Missie and Michael
by Ash
copyright © 2002

Missy and Michael
By Ash
copyright© 2002

Missy peeked into the sunroom sadly. Glancing down at the splint on her wrist she sighed in frustration.

Two evenings ago she had been happily perched on the ladder, now abandoned next to the halfway painted wall, infusing warmth into the room with her paintbrush and pan of paint. Michael's former roommate had finally gotten his boxes of belongings out of the spare room and Michael had said that Missy could turn the sunny room into a small library and office for her. Now because of a less than graceful move on the ladder, Missy was grounded, literally.

She hadn't noticed that on one of her many trips up and down the ladder to refill her paint pan she had inadvertently stepped into a spilled puddle of paint and that the soles of her battered Reeboks were slippery. She had made it back up the ladder with no problems, but on the way down the last time her foot had slipped off the rung and Missy fell hard. Natural instinct made her put her hands down to stop the fall. Two seconds after the impact the shock wore off and the pain ripped through her right wrist. Michael had been working in his office across the hall, banished there because of Missy's stubbornness at doing the redecorating on her own. He came bolting through the doorway after hearing her blood chilling shriek.

One fast trip to the ER and several X-rays later it was determined that Missy's wrist had been fractured in three places. Not severe enough for surgery, thankfully, but serious enough that she received a stern lecture from the doctor about using her right hand for absolutely nothing but the necessities for the next four to six weeks. The pain that jolted up her arm whenever she so much as moved her fingers had her agreeing instantly and saying that she couldn't even think of any necessities that would cause her to use that hand. Michael, who spent the time leaning against the sink in the small ER cubicle, groaned inwardly, knowing the next month and a half were going to be a challenge for both of them as he was sure that Missy was bound to come up with some perceived reasons why she must use that hand. A splint and some pain meds were prescribed and they were sent home.

The ride home was a quiet one. Missy was exhausted and leaned over to her left to rest her head on Michael's shoulder. He had lovingly pressed tender kisses to the top of her head the whole trip. Once home, he got his charge cleaned up and into comfy nightclothes, then tucked her into bed before heading to the sunroom to clean up. Missy had begged him to leave it as it was, still insisting that it was her room to work with and that she'd do it when she could. He had agreed, saying he was just going to put the lid on the paint can so the paint wouldn't dry out.

Now, two days later, Missy was feeling antsy. The swelling in her wrist had subsided and the pain had lessened enough to the point that she was only taking the pain medication when she really needed it, which was a good thing as it shot her equilibrium all to pieces. Her boredom was growing considerably. Michael was watching over her like a mama hen. She was forbidden from riding her bike, from playing video games but worst of all, and the one Missy rebelled the most against was that she was restricted from her computer. She could surf all she wanted, as long as she just pointed and clicked, which she could do clumsily with her left hand. But Michael banned her from all her chatting programs, no AIM buddy list, no ICQ, no chat rooms, no emails . nada. Playing in Paint Shop Pro with graphics was absolutely forbidden too. Writing stories in Word? Forget it. Wasn't going to happen either.

"Don't even think about it, imp." Michael responded from behind his desk.

Michael worked from home, going into the office for a few hours once a week as needed.

Missy smiled and turned, wandering into his office and flopping down in one of the butter soft leather chairs he had sitting in front of his desk. "I can't even just think about it?" she teased.

"Well, ok, think all you want, but don't you dare act on those thoughts. I promise the room will be just like you left it when your wrist is fully recovered and then you can tackle it once more . but from the floor this time." His bluish-gray eyes glanced towards a corner where a paint roller attached to a telescoping pole was propped.

A pathetically sighed "Yes Sir" slipped from Missy's lips as she made puppy dog eyes at him and tried to keep from grinning.

Michael laughed at his darling girl's bid for sympathy then swerved his chair sideways and patted his lap. "Come here, sweetness."

Missy hopped up and moved around the desk, wincing as she barely bumped the splint against the corner.

"I'm beginning to see why your mama didn't name you Grace" Michael teased.

Missy crinkled her nose and poked her tongue out at him as she settled onto his lap, legs draped to Michael's right, feet pressing on the floor so she could wiggle her bottom excessively against the soft denim of his jeans under the guise of getting comfortable. "So, whatcha working on?" she asked as she peered at his computer monitor and pulled Michael out of his lascivious daydream about her butt.

She instantly recognized the message board of one of the email groups they both belonged to. It was set to expand all the messages so it was easy to see several of the most recent posts by skimming over the page.

"I just posted that message that you asked me to. The one about your accident," he replied as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He loved the way her bath lotion smelled. The mix of peach and vanilla was an intriguing scent to him.

Missy's green eyes widened and then flashed, turning stormy as she read enough of the thread to see Michael's post. To her utter embarrassment Michael had included "I'm sure you all know what a determined little spitfire Missy is. Please don't entice her to answer posts. I'm afraid I don't check the messages quiet as often as Missy does so please email me direct letting me know if she's being naughty and posting. If that happens, I'll make sure my little imp won't be able to sit long enough to try to type any responses." Of course, to Missy's mortification, this elicited several teasing posts in response.

"MICHAEL! How could you write that and send it?? Some of those groups are vanilla groups!" Missy wailed in frustration.

"I only wrote the truth, baby girl" came Michael's calm response, which of course unnerved Missy to no end.

Missy stomped her foot in aggravation, narrowly missing Michael's bare foot. "But did you HAVE to say the things you said? About me being stubborn, about me being a little imp and that YOU'D SPANK ME??" her voice rising in volume as well as tone towards the end of the question, her peaches and cream complexion pinkening with her embarrassment.

"Missy, they know you, they know how you are and they care about you. Didn't you see all the posts wishing you a speedy recovery and imploring you not to foolishly risk making your wrist worse? They are good friends and they will watch out for you. So be a good little girl and don't give them any reason to 'tattle'."

By this point Missy was so furious that she was seeing red. "I am NOT a little girl!!" she fumed, stomping her foot again for emphasis.

Michael's arched left eyebrow made her wonder just whose point was emphasized by that stomp. "Change that attitude right now Melissa Rose or you'll really be feeling like a little girl when I put you over my lap and blister your bare bottom!"

That brought Missy up short, she cringed at Michael's use of her given name. Not baby girl, not Missy, but Melissa Rose. Definite sign that she was skating on thin ice with Michael. He had spanked her before on a few occasions so she knew he wasn't bluffing.

Missy may have been fuming on the outside, but something vastly different was happening to her on the inside. While she railed constantly against being treated as a child, she knew in her heart that she often acted like one and she was so very thankful that Michael loved her enough to correct her. Not only was she feeling secure within his restrictions emotionally, her body was also reacting. Michael's tone of voice, his choice of words and even the promise of a bare bottom spanking all had parts of her tingling. She often felt as if different areas of her had minds of their own and were at war with each other. Her head would be yelling warnings to her libido and her libido almost never listened. Her brain would scream at her out of protection for her bottom, but her heart and libido had minds of their own so they often ignored the warnings. It wasn't that she loved the pain and humiliation of getting spanked, she didn't. It was the emotional pull of having Michael love her so completely that he would spank her like the child she sometimes was that kick started her libido and revved it into high gear. While her rational side was doing a filibuster about the wages of sin (particularly smart-ass comments and impertinence), her sexuality was trying valiantly and usually successfully to circumvent it, causing quite a phenomenon which resulted in her pleading verbally for forgiveness and not to be spanked, while her heart was silently begging for him not to stop . her panties, while she was still in possession of them, growing more and more damp.

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