Foster Forest (5): New Rule

The apprehension had been building for several days. Although he couldn't quite identify why he felt that way, Peter Grisson knew that he should treat the apprehension as a warning bell. He'd made a serious decision that would change his life, perhaps forever. He liked kids: that wasn't the problem. And he knew that he was capable of performing the duties that had been outlined to him by Becky Thomas. He even thought he'd make a good father, or a good father "figure" to the kids she was helping. Indeed, he felt that he'd fit in just fine at Foster Forest. He knew and appreciated how Becky Thomas used discipline on her only current charge, and he felt confident that he'd be able to do the same.

In fact, Peter had the little paddle that his mother had handed over to him when he'd finally reached adulthood. He had terrible memories of that paddle, being bent over his mother's lap. It was roughly eight inches long by six inches wide and relatively small. There were several holes drilled into the wood of the paddle, causing it to cut the air resistance when it was used properly. The paddle stung like crazy, and had been known to leave blisters if not used carefully and thoughtfully. Although Peter had never given a spanking in his life, he'd been on the receiving end of the dreadful implement enough times that he would certainly be able to use it appropriately.

Peter took his time on the drive. He was aware of the sense that he might turn back and head for home. He'd hired a house sitter, at least for as long as it took him to determine that he would be able to settle in at the Forest. It hurt a little bit to leave the tidy house behind, but he had forced himself to look forward. Now he was driving down the Interstate, trying to convince himself that the road was familiar. He had already committed it to memory before he'd made the trip the first time, though once he was off the main roads, the territory was still frighteningly foreign. Peter Grisson wasn't a country boy at heart.

The car tires crunched on the gravel as he drove up in front of the big building that was the children's home. He took a deep breath, his blue eyes staring straight ahead as he mentally prepared himself for this step of the journey. He liked Becky Thomas. She was beautiful, though that wasn't saying much: Peter Grisson thought most women were beautiful. However, the young woman had struck something in him that he hadn't expected to find. Although she wasn't the type of woman he normally "ran with," he thought he could come to enjoy her company.

"Okay," Peter said to himself. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was nothing more he could do to prepare himself, so now he pushed his way out of the car and went around to the back to grab the two suitcases he'd packed. The rest of his "things" (the things he would need for his art) had been shipped ahead and should already be in his room. He'd set those up later the way that he liked.

Setting the cases down near the front door of the home, Peter raised his hand to knock, then thought better of it. He'd let himself right in the last time, when he'd had less right to be there. Now he was, technically, an employee of the... organization. That was the only way that he could think about it. He squared his shoulders and turned the knob, poking his head around the door to make sure that he wasn't interrupting anything as he had when he'd been a visitor here.

Instead, Becky Thomas was behind the reception desk, and little Miss Moore was nowhere to be found. Breathing a sigh of relief, Peter slipped into the building, leaving his bags on the porch. He'd take them with him into the house he'd chosen to buy from Becky (at cost) later on. He'd want to have a few things in the apartment here, as well. There would be night's he planned to stay over to help take care of the kids, though right not it was only Elizabeth and Peter figured that she and Becky had a regular routine already. They must have a routine that didn't involve him. It would be awkward trying to get settled in, but he'd make it happen.

"Peter," Becky said softly with a genuine smile for him. Her red hair was pulled back into a Dutch braid, and Peter couldn't help but be disappointed that the auburn tresses weren't falling halfway down their back where he felt they belonged. For a moment he just stood, admiring her, and then when she gave him a questioning look he stepped forward, through the front door and up to the desk. He'd already done all the paperwork, most of it in person but some of it had been faxed over. It was all official, and he shouldn't have been nervous, but there was anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

"Where's Elizabeth?" he asked, looking around, surprised that the little girl hadn't come out to greet him.

"She's in the little library we have here, reading a book," Becky said, though there was something in her eyes that told Peter she was disturbed, or angry about something. She opened her mouth as though she was about to say something, but then clamped it shut again and shook her head, biting the words off before they could be spoken.

