Nine o’clock. Despite the (relative) earliness of the hour, she could see that Bertie was getting tired. His eyes were beginning to show that glazed look, and his attention was wandering.

“Are you ready for bed, sweetie?” she offered.

He shook his head. “No, I’m going to the night shift by the day after tomorrow.  I need to start keeping later hours.”

If that was his goal, they’d started on the wrong foot. They’d spent all day at Bertie’s childhood home after his mother had called earlier in the morning, hoping to get some help with the housework. “Some help”, it seemed, had entailed a list of mowing the lawn, assembling furniture, cleaning out the garage… in the end, she’d offered to make them dinner, then followed that with the suggestion that they spend the night.

Rachel would have turned down the offer – she felt as if she was imposing already, and their apartment was less than an hour to drive – but by that point Bertie had opened the bottle of wine they’d brought, and his mother refused to let him drive. So the matter was settled, and after his mother went to bed at eight thirty, they found themselves in the guest bedroom in the basement. While the bed itself was comfortable enough, Rachel still found herself pining for home.

“I don’t get it,” she’d said, “Did she want us to stay here?”

“Probably,” said Bertie. “Ever since I moved out, it was just Mom and Sascha, and once the dog was gone…”

“So she’s an ‘empty nester’?” Rachel had to nearly laugh at the thought.

Before she’d met Bertie’s mother, he spoke of her in awed but nervous tones, a tiger of a woman who’d tried to crush him under the burden of expectation as a child. A self-made day trader turned housewife who saw motherhood as a competition and had pushed Bertie through school and into college, marveling at his accomplishments and treating him to stony silence when he failed. All of which explained to Rachel much of how her lover had turned out – and all of which was cast to the wind when she actually met his mother.

Far from being the frightening taskmaster that had been described, the woman she came to know as Alicia was a hearty, laid-back older woman who spent most of her time cycling, making homemade wine and engaging in numerous home renovation projects. This was a woman who enjoyed life on her own terms.

Bertie shrugged. “I lived at home for a long time. I still don’t think she’s used to living on her own. You remember how she called me in when she had that plumbing problem last month?”

“Yeah, and we stood around the entire time. She didn’t really need- oh.”

“You called it. Empty nest.”

Bertie took a seat on the bed, pressing his hand into the comforter and feeling the resistance from below.

“You know, I think this is the mattress from my old room.”

“You can tell?”

“I should be able to, I slept on this thing for ten years.” He pressed into it again, his entire body vibrating.

Rachel felt a wicked smile creep up on her. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done on this bed?”

“Probably losing my virginity. Don’t you remember it, I’m pretty sure you were there…”

She had been, of course, that was five years ago. At the time, she’d been a twenty-five year-old waitress who hadn’t realized that the co-worker she’d hooked up with was several years her junior – or that he’d never gotten that far with a woman before.

“That’s the worst? I don’t believe it.”

“What is this, Truth or Dare? It’s late.”

She shrugged. “Why not? It’s something to do.”

“Or we could just watch TV…”

“That’s boring. Come on… if I jump my turn or go to Dare, you can spank me.”

He was quiet for a moment, a gleam in his bleary eyes. No doubt the thought appealed to him.

“But the same rules go for you too,” she quickly added. After a moment, Bertie nodded.

“So who goes first?” he asked.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” She reached over him and slapped him across his boxer-clad rump before he had time to react.

“Ow!” He rubbed his bottom theatrically, “I hadn’t said anything yet.”

“What’s the real worst thing you’ve done on this bed?”

“Probably jerked off. A lot.”

He didn’t follow it up, and Rachel relented. “That’s boring. Your turn, then.”

“I’m not sure I want to play this game. Why am I-"

Rachel turned around and wiggled her bum. As she expected, Bertie’s mind quickly wandered. He knew she was only teasing – there was no way that he had the energy for lovemaking that night – but he did enjoy the view from back there.

“That’s why. It’s my turn again.”

“Wait, how—“

“Did you ever get caught pleasuring yourself?”

The blush that came over his face was something to behold. “This isn’t a conversation I’m comfortable having in my mother’s house.”

“She’s up two flights of stairs and fast asleep.” She darted out and spanked him again.

“Why do you need to- ow!”

“Because I’m bored and it came up.” She mentally added that she found his embarrassment on the subject adorable, considering how few secrets they held between them.

“No,” he mumbled. “I mean, almost.”

“What do you think would have happened if—“

She barely dodged his hand as it shot out toward her backside.

“—Hey!”

“Your rules. My turn. Did you ever get caught?”

