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and Alan Play the Marx Brothers; or, Another Visit With Jamie
and Alan in which Jamie Gets Spanked and Alan is Really Not
Jamie was roused from her late afternoon nap
to find that Alan had returned from his midweek business trip
to NY. He had been gone 3 days and 2 nights. Ordinarily, Jamie
didn't sleep in the afternoon, but she didn't have classes on
Thursdays; until her recent discovery of the SSS newsgroup,
Jamie had used Thursdays to get work done at home. This afternoon,
however, she had taken advantage of her flexible schedule to
grab a catnap; having spent much of the previous night online,
she found herself pretty tired by afternoon. Wearing old, baggy,
black jeans and a big T-shirt, she was stretched out diagonally
across the bed, on top of the blue and white quilt. Jamie hugged
Alan's pillow on his side of the bed, and her bare feet were
on her side. A few hours earlier, she had sprawled out in a
patch of warm spring sunlight coming through the window nearest
the bed, not expecting even to fall asleep, let alone to fall
so deeply asleep that she didn't hear Alan come home.
"Mmmmm--you're back," she said as
Alan sat down and kissed her lightly on her temple. Then he
placed a hand between her shoulder blades and massaged luxuriously.
"No, *your* back, sweetie, and . . ."
he couldn't resist adding --smack-- "your *bottom*."
"Yes, Alan, *my* bottom--what are *you*
doing smacking it? Just who gave *you* permission to smack *my*
bottom?" she asked with mock seriousness and territoriality.
"I can do it" --smack-- "because,
as we both know from that newsgroup you're always reading"
--smack-- "*you're* bottom." Alan continued landing
playful spanks on Jamie's jean-clad rear end. He frequently
wished she'd wear clothing that was less baggy (and less black),
but he especially wished it now.
"Yes, and you're top--we've been through
this before, Alan. I'm glad you still find amusement in sophomoric
humor, dear." --smack-- "oof, please don't sing that
song about the Tower of Pisa and the Mona Lisa again."
Alan landed a few more light spanks on Jamie's tush. She said,
"You've got it backwards, for one thing, Alan. It doesn't
start 'I'm the top, I'm the Tower of Pisa.' And you're sure
not gonna catch *me* singing 'Baby, I'm the bottom, you're the
"Just as well, dear. You have many fine
talents, but carrying a tune isn't one of them." --smack--
"Hey!" --smack-- "Ok, grouchy,
how long are we going to go on like this?"
"I'm not groucho. I'm in a very good
mood, considering, but we're going to go on like this as long
as you're being Cheeko," said Alan, ever-so pleased with
what he felt passed for wit at that moment.
"Very funny, and I'm not cheeky, I'm
clever and pleasantly assertive."
"Did you miss me?" Alan asked, inching
a hand into Jamie's jeans via the baggy waist he was deciding
might have some advantages after all.
"You *know* I did."
"Did you miss me enough to remember to
pick me up at the airport like you said you would? remember--we
were thinking of going out to dinner?" He gave her pantied
cheek a gentle squeeze.
"Oh, Alan, I'm sorry."
"Did you miss me enough to get offline
so I could call when I got in? and what happened to that hare-brained
plan to leave the cell phone on standby when you were online
so I could reach you?"
"Oh, Alan, I'm so sorry. I forgot we
said anything about it, and I fell asleep." Her voice trailed
off. It briefly occurred to her that a beeper might be the way
to go, but she thought better of mentioning it.
"Well, I tried to call, but the phone
was busy for a long time, so I gave up and took the T.
Jamie felt very guilty. Alan could see it
in her face.
"Jamie, it's ok--it's not a big deal.
The plane was a little early. With a lot of car traffic at this
hour, the T was probably faster anyway. But let's not go out
to eat. I'm tired, really, and you've been napping, too."
"Is this what you do when I'm not here?
eat bon bons and lounge around? I've always suspected as much."
He eased his hand out of her jeans. "And, wait a minute,
isn't that my T-shirt?"
"Umm," Jamie started to explain
that she had just grabbed whatever she found on the chair nearest
the bed to sleep in the night before and happened to find his
T-shirt. But before she had to admit that she was still wearing
the shirt she had found a few hours' sleep in, Alan interrupted,
"Yes, it is--what are you doing with it?"
