The Birthday Paddling: A Haruka and Michiru Story

Michiru was roused that morning to a series of soft, gentle kisses on her face and neck. The turquoise-haired woman’s eyelashes fluttered, and finally opened, revealing her tall, toned lover.

“Mmmmh,” Michiru said hazily as she wrapped her arms around her golden-haired girlfriend’s neck.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Haruka whispered into her ear in the husky voice no woman could resist. “I left your gift on the nightstand.”

Haruka sauntered off into the kitchen, undoubtedly to start brewing a much-needed pot of morning coffee, as Michiru rolled over to examine the contents of the innocent-looking brown paper gift bag.

Michiru stuck her perfectly-manicured fingers into the bag and pulled out a glistening, silver seashell necklace—wrapped around a Purpleheart wood paddle.

The blue-eyed siren carefully unraveled the necklace from the paddle and put it on. She glided over to the mirror, paddle in hand, and gazed at her reflection.

The necklace suited her, as did the oval-shaped, dense paddle. And with her marine-blue satin and lace slip, she looked every bit the Goddess of the Deep Sea.

That is, if the Goddess of the Deep Sea was meant to administer punishments and not save the world.

Michiru bit her bottom lip to stop a smile from forming. Haruka always knew how to make her feel sexy and powerful.

“Love, this is wonderful,” Michiru said as she walked into the kitchen, lightly smacking her fresh new paddle into the palm of her hand. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to try that out?” Haruka asked coyly before taking another sip of her morning coffee.

“But Haruka darling, you haven’t even done anything wrong,” Michiru teased as she pulled her lover close.

“I forgot to take out the trash last night,” Haruka replied with a smirk. “I was late the night before, and I didn’t pay any attention to your lively, enchanting recap of The Bachelorette, episode 9,887,784.”

“One more word and I will spank you until your ass is as purple as this paddle,” the turquoise-haired girl said as she placed both hands on her lover’s cheeks and squeezed tight.

“Please?” Haruka asked with a charming wink. She played it cool, but she was secretly a bit terrified of the thuddy Purpleheart paddle.

The golden-haired racer was used to an open hand, a hairbrush, and the occasional belt, but a thick, hard paddle would provide a more intense sensation.

Michiru led her lover to the bedroom and motioned for her to bend over the bed. Compliant, Haruka did as she was told.

“Slip off your shorts, love,” Michiru said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Haruka said, a bit of a whine in her voice.

“Don’t worry, love, you’ll get your warm up, but I need to test this new toy on you first,” Michiru said as she administered a light smack.

“If it feels too intense at any point, say ‘seashell’,” Michiru told her exposed lover.

“I’m going to feel so silly saying tha–owwwww,” Haruka cried as the paddle smacked the fleshy part of her bottom a second time, harder than the first.

“Are you questioning my command?” Michiru asked teasingly as a third smack landed on Haruka’s bare cheeks.

The third smack left her lover squirming, and the turquoise-haired siren knew that any harder would be too much for her racer.

Michiru opened her nightstand drawer and wrapped her fingers around a solid steel butt plug.

“There are consequences for brattiness,” Michiru purred. “Open wide, love.”

The blue-eyed woman inserted the plug into Haruka’s open mouth and gently tugged on the blonde woman’s hair.

“Good girl,” Michiru said as she re-filled their lube shooter. “Now, spread those cheeks.”

At this point, Haruka knew better than to utter a word in protest. She placed each hand over a cheek and spread them as wide as she could, exposing her tight, pink hole.

Michiru carefully inserted the shooter and pushed. The blonde racer felt the cool sensation of her hole being filled with lube.

The sea goddess removed the plug from her lover’s mouth and slowly pushed it into her asshole. Growing wetter, she watched as Haruka’s hole enveloped the plug.

Michiru pulled her plugged girlfriend up into a sitting position on the bed, and opened her own legs.

“I want you to feel me, Haruka,” she said as she took the taller woman’s fingers and ran them over her pulsating clit.

Haruka rubbed the turquoise-haired woman’s clit, and then ran her fingers down to her opening. One finger slipped in, and then two, and Michiru gyrated in response to the incomparable sensation of her lover’s touch.

Haruka moved her fingers faster and faster, until her blue-eyed lover started to moan in ecstasy. Sweat coated Michiru’s forehead as she fondled her own erect nipples and begged Haruka to go even harder.

Soon enough, Michiru felt her legs tense and experienced the familiar hot, rushing sensation of an orgasm.

After she came, the turquoise-haired woman paused to catch her breath and kissed her lover passionately.

Haruka positioned herself across Michiru’s lap, offering her plugged bottom for a warm up spanking.

Michiru felt her lover’s dripping pussy through her satin nightgown. Well, there goes another gown, she thought as she started to smack with an open hand.

“You’re almost ready,” Michiru said as slaps rained down on Haruka’s bare, plugged bottom. “Your cute little ass is going to be as purple as this paddle when I’m through with you.”

A moan of pleasure escaped Haruka’s lips. Her mind wandered to her first day of kindergarten. Her classmates had drawn tulips, trees, and houses. She had drawn an elaborate spanking scene that had gotten her sent to the principal’s office.

For years after that, Haruka was embarrassed to tell anyone about her most secret longing. That is, until she met Michiru.

“Over the bed,” Michiru commanded. Haruka readily obeyed.

The Purpleheart wood made a hard, thuddy sound as it landed on Haruka’s tender bottom. Michiru wielded it as she did her Deep Aqua Mirror: with expert precision.

It was incredibly intimidating, and incredibly fucking hot.

During brief pauses in her sadistic, repeated smacking of Haruka’s behind, Michiru lovingly rubbed her lover’s tenderest parts.

“This, my love, is my favorite gift,” she said with a particularly harsh smack.

“Glad you like the paddle,” Haruka responded with a wince.

“I meant this. Us. The way we are together,” Michiru clarified with a small chuckle.

“Ah, well, that’s good to hear, because I’m beginning to regret this paddle.”

“But we’re only just getting started, my love,” Michiru responded slyly.

15 minutes later…

Michiru ran her smooth fingers along the marks on Haruka’s bottom. She smiled as she thought of her lover sitting in her car later that day, her bottom red and sore.

Haruka, positioned on all fours on their bed, had her ass raised high like a sacrifice.

Michiru slowly, carefully pulled out the steel plug she had inserted earlier and shot another dose of lube into Haruka’s stretched hole.

The turquoise-haired violinist caught a stray strand and placed it behind her ear. She never felt as hot as she did when she was wearing nothing but a strapon. Her nipples stood erect, and she could feel the dripping wetness between her legs.

