After a few months, Bertie was reconsidering his recent foray into the world of the local BDSM community.

While Cherrie at the Oubliette had been a delightful guide, it soon became apparent that attendance at the shop’s fetish events had been in decline since before the pandemic. While he and Rachel had met a few other customers in the basement dungeon, they tended to similarly be newbies, or were “just checking it out”. He never saw any of these people more than once.

He’d been ready to call it quits when by chance he happened to glance at the store’s bulletin board. Someone had left a note asking for the return of a misplaced lochgelly tawse, and added that they could be contacted via the Oubliette Discord. It turned out that while many of the regulars no made regular appearances, they still kept in touch online – and furthermore were happy to admit another pair of kinksters.

By August he’d been accepted as a regular presence. He told Rachel that while he enjoyed the conversation going on in the group, he didn’t think it likely that he was going to make any friends.

And yet, one quiet evening, a member identified as Frobie started typing out the lyrics to “Rolling Down to Old Maui”, as if singing to himself. Recognizing the piece, Bertie picked up the second verse, and by the end the two were firing off one line of the song after the other. In the weeks to come, he and Frobie would chat frequently about their lives and coming to grips with their common fetish – but mostly about folk music.

Still, he wouldn’t have considered Frobie a friend when he invited Rachel and Bertie to lunch at his house.

Maybe Bertie shouldn’t have been so surprised by the invitation – of course Frobie must live nearby, it was a local BDSM group, after all - but for all the time that had passed since his attempts to network at the Oubliette, Bertie had stopped seeing the Discord members as anything but names on a screen. He didn’t even know what Frobie or his girlfriend Mika looked like.

 “Which one is his garage, do you think?” he asked, leaning over the steering wheel as their car passed into the subdivision.

“At a guess – probably the one playing fiddle music.”

She pointed to a house at the end of the lane, where a slight, bald man waved to them from the end of his driveway. He reached into his pocket and pressed on a remote, silencing the jig that had been coming from his outdoor speakers.

Rachel stuck her head out the window. “Would you be Frobie?”

The bald man chuckled. “Jeff Frobisher. Those who know me, call me Jeff. Get yourself parked and I’ll show you inside.”

He was older than Bertie had imagined, probably in his late sixties. It was clear that he kept himself in shape from the tight lines of muscle beneath his polo shirt, but age and perhaps good cooking had left him with a potbelly. Bertie realized he’d never asked what “Frobie” did for a living.

Frobie – no, Jeff – warmly accepted the beer bottles that he and Rachel had brought as a gift and told them not to worry about taking off their shoes. His bungalow turned out to be smaller than it looked from the street, but Jeff had been single since his second divorce, and had no need of more space. He did most of his work. Having retired (He’d been a carpenter, he volunteered to Bertie’s relief), he maintained a workshop in his garage, using the house solely for sleeping and cooking.

“But not eating?” Bertie asked.

“Right you are. I’ll eat in the kitchen come the winter, but this time of year we’ll have supper on the deck out back.”

Rachel regarded the unadorned white walls and bare furniture. “Does your girlfriend live here with you?”

“Kind of.” Jeff reconsidered. “Sometimes. It’s complicated.” He glanced toward the open patio door with irritation.

“Maybe I can help you with something?” Bertie offered.

“You could find Mika for me. She’s supposed to start on the skewers, but I can’t smell any smoke. She’s probably on her phone. Mika?”

Nothing. Bertie could hear Jeff grumbling under his breath. Their host gestured for the couple to follow him out the door.

“Mika!”

A head of jet- black hair leaned back from the closest lounge chair. If Bertie had been asked to picture a “sugar baby”, his mental image would look very much like this. Mika was a third of Jeff’s age if she was a day, dressed in a crop top and white capris so tight that Bertie could follow the curve of her figure uninterrupted from her flat waist, down her shapely legs down to her bare feet. A candy-apple grin formed under her wide sunglasses, and Bertie knew that she’d caught him staring.

 “Daddy, you didn’t tell me we were going to have company.”

“I did tell you,” replied Jeff with a sigh. “In fact, I asked you to turn on the grill twice already. Would you mind?”

Mika huffed and set down her phone. She opened the barbeque lid, then picked up the nearby lighter and pressed the trigger. A gout of flame leapt from the grill, nearly knocking him off his feet from shock.

Mika turned to Bertie and blew out the lighter dramatically.

This one was going to be trouble.

*** 

He was beginning to worry about Rachel. She’d been so excited for this dinner that she’d dyed the tips of her hair to match the blue-and-black sleeveless top she’d picked specially for the trip.

And while she smiled and told the familiar story of how she and Bertie met at the restaurant all those years ago, with Bertie having lost his keys – there was something off. Her lively energy was gone, and when not talking she played nervously with her hair, inadvertently pulling slivers of gray into the forefront.