"What does it look like? I'm polishing
the furniture with it. Sheesh, you are grabby about the strangest
things. And besides, it's mine now; possession is 9/10ths of
"Even you know that's not true."
"Ok, fine, want it back?" Jamie
sat up, and taking the hem of the T-shirt, she gestured as if
she were going to peel it off over her head.
"Stop that--or I'll make a citizen's
arrest for indecent exposure. You're right in front of the window.
"Some lawyer you are--you know you can't
do that. And who's going to see me Alan? that chipmunk outside?
Arrest him for being a peeping tom."
Alan sat down on the bed and gave Jamie a
big hug. He stuck his hands under the T-shirt, and noticing
a definite lack of bra, rubbed her back some more, while she
contentedly enjoyed feeling like the most adored woman on earth.
"Move over please," Alan said, hoping
for a bigger area of bed underneath him.
"Well, since you asked nicely. . . ."
She moved a bit and lay back down on the bed.
"Yes, *very* nicely considering the imperialist
behavior I am witnessing with respect to my shirt, my pillow,
and most of the bed--sleeping diagonally" --smack-- "could
someone who's 5'3" manage to take up *more* room? what
do you call this?"
"Manifest destiny. I am destined to take
over the entire bed, the entire continent--the entire globe,
"You and your--uh-globes--are destined,
all right, but I'm the one who's gonna be taking over. . . ."
Alan was silenced by Jamie's "AL-aan--enough--I can't take
any more of this--please stop glorying in your role as king
of the juvenile jokes and bad puns. You're not Harpo, Chico,
Groucho, or Karl. And Zeppo is now Newsguy. I'm begging you
to stop this."
Alan conceded. "You're right, sweetie,
enough *is* enough. And I'm tired and hungry. What were you
going to do about dinner when you thought I wasn't getting in
A panicked look flicks across Jamie's face.
She doesn't want him to know she was just going to junk around
in the kitchen and that she forgets to eat when she's on the
"What did you have for lunch? Are there
Quickly Jamie thinks, "he'll see no traces
of lunch--or of any recent meal--and he'd never believe I was
as thorough in clean-up as that. Better say I went out with
Joan and maybe even call her to cover for me. Jamie said, "I
went out for a late lunch with Joan. Then I was gonna do some
work at home, but I got tired and decided to take a short nap."
Somehow, Alan can tell Jamie is not telling
him the truth. "Did you *really* have lunch with Joan?"
"No," Jamie says quietly, looking
intently at a patch in the quilt.
"Did you really have lunch?"
"Umm, define lunch" (she knew she
was pushing it). "Do you mean did I eat anything between
say 11 AM and 3 PM? Yes," she said, thinking of the bowl
of rice pudding she ate before she lay down at 3.
"Young lady, I thought we had this discussion
already. I thought you *promised* me that you were going to
eat better and try to take care of yourself."
"Well, I did promise, and I am trying,
and I really don't appreciate being questioned like a criminal."
She thought to herself, "And I don't really appreciate
being called 'young lady' in quite that tone, either."
Aloud she said, "are you going to subpoena the trash collector
for information pertaining to candy wrappers and ice cream containers?"
"Jamie, you make such a terrible, terrible
defendant," Alan said sadly, but with affection, giving
her a hug.
"I was just being hypothetical,"
she muttered under her breath--but she knew she had an awful
time when she tried to lie to Alan. Because really, she didn't
want to lie to Alan--it just seemed necessary sometimes. Like
"Ok, I see you couldn't be trusted to
keep your word about eating. What about sleeping? Why exactly
did you need a nap today? Jamie, were you up all night?"
"Oh Alan, don't be ridiculous--everyone
needs a nap now and then--I've seen *you* nap. Studies have
shown people are more productive when they. . . ." It was
always a bad sign when she resorted to citing studies, especially
ones she made up.
"Yes sweetheart, I know, especially everyone
who spends half the night playing with newsgroup friends. It's
perfectly *reasonable* to get 3 hours' sleep and then to have
to sleep all afternoon" --smACK-- "a very good plan"
--smACK-- "we should all try it."
