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"You'd better let me know, next time you're getting off to a spanking!" he warned her.
He smacked her again, each jolt adding to the steady arousal.
"Do you hear me?" he asked.
"Yes, oh yes." She was practically mindless. She groaned and wiggled and flaunted her raised bare bottom in the lewdest way.
Such a switch, Tony thought to himself viewing the glorious sight. For good measure, he smacked her again a few more times so that her bottom was turning red. But she didn't just groan erotically, her groin pressed against his rising prick, making him ungodly hot.
Everything was arousing her, and Melanie was arousing him.
At last not able to stand anymore stimulation, he lifted her off his lap and carried her to his desk top. Clearing things away with a quick sweep of his hand, he laid her down on the smooth surface, and parted her legs wide so he could enter the juicy hole between them.
Planting his cock inside her, he grabbed the fleshy mounds of her bottom with both hands, and gave her a brisk rude pounding fuck. The passionate cries filled the room with the sounds of satisfaction, as first Tony, then Melanie climaxed with several sharp shooting pulses.
When he withdrew, he pulled her to her feet, and the two collapsed on the sofa, where they were blanketed by a well earned calm.
Chapter Eleven
Melanie woke with a noxious gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. She tried remembering back to the night before. Had she had too much to drink, or just too much sex? Then again, maybe it was something else that was grabbing at her with such a vile hand.
Tony was already up and out. Sweet thoughts careened through her head, remembering the way they'd made love. Their brisk moment on top of his desk was only the beginning. If spankings were to continue to be this sensuous, she could hardly deny the effects any longer. But despite the happy memories, the anxious feeling in her stomach continued. It was obvious that it was about more than the spanking, though she wasn't sure what.
Melanie quickly donned her bathrobe, and going out into the hallway she listened for the sounds of Tony below. Hearing nothing, she looked out to the driveway to see the garage door open, and his car gone. She remembered that he had an early morning class at the University.
Yes! This would be the perfect time to make that trip to the attic that she'd been wanting to make for several days. Plans for the party had really gotten in the way of her sensuous other worldly time-outs. Then again, with the party now past, she realized that she had also been avoiding the attic. She had the oddest feeling that something in the journal, above and beyond the account of her Aunt's spanking escapades with Joseph, was there for her to see. Its importance to her was crucial.
Melanie knew how the journal would end, not because she skipped ahead to the last page as she might have done with a suspenseful book. No, she knew because she knew her Aunt's history, as she would any close family member.
Sitting down in the familiar old chair, Melanie pulled the trunk close, opened it, and found the journal right on top, exactly where she expected it to be.
Opening to the last page, she read. She was almost in tears turning back to the story she had cherished and thrilled to. Seeing her Aunt's delicate penmanship once more, she felt the lump quickly growing in her throat.
I have not been able to write for weeks; but somehow I know I need to finish this story. As if writing this down might help me now put aside this sad period of my life. Some days, I don't know how I can go on . . .
I got word several weeks ago that Joseph was killed. He shipped out as he feared, and as he also feared, he will not return to me as my husband. I am officially a widow, even before I made an announcement of our marriage to our families. My god, Aunt Josephine didn't even believe me. I had to show her the marriage certificate. I don't know why this would upset her. Joseph was such a fine man. Oh, it was an awkward moment, and so much to tell them all; and yet so much I could never ever explain about Joseph and me.
We buried him in the cemetery at First Presbyterian, and now, all I have left is the chronicle in this diary, and the memories in my heart. . . .
Melanie was crying as she imagined her Aunt had been crying when she wrote these last words of the journal. Her Aunt's faded script drifted away. Perhaps she was too choked up to write more. She could imagine now why she hid the journal in the trunk. The secrets she talked about were not something the average person would understand. Melanie was glad she'd understood them. She felt closer to her Aunt than she'd ever felt.
Closing the journal, Melanie laid it down, and pulled out the letters in the back that Melanie had failed to open all this time. They crinkled in her hands, reminding her how old they were, at least fifty years. It seemed so silly to be crying now; but then how many times had she balled like a baby over some silly movie plot about times that never existed?
Melanie pulled a Kleenex from her pocket, blew her nose, then wiped her eyes, deciding at last that the blue crinkled papers were fair game. She opened the first of three letters, and withdrew several sheets of paper. It was a letter from Daisy to her uncle, written in the same lovely h
andwriting. The letter talked to her uncle as a friend, telling of her brief marriage, and some, though not all of the curious events that had propelled Daisy and Joseph together. She obviously wrote it as an explanation to a man she was now considering as more than just a good friend. The first letter was dated eighteen months after Joseph died. The second and third letters were like the first, though it was clear that as time went on, she was more and more fond of Uncle John.
Melanie read in avid wonder, and when she finished the letters, she stuffed the pages back in the envelopes, and then in the back of the journal. The entire packet she replaced in its secret compartment of the antique trunk. Then closing the heavy lid, she went downstairs to see if Tony was home. She had much to tell him.
Chapter Twelve
It was nearly eight at night and Tony was worried sick. He paced the living room that still bore traces of the party the night before. Melanie had not yet run the vacuum and that was just one of the many worries that had him troubled. The kitchen was still strewn with dishes. They hadn't made a dent in the clean-up, when their passions claimed the rest of the night, and they left an uncharacteristic mess. It was unlike Melanie to leave the house without putting everything back in order.
In the morning, Tony had to be at the University for a class. A meeting afterwards lasted longer than he planned. When he called at noon to let Melanie know he wouldn't be home until after lunch, she didn't answer. That didn't surprise him, she could be out shopping. But coming home at 2:00, he found her car gone, and no note about where she was.
Now eight o'clock, he was worried, furious and fast becoming deathly scared; a wild imagination did not help his shattered peace.
He was in the kitchen making tea, about to settle down with Melanie's phone book, to call her friends, when he saw her car coming up the drive. He watched her quickly exit the vehicle and walk to the back door.
