A Friendly Game

It had started out as just a friendly game on a dull day. They were all bored, back home over winter break, and every one of them had jumped at Jake's suggestion. It was one of those rare afternoons in early January that was warm as long as the sun hung in the sky, and the ground was wet with muddy puddles after the snow had begun to melt.

Street hockey had been their after-school go-to when they had been the best of pals. Now they'd all graduated and gone their separate ways but had reunited over the break, swapping stories and drinking beer in Jake's parents' finished basement when they weren't playing video games together, apart, online. The family had come into some money and moved into an upscale neighborhood, but they were the same friendly folks Diego had always known and enjoyed providing a safe place for the boys to hang out.

The young men were antsy with cabin fever in their respective homes but the weather had lightened up that day. Jake called everyone to try to convince them to get a game going like old times. Diego dug out his hockey stick, which was still there behind some boxes in the garage, and hopped into the old Buick his dad had just gifted him for Christmas. It wasn't fancy but it ran. He'd gotten straight As at the university he attended a few hours away and that had been their deal. He honestly thought his dad just didn't want to have to make the trip twice, there and back, to bring him home every other month, and his mom had made him promise to visit more often if he had a car.

The cul-de-sac a street away from Jake's parent's house was an ideal place to set up. There was barely any traffic and the boys were soon laughing and forgetting their troubles.

That is, until Diego managed to hit the ball and send it flying right through a huge bay window in one of the fancy houses.

Their heads followed the ball, watching it as if in slow-motion. They all froze at the crash of breaking glass.

"Fuck," Jake said under his breath. He looked at Diego. "What'd ya do that for?"

"It's not like I did it on purpose, bonehead," Diego retorted, a little pissed off but also a little scared.

"Let's get all our stuff and get out of here," one of the other guys said. But the door to the house was opening and someone was coming outside.

"HEY!" It was a middle-aged woman dressed in yoga pants and a sweater. She was barefoot. She'd probably not been expecting a ball to come exploding into her living room.

They all stood there paralyzed not knowing what to do. She came out onto the porch and they could see she was attractive, and mad.

"What is going on here? Who are you boys?"

Diego found his voice. "We were just playing a little street hockey, Ma'am."

"My house isn't the street!" she yelled, obviously annoyed.

"It was an accident, Ma'am."

"Well, your accident just broke the expensive window I just had installed. Come over here."

The other boys seemed relieved that Diego had answered and backed away a little. "Listen, man, we'll wait for you. If you have any trouble, call my cell," Jake practically whispered. Diego felt a little sick to the stomach but he also had been raised to be responsible and wanted to do the right thing. And he had been the one to hit the ball. He handed his stick to Jake and walked up the little flagstone path to the house.

The sun was starting to set and it was getting cold. "It's freezing out here. Pull your shoes off and come inside. Do your parents know where you are?"

He was frightened and embarrassed to go inside the house but felt like he had no choice. And his parents? What about his parents?

"I'm 19 years old, Ma'am. My parents aren't responsible for me."

She stopped, turned around in the doorway and looked him over for the first time. "You're telling me you're an adult?"

He blushed and even in the gathering darkness she could see his cheeks turning red. "Sometimes, Ma'am. I try."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Get inside." He followed her and she pushed the heavy door shut with a thud.

The house was perfectly clean and sparsely decorated in creams, whites and browns. There was nothing out of place, except for a broken window and a street hockey ball in the middle of the floor. Diego felt horrible.

"Follow me. New central air has been installed in the living room and can't be turned off, I'm afraid," she joked wryly. He felt even worse and obediently followed her through the door that led to the kitchen.

"Take off your coat. Sit down. What is your name, young man?"

He hung his coat over the back of the sleek seat to which she gestured and sat in it. "Diego García."

"I'm Daisy Carson." She looked at him sternly and added, "Ms. Carson to you."

"Yes, Ms. Carson."

"Well, Mr. García. It seems we have met under some unfortunate circumstances."

"Yes, Ms. Carson. I agree." His dark eyes focused on the woven placemat in front of him, not daring to look up at her.

"What do you think we should do about this situation?"

Diego had no idea what to say. But he was keenly aware of her formidable presence as she sat down across from him at the table. Her eyes bored into him through her red-rimmed cat-eye glasses.

"Do you have any idea how much that window cost? The number happens to be fresh in my mind as it was finished just a few months ago."

"My dad has a construction company, so I do have some idea, Ma'am."

"I see. Very good. Tell me, how much money do you make in a month?"

He continued to stare down at his own hands. "Not much, I work at the campus library. I go to school mostly on a scholarship..." he trailed off, not knowing what to tell her.

"Scholarship? So, you are in college?"

"Yes, Ma'am. That is correct."

"Well, then, it seems that despite the fact that your parents are no longer responsible for you, they may be the only ones to help you out of this mess. Maybe your dad's company could..."