It wasn’t hard to tell why. During the dinner, Mika had reached over in front of Bertie twice, far more than she had needed, giving him an eyeful of her cleavage both times. The first, he’d tried to dismiss as an accident, but when she immediately repeated the move, it was clear that she was deliberately and blatantly flirting.

“I was introduced to this young lady at the Oubliette about a year ago,” Jeff was saying, “I hope it’s not awkward to bring it up, but since we’re all here for the same reason…”

“It’s fine,” Bertie blurted out, a bit too quickly, “You were saying?”

“I’d had been in some scenes since my divorce, but I was starting to think I was getting too old and fat to stay in the game. Certainly too old for such a beautiful creature as this.” He leaned over and kissed Mika on the cheek. She blushed.

“I love you too, Daddy.”

Rachel twitched at the pet name. Mika noticed.

“Bertie, why doesn’t your old lady call you Daddy, too?”

Jeff cleared his throat. “Mika, not all couples are going to have the same kind of relationship that we do. And I don’t think Miss Rachel enjoys being called that.”

Mika grinned. “My mistake. I forget to behave myself sometimes.”

“Best you remember when we’ve company present, young lady.”

“We never really had a label for what we were doing,” said Bertie, trying to change the subject, “Strangely enough, it was our couples therapist that recommended the group to us.”

“-Former couples therapist-“

“Former, thank you Rachel. Most of the time, we’re pretty normal. I think I told Jeff, I manage a café in town, Rachel works at the radio station.”

“How much do you make?” Mika asked.

Bertie took a breath. “My salary’s enough to afford our rent, but the hours are unpredictable. I can be out anywhere between six and ten hours on a typical day, and I’m always on call. I’m still paying off my school loans. What about you, Mika?”

“It’s a sad story.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry for you. No wonder Rachel doesn’t have a Daddy, it sounds like you’re never home. A girl has needs, Bertie.”

Rachel rose to her feet. “Thank you for dinner and for inviting us out here, Jeff… Mika. All the same, I’m ready to go home now.”

“Let her go if she wants, Daddy. Bertie wants to stay, doesn’t he?” She pulled Bertie’s arm toward her, the warmth of her skin suddenly uncomfortably close.

“That’s enough,” Jeff snapped, “Young lady, what did I tell you wouldn’t happen if you didn’t stay civil when Bertie and Rachel were here?”

Mika pouted. “You said I was going to get a spanking.”

“That’s right. And just who was going to give you that spanking?”

She limply held up her free hand and pointed. To Bertie’s surprise, her finger angled toward him.

So this was what Mika had been playing at all evening. He could see her almond-shaped eyes peeking expectantly at him from behind her sunglasses. The thought of putting her tight little bottom over his knee was a pleasing one. And he couldn’t say that she didn’t deserve it.

But it was also exactly what the little brat wanted.

“I don’t think we need to resort to that,” he said, pushing down his disappointment. “I for one will be satisfied with an apology from Mika. I don’t believe she meant to offend me.”

Her lips moved silently, mouthing out the word “pussy”. He winced, but continued.

“But I don’t speak for Rachel.”

Mika sneered, “Daddy said you could spank me, he didn’t say anything about her.”

The table was silent. Rachel may have been almost a head shorter than Mika, but standing across the table, she loomed imposingly. A smile was beginning to form at the corner of her mouth. Trembling, Mika removed her sunglasses.

“Daddy?” she squeaked.

“Rachel,” Jeff began, his tone measured, “Would you also like an apology from Mika?”

“No, Jeff, I would not.”

“Do you believe her behaviour has earned her a spanking, then?”

“Yes, Jeff, I believe it has.”

Mika stared wide-eyed between them, then desperately looked to Bertie for leniency. Her gaze was broken as Jeff grabbed Mika by the arm and hauled her over to where Rachel had moved her chair. Her resistance faded as Rachel retook her seat.

“Mika, you have acted like a spoiled child since we got here. You’ve embarrassed Bertie, and you’ve disrespected and insulted me. You are going to be a very sorry girl when I’m done.”

Jeff pointed. Trembling, Mika lowered herself over Rachel’s knees.

Rachel wasted no time. The younger girl shrieked as Rachel’s hand smashed down on the seat of her pants in quick succession. Her flailing and kicking was only encouraging Rachel to spank her harder.

Bertie leaned over toward Jeff. “Are you worried about the neighbours?”

“The neighbours have heard it all before,” Jeff replied, his eyes never leaving the scene in front of him. “I’m sorry as well. She gets like this whenever we have other ‘lifestyle’ people come over.”

His words faded as Bertie lost himself in watching Rachel. He’d never seen her from this perspective – due to being in Mika’s position at those times, he recalled with a blush. Aside from when she had been on stage, Rachel was not especially active – but here she was laying into Mika’s backside with almost athletic precision.

He must have given her a lot of practice.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Mika yelled, “That hurts!”

Jeff held up a hand. “Rachel, let her up, please.”

She did reluctantly, her irritation plain. Mika winked – as Bertie suspected, her cries were an act.

But Jeff surprised them both. “Mika, pull your leggings down.”

