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Spanking Den Member's Spanking Stories Nov - Dec 2005 Stories Impatience Part 1

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Callipyjean
New member
Username: Callipyjean

Post Number: 4
Registered: 11-2005

Posted on Friday, November 04, 2005 - 03:49 pm:

I was hurrying to a job interview this morning. I am always hurrying to important things. I TRY not to, but something always happens at the last minute. No matter how organized I try to be, something always comes up. This time I had lost my copy of the prospective company’s financial report, and had tried to copy it off the ‘net, but my printer is slow, and the fifteen minutes leeway I had allowed myself all disappeared with only three of the sixteen pages printed. I raced out of the house at the last possible second, and was rushing down the highway toward the interview.
Now, the road is four lane, but not limited access. It used to be THE highway, before the new interstate was built, and was a favorite spot for “County Mounties” to stop airmen racing back to the base so as not to be absent over leave. Now the base is closed, the highway is fairly empty, and the Mounties should be somewhere else. No one bothered to change the speed limit signs from 55 to 65, and I was crowding 70. I had just turned off to take my favorite short cut when a sheriff’s car pulled out of a stand of trees and turned on the bubble lights and siren.
I pulled over, shaking and torn between tears, curses, and hysteria. I took a deep breath, reached for my purse and opened my door.
The deputy who strode toward me was tall and broad, with coarse dark hair just graying at the temples. He tilted his broad brimmed hat and looked me over. I was already going into my spiel.
“Hello, my name is Yolanda Merrit, and I know I was speeding. Here is my license and registration, but please, I have been out of work almost nine months, and I’m on my way to a really great job interview. If you could just let me go for a couple of hours, I will meet you at the court house, or anywhere you say, but I just can’t be late to this interview, please believe me.”
“Calm down Ms. Merrit,” he said slowly, “It would be obvious to a rookie detective that you are on your way to an important meeting, and it’s also obvious that you were trying to make up for your tardiness by violating the traffic laws. Are you one of those people who think your concerns are too important to abide by the law?”
“No Sir,”
“Then why didn’t you allow enough time to get there without speeding?”
“Please, I don’t have time for a lecture now. You can give me one after the interview, I’ll take you to lunch, if that’s allowed, I’ll do anything the law requires, but I have to get to South Main street in twenty minutes.”
He looked at me speculatively. “You’ll do anything the law requires, if you can just get to this interview?”
“Yes, I promise.”
He handed me his card. “OK Ms. Merrit, meet me back here on the way home from your interview. I assume that will be before noon. Drive into those trees, if I’m off chasing real crooks, just wait, I”ll be back. Follow me, and I’ll give you a little quiet escort to the south edge of town. Keep up, but don’t run any signs or lights, or my lecture (he cleared his throat) will be worse.”
“Thank you,” I looked at his card “Deputy Keller.”