"Sleeping and eating, Jamie. We've been
over this-- 2 basic human needs-- 2 basic human needs that a
responsible adult such as yourself should be able to manage
for herself even when there's no one else home." --smACK--
"How am I supposed to go on business trips if I have to
wonder whether you're going without food and sleep?" SMACK--
even through the denim of her jeans, Jamie's bottom was starting
to sting as Alan's play spanks started turning into the real
Ouch, Alan--*stop* it." And he did, but
it took a lot of effort."Speaking of basic human needs,"
Alan started. "Oh not again," Jamie thought, trying
to tune him out and hoping the lecture would be short. Instead
of a lecture, however, Alan outlined his plans for their evening.
He continued," we will call out for pizza -- that's food:
need #1 taken care of. And then go to bed early." Jamie's
mouth opened, but no words came out. She tried to read Alan's
expression and saw that there was no chance of changing his
mind about the evening itinerary. "Without visiting computer
pals tonight," Alan said firmly.
"But, but, . . ." Jamie sputtered.
Alan raised an eyebrow.
"That will take care of need #2: sleep,"
Alan went on. "The very sound spanking you're going to
get before bed will take care of need #3: discipline. Jamie's
bottom tingled and she stifled a pout and the strong urge to
kick her legs on the bed.
Alan was well aware of what Jamie was doing,
though he ignored it. Although he really *didn't* mind that
Jamie had not met him at the airport, he was very disturbed
by her irresponsibility to herself while he was in NY. He despaired
of *ever* getting her to take care of herself and could not
understand why it was that ever since she had started reading
SSS, she took *worse* care of herself than ever.
And he said, "And you know, most of all,
that I do all this because of need #4: I *love* you, even if
you *are* impossible and exasperating.
Trying not to think too much about bedtime,
Jamie pragmatically occupied herself by getting together the
books and papers she'd need the next day and putting them into
her dark grey nylon briefcase.In due course, the large pizza
came and was devoured by two hungry people. As they ate, Alan
asked, "Do you have work left to do tonight, or are your
tomorrow's classes done?" Jamie knew that she could probably
get away with this one if she chose to--she could probably manage
to lie about how much work she had left to do--he'd never know
if she was preparing classes for the next day or the next week
or even the next semester. Actually, he'd never know if she
was just reading a novel and holding a pencil and pretending
to take notes. But it would just be a stalling tactic, and though
she did not look forward to having a warm and sore bottom, she
was tired enough to want to go to sleep early. "I'm done
for tonight," she said quietly and with resignation in
They watched some tv news while they ate but
turned the tv off when the game shows came on. Alan reminded
Jamie that she would be going to bed early and suggested that
she start getting ready while he took care of the thin cardboard
pizza box and the rest of dinner's mess before he came upstairs.
Jamie was in the bathroom, getting ready for
what she hoped against hope was just early bedtime. When Alan
finished in the kitchen, he went into Jamie's study, and as
he reached to turn off and unplug her computer, something occurred
to him. He and Jamie had separate computers but used the same
ISP; therefore, Alan knew exactly how to check the "who's
on" list to see how long Jamie had really been logged on.
He was surprised that she had not logged off before she her
nap--it wasn't like her to leave her computer connected to the
net when she was away from it for so long. He figured there'd
be a few extra hours listed, but not even Alan was expecting
to see 23 hours and some minutes next to Jamie's user name.
With exasperation, he broke the connection and unplugged the
computer. He'd have happily thrown it out the window. He considered
taking her keyboard and locking it in his file cabinet, but
he figured he'd hear Jamie if she got up in the middle of the
night to use the computer. Jamie seemed to have gotten so much
less responsible since she had started surfing; Alan just didn't
He went into the bedroom and straightened
up the disarray of bedclothes. He was just finishing putting
on his trademark mis-matched plaid pajamas when Jamie came into
the bedroom. Wearing a long cotton-knit flowered nightgown,
she was ready to climb into bed and was hoping that she'd get
to do so without undue interruption in the form of a sidetrip
over Alan's knee.
Not by nature an optimist, whenever the faintest
chance of avoiding a spanking seemed to show itself, Jamie clung
to dim hope for all she was worth; at the same time, she knew
that once Alan had succeeded in warming her bottom, he'd hug
her and forgive her, and she'd feel so much less guilty for
behaving more like a teenager whose parents were away than like
a responsible adult while Alan was gone.
