The Red Ribbon

here was a red ribbon tied around the hairbrush.

Later that morning, I called my roommate Melissa at work. It was a brief conversation – two words after the usual hellos – and both of them were mine: "Ten-thirty." Hanging up, I thought about my roommate, our arrangement and the hairbrush in my hand. I didn't return it to the bathroom, but rather removed the ribbon, and took the stout, oak brush and placed it on the coffee table. I placed the red ribbon in a manila envelop, addressed it to Melissa at work and left our apartment to run a couple of errands. The first was to the design firm where she worked where I left the envelop with the receptionist with instructions that it be delivered to Melissa. The next was to a small shop on Polk Street where I made a special, albeit small, purchase. Nothing but the best – or worst, depending upon how you looked at it – for Melissa.

With the exception of another call to Melissa's office, the rest of the afternoon was spent on work and other mundane pursuits. In the evening, I went to a friend's place for dinner, in part because I wanted to avoid Melissa. I got back to the house we rented around ten. Melissa was there, the red ribbon in her hair. She saw me and went into her room without a word. At ten-thirty she came out and stood in front of me.

I looked her up and down. She was having a hard time meeting my eyes. Whatever this was, it had upset her. "Well?" I asked.

She crossed her arms in front of her breasts. She was wearing a black Ramones tee shirt, Levis, a pair of old Nike running shoes and the red ribbon. She still wouldn't meet my eyes. I looked down at the hairbrush on the table and back up at the ribbon in her hair. "I'm waiting Melissa...there's something you wanted to talk about."

I nodded to the streak of red in her hair, "That ribbon came out of the drawer and was tied on the hairbrush – it's an action you can't undo now."

A whisper, "I know." Still she could 't meet my eyes.

"And I see you wore the ribbon in your hair all day. How did that make you feel?"

Her face was blank. Like mask on a character out of a Japanese Noh drama, worn by a master, it's emptiness spoke volumes. It spoke of shame, of fear, of guilt, of an unresolved battle taking place within her.

Still whispering. "I'm nervous."

"As well you should be Melissa, but I asked you not how you're feeling now, where nerves and butterflies in your stomach are what I'd expect, but how you felt today. When you opened that package and saw the ribbon you had tied around the hairbrush. When you saw the 'request' that you'd left me this morning coming back to you at work. That's what I want to know about."

She finally looked me in the eye. Her hands dropped from her breasts. Her voice was strong and clear. "I felt ashamed. Like I was the little girl on the playground and everybody knew what I had done and what was going to happen to me when I got home. I opened the envelope and went to the bathroom then went into a stall and sat by myself for a good ten minutes and put it on. My hands were shaking. When I came out, all I could see in the mirror was how red it was. I thought everyone was staring."

She was crying.

"What did you do Melissa?"

She wiped away the tear. "I fucked Rebecca's boyfriend."

It was a strange mixture of pride and guilt and shame. I let it live for a moment and looked her up and down – her subtle breasts, her waist, her hips – and contemplated what I'd do next. She wasn't joking this time and this wasn't play. It wasn't 'I forgot to take out the recycling' or 'I used a fake parking ticket to park at an expired meter.'

"Take off all of your clothes – everything: shirt, pants, bra panties, socks...leave the ribbon in your hair."

She did so slowly and methodically, folding each item as it came off. When she was naked she stood before me. I let the moment last (and will admit was enjoying the sight of her – she looked good in a ribbon).

"Look at me. Now open yourself to me. Go on...reach down, with both hands, and spread it open – I want to see – in all of it's glorious detail – where your best friend's boyfriend stuck his cock."

In her eyes, the pride was gone.

I indicated her pussy. "Open – I want to see where he fucked you."

Slowly she reached down and peeled open her lips, exposing the pink within. Far from erotic, far from the beautiful thing it usually is, this was obscene. I felt shame, whether from her or myself, I don't know.

"Was it worth it?"

"No."

"I should leave you like that the rest of the night. But I don't think that will get you to the place you need to go. I want you to be OK."

Her response was so low I could barely hear it. "I know."

