"Doro! Wake up! Wake up! We've got company."
"Wha-a-t? What time is it?" Dorothy Pierson blinked rapidly as her eyes tried to adjust to the bright light that had been turned on in the darkened bedroom.
"It's just after eleven; get up. I've brought a policeman home and he's got a partner and you need to entertain him while we... Get up! Hurry Doro!"
Dorothy Pierson groaned and sat up rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and thinking for the hundredth time that she had to get another job. The one she had didn't pay enough money. If she got another job, she'd have enough money to get a place of her own. Then she might get a solid night's sleep and wouldn't have to share a house with the nymphomaniac roommate she had now. This was the third time this week Rosemarie had brought someone home.
She was too tired to dress. She had slept nude and just slipped into a short kimono robe and padded barefoot into the kitchen where an off-duty policeman was drinking the last of the coffee in his thermos.
"Hi. I'm Doro. What's your name?" she asked as she opened the fridge.
"Chris," a deep gravelly voice answered. "And it's nice to see you again, Commando Pierson." He grinned at the look on her face when she turned away from the open refrigerator to look at him and chuckled when her mouth dropped open in recognition. Standing, he placed a finger under her chin to close her mouth and smiled wickedly at the woman who had royally dressed him down in front of a group of 8-year olds. "Nice to see you without clothes, ma'am."
Dorothy Pierson's parents didn't give her a middle name. She was one of those 10-pound babies who "jus 'bout killed me, girl. I knew jus as sure as shootin' that y'all be one of them fat chubby gals all your life so there weren't no reason to saddle you with nuthin' extra and one more name ain't gonna make ya skinnier."
Dorothy Pierson lived up to her mother's expectations, cleaning her overstuffed plate at every meal, sitting on the sidelines nibbling snacks when the other children played. By the time she was a teenager, she was hopelessly overweight.
After high school graduation and against her mother's wishes, Dorothy attended community college. "What's a college degree gonna do for you? Get ya a husband? Girl, you ain't nuthin to look at, you never will be and you may as well get a decent job and git on with your life. Learn to type. You got yourself a sweet voice. Folks on the other end ain't gonna know there's a fat broad talkin to them. Am I talkin to the wall?" her mother yelled when Dorothy remained silent through another diatribe hurled her way.
A freak accident with a cement truck took her parents lives, leaving Dorothy on her own. She sold the house she grew up in, took the small insurance policy money and moved to a new town in a new state and to what she hoped would be a new life. Faithfully, she began a regimen of eating better, walking daily and studying hard and after six years of working and going to school, she had a degree in recreation.
When she was hired as the recreation specialist by the county parks department, she was a new person. She still carried excess weight - about 20 lbs. - but she was no longer fat Dorothy Pierson. She was Doro, the friendly gal with the pretty face and the sweetest smile and "big sister" to the hoards of after-school children that came to play in her park.
After school teenagers and young adults also came to her park - to get high, to get a "quickie," to sell drugs, to make mischief and occasionally, to vandalize. Dorothy decided they weren't welcome in *her* park and took steps to make them act like responsible human beings or if that didn't work, encouraged them to go elsewhere where she was sure they continued to conduct their sordid activities.
When word got out that the lady in charge of recreation at the local park was hassling them about shooting up, three toughies paid her an office visit - with baseball bats. Dorothy opened her desk drawer and pulled out two large squirt guns loaded with sudsy ammonia and fired a few sprays across three very surprised faces. Ammonia in the eyes is painful beyond words and can lead to serious vision problems, none of which bothered Dorothy.
"It was self-defense," she told the two policemen who arrived after she called 911, all three toughies cursing at the top of their lungs after being so easily incapacitated and then shoved and locked into a closet in her office.
"I'm sure it was," one of the officers grinned and read the tall adolescents their rights. "Be sure to refill those pistols," he reminded her as he and his partner led the would-be felons away.
The second incident that brought the police was when the neighborhood pimp tried recruiting some of the prettier young girls who played volleyball on the night courts. Dorothy warned the bejeweled man to stay away; he snickered at her, shoving her aside when she tried to put herself between his shiny suit and the little girl who still wore pigtails. Dorothy kneed him in the groin, called 911 to send an ambulance and the police and to be sure the pimp wouldn't get up, gave him a dose of pepper spray.
"It was self-defense," she told the two policemen who arrived.
"I'm sure it was," one of the officers chuckled as the paramedics wheeled the man away on a stretcher.