"Okay..." Peter said slowly. The silence didn't bother him, though he felt that there was some room for her to explain what was going on, and what she needed him to do. He'd planned on getting started right away, and in fact had the impression from Becky that's what she'd wanted, too. When the woman said nothing, but instead seemed to be staring off outside the windows, Peter first turned to see if there was something interesting out there, and then turned back to her. "Becky? What do you need me to do?"

The redhead glanced at the clock on the wall, and then back to Peter. "I have dinner in the oven. Right after dinner I have a meeting that I'm needed at, and I was hoping to take the night off." Since she didn't mention a date, Peter had to assume that's where she was really going, and something inside him cracked, just a little bit.

Peter gave a small nod. "So you need me to stay here. Overnight."

"Yes," Becky said, slowly stepping out from behind the counter. "There's the apartment here that I told you about. I have one and there's a second. Do you want me to... Show you?" she asked.

Peter could sense weariness in the young woman, but he said nothing. Instead he simply nodded his head and allowed himself to be led to the back of the building. Too late, he thought of his bags. He turned as though to go back for them, then shrugged and changed his mind. He could get them later, and they were in front of a door. Becky slid a key into the lock, pushed the door open, and then stood aside to allow him to get a good look at the room.

Stepping inside, Peter was shocked by the size of the main room. It was comfortable, like a full rental apartment. He could see a small kitchen through the living room, and three doors which he imagined to be a bathroom and... "Two bedrooms?" he asked, turning toward the woman who, for now, he thought of as his hostess. He'd need to get over that sooner rather than later.

"Yes," Becky said. "I had this place built under the assumption that eventually there would be workers who came in with children of their own. Or that someone might choose to adopt one of our kids, and might prefer to keep them close, rather than have them go back to a room in the home." The young redhead shrugged her shoulders and Peter nodded to her with understanding.

"Okay," Peter said. "I have a couple of bags, everything else should have been delivered to number 7."

"Yes. And it's all been taken inside. I didn't have anything put away because I didn't know where you would want it, but it's all there. And the house is prepared to be decorated whenever you're ready. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

Peter smiled and reached out to touch her hand. It was an old habit he'd never quite been able to let go of. "It's fine," he told her, then impulsively bent to kiss her cheek. "Why don't you and Elizabeth get your dinner and I'll unpack my bags in here. I take it that this is... My apartment, for the nights I'm here?" he asked. He'd seen three doors, and assumed that, at least for now, one would belong to each of the workers who worked the home. So far it was only him and Becky, so there were no other apartments needed. The few things he had in his bags could stay here; the rest would stay at number 7. That way he wouldn't have to pack a bag for his night shifts.

Still looking dazed, Becky looked at Peter, her green eyes focusing on him wearily for a long time. "Okay," she said. "You aren't hungry?"

Peter shook his head. "No," he told her. "I already ate. Go ahead and take care of Elizabeth and then we'll... What, change shifts?"

"At six o'clock," Becky said, and drifted away.

***

Six o'clock had come and gone. Peter had signed a slip taking over responsibility for Elizabeth, who was nowhere in sight, and had been briefed on bedtime, the routines, and when to expect Becky back (at six the next morning, which seemed terribly early for Peter, who intended to be in bed). Becky had instructed Peter that Elizabeth would probably spend the rest of the evening in the library, and the blonde haired man got the impression that Elizabeth wasn't looking forward to meeting him formally. Probably she was still embarrassed about what had happened the first time that he had visited the house and had walked in on her being spanked by Becky. He couldn't blame her if that was it: he'd been in that situation himself several times as a child, and it wasn't something easily gotten over.

Not wanting to disturb the child if she didn't want to be disturbed, Peter cleaned the kitchen. The dishes had been put in the dishwasher, and now he emptied it, finding where everything went and putting it away. He scrubbed out the sink, wiped down the counters (twice!) and then found the mop and mopped the floor. Not satisfied, he scrubbed the base boards. All of this took him a little over an hour, and when he glanced at the clock, he realized that unless he kept cleaning, he had nothing to do for nearly two hours. Though it was still full light and he could feasibly paint if he was outside on the front porch, all of his painting things were stored at the house, and he hadn't been over there to find them yet. He'd unpacked while the other two had eaten supper, and he wasn't a reader. The television also held no appeal, and Peter wasn't going to leave the house alone with Elizabeth in it. That left him with one final option: to go and find the little girl.

