Chapter 5

Punishment 2

Saturday. No clients. No office. No responsibilities. I may be in my mid-thirties, but I still know how to party. Or at least I still know how to sleep in as if I'd partied the night before. I woke up a little before noon and came to the realization that my apartment, while fine for me, was in no condition to host the basketball game on Sunday.

So, my first move was to find all my dirty clothes and cram them wherever they would fit. In the hamper would have been ideal, but after it was stuffed to overflowing, under the bed and in the closet worked just as well.

After that I washed dishes, cleaned the kitchen, then went about dusting and vacuuming the living room. Once that was accomplished, I tried to look at my apartment like a woman would, and realized one important fact: my apartment stinks. Whether from not showering right after working out, or just the fact that I'm a guy and - like most of us - I don't tend to notice my own body odor, the fact of the matter was that the place wasn't pleasant to smell. What can I say? I'm a lawyer, not Martha Stewart.

So, off to the local super mart to pick up a few cans of spray deodorizer (I didn't really have any idea how "serious" the problem might be!), along with a few plug-in room fresheners.

Finally, around suppertime, I was convinced the place was in hosting condition and decided to make a call.

"Hey there, loser," I said once Sandra picked up.

"I was wondering when you were going to call," she replied. "I had an idea of getting woke up at six in the morning with your oh-so-pleasant taunts."

"Not a bad idea," I admitted. "But that would have meant that I would have needed to be awake. Not a good plan for a Saturday."

"Well, thank goodness for small favors."

"You're very welcome. So... excited about tomorrow's game?"

Sandra groaned. "Don't remind me," she said. "I've been imagining all the degrading and disgusting things you could do to me... I haven't been able to think of anything else all morning!"

"That's two of us," I said. "Although my fantasies are the ones that count, remember?"

"Ugh."

"You know you're looking forward to it."

"As if!" Sandra paused, then continued. "So... any particular reason you called?"

"Not really. Oh! Just to remind you... something you don't mind if it gets dirty."

"Why?" Sandra asked again, but I still wasn't going to bite.

"Nice try," I joked. "But I suppose it won't hurt to let you know that I'm looking forward to seeing you in a bikini."

"Bikini? That doesn't sound too bad." Sandra sounded relieved, so I couldn't help getting in one last dig.

"It doesn't, does it?" I asked. "I guess you just don't have a devious mind like I do. See you tomorrow," I added, then hung up before Sandra could reply.

Sunday was much like Saturday, except my anticipation was at a much greater level. It was almost frightening (even to me!) how much I was looking forward to this. I didn't want to completely humiliate Sandra, and part of me wondered if she could be humiliated. I have the tendency to believe that most people are generally good. I know that's weird when you consider that as a defense attorney I pretty much see the dregs of society, but that's probably why I'm a defense attorney instead of a prosecutor.

But despite how embarrassed I had been on Friday, the fact that Sandra was coming up with her ideas made me think she wasn't as easily shocked as I was. Who knows why that is, or if I was even right, but I knew that in a few hours I would find out.

So, I sat around the house, nervously checking for any signs of my bachelorhood, but I passed all the "tests" I gave myself. No crushed beer cans under the coffee table. No dirty underwear draped over my stereo speakers. No inch-thick layer of dust around the television. I was good to go.

Around quarter before five, I made a phone call and then sat around waiting for Sandra. If everything worked out, the timing should be perfect.

And then my folks called. It had been a couple months, but they just wanted to chat about things. They were having a wonderful time being retired in Arkansas, and my father wanted to know when I was coming up to play golf.

"You wouldn't believe the courses at our retirement village," he practically gushed. "A duffer like me actually managed to break 80 the other day."

At this I had to wonder about the skill level of the course, but I let my dad have his moment in the sun. The entire conversation, however, I was looking at the clock. Sandra had said she'd be around a little before dinner time, so we would have an "appropriate" amount of time for me to administer her punishment.

I couldn't wait.

Finally, a few minutes after five o'clock, with the promise that I would visit "as soon as I can break free from work," my phone rang again.

"Hello?"

"Mark! Thank goodness you're there!" It was Sandra.

"You're not going to flake out, are you? I know where you work," I threatened good-naturedly.

"No, no. Just... I've been calling for five minutes and I keep getting your voicemail."

"Oh, sorry. I was talking to the folks."

