Chapter 5: Lord Knows You Deserve it

Continued from chapter 4:

The following Monday, rain lashes against the large plate-glass windows of Market Fresh, blurring the world outside into a grey smear. Eve stands behind the register, her movements mechanical and efficient. She has been unusually silent today, even for her. Her eyes are fixed on the computer screen, but she isn't reading the inventory reports. They stare right through the text.

Every time the automatic doors slide open, her shoulders tense. She finds herself glancing at the clock, then at the door, then back at the monitor. She tells herself it's because she expects trouble. She tells herself it's because she's waiting to see if the lunatic returns to cause more chaos.

But when the bell rings and she realizes it's just a regular customer, a surge of inexplicable frustration hits her.

I return to Market Fresh, but I ignore Eve. I know a lost cause when I see one. I'm checking out when I hear a Midwestern woman's voice call out behind me.

"Excuse me, hon, can I have a word?" she asks.

Chapter 5:

I turn and see a pretty woman, slightly heavy-set, with curly red hair—old enough to be my mother. She has warm eyes and a gentle smile.

"Sure, Miss...?" I ask.

"Horning. Karen Horning," she says, extending her hand. "I found your present. The one you left behind at the register last week."

My heart skips. "You did?"

"I did," Karen says, her tone playful but genuine, her eyes holding something that looks almost like kindness. "And I was wondering if I could use it on you. If Eve won't."

I smile, genuinely smile, and something in Karen's expression softens even further. There's no judgment in her face, only curiosity and a surprising warmth.

"Sure, Miss Horning," I say, pulling out my phone. "I give her my information. Come on over when you get off. I'll be all yours."

Eve is currently occupied with a malfunctioning credit card reader, swearing under her breath about the incompetence of technology, when the exchange happens. She doesn't hear everything at first, but the mention of 'present' and 'use it on you' cuts through her frustration like a serrated blade. She freezes, her fingers hovering over the keypad.

She slowly lifts her head, her ice-gray eyes narrowing into slits as she watches the interaction. The sight of me smiling—actually smiling—while handing my information to Karen sends a jolt of pure, vitriolic rage through her veins. It's not jealousy, she tells herself. It's disgust. It's the indignity of being bypassed in her own kingdom.

"Is there a reason you two are congregating at my register like vultures?" Eve demands, her voice sharp as broken glass.

"No, ma'am," I say. "Just making plans with Miss Horning for later."

Karen giggles, a sound that is somehow both playful and knowing.

"If you won't put him in panties and spank him, I will," Karen says to Eve, her voice carrying a note of gentle challenge.

The blood rushes to Eve's face so violently she feels dizzy. The sheer, unmitigated gall of both of them—the employee she pays and the man she despises—conspiring against her dignity in broad daylight. She slams her palm onto the counter, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the quiet store.

"That is enough!" she screams, her voice trembling with fury.

She rounds the counter, stepping into my space, her small frame vibrating with indignant energy. She ignores Karen entirely, focusing her full, concentrated hatred on me.

"You think this is funny?" Eve demands. "You think you can come in here, dump your filth on my floor, and then treat my staff like your personal accomplices in some sick joke? You are pathetic. Both of you."

She turns her glare toward Karen, her lip curling.

"And you!"

Karen grins, unbothered by Eve's fury.

"It's none of your business, Eve," Karen says, her tone light but carrying an unmistakable edge of command. "He passed. And now I'm going to put him in panties and spank him later. You have no part to play in this—unless..."

Karen slides a piece of paper across the counter toward Eve.

"...you want to come over for a taste of the brush yourself," Karen continues, her voice taking on a softer, more inviting quality. "I'd be happy to spank you. Lord knows you deserve it."

With that, Karen turns and gets back to work, leaving Eve speechless, red with anger and humiliation—and, though she'd never admit it, a little bit of jealousy that Karen is taking me up on my offer.

Eve stands paralyzed, the slip of paper feeling like a live wire in her hand. The words ring in her ears, a chaotic symphony of insults and provocations. Deserve it? Spank her? The very idea should be revolting, a violation of every boundary she has spent decades building. Yet the image of Karen—plump, soft, and utterly lacking in refinement—getting to touch that ebony brush, to exert any kind of control over me, burns in her gut like acid.

She watches Karen walk away, her back turned, seemingly triumphant. The injustice of it stings more than the insult itself. She hates me for existing, hates Karen for her insolence, and most of all, she hates the way her pulse is thundering against her throat.

I go home and wait for Karen, wishing Eve was coming, but happy to have someone who understands my desire to be put into panties and spanked by a gentle, maternal hand.

Later that evening, the rain has turned into a torrential downpour. Eve sits in her darkened living room, the single lamp casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. On the coffee table sits the piece of paper—my address. She has stared at it for three hours. She has told herself a thousand different things: that it's a trap, that it's undignified, that she would rather swallow glass than submit to such a vulgar display.

Yet the thought of Karen—of that clumsy, Midwestern woman actually experiencing the thrill of wielding the brush, the thought of me vulnerable and compliant, draped over Karen's knee —is intolerable. It feels like a theft. An affront to her status. It should be her. It was going to be her. Karen has stolen spanking rights over Ero, spanking rights that should have been Eve's. And now Eve has to do something about it.

To be continued in chapter 6...