W is for Waiting

Wobbly-legged and wanting, Federica stumbled over the threshold of her hotel room with Arlin, steadying her with an iron grip on the elbow. He let go of her for about thirty seconds to open the lock with an uncooperative old-fashioned key.

“Thirty-nine minutes,” announced Arlin, consulting his watch, when Federica froze in the middle of the room.

“Already?” she whined, but kicked off her high heels, an item Arlin was the least concerned about.

He put her on the clock as soon as they finished dinner, and he settled the bill. With an Uber ride booked in forty-five minutes, every minute mattered. The ancient elevator took its sweet time, and Federica’s room was at the end of the winding hallway.

“Finagle any longer, it will only hurt you more. Hmm, punny,” Arlin chuckled at his own joke. “The less time is left, the more I will take away from your spanking, which means I will have to spank you hard and fast. Do you think spankings are long?” He circled Federica like a Roman statue on display. “No, my dear, it’s the talking part, the pauses, the rubbing. Drag more time, and you won’t have any breaks once I start.”

“Please, I want the breaks.”

“Then start undressing.” Federica took off her jacket and flung it on the sofa. “And fold it neatly or hang it.” She darted with the jacket to hang it in the closet. “We need a new timer to put things into perspective. Let’s count back, shall we? Can you get dressed and put the makeup on in ten minutes?”

“I need fifteen. Sir.” She pulled down the skirt’s zipper and stopped at that.

“I’ll need about ten minutes for your thanks to come to their bountiful conclusion. Although, if your oral skills are not as good as Mrs. Santa’s—”

“Oh, you can’t let it go!” Federica raised her hands to the heavens in a distinctly Italian gesture, and her skirt slid down to her knees. She hastily picked the falling skirt and pulled it right back.

“I will lend you a helping hand. My my, I’m on fire tonight. I will reserve another five minutes for the belt and to calm you down. Fifteen to get dressed plus ten for me plus five for the belt brings us to a whopping thirty minutes. Subtracted from thirty-nine, we have only nine minutes left. I’m waiting, Federica!”

And the woman shimmied out of her hose from beneath the skirt. Arlin wondered if she would do the same with her panties.

“I’ve been known to cause considerable damage to one’s arse in a much lesser time, accompanied by profound wailing of the owner of that arse, regretting their wrong life choices,” Arlin went on with his speech. “But we have a shindig to attend. I want you to be timid, not wrecked. Next item, Federica.”

The panties left her body in the same manner as the hose; she was still in that damn pencil skirt.

“I’m being generous here and not adding extras for all your interruptions and this conversation. I gather we will never leave this room, if I will.”

“Sir?” she raised her hand like a dutiful pupil, holding her skirt with one hand.

“Yes, speak up.”

“I will get ready in ten minutes, sir, I promise.”

“I doubt but I will allow extra five minutes.” Arlin tweaked the clock on his phone and set it on the coffee table for Federica to see. “The timer is on for fourteen minutes. Why are you still dressed?”

Federica dropped the skirt on the floor, but her long blouse hung low, covering her hips.

“I said everything from the waist down. I don’t see your waist.”

The woman yanked the hem up and buried her face in it. Arlin cleared his throat; the carpet definitely matched the drapes. He sat on the edge of the sofa and patted his knee, which she couldn’t see.

“I’m waiting, Federica.”