I patted my lap. "OK, over."

"Can I..." her hands moved slightly on her pussy.

"Yes, I've seen enough."

She settled over my lap and I started with my bare hand. I started harder than I might otherwise. This was not a warm-up. The slaps came about a second and a half apart. The room was silent – a confessional – except for the sound of flesh on flesh an occasional moan or grunt from Melissa.

After about ten minutes her ass was a nice rosy hue, my hand was sore and I ordered her up.

"Why did you do it?"

"Just horny I guess...and we were drunk....at a party."

"Did he suck your breasts?"

"Yes."

I stood and grabbed both nipples and squeezed. Hard. A sharp intake of breath. I don't know if it was from the pain or because I'd never touched her there. Never touched her in such a sexual way. Or maybe it was some combination of both. In truth it surprised me and I wanted nothing more than to kiss her deeply and make love to her right then and there.

"Lucky boy," was all I said as I sat down and picked up the hairbrush, "OVER, NOW!" At the store on Polk Street (Good Vibrations, visit it if you're ever in San Francisco) I had bought a very small vibrator.

It slipped on the middle finger of my left hand like a ring and with the flick of a switch, it started buzzing. If 007's Q ever came up with a vibrator, this would be it. Ingenious. So small. So ergonomic. So perfect. With my right hand, I brought the hairbrush down hard on Melissa's ass. My left arm rested upon her lower back, and I reached down, past the cleft of her now burning ass and rubbed the buzzing little finger of joy against her pussy. It was amazing to watch and one day I will ask my roommate to describe the feelings she had. The pain. The pleasure. The painpleasurepainpainpleasure. She let out a cry. And I spanked and rubbed her again.

She was wet.

"I want you to think of him fucking you. Of Rebecca's boyfriend fuck-

SLAP

-ing you."

Rub, rub, rub.

"OHHH GOD....! OWWWWW!! I'm sorry!!!"

"Picture his cock going in -

SPLAT!!

"...and out..."

SPLAT! Rub, rub, rub.

"in and...."

SPLAT!! Rub, rub, rub.

...out. Of Rebecca finding out."

She thrust her sex backwards to meet the vibrator on my finger.

"Not now, Melissa."

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! Her ass was a screaming red. I rubbed the vibrating finger over her now engourged womanhood and she whimpered, pushing her pussy back only to be met with another slap from the hairbrush.

"You fucked him good, didn't you?"

SLAP! Bzzzzzz. SLAP! SPLAT!! Bzzzzz...bzzzz...

Panting and cries.

"You enjoyed it didn't you?"

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! (all in one spot)

"YES!!!" It was as a scream and release all in one, and it was punctuated by:

SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT!!! (again, all in one spot on the other cheek).

I stopped spanking, stopped rubbing the vibrator over her. "Stand up."

With effort she got to her feet. She fought to keep from reaching back and rubbing her flaming ass. Her pussy lips were opening and closing of their own accord, reaching out for my buzzing finger. I touched her and she moaned.

"I want this to be something you remember Melissa."

She was panting from the pain, from the need.

"Yes. Me too, remember it....long time....Sorry...I'm sorry...sorry, sorry, sorry....I'm so sorry Rebecca...." Melissa wasn't even in the room with me. She was someplace else. The place she needed to be.

I handed her the phone. "Dial your work number."

"But..."

"No buts....this will go to the main voicemail. I doubt anyone will ever know who it is. Dial. You're going to remember this tomorrow. You'll remember it every time you see Rebecca answering phones at the front desk. Dial now, Melissa.

With shaking fingers she punched in the number and gave me the phone. Setting it on the couch next to me, I silently pointed my lap with the hairbrush. She climbed on over and when I heard the BEEP I began spanking. Spanking hard and rubbing her engorged slit with the vibrating finger. It didn't take her long to climax. A screaming, moaning, repenting, crying, absolving, monster of a climax, drowning out the sound of the hairbrush repeatedly visiting her ass.

Afterwards, I removed the red ribbon from her hair, carried her into bed, tucked her in and put the ribbon back in the drawer in the bathroom.

End