I followed him closely, but was careful not to tailgate, and at about 70 miles per hour we made the city limits in just over ten minutes. I beeped and waved as I headed up South Main street, and pulled into the parking lot for my interview with just six minutes to spare. Enough time to check my hair and lipstick, take a sip of bottled water, and collect my scattered thoughts. The interview went well, they are going to call next week for a second round with the Manager and CFO if I make this hurdle. I really hope I do, this sounds like a great job.
When I got back to the car, I glanced again at the Deputy’s card. D.C. Keller. Of course, I thought I recognized him. That’s Dave Keller, a guy I knew when we were freshmen in high school. I had had a crush on him, since at that time he was one of the few boys in school who was taller than I was. He was smart, and funny, and had known exactly what he was going to do with his life, except it hadn’t been to be a county patrolman. I checked my watch, it was eleven forty. Just enough time to race through the Steak ‘n’ Shake for a couple of double hamburgers and drinks, and get back to meet him before noon.
I roared up the country road and turned toward the trees at 11:59 on my car clock. It was one of those places with a little pond, a few trees and a picnic table where the local farmers might take their grandkids to catch a few pan fish and cook them over a campfire. I turned off the engine in the gravel next to the fence just as he pulled the cruiser in beside me.
“Hello Dave.” I said
“Hello Yoyo” he answered, grinning.
“Do you remember me from high school?”
“With a little help from the state BMV. I ran your number, and will be officially issuing you a warning for exceeding the speed limit. No fine, no points, but it will remain on your record, which I am glad to see is free of other violations, for a year.”
“I’m glad to have that settled, and I did bring you a sandwich, do you prefer cola or a chocolate shake with your burger?”
“I didn’t say it was settled, I’m not finished with you.”
“Well, eat your lunch while it’s warm, and you can lecture me afterwards.”
“I’m glad you like your buns warm,” he murmured under his breath.
We got out and went around the fence to sit at the picnic table. He took of his windbreaker and spread it on the bench saying “You wouldn’t want to get that nice power suit all dusty.”
“Thank you, I wouldn’t “
“So, how did the interview go, you made it on time I assume.”
“Yes, and I really hope I get this job. I mean, I’ve been out of work, I need any job, but this one would be …right for me. Not just a job, but a position.”
“Well, I hope you get it.”
“How about you? I thought you were going to be an army surgeon like the guys in M.A.S.H..”
“Like some other people, I got impatient, I figured by the time I got to be a surgeon the Viet Nam war would be over, and I’d never get to do that, so I took a two year course at the junior college, and volunteered into the Navy as an emergency medical tech. They attached me to a Marine unit and I spent two years patching guys up until the choppers could evacuate them. When I got back, twelve more years of school was too much to contemplate, so I took a double bachelors in paramedical nursing and law enforcement, and came back to Cheral County to enforce the law and patch up the victims.”
“And is that what you still do now?”
“More or less. When Joe Branson retires to Florida next November, I’m his anointed successor for Sheriff. How about you? You graduated high school early, did you go on to the Big U?”
“Yes, I suppose I’m just one of those impatient people you were talking about. I finished there in three and a half years, married, had kids, went back to school for another bachelors, (no time to go on to Graduate School). Now I’m divorced, empty nested, and only until next week, I hope, unemployed.”
“That’s too bad Ms. Yoyo, how do you happen to be unemployed?”
“I suppose it’s a combination of impatience, poor planning, and plain bad luck.”
“Some of that can be cured, if it’s approached properly.”
“I don’t think so, and I’ve tried.”
“I’m sure I can help, you just leave yourself in Old Doc David’s capable hands”
“And how would you go about performing this miracle cure, Deputy Dave?”
He grimaced at that nomenclature, stuffed the sandwich wrappers into the paper bag and tossed it thoughtfully toward the trash barrel, then he rose and took my hands to pull me toward him. He planted a soft kiss on my lips and said. “I’ll be off duty soon, meet me here at four for a campfire, and I will explain in exhaustive detail.”

