Authors: Becca Little
SAVING LITTLE AMY
Copyright, Legal Notice and Disclaimer:
SAVING LITTLE AMY
© 2015 by Becca Little. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing from the author. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, locations and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This book is for entertainment purposes only.
This book contains mature content and is solely for adults. All characters in this book are 18 years of age or older.
Cover Photo © 2015 by Becca Little
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“Do you understand why you are going to get a spanking?” He asked as he looked up at me.
“Yes sir.” I said with a nod.
“I do not tolerate bratty behavior.” He took me by the wrist and guided me across his knee.
“I know.” I looked over my shoulder at him as he adjusted my bottom and placed his hand on it.
“Eyes forward.” He said and as soon as I looked away, I felt a hard smack on my bottom.
“Oww!” I lurched forward, but he held me in place.
The thought of getting spanked and the actuality of feeling his hand on my bare bottom were two very different things. I had romanticized it in my mind, but the reality was it really hurt. His hand came down on my bottom rapidly, moving from one side to the other. It only took a few well-placed smacks for my bottom to sting. Each one that followed just amplified the effect. I wasn’t being seduced, nor was I seducing him, I was being punished for what I had done wrong. I had pictured myself lying across his lap and accepting it, but my body had different plans. I jerked backwards and forward, squirmed around, and twisted to try and escape his wrath. He was a lot stronger than me, so my efforts were futile. He held my bottom in place, despite everything else I did, and each smack was landed with perfect accuracy.
“Ouch, it hurts…” I tried to wiggle myself free, but there was no way for me to escape.
“You asked for this. I warned you what would happen if you acted foolish.” He pulled me tight against his abdomen and continued to spank my bare bottom.
“Oww…” I whimpered and whined. “I know…”
Fear engulfed me and I started to wonder exactly what I had gotten myself into. My bottom stung and started to burn with each hard smack. His hand was wide and covered most of one side each time it came down. It moved so fast that I could barely focus on the agony from the previous one before that same punished flesh was once again bouncing against his palm. I started to understand why his daughter was such a successful young woman. If I had grown up with the reality of a spanking every time I misbehaved, I would have never even considered shoplifting. I would have been a model citizen and probably volunteered at soup kitchens just to increase my good karma. It started to sink in what I had truly missed in my life, not having a father, and having a mother who hardly paid attention to me.
“Do you understand what happens to naughty brats under my roof now?” He asked as his hand continued to fall.
“Yes…” I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
“Yes what?” He spanked me five times hard in the center of my bottom.
“Yes sir!” I practically screamed it out as the pain was amplified from the repeated smacks to the same spot.
My legs kicked around wildly, and all sense of modesty was washed away by the agony building on my bottom. I knew he was getting an eyeful of things I had never showed anyone, but I couldn’t control myself. The tears that had welled up in my eyes ran freely down my face. I began to regret all of the things I had done wrong in my life, but most of all I regretted not having a man who loved me enough to correct them. My emotions became conflicted. I knew I deserved a spanking, but it hurt, and I just wanted it to end. I had learned my lesson and it was one I wouldn’t forget. Submitting to Solomon meant more than just giving him my body. It meant there were consequences for my actions, even more so than I realized the day I moved in. I had lived my life with no rules, no regulation, and no ramifications. That was over.
“I promise I’ll be good! I won’t do anything bad ever again!” I let out a wail as I bounced around underneath his palm.
“It is easy to make promises when you’re getting your bottom worn out, but it is a lot harder to keep those promises once the sting wears off.” He continued to spank me without hesitating.
“I’ll keep them!” I said quickly, gritting my teeth and feeling another fresh stream of tears pour down my face.
I realized the spanking wasn’t going to end on my terms. A profession of my best intentions was just words. I had gotten a long way in life with my words, but they weren’t going to save me from the punishment I had brought on myself. My whole bottom burned with radiating pain rising up to meet his hand each time it came down to punish me for my transgressions. Before I found myself across his knee, I did not understand the things I read in his profile. I did not understand what a strict daddy was, and I certainly did not understand submission. A life built around consequences meant doing whatever it took to avoid ending up in the very spot I was in. It meant that he didn’t just expect submission, he commanded it. As I leaned forward and clenched the quilt on the bed, sobbing and begging for forgiveness, I realized my life was never going to be the same again.
SAVING LITTLE AMY
Why would anyone want to walk the narrow confines of the laws society has structured around us when they kill all of our fun? From the moment I was born, I just naturally bad. Perhaps it had something to do with a lack of discipline in my household, or the freedom given to me without repercussions, but there was rarely an ounce of trouble I wasn’t in the middle of. My father split before I was even an avocado in my mother’s womb, and she had plenty of issues of her own. She worked two jobs and when she wasn’t working, she was too tired for love, affection or correction. I was bounced around from family to friends; my mother just needed someone to watch me for free.
“Come on; just watch the brat for a couple of hours.” My mother scratched her neck furiously. I knew she only did that when she needed her next fix.