A lazy maneuver, but at least now he was playing. “My little sister, once. I told her I was just scratching my thigh. She was sixteen at the time - she probably figured it out.” She considered for a moment. “Did you ever run away as a kid?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, and I did it more than once. My turn.”

“No! Elaborate. Come on.”

The rules she’d established gave him an out, but she was trying to lead her line of questioning. He had to know that, but he didn’t know what she was trying to have him reveal. She was counting on his own curiosity to guide them there.

“Why do you want to know- damn it!” He realized that he’d reacted in the form of a question, wasting his turn. “Can I try that again?”

“You just did, and no.” She smacked him twice for punctuation. “And here I was worried about being the one with a sore butt at the end of this. So, why did you run away from home?”

He held up a hand. “Wait…”

She put up her own, ready to retaliate.

“I might have wasted my question, but you didn’t answer it. Why do you want to know about this? I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories about my childhood fuckups from Mom already.”

“I told you, because I’m curious – ow!” He held her hand out of the way to get at her bottom, and this time he didn’t miss. She felt the full force of the swat even through her cotton sweatpants.

“Okay, fine. Because I don’t know why your mom seems to scare you so much. I’ve met her dozens of times, and I just don’t get it.”

“Is that a question?”

She stuck out her tongue. “No, I still want to know why you ran away from home.”

He sighed.  “A long time ago, she told me that I had to learn how to ride a bike. None of my friends rode, so I wasn’t interested, but Mom saw it as a rite of passage. Bullshit. Three weeks into it, I was covered in bruises and scrapes and still wasn’t any closer to being able to sit up in that thing. It was torture. So I packed up my snacks and comic books and snuck out in the night.”

“And how far-“ she quickly stopped herself.

“When was the first time you played with yourself?”

She had to ask him to repeat the question and had to hold in her glee. Oh, Bertie – he had the wrong idea of how she was playing this game. And if he thought she’d be embarrassed so easily!

“My parents had innocently rented The Crying Game. I thought I might be into girls, but that was the first time I ever saw a cock. They were so embarrassed that they tossed out the tape, forgetting it was a rental...”

Bertie’s face was incandescent by this point, so she trailed off.

“My turn,” she added sweetly. “What happened after you tried to run away?”

He sucked in through his teeth. “It was raining that night. I didn’t bring a coat, I got soaked and starting thinking how mad Mom would be. So I came back, but she’d locked the house and I had to wait until she woke up the next morning before she let me back in.” He was starting to get choked up. “And she was still determined that I learned to ride that bike.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just learn to ride at that point?”

He grinned. She rolled her eyes and turned around, wincing as his palm made contact. He yawned.

“Very sporting of you, sweetie.”

“What can I say? I’m fair.” She also wasn’t done, and it didn’t look like Bertie would be humouring her for much longer. “So, your question.”

“Can you guess why I haven’t brought this story up before?”

“Off hand, I’d say because it makes you look like a petty child. Bertie, I love you and I admire you, but it’s not a surprise to hear that you were a little shit when you were a kid.”

“Gee, thanks, but that’s not what I meant.”

“Then phrase your next question better. So, how did the bike saga end?”

His fatigue was really starting to show. His eyes took on a faraway quality.

“I tried the running away thing again, but this time Mom left the bike on the porch for when I got back – she figured that if I had all night to do it, I might be inclined to get up on it on my own accord.”

“That’s not the end…”

“No. I took it out to the woods near our house and smashed the bike with a rock. It took almost an hour, and to me it was like I’d slain the dragon or something. Mom… wasn’t so thrilled.”

He’d taken the bait. But he had one more turn before she could spring her trap, and she gestured him to ask his question.

“So what's your question?” he asked with a hint of a smile. He was ready to forfeit, she could tell, and would be eager to end the game on a throwaway question. But Rachel had no such intentions.

“I want to know what happened afterward.” When he gave her a baffled look, she patted her knees for emphasis.

His eyes narrowed. “You want to know if I got spanked.”

“You’re pretty into it as a grown-up, I just wondered when the seed might have been planted, so to speak.” She forced a smile, trying to keep the atmosphere light. But Bertie looked anything but calm.

“You’re trying to connect my fetish with my mother? That’s…”

“Freudian?”

“I was going to say gross. I’m going to sleep.” Without another word, he slipped under the covers. He must have been serious – within a few minutes, she could hear his breathing slow, and she waved a hand over his eyes. He was out for the count.

