Monday, March 28, 2016

Beneath Braybourne Way - New Fiction Excerpt

Last week, I tried to participate in Three Word Wednesday. The prompts (brutal, clammy, dense) made me think of my basement fantasy, which I'd already been considering expanding into a longer story. I wound up writing over 4,000 words! Only "brutal" appears in the sample below, but all three are included in what I think is going to be the first chapter of a novel or novella I am tentatively calling "Beneath Braybourne Way." I'm sharing my link on 3WW because I'm grateful for the inspirational spark and I want to remind other writers that what you intend to be a short blog post may turn out to be your next (or first) book.

The set-up: Eleanor and Bearded Johnny, quirky adult friends, are exploring the basement of an abandoned house in Portland, Oregon. (The house is based on the house that Mr. W and I first lived in together in Portland.) Johnny wants to film some creepy footage and Eleanor is along for the ride because she has a secret crush on him, but things take an unexpected turn when they find some unusual objects the previous owners must have left behind.


I fidgeted. Johnny noticed and stood up. “I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely. “Does this stuff make you uncomfortable?” He touched my arm and I shivered.

“Only a little,” I answered, unable to meet his eyes, even in the semi-dark. I was embarrassed. “Go ahead, finish.” As he’d comforted me, I’d noticed one other object on the tarp, lying alone. I wanted to see what he’d make of it. “What’s that?” I pointed at the item, all too sure of what it was.

He picked up a slender length of rattan with a crooked handle - a schoolmaster’s cane. I had definitely never seen one of these in person. He brandished it like a sword and swished it through the air. “Well,” he commented, “I have an idea of what this might be used for.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, if this is a dungeon after all.” He grinned. “Funny that you noticed it, considering it was practically in the dark.”

“I’m sure it’s just a walking stick,” I answered. “I was just curious.”

“Oh were you now?” He stepped towards me. “How curious?”

I shook my head. “Not very. I’m ready to go.” I tried to retreat towards the door but he threw down the cane and grabbed my arm.

“Tell me you knew what it was,” he said. “Little Miss History doesn’t recognize a cane when she sees one?” His face was close to me, close enough that between the shadows and the proximity, I couldn’t tell if he was being rude or playful.

I thought I’d try a different tactic. “I knew what it was. How did you?”

He let go and laughed, turning the camera off on his phone and switching to his flashlight app so we could see each other better. “My sister left a historical romance novel on the couch and it must have fallen between the cushions. I found it one day when I was home sick in high school and I flipped through it.”

I smacked him lightly on the arm as if in admonishment. “You were looking for the dirty parts!”

“And I found them! I knew what all of this stuff was, though I’m shocked as hell that this is what we found down here.”

I took a deep breath and found the courage to say it. “I knew what all of it was, too.” I bit my lip, waiting for his response.

To my horror, he laughed again, like this was all the biggest joke. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d set me up, that he knew about my secret fetish and had done all this to let me know that not only did he not like me, he thought I was a freak. Then he leaned down and picked up the paddle again.

“Do you know what happened to the heroine in that novel when she got caught lying?”

“Don’t you dare!” This time I punched his arm, playfully, but even as I stepped close to him to deliver the hit, he reached around and swatted my backside with the paddle. Surprised, I dropped my phone into the dirt, the flashlight app facing upwards so our faces were cast in unsettling shadows.

“Turn around and bend over,” he said.

I looked up to find his eyes in the dim light.  “I’m not even joking, don’t you dare,” I told him. I wanted him to force me to turn around, to lift the skirt of my sundress and deliver a dozen brutal swats directly to my nearly bare backside. So I said it again. “Don’t you dare.”

In the few months we’d been hanging out together, I’d come to notice he couldn’t resist a challenge. He set his phone down next to mine, flashlight turned upwards. Between the light from the phones, the half-window at the front of the basement, and the open doors at the back, we could see each other well enough. “If you’re not going to turn around yourself,” he began. I squealed as he took me firmly by the shoulder and turned me around and then pushed me down so that I was bent over before him. I could tell that the hem of my dress had ridden well above the line of decency.

We both paused, unsure what to do with ourselves now that we’d gotten ourselves into this position. Either he was going to have to spank me with the paddle, or I was going to have to stand up and leave, pretending that I hadn’t wanted it all along. Before I could make up my mind, he decided for us both. The first swat landed lightly across my backside, barely a bump over my double layers of dress and panties.  Catching up, I remembered that it was supposed to hurt. “Ooh!” I yelped, relieved that we were going to play-act the spanking. Later, we could say that we were just being silly once we’d discovered what the basement had been hiding.

A few more swats landed, each as gentle as the first. I tried to respond with comic book style reactions. A “Smack!” received an “Ow!” in response, a “Pop!” received an “Oof!” A slighter harder “Whack!” received an “Oh no!” I giggled and he laughed back. We were just friends having fun, though I’d been wrong in the backyard when I thought my panties were safe. The play spanking had me dripping wet. I’d been afraid to tell anyone about my secret fantasies, afraid I wouldn’t even like being spanked once it finally happened, but maybe now I’d have the courage.

The smacks of the paddle stopped. I was about to ask if I should stand up when Johnny lifted the skirt of my dress above my waist. He ran his hand over my left butt cheek and then my right, tentatively. I stayed stock still, my eyes closed at his touch. I was terrified to breathe and break the moment, but his hand continued, traveling down one thigh, back up, then down the other. My thigh-high socks had fallen down; I could feel his hand on my skin from the backs of my knees to the small of my back, the thin fabric of my panties the only interruption.

“Johnny?” I whispered.


  1. Replies
    1. Thanks! My thought is that eventually the couple who left the toys in the basement come back. Chaos and spanking sexiness ensues. I'm hoping to have more time to work on it later this week. :-)


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