THE BEST VALENTINE’S
PRESENT EVER
Mariah
Abbott pulled into her driveway with the warm glow she always felt after
volunteering at the children’s hospital. Valentine’s Day was always especially
fun there, with a clown in a heart-covered suit handing out cards.
She
unclipped her house key from the loop in her purse designed for that purpose.
She flipped on the LED light attached to her key chain and started up the three
stairs leading to her front door. Her
heart gave an excited flip as she spotted a package—a very large package
wrapped in very shiny red paper dotted with silver hearts, sitting on the small
front porch. She instantly, almost instantly, ordered herself not be be silly.
There was no possibility the package was for her. There just…wasn’t.
A large
tag was attached to the elaborate bow on top of the package. Mariah checked it,
then checked it again. The tag
read: “To Mariah Abbott. From: Cupid.
Because you are deserving of love.”
Mariah
looked over her shoulder and scanned her quiet street, as if someone from one
of those shows that pulled pranks on people might be lurking. But no one ran up
with a camera and microphone. She
stroked the beautiful silver bow. “I think it’s really for me,” she whispered.
She
unlocked her door and brought the bulky package inside, resisting the
temptation to give it a little shake. She placed it next to her dining room
table and studied it, a smile twitching on her lips. She tried to decide if she
should open it right away. She wanted to. She wanted to rip, rip, rip that
bright paper right off. But was it safe?
What could be in it? Didn’t it
have to be a joke?
Mariah
didn’t rip, rip, rip, but she did allow herself to carefully removed the paper
from the large box. Only after carefully folding the gift wrap and placing the
bow on top—it was much too pretty not to be reused—did she allow herself to
open the top of the box.
Puzzled,
she removed a large silver, well, rectangle.
It was large, she estimated it to be four feet by three feet, and
absolutely smooth. As closely as she
studied it, she didn’t see any way to open it.
She checked the box, hoping for an instruction booklet. She found a
flash drive. Good, there must be instructions on the drive that would tell her
how to operate the…Valentine’s present.
Mariah
opened her laptop and slid the flash drive into the USB port, hoping it
wouldn’t crash her system, but way too curious not to see what was on it. A
second later the image of a saucy-looking cupid appeared. Yes, saucy was the word for the creature,
with his mischievous grin and wink. The image dissolved and a questionnaire
took its place.
Perhaps
it’s for some type of warranty, Mariah thought as she began answering the
questions, typing in her full name, her address, her phone number. Then the questions got a little more
personal, asking for her height and weight.
Perhaps there was some capacity limits on the…whatever it was. She
dutifully typed in the information.
She
couldn’t come up with any sensible reason for the next question, which was
“What is your favorite food.” She might be able to understand a question about
a food allergy, but a favorite food. She
hesitated, then typed in “tiramisu.” It was her very favorite, although she
rarely ate it. The nutritive value wasn’t very high.
Mariah
answered question after question on her likes and dislikes. She filled in CeeLo
Green’s “Fuck You” as one of her five favorite songs, deciding it was better to
be honest even though honestly involved profanity. She had to admit there was something about
the song that made her think of her one—and only—boyfriend. He hadn’t dumped her for a richer woman, but
she still liked imaging planting her hands on her hips and singing it to him.
She
filled in Nathan Fillian as one of her five picks for sexiest actor. He
wouldn’t have been on her list of best actors, but sexiest, yes, unlike Colin
Firth she would have placed on both lists. She selected the fictional character
she would most like to kiss. That was
easy-- Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy (whom she had begun picturing as Colin Firth once
she saw the BBC miniseries).
The
questions got more personal as she continued. She almost stopped filling in
information when she got to number 243, which involved watching four film clips
and ranking them on a “hot scale,” a scale, as explained by whoever created the
questionnaire, that rated sexual excitement, with heart rate, body flushing,
and vaginal lubrication to be considered as factors. But she’d already answered
242 questions, and if she didn’t keep going, she suspected she’d never get the
strange silver box to open.
By
question 1000, Mariah found herself mentally exhausted and physically
agitated. No, excited. That was the more
accurate word.
The
list of questions on the computer screen dissolved into a message in bright red
letters: “Now go to bed, Mariah. Your
present will be ready and waiting in the morning. “
###
Mariah
woke up at five, no help needed from the alarm. She was routinely an early
riser, but this morning, she had that jingley-jangley, it’s-Christmas-morning
feeling, something she hadn’t experienced this powerfully since she was a
child. She took a moment to put on her
robe and slippers, then rushed to the dining room. She always had a bowl of Grape Nuts with half
a banana for breakfast, most important meal of the day, as soon as she got
up. But today, breakfast could wait.