“Fine, but you better come and get her tomorrow.” My aunt wrapped an arm around me. “Come on, Amy. I made some cookies earlier. Would you like one?”
“Yes ma’am!” I said eagerly as she escorted me inside.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, thank you so much!” My mother was halfway to the car before my aunt could respond.
I usually managed to overstay my welcome everywhere she left me until there was nobody who would even watch me except one of our neighbors in the apartment building we lived in. She watched me because her place was a wreck, there was nothing I could break, and she didn’t really give a shit what I did. My mother couldn’t pay her, but she helped her out by giving her rides to places on the weekends and inviting her over for dinner from time to time. I think that while our neighbor, Mrs. Randolph, was destitute, she enjoyed having someone around because she was very lonely. She was nice enough, but she had some of the same problems my mother had. She got her fix thanks to doctors who believed she had a host of illnesses, while my mother preferred the street pharmacists. Still, she seemed to show interest in my life, and I did enjoy telling her about my various adventures at school.
“What did you learn today?” She asked as she tapped out pills into her palm.
“I learned about Abraham Lincoln.” I opened my textbook and pointed at the chapter.
“Honest Abe, huh? He was a good man.” She dumped her next high into her mouth and washed it down with wine.
“He wanted everyone to be free.” I chimed in happily.
“Yes, but he paid a tremendous price for his beliefs.” She walked into the kitchen to refill her glass.
School was fairly difficult. I coasted along on barely passing grades and thousands of demerits until I got to high school. Friends didn’t come easy for me and when my body began to change, the boys barely noticed. There were plenty of vivacious blonde beauties, so a the horribly clothed unkempt brunette was practically invisible to them. People who were nice to me mostly seemed to be doing it because they felt sorry for me or they had some sense of obligation not to abuse me to entertainment. Was old enough to stay alone by that point, and my mother’s was non-existent. She cleaned up her habit, but she was always tired and had to work all the time in order to pay the rent. Luxuries were so foreign to me that I didn’t even expect them. Most of the time, I was just happy to eat.
“Mom, when are you going to the grocery store?” I opened the refrigerator and stared at the empty shelves.
“I get paid on Friday. Don’t they feed you at school?” She lit a cigarette and dashed around the apartment getting ready for work.
“Yeah…” I said as I plopped down on the couch and opened my textbook. Knowledge would be my only meal it seemed.
“Sorry, Amy…” She sighed deeply. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“I know, mom.” I gave her a faint smile as she adjusted her breasts so her uniform showed a little bit, but wasn’t too scandalous.
As high school continued the saga of my boring life, I sank into a shell that simply existed. I went to school because I had nothing else to do. There was no reason for anyone to watch me any longer, but we also didn’t have cable television or anything remotely worth staying inside for. I could only read so many books before I needed a little more substance to keep me entertained. I knew my mother loved me, but she was just a silent guardian. She kept me fed when she could, kept me outfitted in the best thrift store clothes, and remembered the important things like my birthday. By the time I turned eighteen, I didn’t know I needed more than that. It was just the way it was.
“You work too hard…” I watched her try to cover up the age lines on the corner of her mouth.
“One day you’ll understand.” She stood up and tightened her shirt by tucking it into her pants.
“There has to be a better way…” I muttered as she walked towards the door.
“If you find it, let me know.” She shrugged and darted out, leaving me alone in the apartment.
I remember the first time I stole something. I wanted something to listen to music on besides the radio, and the department store had set up a display with a huge sale. Usually they were behind a pane of glass, so I was drawn to it. As I held it in my hands, more people came over to check out the sale, and before I really knew what was happening, I was standing in the middle of them. None of them were looking at me. I dropped my hand slowly until it was inside my purse, along with the device, and then I casually walked away. Thousands of excuses flooded my mind outlining exactly what I would say if I was confronted.
I was only holding it in my purse. Oops, how did that get in there? It must have fallen in my accident.
When I finally got the courage to walk out of the store, I expected to be tackled and arrested, but it never happened. I simply walked home and opened it up. I had crossed the line from just being a bad girl to being an actual criminal. It was a whole new world for me. It was also a little exhilarating, but the rush didn’t last long. I wanted to feel it again.
“Mom…” I said as I watched her get dressed for her second job.
“What is it, Amy?” She seemed a little more agitated than normal.
“It’s nothing…” I sat down on the couch and tucked my iPod into the cushions. I started to feel a twinge of guilt, despite wanting to tell her what I had done.
“Tell me all about it later.” She smiled before she ran out the door.
“Okay, mom.” I pulled it out and started up my music. I knew it was wrong, but it was nice to have something other kids had.
My system developed slowly as I scoped out stores. I learned when the high school kids were normally working and scheduled my theft around them. They were the ones who cared least of all, and barely noticed me when I came into the various stores I frequented. I stayed away from the really expensive stuff, but I did accumulate a wardrobe, makeup and cheap accessories. I started to feel high each time I did it, but that rush wore off faster each time. I think my mother suspected something, but she didn’t say a word. She just kept her ignorant face on while I slowly bettered myself at the expense of corporate America and big box stores.