Had she overstepped some boundary? Rachel had to admit that she probably had. Bertie was very sensitive talking about his sex life, even with her. So bringing his mother into the conversation was more than poor taste, even if Rachel really thought she could shed some light on his bedroom behaviour. After all, they both enjoyed a bit of spanking – but she suspected that her boyfriend approached it slightly differently than she did.

For one thing, Bertie didn’t seem to get off on it the way she did. After some fooling around and a few minutes of “discipline” to put some pink on her cheeks, Rachel was wet and ready to go. And even though Bertie was aroused by the feeling of being over his girlfriend’s knee – he’d even come right there in her lap once – he always requested a moment to “cool down” before they moved on to the bedroom, even though he’d still be hard as a rock.

She’d assumed at this point that he was in some kind of different headspace when she was spanking him - and that thought was starting to freak her out. Even when she’d spent a few months as a live-in submissive to her ex, she’d been in awe of the man, she’d wanted to please him, and she’d enjoyed the many sensations he was capable of giving her... but she’d never surrendered in that sense.

She was older than Bertie, it was true, but she didn’t feel comfortable being his “mommy”. It was pretty clear also that Bertie wasn’t too thrilled by the comparison. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t some truth to it. Rachel suspected that she knew whom she needed to ask – and also that she’d have to be very careful how she phrased it.

*** 

Alicia was in the garden when Rachel found her the next morning. Already sweaty from her morning ride, the older woman was weeding the thick copse growing around her hostas.

“Can I help?” Rachel offered, adjusting the straps on her suspenders. Since their overnight stay had been unplanned, she’d had to re-use the previous day’s clothing, a pair of denim coveralls with cut-off shorts.

Alicia gestured to the blade-shaped plants growing alongside her lawn. “Don’t pick those. Everything else is fair game.” She took off her gloves and passed them to Rachel, then rose to grab a can of lemonade from a nearby cooler.

“I hope you and Bert slept well?”

“We did, thanks,” Rachel lied. Somehow she couldn’t find a way to say, I asked your son an awkward question about our sex life and he gave me the silent treatment.

“I’m surprised, especially with you. Bert tells me that you’re usually up all night?” Now it was Rachel’s turn to blush, and Alicia quickly clarified, “I mean, you work late. With the nightclub thing.”

They continued the small talk for a few more minutes, with Alicia spending most of it discussing the pair’s income and how they should be investing as an unmarried couple. Rachel thought she heard a note of conspicuous approval in “unmarried”, but Alicia deftly changed the topic before Rachel could inquire into what she meant.

“Do you see yourself having kids in a few years?”

Rachel was used to hearing the subject broached, usually followed by some variant of you’re not getting any younger. But Alicia wasn’t taking that tone, and Rachel remembered that she hadn’t had Bertie until she was nearly forty.

“Not really,” she replied. “It feels like it wasn't that long ago that I was was one - I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to have some of my own."

“You don’t have to tell me,” Alicia laughed. “Bert gets so uptight when I have to remind him that he was a kid himself. It’s like he thinks he was born fully formed out of my head or something.”

Rachel saw an opening. “Yes, he told me about how you went about trying to teach him how to ride a bike.”

“He told you that?” Alicia seemed genuinely surprised, “He never wanted to bring that up again. It wasn’t a high point for either one of us.”

“How so?”

“I blame myself, mostly. I waited too long before I made him try, so he was too big for training wheels and too clumsy without them. So I kept telling him to get up, to try again – I wasn’t going to let him give up.” She looked down at her sandals. “I didn’t want to give up. He actually tried to run away from home – twice. Did he tell you that?”

Rachel nodded.

"Then, after the accident, I said that was enough. He didn’t need to prove anything more to me, and that ended it.”

“What accident?”

Alicia stared at her in wonder. “He didn’t mention? I don’t think he would have forgotten – I certainly haven’t. He’d finally gotten comfortable coasting down the side streets where we lived, and then he came to an intersection where a truck was already pulling through.” She gulped. Some maternal terror had never left, even after nearly two decades. “He fell off, but the bike was wrecked. He never rode again. And the babysitter…”

“What babysitter?”

“Are you sure he told you this story? I was consulting at my old firm when it happened, it was the babysitter who had to deal with him when he came back crying. Christine, I think was her name. Maybe Crystal. It was a long time ago.”

Rachel hoped that the look on her face didn’t betray her. This was not the sequence of events that Bertie had given her, and she began to suspect that there was a reason for that. One that she would be addressing as soon as Bertie got back from work.

“Oh, Rachel? Sorry to interrupt my own flashback, but if you want to pull something out of the freezer tonight, I’m going to the casino night at the Fireman’s Hall. Tell Bert I won’t be home until late.”

