Anticipation
Copyright  2002 by Don A. Landhill
(All rights reserved. Do not reproduce this story without 
permission from the author. )


It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the 
time of waiting, when she finally realized what she was in for. 
On the one hand, she was so glad that he really cared about her, 
and was, once again, showing this in the clearest possible way.  
On the other hand, she was in for some real "tough love", and she 
knew that it was going to hurt! 

Of course, she knew the rules, and she wouldn't be in this 
position if she hadn't been sassy to him, and even (she had to 
admit it to herself, if never to him) more than a little bratty. 
She knew the rules, but somehow, when the urge came over her, the 
consequences just weren't real to her.  Not until the fatal words 
were out of her mouth, and it was far too late to recall them; 
not until he had passed sentence, and ordered her to await her 
doom.  Then she regretted, and tried to apologize, only to be 
told to keep quiet and think about her actions.  Then she was 
berating herself for landing herself in trouble, now that there 
was no way out.  

And this time she was in big trouble, too.  He had had enough of 
sassiness, and disrespect, and disobedience, and direct defiance, 
he said.  He was going to see if a good dose of the strap would 
change her behavior for a while, since scoldings and simple 
spankings didn't seem to do the trick. But it would be quite a 
long time before he was ready for her, and in the meantime, she 
was to spend her time thinking about what she had done and why 
she was to be punished.  So here she was, skirt pinned up to her 
shoulders, in the living room corner, waiting for the strap.

She felt so alone, waiting there in the corner.  In many ways it 
was worse than the actual spanking. It gave her time to brood on 
things, to wonder why she got herself into this situation. She 
mustn't speak, she mustn't turn, she mustn't move.  People might 
see her, but she couldn't see them. (Sometimes she thought the 
whole household traipsed through the room whenever she was doing 
corner time.)  Yet even alone in the corner, she knew that she 
was surrounded by his love.

It was drafty, too. She shivered.  Partly that was with 
anticipation of her punishment, but partly it was just the darn 
cold.  She wasn't really used to the cold.  Often when she stood 
here there was a bright, warm shaft of sunlight across her 
bottom, reminding her of how hot it would soon be.  But today was 
a gloomy day, a dank, wet day.  It was gloomy inside herself, and 
it was gloomy outside, in what was usually such a warm town. In 
fact, she heard drops of water hitting the windows, hard.  It was 
raining in Los Angeles.

-D.A.L.
 June 2002