Peter wasn't sure what to expect. Elizabeth may not want to see him, but the fact was that in an hour and a half he would need to begin the process of getting her to bed. They were going to have to meet at some point, and the meeting would need to take place that night.

Figuring that she was still in the library, Peter made his way in the direction that Becky had indicated earlier. She'd never given him a tour, and he felt somewhat at a loss now. Maybe Elizabeth would be willing to show him around the home before bed. That, at least, would kill some of the empty time. He would need to bring a sketch pad with him next time so that he could work on his ideas. He preferred to paint, but every now and again he's sketch something out on paper before he put a brush to canvas.

Maybe if he had a day shift he'd take Elizabeth to a museum. He'd like that. It didn't occur to her that it might not be her style.

It took a moment, but Peter finally found the private library in the children's home. He raised his hand as though to knock on the door jamb, but he froze in place when he saw what was inside. Everywhere there were books. Not just on the shelves, but several books strewn across the floor; a stack of at least a half a dozen on a table. In a chair there was a pile of books that looked as though they had been haphazardly laid there, and in the middle of all of it was a ten year old girl who seemed to be absorbed in a Nancy Drew Mystery.

For a moment, Peter only stood there in the doorway. The anger was bubbling up in him, and he had to swallow a sound of rage. He wasn't sure what Becky would feel if she saw the mess he was looking at, but he was an incredibly clean and tidy person. This mess was more than Peter could handle, and instinct told him to turn and walk away.

Fuming, Peter paced up and down the hall where the library was. As best he could tell, Elizabeth hadn't known that he was there. She hadn't looked up from her book, and the expression on her face hadn't changed. It would be hard for her to hide it if she was simply avoiding his gaze. He wracked his brain, trying to remember what the rules were that Becky had stated. He was sure that she'd said something about picking up after yourself, but he couldn't remember the exact rule. Worse, he didn't know where there was a list of them written down, so that he could reference it.

Finally deciding that it didn't matter, Peter committed to changing the rules of necessary to reflect the need for tidiness. He would either need to quit, or something was going to need to change.

Peter hadn't realized that he had the paddle in his hand until he was marching back toward the library. The cold wood was hard against his hand, and suddenly his footsteps slowed. What did he think he was going to do? The man stopped short, his free hand brushing against a sideboard that was in the hallway. Quickly he put the paddle down on it. He didn't want to approach Elizabeth as someone who was frightening, and if she did as he was about to ask her, there was no need for any problems. All she had to do was clean up the library, brush her teeth, get on her pajamas, and go to bed. No need to punish if it went down just like that. Bedtime might be delayed, but compared to keeping the library in a mess, Peter didn't have a problem with that.

Taking a deep breath, Peter ran his hand back through his shaggy blonde hair and stepped into the library. "Elizabeth," he said, trying to keep his voice even, though he could still detect the hint of irritation. "It's nearly bedtime," he said, once he knew he had her attention. "I need you to have all of these books picked up and back on the shelves in a half an hour so that you can get ready for bed. If you aren't willing to do that, you can come out and see me in the great room. I'll be in front of the fireplace."

Peter turned on his heels and stepped out of the library, only going back for the paddle before moving into the Great Hall and flopping down on the couch. There was no fire in the fireplace this time of year. It was quite warm now, but he suspected it would be lovely in the autumn and winter, to be able to curl up here and share a cup of cocoa with people he hoped he'd come to care about by then. He lay his head back against the back of the couch, relaxing against the deep cushioning, and closed his eyes. In spite of everything, Peter Grisson was a romantic.

"Becky doesn't make me pick up the library," came the voice of a ten year old. He could hear the scowl even before he opened his eyes and looked over at her without lifting his head. "She doesn't care what I do in there. That's my room, so I do what I want."

