Angela’s story continued:

With no college that week I was looking forward to just hanging around the house waiting for David to get home. I carefully planned my day and reckoned that if I timed it right I might manage a lie-in followed by plenty of nothing to do but read.

I might have known that David had chores for me. Principally, getting up and dressed by eight to await some important packages. There goes my lie-in, I thought.

“Oh David.” I stamped my foot. “It’s so not f-flipping what I wanted to do.”

My slip garnered me a mean warning look.

“It’s ridiculous that I have to wait in all day for a parcel that will turn up at six, probably,” I said with a pout.

David sighed.

“Are you really going to be a baby about this?”

Now usually I either stubbornly refuse all warning signs and dive right in to trouble, or I singularly fail to spot them in the first place. That phrase was about as stark a warning as I was going to get.

“No it’s fine of course,” I said, suddenly all sweetness and light. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

I meant the last bit to sound mature, but it did sound a tincy-wincy bit sullen, but luckily David restricted his displeasure to a frown.

“One more thing. Make sure that you count all the packages.”

“How many are there?” I asked.

“I don’t know. There may only be one. It depends on how they packed them. Just look at the delivery note when you sign it.”

After David left I settled down to avoid as many of my other chores as possible and put my nose in a good book.

It is really hard to concentrate on reading when at any moment you expect to be interrupted. But what if the delivery came and I just didn’t hear it? David would understand. In a pig’s ear he would. After he had done frying my bottom in spanking leather with a generous side order of the cane, I would find myself in the corner until they redelivered.

The doorbell interrupted my thoughts and sent me dashing to the door before the courier, having waited for two long seconds, decided I wasn’t in and left a ‘we called but you were out’ note.

“Sign here love,” the brown-clad courier growled.

“I’m so glad you came early, that means I have the rest of the day to myself.” I talked rapidly at him even though he wasn’t interested.

Then he dumped what looked like three big boxes of slightly differing sizes in the hall and he was gone. On further inspection, I realised that there were actually four parcels. One of them was quite small and lay behind its big brother. Then I remembered the delivery note.

The crumpled pink paper was skewed in a plastic window on one of the boxes so that David’s name was half hidden. No amount of scratching would separate the damn thing, so I went to the kitchen and grabbed a bread knife.

Even then it took a fair bit of sawing to cut the document free of the brown sticky parcel tape.

“Let me see,” I said aloud. The pink paper had all the contents listed out, books mostly, with a few CDs, DVDs and a new printer. Presumably, they were all randomly packed in the four boxes, I thought with some apprehension. How would I know if they were all there? Count the boxes, David had said.

Looking at the bottom of the pink document was a box with a hand written number in. “No. Items, 5,” it read.

My stomach did a flip. I hastily scrambled through the small pile hoping to find another small stray. There was nothing. Running to the door I could see that the driver had gone and a rapid inspection of the doorstep revealed nothing.

“Shit,” I spat, kicking one of the boxes.

I scanned the delivery note for a telephone number, but found only a web address that invited me to: “track your order.”

The website prompted me for a zillion numbers, order number, customer number and even a tracking number, which turned out to be the main one.

The order opened in a small window.

“Dispatched and delivered. Job closed.” It was so final.

“Omigod, David will kill me.”

*

“Did my packages come?” David asked as he walked in the door.

I walked slowly up the hall to meet him, trying to look demure, but saying nothing.

David raised a quizzical eyebrow at my seeming inability to answer then he saw the boxes in the corner.

“Oh good.” He smiled.

“Would you like a cup of tea,” I asked.

“Love one darling,” he said casually, not really paying me any more attention.

Now I reasoned that if there was a package missing, it was probably another small one. Very likely it contained nothing that important and even if David noticed he probably wouldn’t think to check the delivery note.

By the time I returned to David’s study with the tea tray he had already ravaged all the boxes and was half hidden in a sea of cardboard and paper detritus.

“Oh hell,” he growled and dived into a pile.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It looks like it.”

“Oh there was this documentary on Wolfe’s campaign on special order from Canada, but it doesn’t seem to be here. I guess it is still on order. It would be the one thing I wanted soon.”

My belly did a little flip. I so wanted to confess.

Then David picked up the pink delivery note and began mumbling his way down the list.

“No, not here,” he shook his head.

I sighed with relief.

“Oh hang on, maybe it’s this? CBC/SO-DVD (one),” he said in exasperation. “Why do they make the references so opaque?”

“Sounds like science fiction, not history,” I said nervously.

“Hmm, what was that?” David wasn’t listening. “The reference number is right, SO must be Special Order, so where is it?”

“I don’t know,” I said evenly as I began to pour the tea.

“You did count the packages didn’t you? Of course you did.” David looked pensive.

I glanced at the pile of smashed cardboard boxes and paper, unless David had counted them, he couldn’t possibly tell how many there were now. I chewed my lip. It was a nervous moment. If he asked me I wouldn’t lie, but he hadn’t actually asked me as such.

Then David looked up and saw my face.

“Oh you didn’t,” he groaned.

“Didn’t what?”

“Angela,” he growled and I jumped.

David scanned the delivery note.

“Five packages. There were five. Did you count them?”

I nodded dumbly.

“And there were five?”

I winced and slowly shook my head.

“Four,” I squeaked.

David let out a long harsh breath and looked away. I can’t bear it when he does that.