“Are you ready for this, love?” Michiru asked, grabbing the fat, black dildo.

“Yes, ma’am,” Haruka responded, ready to take the impending pounding.

Michiru pushed the tip of the dildo into her racer’s asshole, and Haruka let out a soft moan. The sea siren placed her hands on her lover’s hips and carefully pushed the dildo in.

She slapped her lover’s bruised ass and pulled the dildo out. She repeated the pushing and pulling motions, admiring the way her blonde-haired lover could take a paddling and a dildo in one morning.

Haruka moaned and grunted as she felt the long, thick dildo plunge in and out of her asshole. Michiru’s motions grew faster, and she grasped tufts of her racer’s golden locks.

The sea goddess reached upward for her lover’s breasts and pulled her forward. Now on just her knees, Haruka placed her hands over Michiru’s and moved her body along with the motions of the dildo.

“Oh god,” Haruka moaned in pleasure. Michiru traced her fingers along Haruka’s stomach and reached down to massage her racer’s clit.

Haruka felt her entire body pulsating with sensation.

“Fuck,” she cried as her dark blue eyes rolled upward. “I’m going to come!”

Michiru continued to pump and rub until her racer experienced the ecstasy of orgasm. Haruka went limp as she came, and the two fell into bed.

The turquoise-haired violinist gracefully slipped off her strapon and wrapped her legs around her blonde lover. “And you didn’t even have to use the safeword,” she commented as she ran her fingers through the racer’s short hair.

“It’s a testament to your sense of perception, my love,” Haruka whispered.

The racer paused for a second. “But shouldn’t I have given you a birthday spanking?”

Michiru giggled and kissed the taller woman. “Well, I think we’ve just started our own tradition, darling.”



Haruka and Michiru’s Long Night

Haruka knew she was in trouble.

Michiru typically reserved her icy glare for Youma and anyone who interrupted her violin practices.

Tonight, however, the stare that could make even the most intimidating, tentacle-ridden monster cower in fear pierced Haruka’s heart.

“Michiru, please,” Haruka begged, imploring her turquoise-haired lover to soften her gaze. But it was no use—the damage had been done.

There had been an invitation. There had been a dark, crowded bar. There had been girls, lots of girls.

But most importantly, there was no Michiru.

“Haruka, if you haven’t noticed already, I’m rather upset with you, love,” Michiru replied, running her long, soft fingers through her racer’s short, golden locks.

The pair made their way to the bedroom of their swanky Tokyo penthouse. As Michiru bit down on Haruka’s lip in a rough but passionate kiss, the racer looked out at the beaming lights of a city that caused almost as much trouble as it offered fame, love, and friendship.

What would she do without Michiru, or this city, or the Youma they fought, or the races that made her feel alive? She didn’t want to think of losing her love, or the life they shared, but guilt racked her mind.

Michiru pulled Haruka close and started to unbutton her shirt. Haruka opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

I was tipsy. No, I was more than tipsy—I was drunk. I was flirting with those women at the bar. I couldn’t drive home. The bartender had to call Michiru. She had to end her rehearsal for tomorrow’s performance two hours early. Oh god, what did I do?

“Love, I know that I haven’t been very attentive recently,” Michiru cooed as she ran her pink lips down her lover’s chest and over each nipple.

Haruka could feel herself getting wet. She knew that Michiru would dominate her body and mind from the moment they met years ago. It scared her at first, that someone could rip apart her steely defenses, but it felt natural to her now. Almost like breathing.

“Michiru, I…” Haruka started to speak but her blue-eyed lover put a single finger over her lips and she knew then that talking wouldn’t do her much good.

Still fully clothed, Michiru sat on their bed and motioned for Haruka to join her. She obliged, and Michiru undid her belt buckle with the expert precision of someone who has done this more times than she ought.

Haruka stepped out of her pants and positioned herself across her lover’s lap. Michiru looked down at her racer’s striped briefs, lifted her hand, and smacked down lightly. Haruka, no stranger to this position, moaned and reached for their down comforter to clutch.

“I’ve been at rehearsals almost every evening for the past two weeks,” Michiru said as she rained soft smacks upon her lover’s bottom. “But if you needed attention, love, you could have just told me.”

“I’m sorry, Michiru,” Haruka replied, relieved that her stunning violinist lover couldn’t see her blushing face.

“I know, but I think you need this.”

And of course, the Guardian of the Deep Sea was right about this, as she was about most things.

Michiru gently pulled down her lover’s briefs, exposing her bare bottom. She tried not to giggle as she ran her fingers across her lover’s round backside. To put it bluntly, Haruka had always had a really, really nice ass.

“Haruka, dear, I’m going to need that hairbrush,” Michiru said, pointing to her plain wooden brush on the nightstand next to the bed.

Haruka groaned, but did as she was told.

“Now, darling, I’m going to need you to count out each stroke, up to 100, okay?” Michiru cooed.

“Yes, ma’am,” Haruka responded, resigned to her fate.

The first couple of dozen smacks were enough to turn Haruka’s posterior the color of her blushing face. The next couple of dozen strokes left Haruka reddened and wincing.

Michiru put the brush down momentarily and traced her finger along Haruka’s spine. When she reached the blonde woman’s rear, she took a moment to rub it tenderly.

Haruka smiled as Michiru’s fingers found their way to her lips. She slipped one finger in, and then two and was met with her lover’s wetness.

The racer moaned in pleasure and rubbed her throbbing clit on her lover’s perfectly-pleated skirt.

“Soon, my love,” Michiru laughed gently as she removed her fingers and re-positioned her golden-locked lover.

“48 *smack* 49 *smack* 50 *smack*,” Haruka muttered as the thwacks of the brush grew harder.

Haruka almost never cried, but this was different. The pain of being struck with a hairbrush she could live with, but hurting Michiru caused tears to well in her eyes.

After a good 75 swats, her bottom felt like it was on fire. Haruka clutched the comforter and gritted her teeth.

“76 *SMACK* 77 *SMACK* 78 *SMACK*,” she cried as the brush came down again and again.

“I know this hurts, Haruka, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy this,” Michiru teased knowingly.

The final strokes left Haruka nearly in tears, clutching her lover’s legs. The Guardian of the Heavens, the wielder of the Space Sword, would never allow anyone to see her so vulnerable. Anyone but Michiru.

Finally, it was over. Michiru dropped the brush, righted her lover, and planted a kiss on Haruka’s lips. Haruka smiled coyly and lifted Michiru’s skirt.

“You’re the only woman I’ll ever love, Michiru,” Haruka said as she knelt in front of the seated blue-eyed siren and licked her clit.