The
silver box sat where she’d left it, smooth and mysterious as she remembered it,
with seemingly no way for her to open it.
Disappointment filled her. No,
there had to be a way to find out what was inside. No one would give her a box that couldn’t be
opened for Christmas.
She ran
one hand over the top of the box, and one side silently slide open. A…a man
emerged, straightening as he stepped out, the box closing behind him. He was
tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. Mariah realized they were blue, but of such
a dark shade she momentarily thought they were black. He had the long-fingered
hands of Daniel Day Lewis and the lean body of Colin Firth.
Some kind of automaton, Mariah thought,
but she backed up several large steps.
The man couldn’t be real, but he looked real, and it was unnerving to
have a man in her home, especially with her standing there in her nightgown. While he was wearing a black-and-granite
button-down cardigan, that Mariah was sure was cashmere. It made her want to
run her hands down it. Or maybe that was
his chest. Under the cardigan he wore a
white shirt and a black tie. His grey
herringbone pants fit him perfectly. He
was dressed just the way she’d want a date of hers to be, a date who was going
to escort her to perhaps a romantic Valentine’s dinner.
“Happy
Valentine’s Day, Mariah,” the man said, in a low voice with just a touch of
humor lurking in his tone. “Belated,” he
added.
“You
can talk!” she exclaimed.
“I can
do everything,” he answered.
“I’m
sorry. That was rude. I…I’m a little
confused. What, I mean who, are you?” she blurted out, her
words coming out faster than they usually did.
“What I
am is your Valentine’s present,” he answered, taking one step toward her. “And who I am is Anthony.” He took one more
step forward.
Anthony.
She loved that name. Had that been one
of the questions she’d answered on the computer last night? She couldn’t
remember.
Had she
answered questions about the way she liked a man to smell? Because he smelled
wonderful, citrusy and a scent she could only describe as green.
“Who
designed you?” she asked. “If I’m not
being rude again.”
He
smiled, and crinkly smile lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. “You’re welcome to ask whatever you like,” he
answered. His smile widened. There was
something of Nathan Fillian’s sexy cockiness in that grin. “But is that what
you really want to do right now? Ask questions?” He took a step closer. He was just one step away from her now. “Because I’d rather kiss you. As I am for
Valentine’s Day.”
Then he
looked at her with those amazing deep blue eyes, waiting for her response.
Mariah swallowed hard, having difficulty finding the right words. Instead, she
stepped forward, and that was all it took.
He wrapped one arm around her waist, and with this free hand, stroked
her cheek with the back of his knuckles a tender gesture that made her shiver.
He
lowered his lips until they were a whisper away from hers then he told her
“Happy Valentine’s” again, and kissed her, a soft, sweet kiss. The next kiss wasn’t as sweet or soft. It was hot and deep, and Mariah had to wrap
both her arms around his neck to stay on her feet as his tongue began exploring
her mouth.
Tentatively,
she brushed her tongue against his, then she pulled away. “I’m sorry.
I-- I don’t really know what I’m
doing. I’m fifty years old, and I
haven’t had a boyfriend since—“
“Shhh. Anthony pressed his warm—so warm—fingers
against her lips. Anything you do is
fine. Anything.” He kissed her again, pulling her flush
against him so she could feel that his body was responding to her.
“So
eggs benedict and chocolate-chip pancakes and mimosas?” he asked when he
finally lifted his head from hers.”
“Um,
sounds delightful,” Mariah managed to say, although her head was spinning, her
lips were tingling, and her entire body felt flushed. “But I don’t have most of the
ingredients.” Chocolate chips and
champagne weren’t something she routinely--or ever--kept in the pantry.
“That’s
not a problem. I do.” Anthony moved over to the silver box and
pressed his hand on top. The side slid
open—Mariah couldn’t quite see how the mechanism worked—and he removed a sack
of groceries. “To the kitchen,” he
exclaimed, and off he walked like he’d been living with Mariah forever. Together they made an amazing breakfast, and
she ate it sitting on his lap, even though she didn’t even know him and she was
pretty sure he wasn’t human.
Then
they snuggled on the couch under her favorite afghan and watched a mammoth
chick flick marathon, before creating an even more amazing dinner. At the end of the day, Anthony seemed to
realize that she wasn’t ready to invite him to her bedroom. He simply kissed her goodnight—several
melting times—then told her he’d see her in the morning.
###
Mariah
awoke with the Christmas-morning feeling just as strong as it had ever been on
any actual Christmas. Maybe stonger. Now
she knew what was in the box. Anthony! A
man who seemed to have been designed for her.
