Friends. It’s funny you don’t realize how important they are until you lose them.
I had four close friends who I met through work. I won’t go into details, but life has sucked recently. As you know, I lost my job, and I don’t see my friends these days. I miss them. I miss their teasing and the way they knew my good points yet weren’t above giving me a hard time for stepping out of line.
Friends are there for you through the good and bad. They don’t judge. They support. They’re honest and worthy of trust. They tell you if your skirt is tucked into your pantyhose before you leave the restrooms or if there’s part of your lunch stuck between your teeth.
They’re the first people you turn to when you’re down and when it comes time to celebrate, friends are the ones you call to share exciting news. It’s never a contest with friends. It’s about support and encouragement, bolstering each other up in the bad times. Celebrating the good times, and lots of laughter in between.
That’s the thing about friends. They love you for who you are not who you should be.
True friends are like gold. Treasure them.
Connor read Maggie’s blog post, his throat thickening with emotion. Men didn’t cry, but dammit, he wanted to bawl. He could read between the lines. None of them had treated her very well. None of them were talking to each other. Susan and Christina avoided him at work. He and Julia saw each other every few days, but they didn’t talk. Since her hospital release, she’d become distant, a shadow of her former carefree self, and she refused to discuss the baby or its father.
She hadn’t returned to work, although physically, he thought she was okay. Losing the baby had leeched away her laughter and joy in life. He wished he knew who the baby’s father was, because he’d love to punch him in the nose hard enough to make it bleed.
Dear Bad Ass,
If I was there with you, I’d take you into my arms and hold you. It sounds as if you need a hug.
Kinky Lover
A reply jumped into his inbox almost immediately, surprising the hell out of him.
Dear Kinky Lover,
I need more than a hug. I’m thinking a good spanking followed by a bout of hot, sweaty sex might be the only thing that will work. It’s not gonna happen, but a girl can dream.
Bad Ass
A slow grin spread across Connor’s face. He might not be in the same room, but he had an idea. It might work out if he played Maggie right.
Dear Bad Ass,
If I were there with you, I’d walk into the room and take your hand. Without saying a word, I’d lead you to your bedroom, put you over my knee. Imagine my hand smoothing over your bottom. You’re laughing, squirming a little. Enough to bring my cock to attention. I lift my hand and strike your buttocks. You’re still clothed in a short little skirt and a shirt that skims your curves without looking slutty. I swat you again and your entire body jerks, but you’re still laughing.
“This is serious,” I tell you. “You’ve misbehaved and must be punished so you’ll never do it again.”
You giggle and shoot me a saucy wink when you glance at me over your shoulder. “I like misbehaving.”
I know this. I know you’re disobedient on purpose so I’ll give you a spanking. You play the brat, and I play the stern disciplinarian, ready to do my duty.
The truth is I enjoy the spanking sessions as much as you do. We both play our parts and the spanking acts as perfect foreplay.
I lift your skirt, baring a pair of plain cotton panties. They look staid under your sexy black skirt and not what I was expecting because I can see you’re wearing a lacy bra. The lace has played peek-a-boo with me all day.
I cup part of your buttock with my hand, feeling your body heat through the cotton. You groan and I know if I slipped my fingers between your legs, I’d find you ready for my cock. My body knows this too, blood speeding south to my shaft. I ignore the prickle of pleasure, knowing it will become better, more urgent, if I build the tension between us.
With no warning, I smack you again. A series of slaps across your butt cheeks, varying the angle and the intensity. I pull down your cotton panties and take a minute to touch your silky skin. I love your arse—looking at it, touching and kissing it.
I feel the heat generated by my hand, but your bottom is only faintly pink.
“Do you want a good spanking?”
“I’ve been disobedient,” you say. “Santa crossed me off his list yesterday.”
I grin. I can’t help it, because you’re so irreverent sometimes. I can imagine what you were like as a child—always with your hand in the cookie jar and an innocent smile on your pretty face.
I think about it and give you three swift smacks. The crack of my hand on your flesh is loud in the bedroom, the sound sweetened by your soft cries, your words of apology. I know you’re sorry right now. I know that. Tomorrow, that’s a whole different story.