Alan had not forgotten that he said he was
going to spank her. Sitting on the bed, he took a deep breath.
Though he was tired, thinking about the 23 hours she'd been
logged on and the fact that she obviously had not paid any attention
to eating decently even after she swore she would, renewed his
energy. He pulled her to him and held her hands in one of his;
his other arm was around her back. "Jamie," he asked,
"when are you going to learn to take care of yourself?"
With that, he lifted her across his lap and
pulled the flowered nightgown way up, bunching it on her back
above her waist. His left arm snugged the upturned Jamie to
him. The air on her bare bottom was startling, and she began
sniffling even before his right hand landed the first SLAP.
"Al-aan, oww" SMACK SMACK "oh, shit" SMACK
This was definitely a real spanking, not just the playful smacks
Jamie had received earlier as she and Alan lounged and joked
on the bed.
Even while it was happening, she found a kind
of security in the familiarity of the progression from sting
to burn to eventual spreading warmth, in the way Alan's left
arm held her tightly in place as he continued smacking. Sometimes
she thought of it as a strange kind of alchemy: Alan's large,
strong hand transfers love to Jamie's bottom in the form of
hard spanks; guilt in the form of heat radiates up from Jamie's
red bottom and disappears. Tonight, however, she was not thinking
along those lines.
"Jamie, why didn't you just kneel on
the couch in your underwear, play air guitar, and sing about
old time rock 'n' roll? It would have been just as mature and
responsible," Alan said. Alan actually felt badly about
having to spank her tonight, especially since he'd been away
for a few days. But he knew that she'd feel less guilty about
not taking care of herself and about her feeble attempts to
lie to him once she had her bottom thoroughly warmed. And just
maybe she'd think about her eating and sleeping habits. And
maybe she'd manage to pry herself away from her computer. Like
the light spanks he had given her when he first came home, this
sound spanking was done entirely out of his love for her. SMACK
-- "oh, AL-aan" --SMACK-- "oww" --SMACK,
SMACK, SMACK --rebounding with the spanks ALan was landing,
her bottom reddened quickly. Individual cries for each spank
turned to undifferentiated sobbing as individual handprints
merged to pink and then to redness. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK Jamie
was crying in earnest, deep wracking sobs that made her gulp.
SMACK, SAMCK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK
Alan stopped spanking Jamie's very red bottom.
She lay on his lap for a few moments, shifting a little so her
head was on the bed, her face buried in her hands. She sobbed
for all she was worth. Alan replaced the soft cotton nightgown
and rubbed her back very slowly as her sobs became less frequent.
He felt her calming down and said,
"Okay, sweetheart? Jamie, you know I
"Ye-ees. As ohh-kayyy as I *caa-an* be,"
Finally, he helped her crawl off his lap toward
the end of the bed and sort of pivot around him on her left
hip to plunk herself down on her tummy on the right side of
the bed, head on the cool fabric of her pillowcase. Jamie reached
back and gingerly inspected her sore bottom with her hand. Then
she cradled her head in both arms, sighed deeply, and tried
to remain perfectly still, as if by not moving a muscle she
could control the heat.
Alan went into the bathroom to finish getting
ready for bed. When he returned, he had a cool damp washcloth
with him. Jamie was still giving an occasional whimper. He helped
her raise herself on her elbows, and gently he washed her tear-stained
face. He finger-combed the tangled hair off her face, tucking
it behind her ears and making her look unexpectedly girlish.
Alan kissed Jamie's forehead and gave her a loving hug.
Cursed with a fastidious personality, Alan
took the washcloth back to the bathroom. The he turned off the
bedroom light and joined Jamie under the covers. She snuggled
up next to him, pressing her left side to him for comfort and
reassurance, not because she was trying to acquire land rights
to his part of the bed. Laying on his back, Alan rested his
left hand gently on her bottom, feeling the heat emanating through
the light, flowered nightgown.
"You know I love you," Alan said.
"Ye-es, Alan, I --sniff-- love you, too."
She appreciated the security of the weight of his hand on her
"Goodnight Red Cheeko," said Alan.
"I just shot an elephant in ..."
"Goodnight Groucho, goodnight John-boy."
a slightly raised palm, a very gentle little
smack "ouch! -- Alan, no, you're *still* not funny."
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