She
hurried into the dining room, wondering if she'd find him at the table or in
the guest room or maybe in the box. She
didn’t find him at all. Instead, she
found a note that read:
Mariah, darling—
I have a mission for you. You’re
to go out and treat yourself to a truly
sexy bra and panty set. Don’t summon me
until you have them on. (Yes, that’s an order, but I hope an enjoyable one.) I
expect to hear from you no later than 1:00 p.m.
Anthony
Mariah
stared at the note. She had plenty of very nice, serviceable underthings. However, she wouldn’t call them sexy. Sexy underwear seemed like a luxury, and
Mariah considered saving for a comfortable retirement the biggest luxury there
was. Still, a little splurge wouldn’t
hurt. Good thing Valentine’s feel on a
Friday, so she still had a day before she had to be back at work.
So she
took herself off to Macy’s. After some
consideration and a bit of embarrassment, she selected a Maidenform bra and
hipster panties in a matching shade of vibrant lavender. They were both 15% off, and she thought they
were quite pretty. Please with herself,
Mariah drove home, at the speed limit, showered, shampooed, shaved, and
moisturized, then put on her new bra and panties. Anthony’s note hadn’t said what to wear
otherwise, so she put on a corduroy skirt and a red sweater, in honor of the
holiday that had brought him to her.
Then she walked to the silver box, feeling like she was on a roller-coaster,
on the part where you went up click-click-click before the whoosh. She hadn’t been on a roller-coaster in
years—decades—but she remembered the feeling and loved it.
She
hoped if they did end up making love—because that had to be what the new
underwear was for—Anthony would realize she needed him to take the lead. She wanted to be with him, to feel his hands
on her body, but she wasn’t any kind of seductress.
He’s your ideal man, she reminded
herself. She’d spent the entire day with
him on Christmas, and everything she discovered about him was exactly was she
wished it to be. With trembling fingers,
she ran her hands over the top of the box, and a moment later Anthony stood in
front of her. He wore a sweater vest
today. She loved a man in a sweater
vest.
Anthony
checked his watch—a classy one, Mariah noted, not a lot of gizmos, nice leather
band—and nodded in approval. “Good girl.
You’re back in plenty of time. I’m
assuming you obeyed my instructions and are wearing your new underwear.”
The
word “obey” sent a rush of heat from her belly down to her pussy. “I-I, yes, I obeyed,” she stammered.
Anthony
raised one eyebrow. “Perhaps I should
see for myself.” He stepped up to her
and ran one hand up under her sweater.
He cupped her breast and gave it a squeeze, then slid his hand away,
letting it run over her bare stomach as he did.
“Hmmm.” He didn’t sound exactly
happy. He reached down and grasped the
hem of her corduroy skirt in his fingers, her drew it slowly up, up up, over
her knees, over her thighs, and, finally over her waist. He studied her violet panties for a long
moment in silence.
“Serviceable,”
he decreed. “And I like the color. However, I would not call them truly sexy,
and they certainly don’t qualify as a way to treat yourself, young lady.”
Young
lady. She was fifty! But the words didn’t sound silly to her. Then made her tremble, tremble with a heady
mix of anxiety and excitement.
Anthony
jerked the skirt down. “Tell me
something.” His voice was stern, and his dark eyes were a bit chilly. “How much did you pay for the set?”
“The,
um, panties were eleven dollars, and the bra was thirty-eight. That was after the fifteen percent off,” she
added quickly.
“There’s
nothing wrong with a bargain,” Anthony told her. “But I didn’t send you out in search of a
bargain, did I?” He picked up the note he’d written. ‘My exact words were “treat yourself to
something truly sexy.’ You failed on
both counts.” He crumpled the note. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a
spanking, Mariah.”
“What?”
The word came out in a squeak.
“You
heard me.”
He
walked out of the dining room, clearly expecting Mariah to follow. Which she did, as if she had no choice. Though, of course, she had all sorts of
choices. She strongly suspected if she
told him no with real conviction, he’d stop whatever he was doing. She was almost positive she could order him
back into his box whenever she wanted to, and, if it was her desire, she could
leave the box closed for the rest of her life.
Instead,
she trotted right after him into the living room. He sat himself down on her flowered sofa, his
legs spread. “Come here,” he commanded.
And she
did, though the trembling in her body had turned to outright shaking. Anthony reached out, took her by the wrist,
and with one sharp tug, he had her over his knee, her behind raised into the
air. Two seconds later, he had her
corduroy skirt pulled up. He panted his
large hand on her bottom with is fingers splayed.
“Do you
have anything to say for yourself?” he asked.