Peter raised his head slowly and regarded the child calmly. Now that he wasn't having to look at the state of the library, he had calmed down quite a bit. He considered himself absolutely prepared for what came next, however unpleasant it may be. The truth was that Peter wasn't surprised by Elizabeth's decision. It was obvious to him that she didn't know what her decision had been, though hadn't he set it up to be that way? While Peter didn't want to think of what he had done as entrapment, he had put her in a position to either obey and respect him, or not. And if not, then to accept the consequences. Whether or not Becky cared about the condition of the library, he was sure that obedience was an important issue to her. If not, then they were going to have some problems.

For a long moment, Peter only stared at the little girl. Then he finally nodded. "Alright. We'll discuss this rationally," he said, more to himself than to her. Deep down he was still hoping that he wouldn't have to follow through with the paddle that he'd picked up on instinct.

When Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight onto one hip, a stance typical of an insolent adolescent, Peter almost smiled. He bit it back and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he formulated his thoughts. "First of all," Peter said, checking to make sure that the ten year-old was within his reach so that he could get a hold of her if she tried to run once she knew his intentions. She was. "First of all, the library belongs to Ms. Becky and to this home. You aren't the only person who lives here or who will want to use that library from time to time."

The ten year old shrugged, and Peter pressed onward. "I, for one, do not like a mess. If I felt inclined to use the library, I would have to go through the process of cleaning it up myself before I used it." Peter paused for a moment, looking at the little girl to see whether or not any of his words were sinking in. She had an expression on her face that he was sure was intended to irritate him and to show him how little she really cared about his comfort.

Peter sighed heavily and nodded his head. "Okay, Elizabeth. I'm going to say this differently this time. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. Go and clean up the library so that you can get ready for bed. Now."

"No," the ten year-old said. She spoke in a clear voice that pushed a button Peter hadn't even known he'd had.

Before he could think, Peter's left hand shot out and his hand wrapped around Elizabeth's right wrist. Her arms had been crossed over her chest, and she stiffened in surprise once his hand was on her. It made it easier for Peter to topple the ten year old down over his lap. Although he was right handed, and this put him in a left handed spanking position, he thought he knew a solution to that. It was a rather painful solution for Elizabeth, but this was a lesson that she was going to have to learn sooner rather than later. Awkwardly, he tugged her jeans down with his left hand. He had to shift his leg a little bit so that the denim would come down, and then he began to work on her panties. By that point Elizabeth was grinding against his lap, trying to keep him from getting the angle that he needed. A quick, hard slap of his left hand to her panty-clad bottom did the trick, however, and the panties came down around her knees along with her jeans. Scrabbling, Peter grabbed the little wooden paddle with his right hand and got a better grip on Elizabeth with his left. He pulled her tightly in to his body, leaning forward slightly and giving her a shove to the right. Once she was in the position he wanted -- with her bottom high up over his right thigh -- he pinned her legs under his left leg and made a grab for her left hand, pinning in to her lower back. This put him in the perfect position to paddle her sit spots until she wouldn't sit down comfortably for at least the next two days. And that's what he intended to do.

Without another word from Peter, and in spite of Elizabeth's cries, he picked up the little paddle in his right hand and, crossing it over his left (which was pinning Elizabeth down), he brought it down hard on her left cheek. The effect was that he was using the paddle length wise so that the spank was longer but narrower. Because of the position, the paddle caught only against the tender crease where bottom and thighs meet. The sweet spot that so many spankers referred to as "the sit spot" or "the spank spot."

A howl of pain ripped through Elizabeth, and Peter forced himself not to focus on the dark pink spot that the paddle left on the first spank. Instead, he repeated the measure on the right side. He spanked silently and slowly, first one side, then the other, leaving three or four seconds between spanks so that the burn could really get deep before he repeated the action. He didn't spank hard because he knew the paddle he was using. Instead, he used sharp flicks of his wrist to get the best results. He wouldn't leave any bruises, and he was careful not to blister, but still the sting would last, and he knew that as heavy as the paddle was (in spite of its small size) the deep pain would last for days.