Michiru gasped as Haruka’s tongue glided over her most sensitive spots. Her mind wandered to the strapon in her dresser drawer, of Haruka licking and sucking on the black silicone dildo before bending over for Michiru to slip it into her tight asshole.

But for now, Michiru was content to experience the pure ecstasy of having her clit massaged by Haruka’s experienced tongue. Her moaning grew louder, her vision blurred, and her legs began to tense.

This was only the beginning of very long and much-needed night.

A New Year’s Eve Romp, Part II

Abby took a deep breath and pulled open the iron fence guarding the abandoned Williamsburg warehouse with a loud squeeeeak. The frosty January air was making her hands uncomfortably dry. She huffed into her palms and rubbed them together in a feeble attempt at keeping warm.

“Does he have a gun or any weapons that you know of?” Abby asked Matt, shoving her hands deep into her pockets for warmth.

“I mean, he knocked me out pretty quickly, so I didn’t see much,” Matt answered, still disheveled. Abby was just thankful that they were all fully clothed. Just about an hour ago, Sadie’s bearded brother had walked in on them doing the dirty deed on his living room couch.

“Okay. How much did you say was in your wallet?” Abby asked with a sigh. Hunting down criminals in Brooklyn was not how she had intended to spend New Year’s.

The entire situation was incredibly dangerous and Abby knew that she was acting uncharacteristically foolish as she stood outside in the frigid night air hoping to convince a man who could knock the daylights out of Sadie’s 6’3 brother to return the wallet he stole.

“About two grand,” Matt replied, dropping his head. Poseidon the pit bull puppy sat loyally next to his owner, though it would take some time – and a helping of treats – to forgive them all for forcing his paws into dog booties.

“Two grand? Matt, why the hell were you carrying so much cash?” Sadie piped up, her mouth gaping and eyes squinted in anger.

“Drug money, some of it,” he replied, feeling too ashamed to nudge Sadie back when she punched him in the arm. “Rent and food money, most of it.”

“Why do you pay your rent in cash?” Abby asked, perplexed.

“My landlady is kind of a tax evader. I get a great deal on the place, okay? And she’s got a kid who’s in school. It’d fuck up his financial aid if the government knew how much she was raking in every month.”

“Right. Of course,” Abby said, rolling her eyes. Though she’d never actually say it aloud, she couldn’t fault Matt for nabbing a great apartment deal – New York City rent was too damn high.

Meanwhile, Sadie pouted in the background. It was just like Matt to take two grand in cash with him to sleep with a woman he barely knew on a shady street next to a deserted back alley. Of course he would be robbed by the woman’s rabid ex-boyfriend. Of course the first real conversation he’d have with the love of her life would involve drugs, strippers, illegal housing, and theft.

The tall blonde didn’t know whether she was really angry at her older brother’s decisions or the fact that they were so blaringly alike.

Abby banged on the door for the third time. Her rapid pounding could wake the dead, and if anyone was home – as evidenced by the faint flickering of a light inside – they’d surely hear her.

“Abby, maybe we should just go home or call the cops or something,” Sadie urged, eyeing her brunette lover. Even with her pink nose and wild post-sex hair, she was a vision. Sadie just hoped they made it home alive.

“No. I’ve already come all the way out here. And by the time the cops get on the case, this guy will have spent the entire wad on drugs or strippers or both.”

Abby turned to look Sadie in the eye. “Besides. I’m pretty much a martial arts pro.”

“Darling, you haven’t been to a class in two months,” Sadie responded. It was true: The museum had been experiencing record-breaking holiday visits – meaning Abby was spending most of her free time talking about butterflies in the conservatory.

Just as Abby was about to utter a sharp retort, a burly man with an ominous snake tattoo wrapped around his bald head, a stained wife beater, and steel-toe boots yanked the door open and grunted.

“Whaddya want?”

He dropped his cigar to the ground, flattened it in one hard stomp, and glared at the three humans and one canine, who began to feel very small and quite scared. Sadie could feel her brother trembling with fear beside her.

Determined not to break her poker face, Abby glared up at the man for a split second – and then she kicked.

Two hours later:

“Abby, I – I’m impressed,” Sadie told her brunette lover between kisses. It felt so good to be back home in their warm bed.

“Do you think I hurt him?” Abby asked, mildly surprised that she felt concern for the ex-convict who roughed up Sadie’s brother and stole from him.

“Erm…I doubt it,” Sadie replied, her long arms wrapped around Abby’s upper body. Sure, her “martial arts pro” had kicked Tezo in the balls, and the pain and surprise had stopped him in his tracks. Other than that, their encounter – though undoubtedly bizarre – had also been relatively tame.

“I am wondering how you knew he had a daughter?”

“The tattoo on his left arm: 12-22-2005 next to pink baby shoes. I thought he should know that his daughter deserved better than a father who puts his and others’ lives in danger to steal.”

“You’re rather convincing,” Sadie said, snuggling up against Abby, who was comfortably clad in a tee and butterfly-print shorts.

The pair kissed passionately as Zane sat at the foot of the bed looking unimpressed. The Persian cat licked his thick grey mane lazily.

Abby chuckled and looked into her lover’s green eyes, pinning her down by the shoulders. “You know, you can be trouble, Sadie Ann Sawyer.”

“Says the girl who marched up to a criminal and demanded my brother’s money back?”

“You have a point there,” Abby replied. “But let’s not forget why I was forced into that dangerous position in the first place.”

Abby turned her leggy blonde over and pulled down the snowman-print boxers she’d given her as a stocking stuffer on Christmas Day.

Sadie assumed position over her lover’s lap, rubbing her bare clit on Abby’s upper thigh in excitement. Abby slid two fingers into the younger woman’s dampening pussy.

“Someone is aroused, and it’s nearly four in the morning,” Abby cooed and tugged on her lover’s short blonde locks.

She struck Sadie’s posterior with teasingly playful smacks, rubbing her gently between each set of swats. Sadie moaned in response to her lover’s touch and rubbed her pussy harder.

“Not yet, darling,” Abby chided as she continued to swat Sadie’s reddening ass.

“Babe, it’s embarrassing. I don’t want Matt to hear,” Sadie whined.

“Matt is probably fast asleep right now,” Abby said, knowing that it was probably accurate. Later, the two would find out that Matt had indeed been snoring on their ragged old sofa, his feet sticking out of their old comforter and Poseidon loyally resting on the makeshift doggy bed next to him.

Abby pulled Sadie up and into a tender embrace. The brunette woman massaged her lover’s juicy pink bud with her right hand as her left felt Sadie’s hardened nipples under her T-shirt.