His head jerked up now. "No!" he interrupted. "Please. I'll get an extra job, I'll figure out a way to pay for it." He was thinking about the old car they'd just given him. They weren't poor but they worked hard. More than that, he didn't want them to know about this embarrassing situation. Maybe they'd take away the car and sell it to pay for the window.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Ms. Carson was weighing the options, trying to decide how far she might take things. She watched Diego fidgeting, unsure what to do. The opportunity was unexpected and she was rusty. It had been a while.

He was attractive in a boyish way, his face round, his eyes big and brown. His features seemed to be Latino, although he had no hint of an accent. He was ever so slightly chubby but far from overweight, just a little soft. He was not very tall. She was sure that in heels she would dwarf him. She liked that.

He'd gotten a scholarship. So he was smart. She liked that, too.

He also seemed eager to do the right thing even if it meant sacrifice. She liked that the most.

"What do you study?"

"Engineering," he answered and added. "It's a lot of math. I love numbers."

She smiled. She'd made her decision.

"I have an idea on how to rectify this situation," she watched his reaction closely.

"Yes, Ma'am. Please, let me find a way to pay you back. I'll do whatever it takes."

She was still hesitant and also wanted to make him squirm, so she waited to respond. She got up and put on water for tea. She opened a cabinet and shuffled through some boxes, picking out a flavor. She stood behind him now, leaning back on the counter next to the stove. She could see his reflection in the sliding glass door that led to the backyard.

"I want to let you pay me back but it might be difficult."

"It's okay, Ma'am. I'm tough. Let me prove it to you."

"How tough are you?"

Something about the way she asked the question unnerved him...and excited him. He took it to be a rhetorical question and didn't answer. The sound of the tea kettle whistling filled the room. She let it screech loudly before finally filling her mug with hot water.

She picked up the cup and walked slowly around the table again, staring at him, almost like a cat stalking its prey. For a moment he wondered if he should try to escape. But he needed to make things right.

And he was mesmerized.

"I wonder how many García construction companies there are in town," she mused out loud. The implication was clear. If he didn't do as she asked, she'd tell on him. He waited for more.

"I'm going to go wait for you in the bedroom, Diego. I'm aware you could just sneak out and maybe I wouldn't be able to find your parents, or you, and I'd have to deal with the window myself. But I'm going to trust that you meant it when you said you wanted to prove how tough you are. I feel like I know how to read people well and you seem like a good boy at heart who wants to make amends."

She lifted the mug to her lips and carefully took a sip, testing to see if it had cooled enough. She looked at him over the rim, her lenses fogging. She set down the cup and made a show of wiping her glasses clean before continuing.

"In the hall between the kitchen and the bedroom is a powderroom. I want you to remove your trousers and underwear and present yourself before me as the repentant young man that you are. Keep on your shirt, and socks. It's chilly in here."

Ms. Carson's pussy felt a little throb of excitement similar to Diego's own confused reaction as his cheeks flushed and he sucked in a breath of air in shock. Yet they both heard him meekly say the words, "Yes, Ma'am."

He watched her disappear down the hall, taking the mug with her. He was incapable of moving right away. Was she going to want him to have sex with her? What kind of punishment would that be? She was beautiful and he was a horny college kid. He'd break her window a hundred more times if that was the "price" he had to pay.

But there was a hardness to the way she'd looked at him that bespoke something a little more sinister. He was so nervous he could feel his heart in his throat, but whatever it was she wanted, he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to find out. If she didn't murder him, he'd be okay. Even if she DID murder him, he might not mind dying at the whim of such a mysterious temptress.

She was waiting for him seated on a bench that he recognized was from the upright piano in the corner of the room. Under other circumstances, he would have asked if she played, but all he could think about was his own nakedness to her being clothed. His shirt wasn't quite long enough to hide his erect dick. He wanted the earth to open and swallow him up.

"Good boy. I see you are able to follow instructions."

He nodded, unable to speak.

"In the master bathroom is a hairbrush on the counter by the sink. I'd like you to bring it to me."

She seemed unaffected by the bodypart that was causing him so much embarrassment, but he was unable to think about anything else. It didn't occur to him why he might be retrieving a brush. The bathroom smelled of roses and lavender and some sort of chemicals that he couldn't define, maybe mouthwash. It, like the rest of the house, was spotless, and decorated in subdued colors. The wooden brush was easy to locate and he brought it to her.

She had a pillow on her lap. She motioned to him to come closer and, using his hips while keeping her hands from touching his private area, turned him sideways. "Bend over."

It wasn't until that moment that he realized what was happening and a low moan escaped him involuntarily.

She'd watched him enter the room and had been secretly delighted to see his carnal reaction to being bottom-half-naked in front of her. She had no intentions of doing anything directly sexual to him, at least not today. But knowing that her power over him aroused him gave her the confidence to carry on with her quickly-formulated plan. She'd dominated many men over the years, but she'd given it up when her former (submissive) partner had moved away. She'd thought she'd never want to do this again. And she'd never done it with someone so much younger. But fate seemed to have thrown her a curve ball. Or rather, a hockey ball.

She was an expert at recognizing a submissive soul, and it was doubtless in Diego.

Something softened in her at the sight of him obediently bending over her knee. She wanted to protect him, to gently teach him everything she knew, to pet him and make him feel as beautiful as he was.