Perfect.

***

The restaurant where Bertie worked was closer to his mother’s house than to their own apartment, so Rachel was startled when he arrived at home earlier than expected. She heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor above her as he peered out of the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Rachel? Mom? Anybody home?”

She heard him searching the main floor for a solid five minutes before his footfalls moved upward, toward the second floor bathroom. She could hear water moving through the pipes in the wall behind her, and knew this was her time to act. Tiptoeing her way up the landing, she snuck into the bathroom. She was tempted for a moment to pull back the curtain and confront him there while he was naked and unprepared. But no, this was about suspense, not surprise. She grabbed what she had come for and descended back to the guest bathroom. She wouldn’t have to wait long.

Sure enough, a few minutes after the water was shut off, she heard him plodding down the stairs. He stood at the door to their room with only a towel draped across his waist.

“Hi, sweetie. Um, did you take my clothes?”

“Yes. I spoke to your mom this morning.”

He was quiet for a moment, but his lip was trembling. His calm façade quickly fell. “Can I get dressed first?” he asked.

“Sit down.” She spoke softly, but made it clear that it wasn’t a request. Reluctantly, Bertie adjusted his makeshift sarong and took a seat beside her on the bed.

“You told your mother that you were nearly hit by a truck and the bike was destroyed. You told me that you smashed it with a rock. You lied to one of us. I think I know who, but I’d prefer it if you told me.”

“What does it matter? It was ages ago.”

“I know it matters to you. And believe it or not, it matters to your mother too, she thinks she almost lost you that day. So what really happened?”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

So Bertie had been honest with her, at least. But he’d also left a major part of this story out, and she had no intention of letting the matter lie there. “Go on,” she prompted.

“Rachel…” he wheedled.

She was starting to notice a change in Bertie’s composure. He was slinking down from his full height, his shoulders dipped, his voice an embattled squeak. He moved to stand, and she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve told me everything else, Bertie. Three questions left. One, why did you lie to your mother?”

She could feel him squirming under her hand. If he wanted, he could easily push her aside and rise to his feet, but he was holding himself down far more than she was. She waited until he answered her question.

“I love her, you know that. I’d do anything she asked of me. But she is… or was… so manipulative in how she went about it. Learning to ride a bike wasn’t about teaching me an important skill or a bonding experience – it was just this milestone I was supposed to hit to validate her as a parent.”

Rachel nodded along. Alicia had taken great pride in having a bright and eager child, and she’d rewarded his accomplishments with being treated like an adult – this Rachel had grasped since long before she met the woman. Like an ambitious young employee in the financial sector, Bertie would have had to ‘pay his dues’. But Rachel guessed that a young Bertie hadn’t seen it that way, he’d have put together that his mother only loved him when he met her goals for him.

Even the situation they were in now was reflective of that mindset: Alicia had wanted labour and company, she’d paid in food and lodging. The familial bond as quid pro quo.

“Okay,” she exhaled. One of her questions was down. Bertie was wilting under her touch, and she wondered if she was being too harsh on him. This was supposed to be therapy, not torture. “Are you all right?”

“Just nervous,” he admitted.

She decided not to drop the momentum she’d started. “Second question, why didn’t you mention you were with a babysitter at the time?”

She’d caught him by surprise with that one. He may have been dreading this conversation, but that particular aspect was one he hadn’t considered.

“Kirsten?” So that was the name that had evaded Alicia. “I remember having the biggest crush on her. I asked her if she had to ride, and she said that I was a little too young to ride the kind of bike she had.”

Rachel entertained the image of a girl-next-door with tattoos and riding leathers, and absent-mindedly considered the ink on her own shoulder. It seemed that Bertie’s tastes hadn’t changed much in the intervening years.

“Anyway, I knew she’d believe me when I told her that story about the accident. I couldn’t risk Mom catching me in a lie.”

“I see,” she said, “And that brings me to my last question.”

“Do I get any questions of my own?”

“This isn’t a game, Bertie. And you weren't punished for that, were you?”

The blush that crept up his neck stifled any words coming from his throat. He shook his head instead. Finally he managed, “M-my question, then?”

He was trembling, and she pulled him into her shoulder. The bed shifted under his weight. He stuttered, and she guided him to his feet so that he was standing in front of her.

“Yes, Bertie?”

