Snippets Thirty One...
by sarAdora
~~~~~~~

"Pussy!"

"What? What did you say?"

"I said you're a pussy!"

Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms across his chest and shot her an ominous glare. "You want to retract that statement, bambina?"

"I used to know 8-year old girls braver than you."

"And?" he asked, sitting forward to put his elbows on his desk.

"And you're a wuss, too," she added, bravely standing in the doorway to his home office. "A wussy pussy!"

"Cruisin' for a bruisin', sweetheart?" his voice soft, his tone gentle.

"Name calling, even if it's the truth," she replied with an indignant shake of her head, "isn't relevant when it comes to health and safety issues."

"I can make an exception," he volunteered. "But I'm willing to wait for an apology instead."

"Apology? When pigs fly!" Spencer yelled and prudently ran to the other side of the house ...just as a precautionary move.

Instead of chasing her, the former Navy SEAL let her go and buried his head in his hands to muffle his laughter. Pussy? Wussy pussy?

Earlier in the day they had attended an alligator wrestling exhibition sponsored by the Sovereign Miccosukee Seminole Nation. Traffic was moderate as they headed west on the Tamiami Trail out of Miami and toward the Miccosukee Reservation. The closer they got, the more congested it became and Spencer started counting pick-ups hauling dirt bikes.

"Why are there so many dirt bikes?"

"After the alligator wrestling, the dirt bike races begin, bambina."

"You didn't tell me there would be dirt bike races."

Anticipating her next words, he shook his head. "No, we're not buying dirt bikes. Yes, they rent dirt bikes. No, you're not going dirt bike racing."

Spencer folded her arms across her chest, turned her gaze out the window and steamed.

"Pouting, bambina?" he asked gently, laying a hand on her shoulder, giving it a tender squeeze.

"I don't pout," she pouted.

JC's mouth curved up slightly but he kept his composure. He knew more arguments would be forthcoming from the bundle of building fury sitting next to him.

He didn't have long to wait.

"Children ride dirt bikes," she began. "Little children. And they race them, too."

"Uh huh."

"And I'm not a child."

"Mmmm."

"And I'm not little either."

"True."

"So what's the big deal?"

"The races are held on an overrun field with deep ruts and hard packed dirt and gravel. If you fall, you'd probably get run over by other bikers. You'd bruise yourself, maybe break a leg or an arm. I'm not willing to chance that. And," he delivered the final salvo. "You've never been on a dirt bike. Racing one with more experienced racers - of any age - is not an option. End of discussion."

"We'll see," she muttered.

"Don't push me, bambina. You won't like the consequences," he warned.

"There's your problem," Spencer grumbled. "Nobody else pushes you; only me. If somebody pushed you around a little you might be more tolerant of others and respect what they want to do."

Smiling at her words, he pulled her closer to his side, one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm wrapped around her shoulder. "Lots of people ordered me around for a lot of years, baby. Some still do. There's lots of occasions for you to push me around all you want," he whispered, his voice getting huskier with each breath.

"Horn-dog!" she hissed and smacked the hand drifting toward her breast.

JC laughed.

Spencer plotted.

The alligator wrestling exhibition was awesome. The gators came in all sizes, mostly big bigger and huge. The Miccosukee men were also big bigger and huge although some of the younger boys showed off their skills with smaller alligators. It was a "peek through your fingers" kind of show - especially when the large scaly creatures opened their mouths and all their teeth were sharply on display.

Spencer watched from behind JC's back.

"And here I thought it was only spiders that scared you," he teased.

"Spiders don't scare me," she retorted. "Unless they're bigger than me," she amended. "But any spider bigger than a 50-cent coin is too big to live anywhere near me."

After the exhibition, JC spotted a few sailors he knew from the base and went over to chat with them. "Don't go wandering, Spence. I don't want to have to look all over creation for you."

"Uh huh."

"I mean it, Spence."

"I'm just going to head over to the concessions, maybe get an ice cream cone. Be right back," she smiled.

"Fifteen minutes," he said and turned away before she could respond.

"Fifteen minutes," Spencer muttered. "More than enough time to get a cone and check out the bikes."

Forty minutes later...

One of the dirt bike riders invited the curious little lady to try the dirt bike out for size. It was a beautiful machine - red and black and shiny.