And something hardened in her at the same time and made her want to beat his sorry ass. And that is what he deserved at the moment.

"I'm going to give you the punishment you deserve for breaking my window. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am." His voice was shaky but he didn't protest or try to talk his way out of it. She knew she'd evaluated him correctly.

"This is going to hurt you way more than it's going to hurt me." she declared. She loved being sarcastically humorous, even if she was the only one who thought it was funny.

Especially if she was the only one laughing.

He had an adorable ass, as she'd suspected. She ran her hand over the fuzzy lightly hairy surface and let her own sexual feelings surge, enjoying realizing they were still there after all that had happened. She enjoyed the anticipation, the moments before the spanking while the poor recipient dreaded what was coming.

Diego's cock was throbbing harder than he'd ever remembered in his whole life as she rubbed his butt. He realized she'd put the pillow there as a barrier between him and her and for that he was grateful. He thought he might die if this commanding, confident woman felt his dick pressing into her leg while she whooped his ass. He felt like a weirdo to think his own body was betraying him like this.

He stopped thinking about his cock when the beating commenced. He let out a yelp and jumped but she reprimanded him and told him to stay still or he'd regret it. He believed her so he concentrated on keeping his place over her lap, which was not an easy thing to do. She was not going soft on him, her hand finding the same spot over and over and over until he thought he couldn't take another hit, then moving to another spot and repeating.

He was mortified as he realized he was orgasming into the pillow. He tried to control himself but couldn't help thrusting his hips forward and back as the sensation exploded through his groin. "Fuck!" he yelled before he could contain it.

Daisy saw what was happening but did not acknowledge it, instead focusing on the vulgarity that had come out of his mouth. She didn't want to give any acknowledgement to his dick at all. This wasn't about his cock. It was about her showing him who was boss.

"WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE, YOUNG MAN! SHOW SOME RESPECT!"

Her hand was getting tired and this seemed like the perfect excuse to switch to the backside of the brush.

"I'm sorry, pleeeease!" he begged as the wooden surface tore into him. He didn't remember ever feeling so much pain, even when he'd broken his wrist from a fall the year before.

The brush stung like fire and she didn't concentrate on one point, rather hitting randomly everywhere she could reach so he had no idea where it would come next. He couldn't help wiggling but managed not to fight it. Being so still in his body and taking in the punishment, his emotion had to come out somewhere. He'd been determined to take this "like a man," but tears began to wet his cheeks. "I'm so sorry." he sobbed.

He'd had no way of knowing but her plan had been to keep going until she made him surrender and cry.

Everything stopped. She took him in her arms and slipped both of them to the floor, where she held him and soothed him as he calmed and recovered from the intense punishment. He buried his head in her sweater, between her breasts, finding them comforting as they supported him. She smelled like laundry detergent and roses. One hand was on her leg which felt firm and strong.

She stroked his short hair, putting her nose to his crown and noticing the scent of his scalp, thinking his shampoo must have tea tree oil. He felt soft against her, his dick limp now and his legs relaxed draped over hers. His white socks had the red word "Hanes" across them.

When they were both reduced to soft, steady breaths, she gently pulled herself out from under him and left him curled on the floor. She covered him with a blanket and gave him a clean pillow. She went to the bathroom and brought back his pants and undies and laid them down on the piano bench.

She went back to the kitchen and put on more water. Seated at the table, she watched him emerge shyly from the hall.

"How are you, Diego?" She asked in a sweet tone. "I hope it wasn't too much for you."

He raised his eyes to look at her and managed to speak. "I'm okay. I'm actually..." he didn't finish the sentence for so long, she got a little worried.

"Diego?"

"I'm great, Ms. Carson. Thank you for giving me a way to pay you back."

She sighed with relief. "I'm glad to hear that the punishment taught you something."

She could tell he wanted to say more but was quite self-conscious. "I learned a lot, actually. I will need to think about it for a while to figure it all out."

"That's a good boy. Take your time." The kettle sang again. "Tea?" She offered as she stood to take it off the heat.

"No, Ma'am. I should get home. My folks will be wondering. It's awfully dark to still be playing hockey and I promised my mom I'd be home for dinner. She likes the whole family to eat together whenever possible and I'm mostly gone these days."

"Of course, Diego." She didn't move to make her tea. She didn't want to look away from him. "You know I'm not done with you. You still owe me."

He didn't seem surprised. "I'm glad to hear that, Ms. Carson. I want to make sure I pay you back in full, however that needs to happen."

She smiled softly. "When do you leave to go back to school?"

"Less than a week. On Sunday."

"I'd like to see you before then." She handed him a piece of paper where she'd written her number. "I expect to hear from you to arrange a time."

"Yes, Ma'am. I will write later tonight, after dinner."

"Good boy."

He was going to need time to process all that had just happened, but one thing was clear in his mind. More than anything in the world, hearing this woman, who only hours ago had been a stranger, call him a "good boy" made his heart swell. In a random encounter in such a short time, she'd somehow made him hers, and he would be back.

He let himself out, walked around the corner to his Buick, and winced as he lowered himself into the seat.