Rachel stood next to naked in the corner, considering her options. She begrudgingly admitted she’d put herself in this position, but by her count, she still had several hours to find a solution to the problem she’d created.

It was Bertie’s birthday – not a significant number as he saw it, but Rachel had argued that as a musician, she recognized twenty-seven as a milestone. That meant celebration, that meant drinks, that meant a party, and all of that meant very little after she checked her calendar and realized that the night of Bertie’s birthday was already spoken for, and that she would be spending that date hosting at a nightclub.

She’d called her boss two weeks ago, begging to have her switched out with another DJ, but by then it was too late. Bertie had taken it well, he even told her that he hadn’t had a birthday party since he was fourteen and had outgrown the need for one.  But Rachel didn’t agree. So what if she had to work during the night – that still left several hours in which they could party as hard as daylight permitted.

Even as she overheard Bertie talking to his mother about coming over to her house for a birthday brunch on the weekend, Rachel started making plans of her own in secret. Though her idea of a party consisted of close friends, flowing drinks and loud music, none of those were going to be possible. She’d have to get creative – something more personal. More… intimate. Just that word had brought an enormous grin to her lips, and had informed every idea from that point on.

First, they would start off the day like Bertie started many others, with a walk. While he tended to follow the city streets, the better to plan his routes, this time she’d lead him down one of the park paths down to the river. They’d have a picnic breakfast with accompanying background music – the park’s gazebo was a hangout for buskers, and she already knew an acoustic couple that were available that morning – then have a nice walk along the river. The scene would be set for a pleasant but low-key afternoon between the two of them – and then they’d get back to the apartment.

The crown jewel in Rachel’s birthday surprise was an enormous picture frame that she’d spotted on clearance from the department store downtown. While her first impression was that it was a gift for the douchebag who has everything but a six-foot portrait of himself, she’d had the forethought to give a second look and discovered what looked like a solid frame was in fact modular, and could hold dozens of pictures any number of tetris-like configurations.

At that moment, she imagined a collage of all of her fondest moments with Bertie – mostly photographs, but also some love letters that they’d exchanged by e-mail, most at the beginning of their relationship when Bertie was still learning to drive and thus they didn’t see each other frequently; but also some of their correspondence from when Bertie had traveled to Europe shortly after his graduation.

They’d only just started having sex, and the sudden separation had made for some… interesting reading material. She suspected that Bertie had long since deleted those e-mails, since he’d returned home and they’d moved in together and all, but Rachel had kept them saved during the years since. They served as a bridge to that earlier, less independent time, and she’d reread those letters on more than one occasion when she was in the mood and Bertie wasn’t around. They would form the cornerstone of the collage, and she’d leave Bertie to examine the mosaic while she went into the next room to change out of her hiking clothes.

Then when she returned – bam! He’d turn around to see her in a transparent nightie just as he was reminded how much he’d wanted her during a stopover in Paris four years ago. She could only imagine the look he’d have on his face at that moment – and how it would change when she picked up the ping-pong paddle she’d bought and reminded him that he was due for his first birthday spanking. Now that both of them were punished at home, she saw no reason that he should be exempt from what he’d been giving to her!

With the pieces of her plan all assembled, she’d gone to bed the night before much as she would on any other night – naked save for a pair of boy-shorts, snuggled in beside her boyfriend who had taken to bed hours before her. And she dreamed of the day that would follow.

The next morning, she woke up alone. At first, she found nothing out of place about this – Bertie probably woke up earlier than usual, and had probably taking his walk already. That was irritating, but not insurmountable – she’d tell him that she’d wanted to come with him, give him the sad eyes, and he’d be lacing up his shoes again and her plot would continue as planned. But after an hour of sitting in bed playing on her phone, she had to consider the possibility that he wasn’t coming. She dared a look into the next room, covering her breasts in case the window blinds were open. Instead, she found a note written on their whiteboard: Emergency at work. Will be home as soon as possible.

Rachel thought she would heave. She’d been so careful to keep her preparations under the radar. Bertie had suspected nothing – and because he hadn’t, he’d taken a shift at the restaurant when they’d called. He wouldn’t be back until mid-afternoon at the soonest, and she’d have to start preparing for the club for seven. Any hope of a long seduction had gone out the window, with that kind of time they’d be lucky to squeeze in an afternoon quickie.