“Shall we have tea and clear up the mess first?” I asked.

David fixed me with a hard stare.

“No first comes the spanking and then the…”

Oral sex, I thought hopefully.

“Bloody tea,” David spat as he began to roll up his sleeves.

“Ooh,” I whimpered.

“You know what comes next?”

I nodded and gave him a sour look.

He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to him. I didn’t resist and just flopped towards him like a rag doll as he sat on a chair. I was then upended over his lap so that the floor came at my face in a rush.

Behind me he gathered up the folds of my loose spring floral dress and tied them in one big knot at my waist. Then pinching at my knicker elastic her tugged my underwear down to my ankles.

“Such a pretty white bottom and now I am going to make it pretty red,” he quipped as he landed the first spank.

“Yeow,” I yelped, it was a sharp impact and I could tell David was angry.

Worse, he was using his hand. He never just used his hand when I was being punished, so I knew this was just a warm up before the main event. Warm up, hey I should get a master’s in understatement. This was a full-blown hot up.

David set to with those big pounding high arm spanks he uses when he is serious. I could feel the sizzle over every inch of my bottom right from the start and he hadn’t even started to get out breath, unlike me. I was already panting and struggling to hold my peace.

“Please David,” I gasped in distress.

“You don’t have to ask for this, this one is my pleasure,” he growled.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said feeling a little moist, and not just around the eyes.

Then he stopped. It was too soon. I knew I was in big trouble.

“I’m not finished with you young lady, now go to the corner and don’t move until I am ready for you.”

“Yes sir,” I squeaked and hastened to obey.

*

So there I was in the corner, again. When would I ever learn? I didn’t even get to have any tea. But for once I almost felt glad, the only really important package and I messed it up. I couldn’t deny I deserved it.

My contrition didn’t stop me pondering on what was still to come. Unfortunately, it was quite a while before I found out.

“Alright Angela,” David said at last.

I turned around in time to see David unbuckling his belt. The gentle zip of the sound of leather being pulled through the belt hoops on his trousers always sends a shiver down my spine.

I watched sheepishly as he folded the belt in half.

“It is time you learned to count,” he said grimly, crooking his finger at me.

I thought I was in for a belt session of counting strokes. A pastime usually reserved for the cane. But David had something different in mind. Something original.

He led me into the hall and up the stairs where he had me kneel on the landing floor facing the stairs.

“For this we need to be careful, I don’t want you falling downstairs. Now crawl forward until you have your hands flat on the second stair down,” he instructed.

“May I take my dress off first,” I said, stalling.

He indicated with no small impatience that I could. But I was soon enough bending down the stairs with my bottom up in a reverse position.

“Keep to one side so that the rails steady you,” he ordered. This also allowed him to get past me if he needed to I realised.

“Please David I might fall,” I wailed.

“You won’t fall,” he said reassuringly.

It wasn’t a particularly uncomfortable position, but it was hard to take the weight on my arms and all the while, I was acutely aware that my bare bottom was sticking right up in the most undignified way possible.

“Perfect,” David said as he moved behind me. “And a nice view. Tell me how many stairs are there?”

“Eh…? What? I mean, I don’t know.”

“Let’s count them, eh?”

There was an almighty whack across my bottom that almost sent me sliding down the stairs on my belly.

After a pause David said, “No?”

Then he struck again making me gasp at the blaze across my backside.

“Ooh,” I cried.

“I am beginning to see the problem,” David chuckled.

“You want me to count don’t you?” I said feeling a little stupid.

“If at all possible,” David said sarcastically.

Then I got another blazing stroke across my bottom.

“One,” I yelped.

“Good,” David said triumphantly. “Now crawl down one stair.”

This was easier said than done, but I soon managed it.

I was rewarded with another biting sting to my bare bottom.

“Ooh, two,” I said miserably.

I glanced back and he nodded, so I crawled down another step.

Then again I was belted so that the fire flared in my bottom.

“Three,” I hissed and began to dry sob.

Looking down I counted at least 15 stairs, if I only I could have managed to count to five earlier, I groaned inwardly.

After about eight like this, it was beginning to tell on my knees as well as my bottom, although in a contest, my bottom would win the hurting stakes. I looked back and by the elevated position of my bottom, I could see two very red raw looking domes behind me.

Then the doorbell rang and I looked up in panic. I could see the outline of someone through the frosted glass and began to struggle to my feet.

“Stay where you are,” David growled.

He tossed the belt casually over his shoulder then went to door and opened it. Oh god, I am about to die, I thought bitterly as I hid my face the best I could by looking down.

“Sorry sir, I think you are missing a package,” a man’s voice spoke.

“Oh yes, great. Thank you,” David replied. “Do I need to sign?”

“No the… the young lady signed for it… eh earlier.” I was in no doubt that the courier was looking up the stairs at me.

“Everything OK?” He asked.

“Everything is fine, just a lesson in how to count parcels that’s all,” David said cheerfully.

“Nice one sir,” the courier laughed.

Before David closed the door, I realised that in my haste to lower my head I had afforded the man with an even better look at my bare bottom.

“Ooh, are we done yet,” I wailed.

“Done? Once we reach the bottom, we are going back up again, at least once,” David explained. “Any complaints?”

“No sir,” I said sullenly.

For the record, we have 16 stairs in our house to the first landing. I know I counted them twice.

To be continued.