This was supposed to be a tiny little couple hundred word mini-post thing, but it got out of control. Even the posts around here don’t behave themselves. Something ought to be done about that.
“You can’t spank me,” she says, her eyes flashing warning.
He is not listening. He is removing the cuff-links from his shirt sleeves, methodically placing one then the other on the coffee table. He has said that she is to be spanked. He has said it as if it is the most natural and necessary thing in the world.
“Don’t you dare.” She backs towards an exit, just in case the unthinkable happens and he does actually dare.
He looks at her mildly, his intention plain as he begins rolling his shirt sleeves up over his forearms, which now seem to her to be ridiculously overdeveloped. What has he been doing that the mucles flex visibly with even the smallest movement?
A curl of his salt and pepper has fallen into his eyes, he pushes it back then beckons to her. One finger crooked. Here. Now.
She shakes her head. “No!” Her voice cracks with outrage. “No we are not doing this!”
“Come here, young lady.” His voice is steady and low.
“No,” she insists. “No. No. No. No. No.” She shakes her head, lashing her pony tail from side to side.