She stamped the floor in futile frustration, her tiny feet doing little more than slapping the linoleum, which did little to placate her. Everything she’d done, everything she’d tried to do, had just turned to shit. She just wanted to break something.

The bathroom was closest to her, and she swept her arm across the vanity, scattering makeup and toothbrushes across the floor. The sound startled her for a moment, but as the last vial of lipstick rattled across the floor, she decided that she was far from satisfied. Storming through the apartment, she spotted a huge, loose object lying on the kitchen table that would suit her purposes just right. For all of the glass in it, it turned out to be surprisingly light as she lifted it and smashed it with all her might against the floor.

After a moment, the fog of fury that she’d been lost in began to subside. She stood half-naked in a pile of glass and plywood, which now spread from the television to the front door, imbedded in the floor and surrounding cupboards. She looked down at her own legs, worried that she’d struck herself in her tantrum, but she was surprisingly unharmed.

Her birthday present to Bertie, however…

Some of the photos, she could see, could probably be re-used. But the fact that the frame was modular just meant that it was that much more fragile. The bits and pieces of glass absolutely shredded any paper softer than cardstock. The letters that she’d taken such care to save and curate were nothing but tatters now. It was just as well that Bertie wouldn’t be around to see them.

Rachel stood glued to the spot for a moment, feeling moisture creeping in through the back of her eyes. She sniffed, and the moment passed. With nothing else she could do, she carefully stepped over the glass and reached for the broom and dustpan in the nearby closet. Afterward, she vacuumed the carpets to clear the last shards from there, and mopped the kitchen floor just to be on the safe side. She’d never extended so much effort on cleaning the house, and was surprised to see when she looked up at the clock that it was already past noon.

She looked at the kitchen behind her. The room was clear, and she’d left no sign of what she’d done in her wrath. Bertie would have no idea about his gift, so it was like it never existed. But that also left her with nothing to show. She considered simply acting as if she’d forgotten his birthday – that would buy her a few days to buy another present and have some make-up sex with Bertie.

A flush of shame hit her immediately, and she realized that after the fuss she’d made about his twenty-seventh birthday, she couldn’t pretend to ignore it now. It was flaky and dishonest, and she wouldn’t have stood for it coming from Bertie. No, she owed him something, and at the very least that was an apology.

Considering the possibility that she wouldn’t be home when he got back, she opened up his laptop. The computer had been left on since the night before, when Rachel had pulled some of his pictures off of his drive to fill the collage. She pulled up his Posts, and considered what to say.

I’m sorry, Bertie. I know you deserve better on your birthday, but…

Happy birthday, my love. I had plans for today, but…

I made you a present, but…

I’m sorry, but…

After several more attempts, all ending in “but” and her pressing the delete key, Rachel couldn’t find any words that didn’t lead into excuses. Not even seriously, she wrote, I’ve been a bad, bad girl and I ruined your birthday. I deserve a spanking, then quit the application. The confession felt little different than her making a mess of the bathroom earlier: She might have gotten some feelings off of her chest, but it hadn’t accomplished anything.

Reminded of the other catastrophe she’d left behind her, she left the computer and started placing her makeup back from where it had fallen. She discovered that one of her nail polishes had cracked on the floor, then spent the next few minutes cleaning it off the tile. Her hands ached by this time, and between the stress and the cleaning fluid they wouldn’t stop shaking. Rachel rubbed her head against the wall in the corner, hoping that this was the last trial she’d have to face.

And then the door opened and Bertie walked in. She wanted to turn to him – if nothing else, to witness his reaction to being greeted by the sight of his topless girlfriend shaking like a leaf against the apartment wall – but she wasn’t ready to look at him just yet.

Even if the sight did surprise him, he found a way to work through it. “They only needed me at work for a few hours,” he managed, “Once the oven was fixed, I was just standing around.”

“That’s… that’s good to hear, honey.”

She felt the soft brush of his fingers as he rested a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched at his touch. He pulled away.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Give me a minute,” she whispered.

