees.
George could hear her sharp intake of breath as she then reached
for the waistband of her plain white panties and pulled them down
as well.  And then she was over his knee in the classic spanking
position, the years falling away from them both.  Here was the
reality of the dream he'd cherished for years.

No longer young, either of them, he nonetheless found the sight
of her sweetly upturned bottom the most luscious sight in the
universe.  His heart swelled with the wish for poetry to
immortalize this moment, but he was more pragmatist than poet and
so his feelings soared without words.

In a small, meek voice, Edwina said, "I'm ready, Sir.  Please
give me my spanking."

George's heart leapt.  "Oh, Edwina!  I...I..." he choked off
further talk, lest the intensity of his emotions spoil this
perfect moment.  Taking courage from the countless spanking
stories he'd read but never lived, he lifted his palm and brought
it singing lightly down on her bottom.

"Ughn," was the only small sound from her.

Again, he swung his arm, connecting again with a sweetness he'd
never dared dream of before.  Her skin was warmed by the contact
and faintly pinkened.  Again.  And again.  Her slight movements
didn't discourage further spanks, so he continued.  At last he
sensed she was warmed up so he reached for the paddle.

Only in his fantasies had he heard a sound as perfect as the one
made when that paddle whistled through the air and connected to
her upturned fanny.  Had the opening notes of his favorite Chopin
pieces ever had such dulcet sound?  In counterpoint to the
paddle's melody, Edwina had begun a soft harmony of little
cries.  Rather than dissuading him, George found himself spurred
on to spanking her harder, causing her to move about on his lap,
her cries and gasps gaining volume.  He was rock hard against her
hip, engorged with the vigor of a 20 year old.  The paddle rose
and fell, rose and fell.

At long last, all the grief and loneliness and anguish of her
loss bubbled forth and Edwina began to sob over George's lap, her
cries shaking her whole body.  George held her in place, one hand
on her waist, the other gently stroking her fine, reddened bottom
until her gulping sobs slackened.  At last he helped her up and
pulled her down to sit on his knees like a little girl, panties
and trousers still pulled down awkwardly around her slim calves.
She laid her head on his chest and cried for a long time more.

At last he lifted her chin with his fingertips and looked long
into her eyes, the beloved face stained now with tears of
release.  He would think afterward that it *was* just like in the
movies he'd seen...the kiss unfolding in slow motion, their lips
drifting together and meeting in one long rhapsodic melding.  He
could have kissed this woman forever.  All the long-banked fires
burned clearly in his kiss and she felt the ice around her heart
melting away as she was carried along by the heat of his
Her long-time love for him took on new dimension as he ignited
in her feelings she believed she'd buried with her lifemate.

"Let's go upstairs, George," she whispered throatily.  He helped
her pull up her clothing and took her extended hand as they moved
out of the room.

George was behind her, entranced by her swaying hips so recently
bared for his worshipful attentions.  He turned for one moment to
look back over his shoulder.  Though there was no draft in the
solid old house, the letter which Philip had teasingly begun with
the words "Edwina, darling, this is truly my *last* Will and
Testament..." was gently picked up as though on the wings of a
vagrant zephyr.  The pages danced and swirled and fluttered as if to
wish the lovers a warm farewell.  George often thought in the
years to come that the portrait of Philip had actually smiled at
him as he followed his beloved up the stairs.

MissLilyO@aol.com)