"How are they?"

"Good. They're looking forward to seeing the pictures from tonight."

"What!"

"Kidding."

"Ha ha. Very funny. Now are you going to buzz me in, or what?"

"You're downstairs?" My apartment complex has a strange buzzer system so that a guest actually calls the person they're visiting, so in this situation I had no idea she was even at the door. "Sorry." I hung up and hit the buzzer. A few minutes later there was a knock at my door.

"Come in, come in," I said. I ushered Sandra into my apartment, enjoying as she took her opportunity to check out my space.

"Not bad," she finally said. "Tell the truth, how long did it take you to clean the place?"

"Most of yesterday afternoon and part of today," I replied. "So... do I pass?"

"You pass," she said, then sighed as she looked at her watch. "Okay, you have a little more than two hours. Do your worst."

"That's no way to treat this opportunity," I said.

"Opportunity?" What opportunity?"

"The opportunity for me," I said. "The opportunity to laugh at your discomfort, to grin at your embarrassment, to laugh at your expense. You know... that opportunity."

"Right," she said. "That one. So... what are we going to do first?"

"I thought we might eat," I said. "We ate first at your place."

"Great!" Sandra said. "I'm starved. What are we having?"

"Not so fast," I chided. "Don't you think I should really get down to business?"

Sandra let out a frustrated growl, then smiled. "I suppose."

"Good!" I clapped my hands. "So, the first thing we need to get you to do - like I said last time and over the phone - is to get you into a bikini. I have to say, I've been looking forward to this almost nonstop."

"Ha," said Sandra. "I've got you then." With very little shyness, Sandra started stripping out of her clothes, and soon I saw the reason for her smugness. She had worn a bikini under her shorts and blouse. A nice one, too, and small, but it wasn't quite good enough.

"Nice try," I said dryly. I held up an aerosol can I'd kept partially hidden by one arm rest of the couch. "But this is the kind of bikini I had in mind."

Sandra squinted at the canister and swore. "Bastard!" she hissed. I was holding up a can of whipped topping.

"I think these make the best bikinis," I said. "Definitely the most tasty."

At this, Sandra actually blushed and I gave myself a mental pat on the back.

"You're kidding."

I held the can out and shook it back and forth. "Not even a little bit. Now, should I put your bikini on for you, or would you like to do it yourself?"

Her face now a bit red, Sandra grabbed the can out of my hand and looked around. "I don't suppose it would help to ask where your bathroom is," she said.

"Down the hall and to the left," I volunteered. "But you'll be changing out here, just like I did."

"Figures," muttered Sandra. As I had done the previous game while changing into my clean underwear and tiny jersey, Sandra tried to maintain a bit of decency as she pulled off her bikini tops.

"You tan in the nude?" I asked, when I saw no visible tan lines. "Very nice." And it was. Her back was smooth and bronze, an even golden brown and nicely muscled. "I approve."

"Glad you like it," Sandra said over her shoulder. "Not that I did it for you... perver." I could hear the joking in her voice as she said it. I could also hear the can of whipped topping being shaken, then the hiss as Sandra applied it over her breasts, which unfortunately I'd been unable to spy while she was completely topless. Hopefully there would be a "later" for me... from what I could see, and had already surmised, Sandra had a smoking body, and her tits would just be the icing on the cake... or the whipped cream, if you'll pardon the groaner.

This whipped cream bikini idea had actually come from my sister, who had related to me one drunken New Year's Eve how she and her girlfriend/lover had done this. Stacy mentioned that Heather - her girlfriend - had come up with the idea, and the two of them had enjoyed the application, of course, but the cleanup process even more. She did say it was a bit messy, however, and recommended doing a load of laundry as soon as possible. "You definitely don't want to sleep in a whipped creamy bed," she had said, which was maybe a little more info than I needed to know about my sister.

Besides, I didn't intend on Sandra being able to sit while in this condition, although the thought of her in my bed... never mind... save that thought for later.

"How's that feel?" I asked. I could see the muscles in Sandra's back spasm as her shoulders shook. God, I wished I was standing in front... I felt I was missing quite the show, but I wasn't about to push my luck, even though Sandra had said I could do "anything."

"Cold," came Sandra's reply. Finally the "bikini" top was applied and Sandra came to the realization that she was going to have to show me "something" in order to apply the bottoms of her swimming "suit."