And so, he did. Giving Rachel her space, he slowly made his way over to the computer and sat down, his weight driving a gasp out of the padded chair. Rachel shuddered. She couldn’t bear to treat him this way on his birthday, but she didn’t know what to say to him, either. She just needed a minute.

“Honey…”

“Not now, Bertie. I just…”

“How exactly have you been bad?”

Rachel suddenly became acutely aware of the force of her own heartbeat.

“I don’t—"

“I’m reading that you’ve been in fact very, very bad. Is that so?”

She struggled for an answer, frozen to the spot. She couldn’t even turn around.

“Does this have anything to do with my birthday present?”

The words finally gave her the freedom to move – and she turned to find Bertie facing her with her own ping-pong paddle in hand. He tapped his fingers on the flat of the board and gave it a few experimental swings in the empty air.

“If it was supposed to be a surprise, you didn’t hide it very well. Is this how you’ve been a bad… sorry, very, very bad girl?”

A cascade of possibly answers spun through Rachel’s head, ranging from indignantly protesting how he discovered her surprise, to confessing how she had no present for him because she’d wrecked it in a fit of having her plans waylaid. But two facts brought her clarity. One, she’d been firm that Bertie deserved something special for her birthday. And two, she had in fact been a very, very bad girl.

So she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Oh, you little brat,” he smirked, “You’re going to have to work standing up tonight.”

Taking her wrist in his hand, she let Bertie drag her to one of the dining room chairs. He spun it around and took a seat. Not wanting to lose a semblance of control of the scene, Rachel chose this moment to drag her feet, stopping at the edge of his lap. But she’d pulled this antic many times before, and Bertie had learned that he could easily overcome her resistance by picking her up by the hips. She felt like she was flying for the space of half a second, then plunged back to earth by way of her boyfriend’s strong lap, her panty-clad rear bent to the sky.

Dropping the paddle for a moment, he gave her a battery of short, sharp smacks with his hand. She yelped more from surprise with pain and wiggled into what had become her customary pose over his knee. For a woman barely over five feet tall, Rachel had wide hips and they just fit in the space from Bertie’s waistline to the end of his knees. She knotted her fists in front of her – the time for token resistance was over.  She was going to get it now.

Bertie reached over and recovered the paddle from where he’d left it. He tested the rubber against Rachel’s vulnerable behind, rubbing her cheeks with the instrument.

“Being that it’s my birthday, I think twenty-seven’s a good number. An important number – don’t you agree, Rachel?”

A tingle went through her bottom as the textured surface came into contact. Dazed by the feeling, she could do little more than nod. The paddle vanished from her peripheral vision…

… And then it came back with a massive CRACK that blasted off the walls of the apartment. Even Bertie was caught off-guard by the sound it made, and he sat in silence for a moment, waiting to hear the reaction from the tenants in the next apartment. But all was quiet.

Meanwhile, Rachel grit her teeth. Like Bertie, she’d been so astonished by the noise that she hadn’t noticed anything else, but now that the shock was subsiding, she felt like she’d been stung by a bee the size of a pickup truck. She was no stranger to a spanking, but she’d never felt anything like this before.

Before any sounds could come out of her mouth, Bertie brought the paddle down on her opposite cheek, giving the one wide red blotch a partner. She felt her entire body shake with the impact, even though Bertie had put less effort into his swing.

Three. As the paddle struck down on top of its first landing site, the slow burn began to turn into a blaze.

Four. He’d aimed right at the crack of her bottom, nearly launching her forward. She gasped, but the sound was drowned out by the next crack of the paddle.

Five, six, in quick succession. A pause.

Seven, eight. Nine, again, right at her crack. She checked herself inwardly, she’d already made it a third of the way through the promised punishment. She could see it to the end…

Ten. Bertie celebrated the milestone with a solid swat that drove the breath from her body. Her eyes were wet, she could feel it.

Eleven, twelve. Still counting them out, bringing her nearer to the end.

Thirteen, lucky thirteen. But she wasn’t feeling too lucky. It was supposed to be you, she lamented. In her head she’d toyed with the image of having Bertie in this position, cushioned on her soft thighs while she went to town on his bare behind. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The fourteenth spank didn’t come.

Instead, Bertie set down the paddle again and laid his hand on Rachel’s chin, turning her face toward him.