And so it went. Every few weeks an incident occurred in Dorothy's park that warranted police attention. Each time, she pleaded that she was only protecting city property and/or acting in self-defense. The police started dropping by the park often, hoping to catch her in the act of being a good citizen.
When a 10-year old bully bloodied an 8-year old boy's nose because he wouldn't yield the basketball court, Dorothy hauled the 10-year old boy off by his ear. He screamed bloody murder and the police came running. One of the officers was Chris Rutherford who admonished Dorothy for manhandling a 10-year old. The 8-year olds on the basketball court stopped their play and stared. No policeman had ever yelled at Dorothy Pierson. When Officer Rutherford finally stopped yelling at Dorothy, she arched a brow and stepped up to the man who towered over her.
"Are you through?" she asked in that voice adults use when they catch a little boy doing naughty things.
"I don't care for the tone of your voice, ma'am," Officer Rutherford remarked as he looked down at the woman who had foolishly moved into his body space.
"And I don't care to be told that I cannot maintain discipline, good manners and decent behavior on my basketball courts," she answered firmly and then stuck a finger in Officer Rutherford's face. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of my face! Don't make me hurt you! Is that clear, Officer Rutherford?"
The young boys cheered. Dorothy had always been their champion and they rushed to explain what had happened. Even the 10-year old boy admitted he had been at fault and that Dorothy had always been fair. Firm, but fair.
"I see I'm outnumbered," the policeman grinned. "I am obviously in error, Ms ..." he looked at the nameplate on her jacket. "Ms Pierson. No - make that *Commando* Pierson."
"What...? What did you say?" she asked when she recovered her wits, the policeman in her kitchen grinning at her like the cat who just lapped all the cream.
"I said it's nice to see you without clothes, ma'am."
"You!" she hissed. "You get out of my house! Now!"
"Uh-uh," he chuckled, pulling her into a tight hug and startling her further when he bent his head and kissed her. "Gods, you're sweet," he murmured, kissing her again. "If I had known you were this sweet," he whispered, kissing her again. "I'd have dropped by a long time ago. How'd a tough commando lady like you get to be so sweet?"
The question was pure rhetoric, of course. He didn't wait for an answer but took advantage of her shocked expression and kissed her again.
Which was a mistake.
Dorothy finally got her body to listen to her brain and her brain demanded an accounting. It told her leg to rise up and thrust a knee into Officer Rutherford's groin.
Her leg obeyed.
Officer Rutherford made an unintelligible series of guttural sounds and when he finally caught his breath, held onto the family jewels and uttered some very ugly phrases.
Dorothy was not a stupid woman. She grabbed the pepper spray out of the kitchen drawer and leveled it at his face.
"Don't you dare!" he warned.
"Self-defense!" she yelled and gave him a huge dose - right between the eyes.
And then she ran.
When he could finally see again, his eyes red and watery from constantly dunking his head into a sink of warm water until he had completely rinsed out the effects of the pepper spray, he gingerly checked his groin. Sighing with relief, he decided there was a chance that one day he'd be able to sire children after all. But now there was a young lady who needed his attention.
"Are you coming out?" he asked softly when he rapped his fist on her bedroom door. "Or do I break the door down?"
"Go away or I'll call the police," Dorothy snapped then remembered he *was* the police and pondered her dilemma as she reached for the pepper spray in the drawer of her nightstand.
"You assaulted a police officer," he reminded her, his hand palming the doorknob. "That's a felony."
"It was self-defense," Dorothy hissed and aimed the pepper spray at the door just in case.
Officer Rutherford didn't respond. He stood at the door and waited. If he knew women - and growing up with three little sisters had taught him a lot - he'd bet the farm that Commando Pierson could only take so much silence.
Smothering his grin when the door suddenly snapped open, he was all over her, overpowering her and easily removed the pepper spray from her hand. "Do you know how much trouble you're in, Ms. Pierson?" he asked softly as he hugged her lush sweet body tight and reclaimed her mouth.
"You-- you heathen!" she hissed and then shrieked when his large hand landed squarely on her very round bottom.
"Actually, I'm Presbyterian," he chuckled, kissing her again as his hand landed a second time and before she could utter another sound, he was sitting on the side of her bed. He had her over his knees, her short robe pushed up and his hand marking hard time on her bare butt as if he were listening to a marching band.