I went home, changed into jeans, and looked Dave up in my old yearbook. Wrestling, Biology Club, marching band. He hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. What did he think he could do to cure an impatient, imprecise, unpunctual, procrastinator like me? Had he invited me on a date? To discuss me driving habits? I hadn’t had a ticket in seven years. Oh well, he said a campfire, I better bring marshmallows. I didn’t have any, and rushed to the grocery store, waited impatiently in the express line for an old man with four different kinds of fruit, none of it in bags, and raced up to the little lake at six minutes after four. Dave was already there, gathering up fallen branches to add to his fire.
“Yoyo” he said sternly, “you’re late.”
“Sorry Dave, I stopped to get us some marshmallows.”
“And you were speeding again, weren’t you?”
“Well, maybe just a little.”
He stopped breaking branches across his knee and walked toward me. He took my hand, walked me over to the picnic table, and boosted me up onto it. Even at my height, he was much taller, and he leaned he hands down onto the table so we were at eye level, trapping me between his arms.
“I gave you an official warning, which takes care of the demands of this great state, but I am not finished punishing you for speeding, and your general disregard of important matters. You were speeding because you were about to be late to a job interview right?”
“Yes.”
“Make that ‘Yes Sir!”
“Yes Sir” I giggled.
“Yolanda, I am serious. If you were late to the job interview, you might not get the job. Right?”
“Right.”
He glared.
“I mean Yes Sir.”
You lost your last job for some irresponsible behavior, like being late and unorganized, right?
“Yes Sir.” I said regretfully
“You were speeding at noon because you were almost late to meet me weren’t you?”
“Yes Sir.” I admitted.
“You were late tonight because you were unorganized and rushing around to finish things weren’t you?
“Yes Sir.” I said sadly.
“You just generally have some sloppy habits don’t you?”
“Yes Sir” I said, “but I’ve tried, I’ve really tried to be more disciplined, but I’m just not. I do well up to a point, then, I always loose out in the end. I always have just one more thing that needs to be done to make it RIGHT. I have no patience” I was about to cry in frustration.
He reached up and held my shoulders. “You’ve had a lot of failures, haven’t you?”
“I am a failure”
“No! You are not a failure, and you are going to learn not to fail at this in the future.”
“But I always do.”
“You don’t have to, you can be self-disciplined, discipline means learning. You can learn to be organized and patient.”
“I just can’t. I want to be patient, and punctual, and perfect, but I can’t”
“You want to be self-disciplined, and you can learn that. It starts here.”
“Here? Now? How?”
His hands tightened on my shoulders. “Do you trust me to teach you?” He held still and looked me in the eyes while I thought it over.
“Yes, Dave, I trust you.”
He grinned in a pitying way, and pulled me to me feet on the picnic bench. He reached out and unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans.
“What the hell are you doing? That’s the lamest excuse to get into my pants I’ve ever heard. Do you think I’m going to have sex with you right here in the grass?”
He laughed, a joyous bass gurgle, quickly suppressed. “My we are full of ourselves, aren’t we. I have no intention of having sex with you here and now. Sex is for fun and loving. I intend to blister some discipline right into your bottom.”
“No Dave, no!”
“You promised to do whatever the law requires as punishment for speeding. You obviously don’t think you’re above the law, you have some issues about punctuality and self-discipline, you said you needed help, and you trust me. Weren’t all those things you agreed to true? Surely you aren’t the kind of person who goes back on her promises.”
I thought hard. “No Sir, I’m not.”
“Then do as I say, it will be better soon.” He kissed me on the cheek, then pulled down my jeans and panties. The wind was cold, the trees screened us from the road, but being outside and bare was a new sensation. He sat down on the picnic table, and pulled me across his lap, planting his left foot to raise my bottom, and his right leg over mine. He pulled both my wrists into his left hand, and began to spank.
“No more speeding ! No more speeding! No more speeding! No more speeding!” Each word punctuated by a connection between his hand and my bottom.
“Be on time! Be on time! Be on time! Be on time!”
“Get yourself organized! Get yourself organized! Get yourself organized! Get yourself organized!” The litany continued. By now I was yelling.
“Ow, ow, Yes Dave, I will, I will, I promise, ow, ow ow.!”
By the time he came to “You’re NOT a failure!” with a special emphasis on “NOT!” I was sobbing out my anger, frustration, and remorse. He turned me over and cradled me gently in his arms, reaching into his coat pocket for three of his big white handkerchiefs. I cried, and blew, and wiped my eyes. He cuddled me until I was calm.
“All done Sweetie, all water under the bridge, it’s a whole new beginning. Let me help you out.” He reached into his jacket pocket for a tube of aloe gel. “If you’ll get back into position, I’ll put some of this on, and you can pull up your jeans.” I crawled across his lap, and that same big hard hand spread the cooling gel ever so gently across my bottom. I wiggled gingerly into my panties and jeans, then he took my hand and led me over to the fireplace.
“Let’s toast your marshmallows and just talk.” he said. It was as if I had just driven up, at four on the dot, and we were starting over. He held my hand, and we talked. My bottom was hot, but my face was smiling. I knew we would spend more time together, and, in the back of my mind, I was already wondering where his next speed trap might be.
Part III