“Are you going to, uh…”

He nearly jumped as the TV burst to life behind him. Rachel carefully increased the volume – she wanted it loud enough that the people living in the house next door would hear, but not loud enough that they’d come knocking on the door to complain. She turned her attention back to her Bertie, whose hand drifted reflexively to the fold of his towel, the only layer between his shame and the world.

She pulled gently at the terrycloth, and the towel slipped from his unsteady fingers. She saw he was erect even as he looked down on her with something approaching terror. She didn’t say anything. He had his answer before he’d finished asking the question.

She carefully lowered him to the bed, his long legs bringing his feet all the way to the floor. His bare bottom was laid out across her lap, ready and waiting. Rachel raised her hand to begin, then paused. There was something missing from this scene.

“I want you to understand why you’re being punished, Bertram,” she attempted, using his formal name. “Can you tell me?”

He sniffled. “Because I lied to Mom?”

She slapped him hard between his cheeks, causing him to kick. “No, it’s not. In fact, once we’re finished here, you’re going to tell her the truth.”

“But Rachel—“

“The only ‘but’ on the line is yours,” Rachel scolded, smacking him once again. “You said it was ancient history. Is it?”

“I guess so..."

“So can you tell me why you’re over my knee right now?” Rachel was starting to feel a head rush of her own. Sure, she’d spanked Bertie before, when he’d acted like a brat, but this was different. Even if he was into this – and the hard-on told her he was – he wasn’t egging her on. She was feeling a new kind of power now.

Bertie was slow to answer, and she gave him a few more slaps to hurry him along.

“Ow… is this because of Kristen?”

“You’re the one who’s still carrying guilt over it, Bertram. You tell me.”

“…Yes.”

She let the word hang for a moment, and then began spanking at a brisk pace. He wriggled and twitched under her punishing hand.

“I think you’re holding back on me, Bertie!” She found her voice competing with the six o’clock news behind her. “Right now I’m holding back too, but if you don’t tell me—“

“Nooo! I’m telling the truth, I swear!”

“You’re not telling me the whole story. Why is this about Kirsten?”

“I don’t know!”

“I think you do.”

She took a break for a moment to shake some feeling into her hand. She was bluffing when she’d implied that she was holding back, the truth was it took most of her strength to get a reaction from Bertie without resorting to one of their toys, and she didn’t have a hairbrush or paddle on hand. But Bertie seemed convinced.

He sniffed loudly. “I dragged Kirsten into this. I abused her trust so I could win an argument with Mom, and I never saw her again.”

Tears were running down his cheeks. Rachel barely recognized him. Had she taken this too far? It didn’t look like she’d hurt him, and he’d taken harder punishment than this without breaking down. But he hadn’t gotten so… committed before. She considered letting him up and hugging this one out.

He noticed her pause, and looked up to her. In his eyes she saw guilt… regret… fear and pain… and something else.

Expectation.

She’d brought him this far, and she wasn’t going to back out now. For the next ten minutes, the room rang with smacks, cries and yowls. He promised he’d do better, he begged her for mercy, but he tellingly never asked her to stop. After a while, her hand was too numb to do anything but rub his crimson-painted cheeks as he sobbed in her lap. Behind her she heard the anchor announcing an end to their program.

She turned off the TV and waited for Bertie’s breathing to return to normal.

“Why do you have to take everything so seriously?” she asked.

“I don’t—“

“Can you not just say: I’m a man who likes being spanked? Does it have to be this therapeutic thing for you?” She quickly added, “I mean, I do understand…”

“It doesn't have to be, no.” He slowly rolled off of her lap, wincing as his backside met the covers. His dry but puffy eyes revealed that he hadn’t quite yet recovered from his recent regression. “But you were the one asking about how my fetish started.”

“I didn’t expect the answer to be quite so complicated.”

“No, you thought it was some kind of Oedipal complex,” he chuckled, rubbing his sore behind. “Feel better now?”

“Reassured, anyhow. And you?”

“I’m not going to be sitting comfortably for the ride home, but… yeah.”

She wrapped her arms around her naked boyfriend and kissed his neck. Bertie returned the gesture and their lips met for an all-too-short moment.

Rachel smiled. “Don’t act too hurt, you’ve done the same to me more times than I can count. You’ll probably do it again before the week’s out.”

“Is that a promise?” He slipped a hand under her butt and squeezed. She noticed that his arousal was beginning to show again.

At that moment, the door slammed shut upstairs. Dejected, Bertie withdrew his hand. He gazed upstairs with trepidation.

“I guess I’m going to need my clothes back,” he said. “Were you serious about having to tell Mom what really happened?”

She gave him one last smack for good measure. He didn’t even try to dodge.