“I love you, Sadie,” Abby whispered into her girlfriend’s ear.

“I love you, too, Abbs.”

The two fell back onto the bed in a passionate embrace, limbs entwined and lips locking. Zane surrendered his spot and trotted toward the closet for some peace.

By noon that day, the pair rose to the unexpected sound of a dog barking and bacon sizzling. Unless Tezo had returned to grab breakfast before finishing them off, for the very first time in a long time, Matt had stuck around.


Sadie’s Wake Up Call

Sadie was fast asleep, her golden locks frizzy and matted against the pillows, her slim legs wrapped around the royal blue comforter she shared (or was supposed to share) with Abby. Her leggy tomboy was always a blanket hog, Abby mused, as she brushed her rosy lips against the younger woman’s cheek.

“Mmmmh—wha?” Sadie asked drearily as she swatted the brunette away. “Just a few more minutes.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if someone had gone to bed on time,” Abby scolded as she pulled the covers out from under Sadie. The blonde had snoozed through three cell phone alarms after pigging out in front of the television until well past 2 am the night before.

“Abbbby,” the pajama-clad blonde whined. Abby had to admit that Sadie looked rather adorable in her Pikachu-print fleece pants and white V-neck tee.

“No excuses, my little brat,” Abby said. Dressed in a curve-hugging pencil skirt and crisp white button down, she was ready for her very important Monday morning meeting with the museum’s director of living exhibits—that is, if Sadie would get her cute ass out of bed.

Abby was determined not to let her girlfriend miss another day of work—when she was on top of her game, the up-and-coming graphic designer was virtually unstoppable. And then there were days like today, when Sadie looked like a hungover college student.

“If you want to act irresponsibly, my love, you’ll have to suffer the consequences,” Abby said, returning to sit beside the green-eyed beauty with a hardwood hairbrush. On occasion, Abby liked to brush her own long, wavy locks with the menacing instrument in full view of her lover, as a playful reminder of who held the power over Miss Sadie’s backside.

“Stop, I’m up. I’m up!” Sadie cried as Abby pulled her into position over her knee.

“Too late, darling,” Abby replied in a tone that marked finality. She pulled Sadie’s pajama pants down, exposing the groggy woman’s pale behind. She gently ran the bristles of the brush over each cheek, stopping at a tiny black bruise on her lover’s lower right corner. “Do you remember the last time you were punished, Miss Sawyer?”

“When I threw a tantrum a couple nights ago because our Internet connection was slow,” Sadie said. She could feel her face turn hot pink in shame. Abby had thrown her over the desk in their bedroom for a bottom-burning paddling.

“Clearly, someone hasn’t learned her lesson quite yet,” Abby said with a smack of her open hand. Sadie sighed and prepared herself for a lecture and spanking—all before her morning cup of joe.

Abby swatted her girlfriend’s bare bottom swiftly. As the force behind the slaps grew in intensity, Sadie squirmed atop Abby’s lap.

By the hundredth strike, Sadie was trying desperately to cover her reddened bottom with her right arm, which Abby pushed out of the way with ease.

“You know better than that, brat,” Abby cooed into her exposed lover’s ear. She grabbed the hairbrush from her side and rubbed the wood against Sadie’s ass cheeks, as much to remind her who was in charge as to prepare her for the impending paddling.

“Owww,” Sadie moaned as the brush landed with a THWACK across her tender cheeks.

“What won’t you be doing anymore, love?” Abby asked, her eyes admiring Sadie’s gorgeous backside.

Sadie, who was feeling particularly non-compliant this morning, huffed in response.

“I see,” Abby replied with a series of thwacks on Sadie’s sit spot, which made the blonde gasp and become immediately regretful of her own defiance.

Abby brought the brush down again and again, raining hard swats upon Sadie’s backside until the penitent kicked and screamed.

“Okay, okay, when you tell me to come to bed, I’ll come to bed, I swear,” Sadie cried, her eyes wet with tears, which she was relieved Abby couldn’t see.

“And why is it so important for you to go to bed at a reasonable hour?” Abby asked with a crack of the brush.

“Because I can’t be late for work,” Sadie said, embarrassed at her own poor decision making and painful predicament.

“I’m swat going swat to swat give you swat five minutes swat to get dressed,” Abby said, wielding the wooden implement mercilessly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sadie replied. Now alert and highly embarrassed, the 26-year-old scurried into the bathroom without a single glance back at her put-together girlfriend.

Sadie shut the bathroom door and rubbed her bruised buttocks as she stared at the collection of red patches and darkened bruises in the floor-length mirror.

“No rubbing!” Abby called from the bedroom.

“Okay, Superwoman!” Sadie called back as she rolled her eyes. It seemed like Abby could see through anything sometimes, even layers of walls.

“What was that?” Abby asked, hairbrush thwacking loudly against her palm.

“Err—nothing!” Sadie responded, swiftly locking the door behind her, just in case.

Abby had left undergarments, black jeans, and a button down hanging on the shower rod for Sadie.

The blonde slipped into her clothes as quickly as possible, brushed her teeth, splashed her face with cold water, and ran her fingers through her head of matted locks.

“Ready!” she called, stumbling out of the bathroom. “Abby?”

“You might be ready, but I’m not finished with you just yet, babe,” the brunette woman replied mischievously.

“But I can’t take any more!” Sadie groaned. She knew she was being a royal brat, but she couldn’t be expected to be her best self without coffee.

“Get down on all fours on the bed,” Abby commanded, pulling Sadie’s pants and underwear down to her knees. “This will be quick.”

Sadie sighed loudly and did as she was told, raising her ass up and outwards like a sacrifice in front of Abby. Abby squirted a healthy dollop of lube onto the ribbed fuchsia butt plug and said, “You know, I was going to let you off with just a spanking this morning, but that was before you decided to be a disobedient little brat.”

“The next time I ask you a question, you’ll answer it, won’t you love?” Abby asked as she tickled Sadie’s tender anal opening with the tip of the 5″ plug.

“Yes ma’am,” Sadie sighed as she braced herself for penetration.

Abby eased the plug in gently, smacking Sadie’s ass as she pushed the silicone deeper into her hole. Sadie moaned as she felt each rib of the plug expand her tight opening.

“Get up,” Abby said with a smack of Sadie’s throbbing ass. “Pull your pants up.”

“You mean?” Sadie asked, her ass plugged and sore. She pulled her briefs and jeans, covering the anal toy.

“Yes, love, you’re still at my mercy for…oh, the next forty five minutes or so,” Abby winked as she held up the remote controller to the vibrating plug.