We reminisced, and ate our marshmallows, and watched the little fire die down.
“Dave, I don’t understand how you think you can help me get organized, I mean, you did say you’d help, was THAT supposed to be a cure?”
“I’d like to take you out for dinner this weekend,” he said, “We can talk about your habit then.”
“Would you like to come to my place, I could cook” I said.
“Let’s see, you would have to shop, and you’re unemployed, and clean everything including the back bedroom closet, and cook something fancy including appetizer, salad and dessert, and you’d be rushing and running late.”
“Why do you think you know me so well Mr… (I almost said Smarty Pants but refrained. No need to discuss smarting, or pants right now.)?”
“I’m not wrong, am I?”
“Well, about the back closet, at least.”
“I want to take you out to dinner. If you’d like to go back to your place for dessert or a liqueur, I’d be happy to accept your hospitality, no heavy rushing involved. Okay?”
“Okay, where are we going, how shall I dress, and what time should I be ready?”
“Be ready at 6:30 Friday night, I’ll take you to The Steak House, and wear something soft, I like feminine women.”
He walked me to my car, gave me a very nice kiss, and waved me toward home.
I thought hard about all this, all of it, and Friday I made a cherry pie, and prepared my coffee pot, ready to plug in, cleaned my house, and refrained from running to the store for ice cream for the pie. I wore a soft aqua silk blouse, and clingy black crepe pants, with high heels, since Dave is so much taller, I feel small, even in heels. He was there promptly at 6:30, and I was sitting demurely on the couch.
“You look lovely, Yoyo, and you’re sitting here without panting, I’m impressed.”
“Are you going to check the back closet for junk? I assure you there is plenty.”
“Let’s go, how do you like your steak?” We had a very nice dinner and drove back to my house. We ate our pie, and were sitting on the couch with a second cup of coffee when I asked.
“Dave, I don’t get it. I mean, I have been consciously trying not to rush, and not to be compulsive about things, that’s why there was no ice cream for the pie, but I’ve done this before, and it’s never lasted even two weeks.”
“So you don’t think having your fanny warmed is going to change your bad habits?”
“Realistically, no I don’t, after all you aren’t here to monitor my every move.”
“No, I’m not, and even if I were, that’s not the point. You are supposed to be responsible for your life, not me.”
“So what was the point of your spanking me the other night?”
“What did you get out of it?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking more about how I live my life.”
“Bingo, that’s what I want you to do. I want you to keep score..”
“Keep score?”
“Every time you let you own procrastination force you to make an excuse, to diminish yourself, you loose. Every time you either do something well and on time, on you own, or allow yourself to skip something without excuse or regret, you win. Keep score.”
“What do I do with the score card?”
“I hope you learn something from it, and when you have too many negative points, and feel you are failing, it’s time for another spanking.”
“To punish me for failing?”
“To wipe out the failure, to start over without the negative score. To begin again. Did you get that out of your spanking, I hope so, that’s the most important part.”
“And you are undertaking to be around to help me with all this self discipline.”
“Only if you want me to, only if you trust me.”
“Dave, I do trust you.”
“Then I’ll be your coach. I think you should keep a written score card in your day runner, or your computer calendar. Write out what happens, both good and bad actions on your part. I’ll check from time to time, so see how you’re doing.”
“And spank me if I’m too bad.”
“Only if you ask me to, only if you’re ready, only if you admit you need it.”
“And you’re my Coach?”
“Coach, tough but fair, teaching you to play the game, with your best interests at heart.”
“You’re a regular Knute Rockne/Vince Lombardi clone.” I giggled
“You got it, ” he kissed me. He thanked me for the dessert, asked me for another date next weekend, and left my house whistling.