Little too... not nearly as big as a motorcycle... just my size. Maybe Santa will bring me one if I ask nicely, make lots of peach pies...

She was making herself comfortable straddling the seat of the dirt bike when suddenly... she was airborne, a strong arm around her waist, her back to a familiar chest and a soft growl in her ear.

CRUMB!

"Spencer!"

"SHITake mushrooms! Just when it was getting interesting."

"Could get very interesting. Get back on that bike and we'll give everyone more entertainment than they bargained for - your bare bottom and my hand turning it cherry red."

"Put me down you overgrown hayseed!" she hissed.

JC put her back on her feet, thanked the owner of the dirt bike for letting his wife try out the bike and escorted Spencer to the bleachers to watch the races. Despite her protests, he held onto her hand until the races were over and they were back in the car. There wasn't a lot of conversation on the way home.

Spencer anticipated the worst and was greatly relieved that the phone rang just as they entered the house. She debated whether she should take a walk... to the other side of the world... or bite the bullet.

She decided to bite the bullet and waited for the phone call to end. When it did... she stood in the doorway to his home office.

"Pussy!"

"What? What did you say?"

"I said you're a pussy! In fact, I used to know 8-year old girls braver than you."

"And?" he asked, interested in seeing where this was going.

"And you're a wuss, too," she added. "A wussy pussy!"

"Cruisin' for a bruisin', sweetheart?" his voice soft, his tone gentle.

"Name calling, even if it's the truth," she replied with an indignant shake of her head, "isn't relevant when it comes to health and safety issues."

"I can make an exception," he volunteered. "But I'm willing to wait for an apology instead."

"Apology? When pigs fly!" Spencer yelled and seeing the look on his face, decided it might be prudent to get out of his sight and out of his line of fire.

Instead of chasing her, the former Navy SEAL let her go and buried his head in his hands to muffle his laughter. Pussy? Wussy pussy?

When JC was certain he could contain his mirth, he went looking for the woman who was brave enough to call him something less than manly. He found her in the bathroom taking her clothes off.

"Shower?" he asked, admiring the view.

"Yes but I don't want you to shower with me. I'm not happy with your high-handed ways and I want to shower alone."

He waited until she entered the shower stall, undressed and slipped in behind her.

"Get out," she hissed.

"Make me," he said as he poured shampoo on her hair.

There is nothing quite as wonderful as having your hair shampooed and your scalp massaged by the one person you love more than anything else in the world. Spencer leaned back into JC's chest and relaxed, letting him work magic with his hands.

"Don't get fresh," she warned, her bout of anger dissipating with the suds going down the drain.

"What happens if I do?"

"I'll get fresh, too," she sighed.

"In that case..."

His hands expertly moved over her scalp, down past her neck, over her shoulders and lingered at her breasts. Her hands reached back and teased his hips, fingers inching closer to his manhood.

"You're not going to spank me, are you?" she heard herself ask, hearing that stupid statement the moment the words popped out of her mouth.

"Uh huh."

Before she could protest, she was upside down with his arm around her waist and her ivory butt in the air. His hand came down, once, twice and twice more - none too gently - and then he pulled her up and back into his arms. Cupping her bottom cheeks, he lifted her so that they were face-to-face.

"That was for making me go look for you."

"You're camel spit!" she hissed. "And all I was doing was sitting on that bike."

"You wanted to hold on tight and ride that thing?" he asked as he kneaded her bottom cheeks.

"Yes," she admitted.

"Ride me instead, bambina. Hold on tight and ride me."

It was one of the best rides Spencer ever had - hard and rough in spots, tender in others. Throughout all of it, she held on tight.

Later that evening when they were cuddling in bed, Spencer wanted to know if he'd ever let her ride a dirt bike.

"Whenever you have the urge for a rough ride, you come to me. I'll give you a better ride than a dirt bike any time."

She pinched him.

He laughed.

"I could use another sample of what that's like," she said.

He gave her more than a sample... and she was easily convinced JC's ride was better than a dirt bike ride any day.

~ End Snippets Thirty One ~

| Go to - Snippets Thirty Two |

Or, return to Spanking Fiction - Main Menu.