“Is it too much, sweetie?” he whispered. Nervous to break the dominant energy he was creating, but afraid of hurting her and unable to tell if he was.

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but the wail that she’d been biting down was the first thing to come out. She saw the terrified look in his eyes, and loved and hated him in that moment. He cared so much, but he had no intuition at all.

Measuring her words, she hissed out, “Not so hard.” He sat still as a statue – stiff as one too, she thought naughtily, she could feel the bulge in his uniform pants rising to press against her belly. She rolled her hips, and the bulge tightened. Surely he wouldn’t mistake her meaning.

Fifteen! He’d held back, but the sudden impact surprised her. The sting in her seat has started to fade, but she’d invited it back and it was here to stay. She shut her eyes tight, and she could taste the salt flowing down her cheeks – the ones on her face, anyhow.

Sixteen. She kicked weakly, then locked her ankles together. Just eleven more…

Seventeen. No more. She was crying now, there was no stopping the tears. She’d overstepped and now she couldn’t avoid admitting it. She tapped the flat of her hand against his leg, twice – too hard, maybe, but who the Hell was he to judge right now? Hell was right – all of its devils and minions had taken up residence in the seat of her panties, and she’d be feeling their presence well into tomorrow.  

Bertie got the message and stopped immediately. He left her quietly sobbing over his knee, and rubbed her burning bottom with soft fingers. It did little to help, but the small effort was appreciated. After a moment, she sniffed and rose to her feet. Her briefs clung to her cheeks as her weight shifted, and she hissed as the fabric bunched over her rough skin. Unconcerned with the reaction of Bertie or anyone who might be able to peer in the window, she yanked off her panties and rubbed her sore glutes.

“Are you okay there?” Bertie asked, She could hear a chuckle in his voice, but his concern was real. She nodded again, realizing how silly she must look, dancing around in her birthday suit, both hands on her butt. The words echoed in her mind – “birthday suit” – and she laughed out loud despite herself. A raised eyebrow from Bertie showed that he had no idea what had inspired her.

Instead, she lowered herself down to the ground in front of him. Before he could suspect what she was doing, she’d popped the button out from his pants. His zipper slid down with a foreshadowing buzz, and he didn’t resist as his pants and underwear followed in the same direction. Her lips enveloped him, she stroked him with her tongue as he passed in and out of her mouth. A hand snuck up from beneath him, cupping his balls and rubbing against the base of his shaft where she knew he liked. If he’d been trying to hold himself back, his resistance crumbled in that moment and in no time she felt his cock pulse as he came, a brief, warm and relieving gout.

She wiped off her mouth and rose from the floor, amused to see that he still sat gasping for breath. She couldn’t help herself. “Are you okay there, sweetie?”

“Oh, I’m just dandy,” he replied, somewhat slowly but with a giant grin, “This is probably the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

That meant something to her, and she smiled back. If there was a near tear that emerged, the existing blush on her face hid it well.

“Well,” she announced, “I’m going back to stand in the corner where the fan is. Like a bad girl.” There wasn’t much purpose in teasing Bertie since he’d come already, but Rachel wasn’t one to turn down an opportunity. Just as she was doing now, taking the opportunity to cool down her no-doubt iridescent backside.

As she was turning to leave, she heard the distinctive trill of her phone. She’d picked that ringtone to indicate her boss – it looked like the fan would have to wait. She grabbed the phone, hoping that he couldn’t somehow detect that his employee was answering the phone while naked and freshly spanked. She blushed at the thought, and answered, “Hello?”

She waited for a moment to hear the news, and once it had registered, she said her goodbyes and hung up, leaving the phone on the cluttered dining room table.

“What was that about?” asked Bertie.

“The club event I was supposed to host tonight,” she said, still in shock, “They’d moved it to next week. The girl who was running it is sick with the flu.” A slow smile was beginning to make its way across her face.

“We have the night to ourselves,” she finished.

“And what are we going to do tonight?”

“Oh, let’s not even talk about tonight yet. I figure you’ll be ready in another couple of hours. Besides…” and she knew she would regret the words the moment she said them, but she was a woman of integrity, after all.

“… I think you still owe me ten.”