“Abby—on the train?! You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

Sadie didn’t know what would be worse: moaning on the train or sitting on one of its hard seats. One thing she did know for certain—she’d be getting her eight hours from now on.


Sadie Saves the Dinner, Part III — The Finale

Two and a half hours ago, Sadie was praying to God, Buddha, and Mother Earth that she’d make it through the night without having a panic attack of epic proportions.

And now, here she was at the local Waldbaum’s, the McCormick family Honda parked haphazardly in the sprawling concrete lot outside. Sadie was pacing through the aisles in search of a package of extra firm tofu when her brunette lover brushed up against her shoulder playfully.

“Aaaand here we have fresh mushrooms, peppers, onions, broccoli and string beans,” she said, dumping the haul into Sadie’s shopping cart. “What else do we need, love?”

“Er—rice,” the lanky blonde replied, snapping her fingers as she realized that the tofu was sitting on a shelf right in front of her.

Though Sadie was a happy omnivore, she figured that tofu was the safest choice. She knew how to whip the bean curd into a crisp brown, oil-and-soy-sauce-coated explosion for the taste buds. And besides, she didn’t want to poison Abby’s immediate family with under-cooked chicken.

As Abby ran off to pluck a package of rice from the shelves, Sadie turned down the next aisle and dropped a bottle of soy sauce and a bottle of vegetable oil atop the pile.

“Do you trust me, Abby?” she asked as her older girlfriend returned with two packets of Uncle Ben’s two-minute rice (hungry times called for desperate measures). The 28-year-old brunette was a vision in her little black dress and smokey eyes, though she did have a knot sitting on the side of her head, which Sadie thought best not to mention right now.

“Only when there’s no alcohol around,” Abby responded with a wink.

Sadie rolled her brilliant emerald eyes at the cheeky remark and wheeled the increasingly populated cart down the baking aisle. “The Pillsbury Doughboy always comes through,” she said as she grabbed a box of cake mix and chocolate frosting and sprinted toward checkout.

Later that night:

“Sadie, that was délicieux! Delizioso! Gostoso!” Abby exclaimed as she nestled her head in Sadie’s fleshy shoulder nook.

“Oh, Abby, it was nothing,” the thinner woman said, running her fingers through her short golden locks.

In reality, it was most definitely something. When Abby returned to her parents’ house with Sadie, the blonde got straight to work slicing and dicing veggies, greasing pans, and sprinkling soy sauce over everything as she assigned Abby the task of preparing batter and lining cupcake trays.

A mere half hour after they started, Prue and Penny were fighting over the last scoop of stir fry as Sadie and Abby rose from the polished glass dining room table to frost and sprinkle cupcakes in the kitchen.

“You know, my family devoured that meal,” Abby replied, planting a firm kiss on Sadie’s cheek. As Sadie wiped red lipstick off her face with the back of her hand, Abby continued, “My family adores you as much as they enjoyed your food. You were incredible tonight, love.”

Not to mention incredibly sexy. It took all of the willpower Abby could muster up not to mount her green-eyed lover right on her mother’s antique dining room table.

“Where did you learn how to make that, and why haven’t you made any of it for me?” Abby asked, pouting.

“I watched my mom cook when I was younger,” Sadie said, not meeting Abby’s eyes, a signal to Abby not to press further. Sadie’s mother had been killed in a tragic car accident when Sadie was just 11, and she still had trouble opening up about it.

“You know, Abby, you don’t have to be so perfect all the time,” Sadie said, massaging her lover’s neck. “I know you’re probably still beating yourself up over being late and forgetting to call in dinner, but it happens. It’s understandable. You work so hard and you put so much pressure on yourself. You need to relax, okay?”

“Yeah,” Abby responded, pressing her ear against Sadie’s chest to catch the rapid pounding of her lover’s heart through her racer-back tank.

“I mean it,” Sadie said, gently nudging her bra-and-panty-clad lover off of her chest. She pinned Abby down by her shoulders and ran her pink lips over the shorter girl’s full breasts and up to her neck, where she kissed, licked, and sucked the delicate skin.

“Mmmh,” Abby moaned as she brushed her fingers over her throbbing pink clit.

“Rub it,” Sadie commanded, momentarily removing her hands from Abby’s shoulder to remove the older woman’s lace thong and bra.

Abby mumbled in protest, but Sadie pressed an index finger against her girlfriend’s pursed red lips and said, “Relax, love. Let me take the helm for once.”

Abby sighed and did as she was told, massaging her delicate clit as Sadie squeezed, bit, and sucked her hard nipples.

Five minutes later:

Sadie struck her curvaceous girlfriend’s exposed clit with a leather fly swatter. Now that the tables were turned, she was going to make her love plead for a thorough fucking— and plead she did.

“Fuck me! Please, fuck me,” Abby cried, panting heavily, her brow slicked with sweat and arms tugging against the furry red handcuffs that bound her to the wooden bedposts.

Sadie ran her tongue down Abby’s chest and stomach, landing on her pulsating pink bud, where she licked, sucked, flicked, and massaged until Abby flooded the bed with warm juices.

“Oh my god. Mmmmh. Sadie, oh my god,” Abby cried as her legs spasmed and her body shot up toward the very height of pleasure and then glorious release.

Abby shook as she processed the aftereffects of her orgasm, then quieted and drifted into a euphoric daze. Sadie bit Abby’s inner thighs, snapping her back to reality.

“Oh god, Sadie,” Abby squealed in shock and pain as her girlfriend’s bites got progressively harder as she moved toward her neck.

“I don’t know about you, but those cupcakes weren’t nearly as satisfying as I thought they’d be,” the boxer-clad blonde said playfully.

Sadie reached over to the dresser and grabbed Abby’s favorite navy silk scarf. She tightened it around Abby’s head and rummaged through the nightstand for a pair of handcuffs.

Once her bare lover was properly bound, the blonde lead her into the kitchen, dodging a sleepy Zane on the way. Sadie pushed Abby over the kitchen table and stared at her girlfriend’s tan bottom. She cupped her hands over Abby’s perky ass and knelt down, determined not to let nerves get the best of her. She could do this, she decided. She had longed to do this, ever since a past flame named Melissa positioned the blonde on all fours atop their Queens motel room mattress, where she’d lick, suck, and penetrate Sadie’s exposed asshole with her tongue. Sadie was a mere 22 to Melissa’s 40 at the time, but M always made it a point to offer Sadie a generous supply of pot and chips.

But this time, there was more at stake than a week’s worth of dope.

“Abby, I’m going to try something different tonight,” Sadie said, carefully separating Abby’s cheeks to expose her tender hole. “If anything feels wrong, say ‘pineapple’, okay?”