"I'll-- I'll sue you for this," Dorothy sputtered. "I'll charge you with police brutality. I'll-- STOP!!" she screamed as one particularly hard spank caught the tender flesh between her bottom cheeks and her upper thighs.
"Apologize," Chris Rutherford said calmly. "Apologize and I'll consider stopping." His hand continued to rain hard spaced spanks on her increasingly sore behind, her shrieks and gasps interspersed with dire mutterings and threats, most of which made him chuckle.
"You can go to Hell!" she finally shouted.
"Taking you with me," he said agreeably and turned her ample form over his lap, hauling her up and into his arms. "Gods, woman! You are too beautiful for words. Gonna have to kiss you all over."
"You are a cruel and mean officer of the law and you're missing a few screws and-- and you're half-blind to boot! Not only am I *not* beautiful, I'm fat. In case you didn't notice, I'm-- Wait! Stop! What are you doing?" she shrieked as he flipped her back over his knees and began spanking her all over again.
"You're beautiful," he said with a clenched jaw. "If I say you're beautiful, you're beautiful. Got that, Commando Pierson?" he scowled, each word accompanied by a hard stinging swat. "And if I have to emphasize this statement with your hairbrush or my belt, you won't sit comfortably again until the next policeman's ball and we just had one so that's a mighty long and painful year!"
"I'm going to kill you!" she shouted, wiggling and squirming and finally turned herself over on his lap.
"Oh yeah," he grinned, enjoying the soft sweet body in his arms and thoroughly enjoying the view. "In that case, I'm going to kiss you again. Don't want to die until I've kissed you thoroughly."
"I think I fell in love with you when you yelled at me in front of all those little terrors on your playground," he smiled as his mouth claimed hers once again.
Dorothy was too stunned to reply. Chris's lips were pressed against hers, his arms were holding her tight to his chest, his hands were soothing her back, one hand easing south to cup her very sore bottom.
"You're crazy, aren't you?" she gasped when he lifted his mouth from hers. "I'm a fat broad and you're a loon!"
"Put yourself down one more time and the spanking you get next will make this one feel like love taps," he warned softly. "You're a beautiful woman with plenty to love, Commando Pierson. That's the way a woman *should* be," he added as his mouth brushed against hers once more. "When a man has a woman in his arms, he wants a little something to hold on to and you're the perfect size."
"You're a loon," Dorothy said again but cupped his face with both hands and kissed him before he could flip her back over his knees.
He wouldn't leave until she promised to have dinner with him the next night. Tucking her into her bed, he bent down to kiss her once again and warned her that he'd light a fire on her sweetly rounded bottom if she stood him up.
"I won't," she promised, her eyes closing, exhausted at the late hour and still stunned by the unexpected spanking and the professed attraction the handsome Chris Rutherford had shown her.
"And leave your pepper spray at home," he admonished softly before he left.
The next morning when Dorothy opened her eyes, she lay in bed wondering about her strange dream. Her fingers went to her mouth and at first she thought she had bitten her lips; they were swollen. But a low groan escaped between her lips when she felt the ache in her bottom, her face suddenly suffused with color as she remembered all the details of the previous evening's events.
Reaching for a towel when she stepped out of the shower, she remembered she had promised to have dinner with Chris Rutherford. "Why is he being nice to me?" she murmured as she dried her hair. "He's so good looking - a hunk. What in the world does he see in me?" She stood still for a moment - gazed into the mirror and scrutinized her image.
Ticking the points off in her head, she noted that she was a chubby girl with love handles, breasts that were best described as overripe melons, a non-existent waistline, hips that-- "... would do a hippo proud." Her legs were too short, her hair was-- "... hair ... and a face that is so plain, it's plain."
She couldn't imagine what the guy saw in her, couldn't imagine why he wanted to take her for dinner, and couldn't imagine that he actually wanted to get to know her. "He kissed me," she reminded herself. "He kissed me and OMG! He spanked me, too." She shook her head at the recollection and then sat down heavily on the side of the tub when an awful thought filled her head. "He's made a bet with someone. He's going to seduce me so he can win that bet. He's going to have a good time at my expense."
Without conscious thought, she reverted to old habits, hugging herself as she rocked back and forth the way she used to rock when she was younger and fatter and her mother told her she was worthless. She automatically made her mind go blank like it didn't hurt, and when it did hurt, she pinched her arm as hard as she could to transfer the pain from her heart to her body. Bodies can take more hurt than hearts can.