Miss Amelia's Vanity

She's never spanked me when I wasn't aroused and it hurt like hell. I protested and begged for her to stop but to no avail. I felt a tear well up, then another. Suddenly, she grabbed my leg and bent it up. She pulled the slipper off my foot and I felt the leather sole pop with a dreadful bite all over my already toasted rump.

"Stop, Miss Amelia. Please stop." I wailed, but she kept on. And on. Like never before. I'd never seen her so upset. It didn't make sense. "I was just making you breakfast," I cried.

She stopped.

Sobbing like a baby, I lay draped like a wet noodle over her silky thighs. That's when I realized I wasn't the only one crying. I tried to get up. She let me. She didn't even admonish me. I kneeled by her and lifted her chin. Every feature hung sadly. "Miss Amelia. What did I do?"

She lurched forward and took me in her arms. She didn't speak. We held each other tight, sobbing. I had received the news a month earlier. I was accepted at Harvard in their Graduate Art History program. Her Alma Mater. Her recommendation helped smooth my acceptance. We toasted, made love, celebrated. A happy day.

I had always planned to stay in New Orleans, maybe with Miss Amelia. We never talked about that. I guess we both assumed. Or at least I did. I knew I would go off to a different school. But then I would come back.

As we cried in each other's arms after my last spanking, only Miss Amelia was wiser. She knew my life would move on. Not just on, but away. One thing would lead to another, as it had when I first met Miss Amelia. She was always right.

* * *

I keep promising myself I'll go back to New Orleans. Look up Miss Amelia. I have a family now, though. It's complicated. My experience with Miss Amelia is something I could not easily explain. I often wonder if she ever married. Probably not. She didn't seem like the type. Maybe she has another student who gets in trouble all the time.

An attractive blonde senior, tired of her sorority moved in the day I moved out. I didn't tell her anything about what was in store. I didn't want to break the magic of that first time. I did wonder how many had come before me. It didn't matter. I'm thankful for everything Miss Amelia exposed me to—in her bedroom and out in the world, over her lap and at her side. That will always be ours.

I still have Miss Amelia's hairbrush. After that last spanking, Miss Amelia had me get it from her vanity. I thought she was going to spank me again. Ever obedient, I brought it to her, dreading the worst. Instead, she handed it to me with a kiss.

"Don't forget me," she said before getting dressed and getting on with the day.

I never will.

THE END