“Mmmmh,” Abby mumbled, loosening her muscles as she felt the tip of Sadie’s tongue circle her opening. Sadie tickled and sucked her pink asshole, finally inserting the tip of her tongue into it.

Abby hadn’t felt so defenseless and so free in a long time. Sadie continued to lick and flick as she squeezed and smacked her lover’s fleshy bottom.

Abby moaned in pleasure. Though she wished she could toy with her wet pussy, she enjoyed being completely at the mercy of her leggy blonde lover.

After licking Abby’s opening one final time, Sadie rose, picked a pillow off the sofa, unlocked the handcuffs, and turned her gasping girlfriend over. She lovingly placed the pillow beneath Abby’s head and stroked the trimmed black hair over her pussy.

“I think someone liked that,” Sadie said as she pulled her middle and index fingers—now slicked with juice—out of Abby’s warm pussy. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, Sadie, please give me more,” Abby responded, squeezing her erect nipples and feeling the wetness between her legs.

“I can’t hear you,” Sadie teased as she chuckled with delight. Being dominant was a lot of fun—she could get used to this.

“YES, Sadie. Please fuck me.”

“Where?” Sadie asked playfully, inserting her wet index finger into Abby’s tight asshole.

“Mmmh, in the pussy,” Abby responded, her hole enveloping Sadie’s finger.

“I’ll be right back,” Sadie said.

Zane gave her a curious look as she darted off into the bedroom, wondering how his blonde owner could find anything else more exciting than paying attention to him.

Sadie pulled opened the bottom dresser drawer and sifted through their plastic toy chest, removing a sterilized black dildo and the harness that Abby typically used to fuck her after an erotic spanking. The black dildo was fat and long, but Sadie knew that Abby, who typically preferred a trio of fingers to a silicone dildo, was horny enough to take it.

Sadie returned wearing the strap on, which she adjusted several times for fit, and stood over Abby. The taller girl pinched her exposed girlfriend’s nipples and ran her fingers along the toned woman’s flat stomach before carefully inserting the dildo into her lover’s expanding pussy. Sadie held Abby’s left hand with her own and grasped the older woman’s hip with her right hand as she thrusted—slowly at first, and then with a steady pounding.

“Faster! Faster! Oh my god,” Abby screamed with pleasure as Sadie pumped.

Sadie spread her lover’s labia and massaged her erect pink clit beneath.

“Ohhh. Mmmh. Ahhh!” Abby cried as her body tensed, tightened, and climaxed for the second time that night.

“Oh my god, Sadie Ann Sawyer,” Abby said, removing the blindfold to meet her lover’s eyes. “What would I ever do without you?”


Fifty Strikes of the Strap

Note: This strapping takes place before Sadie Saves the Dinner, Part I

Sadie leafed through her girlfriend’s November issue of Scientific American as a television newscaster droned on about death, despair, and traffic delays. The 26-year-old furrowed her brow and wondered how many more times she’d manage to sabotage her life before Abby left her for a woman who had at least some of her shit together.

Sadie had enough self awareness to understand why she did the things she did (having dead parents and a drug-addicted brother were huge factors in her poor decision-making skills), but she wanted so desperately to change—and fast—for herself, for her future, and for the love of her life. Abby’s magazine hit the floor with a thud as the tall blonde crossed her arms and re-positioned her body on the tattered leather couch. Sadie quickly slipped into a restless slumber wearing nothing but her hoodie and striped boxer briefs.

Sadie awakened to her brunette girlfriend gently stroking the tangles out of her short golden locks. Eyelids half-opened, she looked up at Abby and felt salty wet droplets fall onto her face and chest. The older woman was kneeling over Sadie, but her chocolate-colored eyes were overflowing with tears. Sadie hated to see her love so distraught, especially when she knew that her actions (or rather, inaction) were the reason behind the crying.

Awkwardly, Sadie wiped Abby’s cheeks with the sleeve of her heather grey hoodie. Clad in a lace purple skirt and flowing black silk blouse, Abby looked undeniably stunning. She was also undeniably pissed off.

“Sadie, I am so disappointed in you,” Abby scolded as she tugged on her own opaque black tights, her nail snagging a hole in the material over her right calf.

As Abby ran her fingers across the hole’s opening, her eyes cast downward, Sadie replied, “I fucked up…again. I’m sorry. It’s a thing I do a lot, apparently.”

Sadie knew she was going to be punished and wished that Abby would just get on with it already. She hated the moments leading up to a thorough spanking—she’d take double the strikes if she didn’t have to deal with feeling so guilty beforehand.

“Up,” Abby finally responded, and Sadie knew what that meant from experience.

Sadie stood to face her long-haired girlfriend, who harshly unzipped her hoodie and yanked her boyshorts down to her ankles. Abby glared at her blonde lover, sat, and threw the exposed brat over her lap.

Abby teased Sadie’s pulsating pink clit mercilessly as her free hand struck her round bottom with a loud SMACK. She raised her hand a second time and planted a series of twenty swift slaps on her bare buttocks. Sadie grunted and winced at the growing intensity of her punishment.

“No wincing yet, love,” Abby replied, sensing that the stinging sensation was rapidly progressing into a deep burning. “We haven’t even gotten started.”

She stroked Sadie’s reddening bottom with the tips of her fingers, then delivered a dozen sharp slaps to her right cheek before applying the same count to her left. As Sadie’s tender posterior deepened into a rosy shade of red, Abby asked, “Now, dear, do you remember when my parents got me that lovely embroidered leather belt a few weeks after we started dating?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sadie muttered, understanding what was in store. Abby had only used the strap on her once, a few months back, when she skipped work to smoke all afternoon. She wouldn’t have been caught if she hadn’t fallen asleep with her lit cigarette in hand, which burned a gaping hole in their old sofa, rendering it unusable. Sadie shuddered as she thought of just how sore her bottom was after that punishment—she couldn’t sit comfortably for an entire 24 hours!

“Good girl. Remember how you admired the butterflies?” Abby asked, mercilessly raining slaps upon Sadie’s throbbing ass.

“Mhh,” Sadie replied.

“What was that, you irresponsible little brat?” Abby asked, slapping each cheek with a harsh stroke.

“Yes. Yes, I remember, Abby,” Sadie cried out, more from embarrassment than pain. By now, her face was almost as red as her posterior. “There were all different kinds of butterflies on the belt. And I admired how strong the leather was. God, can we just get this over with? This is torture.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but I wish you’d thought of that when you left me at my parents’ house for three hours tonight and didn’t show up for dinner. Get up and lean over the couch,” Abby commanded.