“The
bra and panties are prettier than the kind I usually wear,” Mariah said, her
voice coming out more meekly than she’d planned. She realized it was hard not to sound meek
when was in this position. Although
Maureen O’Hara had been anything but meek in that movie where John Wayne had
spanked her. Mariah remembered that was
one of the scenes she’d watched as part of the questionnaire she’d filled out
on Christmas Eve.
“Are
you saying that you believed you followed my directive?” Anthony asked, giving
he bottom a light squeeze.
Mariah
considered the question. If she was
absolutely honest, she’d have to say she knew the undergarments weren’t sexy or much of a treat. But did she
have to be completely honest? She nibbled her lip as she thought about it.
Anthony
raised his hand and gave her bottom a hard smack. “Don’t even consider lying to me,” he warned,
as if he could read her mind. “I’m
warning you know that if you lie, you’ll get a second spanking and you’ll be
one very sorry woman.”
“I
thought they were pretty,” Mariah repeated, with a tiny bit of defiance, which
immediately got her another smack. “But,
no, I didn’t believe they were exactly what you specified in the note.”
“And
that is exactly why I’m going to punish you.”
She gasped as he pulled her new purple panties to her knees. “Now, tell me this, when was the last time
you received a disciplinary spanking?”
“I, um,
I never was,” she admitted.
“That
surprises me,” Anthony commented. “It
was my impression cupid decided to reward you because you’ve been extremely
good.”
“I
suppose I’m just naturally good,” she answered.
“What I
suppose is that you’ve never put yourself in any situations where naughtiness
was an option,” Anthony observed. “I
gave you one simple instruction, and you immediately disobeyed it.”
A
little jolt of anger shot through Mariah, and she began feeling just a little
Maureen O’Hara-esque. “Who are you to
give me instructions at all? You’re my
toy!”
“Oh,
now that wasn’t a nice answer. Or a
smart one. I think I’ll have to give you
a little extra spanking for sauciness, but let’s deal with the disobedience
first.”
And he
began spanking her, with spanks so sharp and so fast that Mariah began to
squirm over his knee. “No, no, no!” she
exclaimed.
He just
laughed and kept right on spanking, though he slowed down. At first Mariah was grateful for that, but he
concentrated each of the deliberate spanks on one spot of her bottom. He didn’t move on to another spot until had
her throbbing.
Mariah
gritted her teeth, determined not to cry out again. It’s not like it had done any good. The bastard had laughed, and then started up
that horrible spank-one-spot technique.
Finally, he stopped, and she let out a long quavering sigh. It was over.
At
least she thought it was over. Anthony
gave her two light pats on the fanny.
“I’m sure that will help you remember to be more obedient next
time. Now let’s see what we can do about
that sassiness.” He helped her to her
feet. “Go to the cube and bring me what
you find inside. Then we can continue.”
Mariah
planted her hands on her hips, feeling a shout of anger building inside
her. The way his lips lightened and his
eyes darkened convinced her to keep her mouth shut. She nodded.
She took a step toward the dining room, then realized she panties had
fallen completely off. She began looking
on the floor for them.
“You
won’t be needing panties, since I’ll be spanking you again in a few minutes,
and when I’m done, I suspect you won’t want anything on that bottom of yours,”
he informed her. “You might as well take
off the skirt too. It will spare me
pulling it up.”
Mariah
still didn’t feel quite ready to start up a confrontation. Her bottom was on fire, and it just didn’t
seem like an intelligent course of action.
She unbuttoned her skirt, removed it, folded it, and set it on the
coffee table. Heat flooded her face
until it burned almost as badly as her bottom did. She was standing in front of him half naked,
half naked while he sat there fully clothed.
It was so unfair. So wrong.
“You have
great legs, Mariah,” Anthony commented.
“Great legs, a great ass, and from what I can see, a perfect little pink
pussy.”
She
sputtered, half humiliated, and half insanely turned on, but no words came out.
“Now go
to the cube and bring me what you find.
Don’t make me ask you again.
We’ve already established what happens when you disobey me, haven’t we?”
And there was humor in his tone.
Arrogant bastard.
Still, Mariah scurried away, acutely conscious that
her bare bottom was on full view and that it was probably as red as a
Valentine’s Day heart. When she reached
the silver box, she placed her hand on the top.
The side silently slid open.
Mariah reached inside, and her fingers brushed against what felt like
bristles. Definitely bristles, she realized
when she pulled the item free. It was a
hairbrush, lovely actually, except for the unmistakable resemblance the wide
maple back had to a paddle. Her stomach
turned over in a feeling that was part fear and part something very different
from fear.
