Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica

The night air is hot and sticky as I get out of the car. That's normal for Minnesota in August. That fact doesn't make it any easier to take.

I'm finally done with work for the day, and almost can't wait to get inside my apartment. I say, "almost', since I've been gone all day and the air conditioner has been sitting idle, awaiting my return. The temperature in my one-bedroom space is going to be worse than it is out here in the parking lot.

I walk into the building and wait for the World's Slowest Elevator (WSE) to take me to the third floor. The hallway feels a bit cooler, which is nice. I put my key in, give it a quick turn, and open the door.

As expected, the apartment is stuffy. I put down the cooler I take to work every day and go check the thermostat. Almost 90 degrees. I walk straight to the air conditioner and turn it on. It's going to take some time before I can feel the effects. I could just sit and wait for it work. Maybe if I take a quick shower, I'll feel cooler, and the room temperature will have improved.

I decide on a third option which almost doesn't make sense, but I've done it before and it's worked out okay. I decide to go back out for a walk around the block.

I put my keys back in my pocket. I take my driver's license and place that in my other pocket. I leave the wallet in it's usual place on my kitchen counter. It's a very safe neighborhood--I wouldn't go for a late night walk, otherwise--but there's no harm in taking precautions. I step out into the hallway and lock the door behind me.

The WSE takes me back down to the main floor, and I go outside. The air now feels cooler in comparison to my hot box of an apartment. That will change once I start walking, I know, but the for moment, it feels quite comfortable.

The apartment complex is surrounded by garage spaces and chain link fences, but there is a gap in the fence near the corner of my building. I cut through there, walk past the Dunkin' Donuts, and reach my starting point. A deep breath, and I begin my walk.

The first stretch of the block is a long one. The sidewalk goes along a stretch of a main road, which is usually quite busy. At this time of night, cars are few. I'll turn left when I reach the end of this block, and then the street wends it way through some residential side streets. The whole thing is about a mile from start to finish. I reach the end of the first leg and turn left. As expected, the air no longer seems cool. I'm sweating lightly and, since I'm nowhere near to being even remotely in "good shape", my breathing has deepened. I walk past the gas station/convenience store that is on that corner and turn left again. Half-way home.

The first part of this block is a well-lit area containing a few apartment complexes. I get past those, and now I'm walking past a variety of houses. Some have their house lights on, some not. Some have yard lights. The street lights themselves are well-spaced, but still there are areas of darkness that they don't touch. I continue my walk, passing through pools of light and shadow.

Some of the houses have doors and windows open, trying to save on electricity. I can hear the laughter from late-night televsion programs, and sometimes the voices of the people who live there. I pass those, and now there's the hum of window units at work. Some houses are just silent. They probably have a central air unit in the back of the house which can't be heard from the street.

The road bends right, then left, then curves the other way again. I'm not sure who designed these streets, but I bet they got drunk first and thought, "I don't need any help drawing a shtraight line." I'm coming up to the oddest part of the block--a strange area that juts out so that the house on that particular lot is almost isolated from all the others.

And that's when I hear it. That strangely familiar, yet very distinctive, smacking sound, like solitary applause. It's a sound I've heard often walking the hallways at the Crimson Moon parties I attend. "Crickets", one lady calls it, tongue firmly planted in cheek.

I continue walking, getting closer to the solitary house. The noise gets a little louder. It's a very regular, steady beat. Clearly there's a few windows open in that house, and the sound carries well in the night air. I finally reach the corner, turn left, and keep moving.

I'm near the back of the noisy house now, and I must be closer to the room where all this is taking place, because the distinctive smacks are louder, and now a voice joins in. Mostly, it's saying variations of the word, "ow", as well as a few noises that are impossible to spell. Then I hear, "Okay, okay, OKAY, honey, I'm sorry! I really am! I really, really am! OW! Oh, my god! It won't happen again, I swear! Ow ow ow OWW! I've learned my lesson! Honestly!!! I'll never do it again! OUCH! Oh, sh..... Owwwwwwww! Honey! NO!! NO!! Don't you DARE take my panties down! DON'T YOU.....ow ow oww owww OWWWWWWWWIEEEE!!!!!!!!!"

I realize that I've stopped walking and am just standing on the street. As much as I'm enjoying the symphony, it's probably not a good idea. I smile to myself and head for the last turn. The voice fades in the background, but the crisp sounds of the spanking carry to the end of the block.

One more left turn, and I'm on the home stretch. I reach the end of the mile and head for my building. I go inside. My thoughts are on what I heard during the walk, and I don't even notice how slow the ascent is to my floor.

The apartment has now cooled off sufficiently. I hop in the shower and change into something loose and comfortable, a T-shirt and shorts. I had planned on turning on the TV, but after that walk, I feel like I'm in the mood for something to read. I look at my bookshelf, but none of the titles really grab me. I decide to turn on the computer and head for the internet.

All the buzz on many of the blogs I read seems to be about a new book, an anthology of 22 spanking stories called Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica.

The book was edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. I decide to take some time and check out her site, http://www.rachelkramerbussel.com/, and discover some more information about the book, including the fact that it has it's own blog: http://www.spanked.wordpress.com/. I read some of the interviews. This anthology certainly has some well-known authors of erotica as contributors. There's a very book trailer promoting the book on both sites, including an appearance by the author herself. I sit back and watch it--a couple of times, truth to tell.

(portrait of the author)

Rachel Kramer Bussel is currently doing a virtual book tour. There's a schedule on the Spanked blog. There's going to be plenty here for me to check out and read, and a lot to look forward to. I tell myself it's a very smart way to promote a book.

(a better portrait of the author)

I note that the book is for sale on Amazon.com. I go to the address to check it out--http://www.amazon.com/Spanked-Red-Cheeked-Rachel-Kramer-Bussel/dp/1573443190?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1216176344&sr=1-1. There are 3 reviews here, and all of them give the book the highest possible rating, 5 stars. In fact, everything I've read so far has been positive and complimentary. I note that the Amazon has the book available at a good price. I don't have to think about it long--a few clicks and I have the book ordered. It doesn't do me any good for tonight, but it should arrive by the weekend. It's always nice to have something to look forward to.

For tonight, I decide to go check out the first 8 blogs on the Virtual Tour. That, I decide, should be the perfect conclusion to what started out as a simple walk around the block.

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(The story of my walk around the block is purely fictional. Rachel Kramer Bussel's book, Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica, however, is very real. Check out all the sites I've mentioned above for interviews, reviews, the book trailer, etc. If you like spanking fiction, you're going to want to add this book to your collection. --Dr. Ken