As Sadie bent over to receive her impending strapping, she heard the older woman rustling around their bedroom for the belt. As Abby’s footsteps came closer, Sadie took a deep breath.

The belt-wielding brunette walked up behind her, her composure masking a deep anger, grabbed Sadie’s hips, and started massaging the naked woman’s shoulders. Sadie looked back and saw the belt wrapped across Abby’s skirt, a painful reminder of what was to come. As Abby’s long fingers rubbed the knots out of Sadie’s upper back, the blonde girl panted in pain and ecstasy.

“This is going to be pretty harsh, okay?” Abby reminded her lover. “But I think you can handle it.”

“Abby, I’m sorry,” Sadie responded, feeling more vulnerable than she had in quite some time.

“I know. That’s how I know you’re ready for this.”

Abby carefully unbuckled her belt and pushed Sadie’s smooth back downward, causing her defenseless bottom to jut high into the air.

“I’m going to slap you 50 times,” Abby said definitively. “And I want you to count each stroke.” She had never demanded that Sadie count out each stroke before, but tonight, Abby was intent on driving her message home.

“Ready?” Abby asked. Before Sadie could respond, she struck—hard.

“Owww! One,” Sadie said, her eyes glued to the scratches on the sofa, courtesy of Zane, their mischievous Persian cat. “Two, three, four, argh! Oww! Geez, Abby!”

Abby expertly unleashed her implement of choice upon her lover’s bruised bottom, pausing here and there to let Sadie take a few breaths. As the belt thrashed Sadie’s plump ass cheeks, the girl cried “35, 36, 37! God damn it! Who are you, Xena Warrior Princess?”

Abby paused to chuckle. She was still pissed off and confused, but her mischievous brat could make her laugh at even the most inappropriate of occasions.

“Nope, just a woman you completely fucked over tonight,” Abby replied with a crack of her belt.

“30…8. Urgh!” Sadie cried, kicking her long legs.

“What have I told you about moving those legs?” Abby asked. “Let’s try this again.”

“38,” Sadie said, rolling her brilliant green eyes but not daring to move. She thanked the gods that Abby couldn’t see her face.

“And don’t think I don’t know when you roll your eyes at me, brat,” Abby said with a half smile as she whipped Sadie’s defenseless bottom five times. The blonde whimpered, but her brunette lover was feeling anything but merciful tonight.

“39, 40, 41, 42, 43,” she said, her bottom throbbing from the assault.

Abby cracked her belt again and again until Sadie called “50! 50! Abby, stop. Pleeeease.”

The blonde collapsed onto the couch, yet neither of them felt the usual sense of post-punishment relief. Abby was upset and Sadie still felt like every bit the fuck up—but that didn’t stop the older woman from squeezing onto the couch next to Sadie and holding the slimmer girl in her arms.

Silently, the naked blonde clutched at Abby’s silk top, half worried she’d tear it to shreds but too sorry and sore to care. The brunette kissed the top of her lover’s head silently.

She hated how Sadie broke her promises. How she drank like a fish. How she shirked responsibility and found it so easy to walk away from the people who mattered most. It scared—no, terrified—her. And yet, here they were. Abby knew Sadie was good and kind and smart and funny.

But would Sadie ever see that in herself?


Sadie Saves the Dinner, Part II

Abby liked to look like she had it all together. But in reality, even the most ardent type As don’t have it all together; they just put on a damn convincing poker face. The frazzled 28-year-old rushed through the butterfly conservatory—an 85-degree dome brimming with over 100 species of exotic butterflies from Central and South America—on an unexpected shift. Sure, the New York City temperature was steadily dropping (meaning sick volunteers) and the marathon outside made driving nearly impossible, but surely someone could have dragged themselves in.

“Don’t touch that butterfly!” she called out to a curly-haired child with curious fingers as she sprayed each leafy plant with water and checked the sugar water feeders hanging from the ceiling.

She paused to glance at a Ulysses butterfly, its brilliant blue wings spread, basking under a headlight. Sometimes, Sadie would stop by the museum after work, just to coax Abby out of the exhibit. From November through June, Abby was a butterfly expert stationed in the museum conservatory, which was occasionally as cool as it sounded, but mostly meant that she answered the same three questions over and over again.

How long do butterflies live? In their butterfly form, most live about a week.
How many butterflies are in the exhibit? Approximately 500 from 100 different species.
Can I touch one? Only if you want to kill it, and I’m sure you’re no murderer.

Abby spent her summers in research labs studying the insects and working with international butterfly farms to safely coordinate shipments of chrysalises to the museum. It wasn’t always the easiest job—she had to work long days and the occasional weekend—but it was rewarding to work with passionate people and one of the most fascinating creatures on earth.

As Abby greeted the onslaught of visitors passing through the second set of doors into the vivarium, Sadie rolled out of bed and picked up a note on the dresser that read, “Sorry love, work needed me. You’re going to be wonderful tonight—I’m sure they’ll love you as much as I do. xo Abby”

The sleepy blonde sighed, rubbed her eyes, and made her morning trudge into the kitchen. On days like these, she wished she could will a cup of coffee into existence. Sadie stretched her long, slim arms above her head and tried to keep her racing mind off of tonight’s dinner with Abby’s family (a.k.a. impending doom). She already royally fucked it up last time—by not showing up.

This time, she knew she had to—for Abby, for herself, and for the safety of her own posterior.

She walked into the kitchen and scanned a note on the fridge that read, “Made some coffee for you. I think you’ll need it. :)”

That was her Abby: charming, thoughtful, intelligent, and practically a mind reader… Sadie paused to think about her brown-haired, brown-eyed, no-nonsense girlfriend. In the photos, her father and sisters bore the stereotypical Irish features of blazing red hair, blue eyes, and endless freckles. But Abby was the spitting image of her tan-skinned and elegant Italian mother. Despite Sadie’s own good looks, she felt woefully inadequate next to Abby.

Zane heard rustling and trotted into the kitchen, leaving his long Persian hair in clumps over the worn leather couch in the living room.

“Zaney! You had tons of treats last night. Abby would kick my ass—literally—if I gave you any more.”

Sadie reached into the cupboard for his bag of treats anyway, a mischievous smirk on her face. “Luckily for you, she’s not here right now,” she said, holding her treat-filled hand out to Zane, whose sandpaper-y tongue scooped them up in seconds flat.

That night:

Suited in the plaid Gap button down, leather oxford loafers, black skinny jeans, and black bow tie that Abby had picked out for her, the slim and boyish Sadie looked like the lawyer or doctor Abby would typically have on her arm. Put simply, she cleaned up nicely.