It took less than a minute before Elizabeth was crying. Still she continued to wrestle with Peter's left arm over his lap. He was strong, but she was angry, confused, and in pain, and once she nearly broke his grip on her. The tears and snot were flowing everywhere, and Peter gritted his teeth. He had always hated to see a woman cry, and what was a little girl but a future woman? Squaring his shoulders, Peter put the paddle down and gave himself, and Elizabeth, a rest. He didn't let her up, and didn't loosen his grip on her at all. The break was one he knew from his childhood, and he'd learned later on that it was the moment that his mother had taken to assess the situation, to determine whether or not he was truly sorry for what he had done. She'd always been a talker, and even now Peter could remember hating to hear her talk during a spanking. It just seemed as though it went on and on, with her lecturing him in words he could barely hear, let alone understand when he was draped over her lap and being paddled.

Now Elizabeth was crying. But her body was tense, and she said nothing. She sobbed occasionally, trying to catch a breath that she didn't seem to realize she'd been holding. There were no apologies, and though she made no attempt to get up, Peter was convinced that there was an anger, or even a hatred, coming off of the ten year-old little girl. Peter sighed heavily, his breath "wooshing" out of him and nodded his head unhappily. "Okay," he said, almost to himself. "Okay." That word seemed to be a signal to Elizabeth, who started to get up. Quickly Peter wrapped his arm more tightly around her waist. "No you don't," he said. "We aren't nearly done here."

Shifting awkwardly, Peter moved until the little girl was secured not by his left arm but by his right. Her bottom was still over his right leg, and there was a bit of awkwardness as he made himself comfortable. He knew that Elizabeth was only about to get a good deal less comfortable. He didn't have the heart to keep going with the paddle, and he wondered if he hadn't already risked bruising as he examined the flesh of her backside. Instead, he would give her a hand spanking, on her bare bottom -- with his weak hand.

It was more of a token, and Peter knew that. Once or twice his mother had done the same, and the spanking had always been a relief after the paddle. He spanked as hard as his left hand would allow him, but with some awkwardness, and it set the girl to squirming again. Still, Peter didn't speak. He would keep this going -- and could keep this going -- until she was ready for it to stop. Once her body began to let go of its tension, and her mind began to let go of that anger and hatred, then she would be ready to go up to her room, brush her teeth and get her pajamas on.

Spanking hard and vigorously, Peter realized that he was, himself, becoming tired. He couldn't believe the resilience that the little girl had as she continued to fight against his punishment. He was beginning to breath heavily, and she was sobbing, but still fighting him. "Elizabeth!" Peter said finally, his voice sharp and edged with anger as his palm continued to smack down, much more firmly than he had with the paddle, against the child's bared bottom. "You can end this right here and now if you would just admit you did wrong!" he snapped. It was unfair, and Peter knew it. He'd never outlined the rules of receiving a spanking from him. And even as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the girl let out a huge gasping sob.

Peter didn't stop spanking. His hand continued to smack down, even though his palm was beginning to get sore and his arm tired. He was not, after all, left handed. Just when Peter was about to switch his hands again, preparing to pin Elizabeth with his left arm and pick up the paddle again, she let out a muffled, "'m sorry." Peter paused, still entirely prepared to go through with continuing the paddling. But Elizabeth went entirely limp over his lap, sobbing so hard that Peter thought his own heart would break. He did not like to see a woman crying!

Slowly Peter Lowered his left hand to Elizabeth's back. His right hand loosened its grip around her waist, and he realized immediately that it had been a mistake. The little girl skittered off of his lap as soon as he released her, scrambling back to press against the fireplace. Though she winced, her blazing bottom wasn't pressed against anything. Her eyes, however, flashed with anger, the edges looking almost yellow as she glared at him.

Completely at a loss, Peter leaned forward, trying to think of what he should do. Instinctively he got up, moved around the coffee table and took the child's hand. He could tell that her skin was crawling and he wasn't sure if what she felt was fear or disgust. Peter was shocked, and for a moment he nearly dropped her hand. It wasn't supposed to go like this. He knew that Becky put the child in the corner after the spanking he'd witnessed, but that just wasn't his way. Sighing, Peter turned the girl around and bent to help her back into her panties. He winced, his breath hissing out as he pulled them up over her blazing backside, and then pulled her jeans up over them. Gently the man put a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder and slowly turned her around. With both hands on her shoulders, his blue eyes examined her brown ones, looking to find out what she was feeling. He could still see the heat of anger there, but he didn't have the heart to keep spanking her. They didn't have a relationship with one another. At least not yet.