“Daddy, no!”

“Young lady, you have three seconds do to as you’re told. One. Two...”

She miserably pushed her pants down to her knees before he could get to three. A pair of skinny legs emerged from underneath the cloth, and Bertie realized that what he’d taken for skintight capris were actually padded shapewear. No wonder, then, that Rachel’s exertions seemed to have had such little effect.

Mika stood up straight, and Rachel’s eyebrows rose as she came face-to-skin with the girl’s recently shaven crotch.

“Is this how you dress for company?” Jeff snarled.

Mika sniffled. “But Daddy, I get panty lines…”

“I’ll give you lines, all right. Bertie, please ensure Miss Mika stays in position while I look for something.”

He disappeared into the house without another word.

If Mika expected that she would be in the clear until he returned, Rachel quickly disabused her of that notion. She yanked the unsuspecting brat back into her lap and went right back to work. No sooner had her hand flattened Mika’s cheeks than the young girl dissolved into sobs. Maybe it was the loss of her hidden layer of protection, or Rachel’s righteous anger, or her Daddy’s abandonment – maybe it was just her first time being left to the consequences of her own actions, but Bertie suspected these tears were genuine.

In truth, he felt a little bit sorry for Mika. But only a little bit.

Mika’s piteous state did little to slow Rachel down. Having tired out her arm on a padded target, she switched to fast, repeated strikes on the same spot repeatedly, a method that Bertie knew only too well. Mika squealed and kicked to no avail, her pants trapping her lower legs.  Rachel made sure to train her hardest swats to the underside of Mika’s bottom – the girl would remember this long after the initial redness faded.

Rachel looked over to him, and Bertie averted his gaze. Mika’s clothing may have previously enhanced her natural charms, but she was still a nearly naked young woman thrashing helplessly over his girlfriend’s knee.

“I see she’s still got your full attention?”

Bertie reclined into his seat, trying in vain to smooth out the front of his pants. Behind him, he heard the sound of the patio door sliding open.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked Jeff.

“Oh, I knew where to look – I just figured I should give your girl a few more minutes. Are you satisfied now, Rachel?”

“Just about.” She finished with a handful of hard, sharp smacks and shook out her hand. Mika leapt to her feet, rubbing with vigour but completely without shame at her now pink posterior.

Only then did she notice that Jeff hadn’t returned empty-handed.

Bertie’s first assumption was that it was a yardstick, but it was too short and much too thick. Nor did it seem to have the heft that a length of maple or oak should have – it looked to his untrained eye like balsa. What was the point?

“Now, girl, you got no less than what you wanted. Now put your hands on the table.”

“Please, Daddy. She already spanked me…”

“Young lady, you’ve embarrassed me in my own home. I warned you several times, but you still proceeded to offend my guests. Now everyone’s going to find out what happens to rude little girls.”

Mika clearly knew better than to argue. She bent over, presenting a beaming target. Jeff tapped the slat a few times on her bottom, letting her get a feel for the wood. Then he drew his hand back.

The improvised paddle wasn’t convenient to hold, nor did it impart much force on impact. What is was instead, was loud.

The first stroke hit with the sound of a rifle shot. Mika howled theatrically, but was interrupted an instant later with a second crack of the paddle. Jeff must have very open-minded neighbours, thought Bertie. He was considering if he should hide behind the bushes.

Jeff laid eight more swats into Mika’s bottom, the noise swallowing her pleas for mercy. When he was done, he hugged her close to his chest and told her that she’d taken her punishment like a big girl, that she was forgiven and that she was to go to her room for the rest of the night. She mumbled a quiet pair of sorrys to Bertie and Rachel, then shuffled back into the house as quickly as her still-restrained legs could carry her.

The ritual struck Bertie as a little bit silly – but he knew firsthand that a red hot butt could make even silly things far more serious.

“I should apologize to you too,” Jeff was saying to Rachel. “Mika hasn’t been in the scene for as long as we have, she can be a little much at times.”

Rachel pushed away a loose strand of indigo. “I get that she thinks she has something to prove, but she’s not going to make any friends with that attitude. You can tell her I understand where she’s been – but the next time we come here, I’m bringing my belt.”

“The next time?” asked Bertie.

“The vegetarian skewers were delicious. And we don’t know anybody else with a barbeque.”

Jeff laughed. “Bertie isn’t the top in your relationship, is he?”

“I let him think he is.”

The trio finished their beers and said their goodbyes. As they left, Bertie spared a last glance toward the house. A light was on in the bedroom, and Mika… from what he could see of her, had stripped down to her bra. Her eyes found Bertie, and she grinned ear-to-ear.

What a brat.

Rachel was waiting for him as he buckled into his seat.

“You have some weird friends.”

“We have some weird friends now,” he corrected.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself watching Mika take her medicine. What say we go home and give you a little dose of the same?”

He felt his boxers tighten. “I think we can be a little more discreet, right?”

“If you’re good,” she said, and kissed him.