And yet, something felt off. Sadie ran her fingers through her carefully combed hair, making it just a little messy. She fought the temptation to ditch the crisp button down and pristine oxfords in favor of a leather jacket and beat up Converse. Sadie tried to ignore the fact that her hands were shaking and her stomach felt like it had dropped about a foot. She was happy Abby couldn’t see her in an utter panic. She was meeting her girlfriend’s family, but it felt like preparing for judgment day.

Sadie grabbed the bouquet of pink roses she’d picked up earlier that day—a gift for Abby’s mom—off the dresser, shut each light, and locked the front door behind her. Abby had texted Sadie about an hour earlier to let her know that she was going to be leaving the museum. By the time she commuted back to Brooklyn on the Sunday-schedule R train, Sadie would be minutes away from Abby’s parents’ place. Perfect timing—at least, that was the plan.

But everything was not going according to plan on Abby’s end. Running uncharacteristically late (a young and overenthusiastic Girl Scout had attempted to dash out of the exhibit with a Monarch in her hands), the panicked conservationist bolted out of the museum bathroom in her little black dress, flats, and coat.

Abby’s heart sank when, minutes later, a conductor announced that her train had stalled due to a switch problem at 59th Street. Sadie would be on her way right now and she was stuck in Manhattan, wedged between a ukulele-strumming hipster and a teenager applying inch-long faux lashes.

Dianne led Sadie through Abby’s childhood home—a sprawling, four-bedroom Victorian on Shore Road. Mere minutes from the Verrazano Bridge, it was one of the prettiest—and most expensive—neighborhoods in Brooklyn. Donning a pristine white silk blouse and fitted dark wash jeans, Dianne was every bit the regal mother and lawyer Sadie had expected. She’d flipped through the photographs, but it was still intimidating to look at the woman before her.

Sadie adjusted her bow tie for the seventeenth time and ran her fingers through her disheveled blonde locks in an attempt to tame them.

“This is great—uh—a great p-place,” she stuttered as she sat on a painstakingly embroidered salmon and gold vintage couch next to a window overlooking the frigid waters of the Narrows. “My dad and brother used to fish together. They would have loved a place on the water like this.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Dianne responded politely, flattening the collar of her blouse. “Do they still fish together?”

“Erm…no,” Sadie replied, staring down at her oxfords. “Well, they probably would, but my dad died when I was 11 and my brother has some issues with drugs, so he doesn’t do much of anything anymore.”

Where, oh where, was Abby?!

“Ah. I’m so sorry to hear that, Sadie,” the wavy-haired woman responded. She had Abby’s eyes. Abby’s were slightly rounder, but that same intensity burned deep into Sadie’s core, making her open up—maybe a bit too much.

Before Dianne could conjure up a proper response, Prue and Penny, Abby’s younger, wild-haired, freckled twin sisters burst through the door. At 12, the two were placing in state math bees. At 19, they were steadily climbing the academic ranks at NYU. At 22, the math whizzes secured jobs as associate accountants at major Manhattan hedge funds.

While Prue was reserved and introspective, Penny had a wild streak running through her veins. Dressed in a thigh-length Rasta tee, opaque tights, combat boots, and a leather jacket, she looked like she belonged in a Hot Topic rather than a stuffy office—she was just damn good crunching numbers. The shorter and slimmer of the twins, Penny rushed up to Sadie, who stood up awkwardly.

“God, I can barely reach you,” she cried, wrapping her arms around the girl in a tight embrace.

“Ma, I can see why Abby likes this one. She’s cute, eh?” Penny said with a wink at Dianne, who smiled and nodded.

“I think there’s something a bit off about her,” Prue piped up, despite Dianne giving her a death glare.

Sadie could feel her cheeks go from a flushed pink to beet red in two seconds flat as Prue approached her and tilted her curly head. The twin reached out, unclipped Sadie’s bow tie, and unbuttoned the first three buttons on her shirt.

“There, that’s better!”

“How could you tell?” Sadie asked, still flustered.

“Well, aside from adjusting your bow tie three times in two minutes, your face gives just about everything away.”

If there was one thing Prue was good at, it was math. If there were two, it was math and reading people. Sadie realized, with mild discomfort, that her worst nightmare would involve being trapped in a room with Prue and Abby. She’d be in trouble all the time. Thank the gods she wasn’t dating Prue, she thought with a shudder. But she happened to be seeing a woman named Abby, who was supposed to be here right now.

Suddenly, Sean emerged from the kitchen, a stack of Bud Lights in hand.

“Lovely roses, Sadie. Here, take a beer,” he said, tossing a chilled beverage to the lanky blonde, who caught it easily. Those years of softball practice in junior high paid off. “I’m Abby’s dad, Sean. I’m sure she showed you photos. If not, well, Christmas is in a few weeks and she shouldn’t expect presents from us.”

“Oh, Sean,” Dianne scolded her burly husband, who released a hearty chuckle.

“Speaking of our girl, where is she?” the retired stock broker and current chef/baseball card aficionado/house fixer-upper asked, looking at Sadie.

“I tried calling her right before I rang your bell,” Sadie replied. “Her phone went straight to voice-mail.”

“Huh,” Penny said, iPhone next to her ear. “It’s still going to voice-mail. Train traffic, I’m guessing. Guess you’re stuck with us, huh Sadie?”

“I’m sure it’s every woman’s dream to meet her girlfriend’s parents for the first time, alone,” Dianne said, smiling warmly at Sadie.

This wasn’t so bad, Sadie had to concede. She took another gulp of beer. Just as it looked ever more likely that Abby had been attacked by a swarm of butterflies or was abducted by aliens, they all heard a rapid tapping at the door. Out of breath, her lipstick smudged and her hair a mess, Abby stood on the front steps, profusely apologetic.

“Oh pant god pant I pant remembered just pant how much pant I loathe pant Sunday pant trains,” she huffed. Abby stormed inside as soon as a bewildered Prue pulled open the double doors. She kissed her mother on the cheek, hugged her sisters and father, and sprinted toward Sadie, embracing her tightly and whispering “I’m so sorry, love,” into her ear.

Hand in hand, Sadie and Abby sat on the couch. Almost as soon as they settled down, Abby glanced at her love in horror. The older girl’s stomach dropped as she realized that this dinner would get worse before it got better—if dinner even happened at all.

Because there was one major detail, in all the rush and confusion, that Abby had missed: calling in their order from her mother’s favorite Italian restaurant, which was probably so busy now that their dishes wouldn’t be ready before closing.

“Mom, I think we have a problem,” Abby said, pulling her hand out of Sadie’s and clutching her head in embarrassment.