have we considered gerard spanking you while lindsey’s away and she comes back in mid punishment and is like “dont look to me for help you’re the one in trouble” and she tells gerard to give you more for trying to get out of it
Ey YO. YO. hold me back get outta my head get outta my head. I don’t know. Fuck. Yeah man you get it. You’re GETTING IT. I’ll bite u motherfucker god yeah.
This one is gonna ITS GOTTA be a lil longer than a Drabble. Ficlet? Is that the name. I hope so. Look what you have DONE TO ME!
(The rule you’ve broken is not being nice to urself, so there’s a lil negative self talk, this is in the Maid whatever the fuck so usual and traditional tags apply. Yadda yadda yadda) IM HORNY LEAVE ME OUT. BITCH
.....................................................................................................................
It starts simple. Really. Cause you’ve shifted from maid to some sort of 3rd secret option, where you still clean and now you also get fucked whilst still being paid an allowance and are given a bed to sleep in. It moves into this place that kinda,, mellows. Mornings are easy-at dinner time you prep and clean. You guys watch movies and hold each other. It’s good. Life’s good.
One on one time is spent drawing with Gee, using a chair to pull up against their desk. With Lynz you read and go shopping, doing the fun frivolous stuff that you’ve never really had a chance to experiment with before. It’s wonderful and you are learning. Learning what they like and don’t, what they want. They tell you when it’s good and bad, and eventually rules slot into place without having to discuss them. Curfews and dinner times, permissions and exclusions. It fit's in to your life, easy.
Lynz is off for a session gig, playing bass for a small band just over the river in New York. A couple days work. You miss her, duh Of course. But one on one time with Gee is rare and precious. You spend half the time watching 60’s Batman reruns on the couch and you guys eat nothing but sickly sweet popcorn. You text Lynz, updating her on the day constantly. She responds in paragraphs each time. She wants to know, cares to know.
The second evening your legs are scrambled with Gee as you sit with your feet in their lap at the dinner table. You’ve curled into each other, keeping warm and giggling about something really fucking stupid. His smile is perfect, crinkled and tears prick at his eyes as he slaps the table punctuating a laugh. Your heart swells. Again, this is very fucking good. And it crashes slightly as you realise that this feels too good to be true. This man, this wonderful and gentle, kind and handsome and in the way you have lived somewhat impossible: is Your own. Your . Man. He is sitting at the dinner table with you, laughing about how when in college you used to piss in the sink when you were drunk.
You feel yourself clam up, almost instantly. Your neck tightens and demeanour shifts into something sour and strange. This is not your life, and you’ve done nothing to deserve it. You aren't as beautiful or as precious, as brilliant as the people you’ve been given. You aren’t enough- and the thought, impulsive and possibly honest, rattles through your system and you just close in.
“You, aha, ha. You okay? Honey?”
Gee’s nothing if not perceptive, and locks in quick to the way you change. You mumble a version of Yeah, yeah fine thank you. And remove yourself from the comfortable position, taking your half full bowl to the sink and washing the food down the garbage disposal. Your shoulders are high and your neck is red. It’s a lot. This should not be yours.
You shake your head softly. No. No please, don’t make it real. Don’t make it known please. It’s wonderful, it shouldn’t- it can’t be mine.
“Not a suggestion. Baby.”
You look over your shoulder and there’s a wetness to your eyes, a distance. You hum softly and whisper, scared. Why me?
He shakes his head and stands fast, walking around the table with a fast anger.
You nod yes and look down at your hands, wet from the tap, covered in a soapy mush. It’s too good, Gee.
He crowds your body, arms coming to wrap around your stomach from behind. Squeezes tight and he doesn’t let go for five minutes. You don’t cry, not even a little. Just stare at your hands and think, brain moving fast and loud and impossible. He, once more, is perceptive.
“You being mean to my girl baby?”
You nod fast, yeah. Yes I am. I’m wrong and this is bad, and not mine, it’s not good. It shouldn’t be mine. You nod, again.
“That’s not good, not good at. All.”
He coos into the back of your head and pushes your head down toward the sink, bending you over the li[ of the porcelain sink.
“You, in no-way” he speaks sternly, snapping your attention to him fully. “You are not allowed to think that.”
His hand grazes down over your lower back, deep pressure soothing the position from bent over the tap. “That’s not something we need you to learn baby.”
His hand reaches your ass cheek and your face flushes, dropping the weight from between your shoulders. You shouldn’t have this.
“I’m only doing this for your own good baby”
But you do. You've got it.
The hand moves, completely off you- then slams back down onto you as if it's sanctifying all thoughts from your head. It stings a lot, even through your layers of sweats and boy-shorts, that are now swiftly removed as he reigns down more. Moving between each cheek when they reach a pulsing temperature. The sink presses into the small of your guts, making you feel like if he hits right, you could actually fucking piss yourself- which would turn on toward the end of embarrassing that will actually make you cry.
He continues and continues till 20 minutes pass. You weren’t told to count- so you don’t. This is maybe? Definetly? A punishment, or it could some weird second option. This is could be training. Pavlov and his dog have nothing on this. And it is burning- burning past the point of pleasure and satisfaction to a point of hot/wet/teachable pain. You kick your legs back- trying to force the hits off you, anywhere else- but his hold is tight- incredibly fucking tight. He continues, variations of “you need this baby, bad fucking. Bad fucking girl being mean to my little one. That’s not nice baby. You know better, be fucking better, Dad, Daddy needs you baby, to learn better.”; each word punctuated with a slap against your backside.
You don’t even notice the front door open or Lynz’s bags and bass dropping by the front door. You don’t even notice the slow clip clip of her boots against the floor. What you do notice, is the soft coo that comes from her mouth as she watches the insane scene before her. Her ex-maid turned partner bent over the sink with her husband spanking her, bare palm and all. She sighs. What bliss?
“What’d she do, Mr.Way?” Lynz questions from the doorframe. You can’t even turn and look at her, your mouth always faster than your head as you wail: Mommy, no-oh my make it make it stop it hurts please please, I'm good, i'm good mama, i-mhm so sorry, tell, tell daddy im so-orry-
She snaps. “Hush it. Gee, go”
He continues- cheek to cheek, explaining- voice thick and gravelly. Emotional.
“She was being so fuckin' mean Mrs. Way” His voice gliding over the fake pet name, constantly making fun. “asking why we picked her” slap “as if we could pick anyone” slap “fucking” slap “else."
Lynz sighs softly from the doorframe again, you hear the scrape of a chair against the floor.
“That’s no good baby.” A zipper undoing itself rings through your ears- "well you heard Dad baby”
She takes a sip from the abandoned water glass on the table.
“Don’t look for me to help. You’re the one in trouble.”
And it continues. And continues. It keeps going as Lynz counts them out for you, spurring Gee on more, your head weighted against your chest. It goes on till none of you really remember why you were in trouble in the first place.
A/N hey guys.......... how y'all doin,,,,,,
Sorry if this is in no way what you wanted anon,.. but. but I. I had so much fun.
gracieabrams
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
andulkaphoto