Peter sighed, his breath going out slowly. A small nod of his head, and he let go of her shoulders. "I'm not going to make you stand in the corner, Elizabeth," he said. The little girl was still sobbing, and her arms went across her chest defensively, her eyes lowering to stare at the floor while her new guardian spoke. "I'd love to offer you a hug, but since you seem so angry, I suggest that you just show me where your room is so that I know, and then get ready for bed. We'll talk more about this in the morning."

The little girl let out a sob and shook her head. "I don't want another one!" she cried.

For a moment, Peter could only stare at her, not comprehending. "Another one... Oh!" he said, then shook his head. "No honey, you aren't gonna  get another one," he said, this time putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in to him for a tight hug. Though she stiffened, Elizabeth didn't pull away, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

"Come on," he said. "Show me your room and we'll get you into bed. We'll talk more about keeping the library and the rest of the house tidy tomorrow, before I leave to get settled into my own house," he added. "And no. No more spanking."

Elizabeth sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand as she pulled away from Peter and started for the stairs. He could tell that there was something on the girl's mind, but she said nothing, and he didn't press the issue. Instead he sighed, and followed her up the stairs. He'd never gotten the tour.

***

The next morning Peter woke up late. The sun was already high when he rolled out of bed and made his way wearily into the kitchen of the little apartment. He'd spent the previous night cleaning up the library and sorting the books alphabetically on the shelves. He wasn't quite satisfied: he thought there were better ways to make the books look even tidier, but he'd work that out later. He'd left a note for Becky, telling her what had happened the previous  night and letting her know that he would want to have a talk with Elizabeth that morning.

Once he was decent, Peter wandered out of the apartment and first poked his head into the library to see if Elizabeth was there. She wasn't, and Peter frowned. It was going on eleven o'clock, and it seemed to him that it was too late to find the pair in the kitchen. Peter tugged at the sleeve of his T-Shirt and headed that way anyway. Becky was, indeed, there.

"Hey," she said, turning over her shoulder to look at him. "I'm sorry that Lizzie gave you a problem last night," she said quickly. "She's... difficult. I would say that she was testing your authority, but I'm not so sure. I'd never talked to her about the mess in the library so I'd say that she just didn't know."

"Where is she now?"

"She's in her room," Becky answered. "She took her book up there this morning. I don't think that she wants to talk to you," she said with a shrug, then put a cup of coffee in front of him. He hadn't even seen her pour it. "Thanks for cleaning the kitchen last night," she said appreciatively. "It looks amazing."

Peter smiled and took a sip of his coffee, black and bitter. "I guess you've kind of figured out that I'm a neat freak, huh?"

Becky made a face like a grimace and nodded her head. "I guess it's good though," she said. "Because that makes one of us." She grinned at him, and then slowly her smile faded. "Lizzie's pretty upset. I'm pretty sure she doesn't like you."

Peter sighed and nodded. "Well," he said. "You can't win them all. I think I'll take her over to my place to help me unpack, unless you have an objection. It'll give me a chance to get to know her under less unpleasant circumstances."

Becky laughed. "Good luck with that one, Peter," she said, and then winked. "I think she's 'allergic' to chores!"

Peter raised his eyebrows at the young redheaded woman. "Oh really? I guess we'll just have to see about that," he said with determination. "By the way, I need to see a list of her rules and the tasks that she's supposed to be doing every day. Some of the confusion last night was because I didn't know what the rules are. I guess I'm pretty strict, especially when it comes to keeping things clean and tidy."

"I gathered that," Becky laughed. "There's actually a poster with the current rules up there on the wall," she said, gesturing to a hand written poster board that he hadn't seen the previous night. Her handwriting was neat and even. "I guess we'll have to add something about picking up after yourself," she said thoughtfully. "Though she did break rule number 1. Always do as you're told."

Peter nodded and chugged his coffee, then went to the sink and rinsed it out, placing it in the dishwasher. "I'm going to go ask her to go over with me," he said. He glanced at Becky. "And I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

"Good luck," Becky chuckled, shaking her head at Peter.