Where Did You Think You Were

May 28, 2008 – 1:40 pm

It was a  distinct  surprise  to Mr. Adams to
find himself in the empty white room,  still  lying  in
bed,  but  clearly not the bed, nor the room,  where he
had fallen asleep.

 He didn’t  seem  to  feel  entirely  himself in
other ways.  When he’d retired for the night, he felt a
distinct soreness in the throat which usually indicated
the onset of a bad cold or flu, accompanied by a fever-
ishness and headache.  His body had the normal aches of
a 68-year old man,  but more intense tonight, more per-
sistent,  and he had tossed and turned for some timebe-
fore falling into a dreamless and feverish sleep.  Now,
awake,  Mr. Adams felt  refreshed,  fever-free,  pain
free, and somehow much younger.   He felt as if he were
twenty-one again.  And,  glancing at his hands,  he was
startled  to  find that the liver spots and wrinkles to
which he had been accustomed  in  his  declining  years
were gone.   His body felt much younger and more alive;
in fact,  he noted that,  for  the  first  time in more
years  than he wished to think about,  he was possessed
of a waking erection of considerable firmness.

 What in the hell was going on?

 A door,  previously unnoticed,  opened opposite
his bed, and a tall,  balding man in a gray uniform en-
tered.  “Good day, sir, and welcome,” he said. “I trust
you had an easy passage.”

 “Passage?” said Mr. Adams.  “Passage? What do
you mean?  Where am I?”

 “Ah,  yes,  of course,” responded the stranger.
“You don’t realize yet.   Oh,  dear, I do dislike these
explanations and . . .well, it can’t be helped. Mr. ah,
Mr…..”   He fumbled in his pocket for a  notepad  and
studied it . “Mr. . . yes, here were are . . .’Adams.
Age 68.  Massive heart attack. Single. Lived alone.  No
previous health problems.  Will probably be unprepared’
I see.  Yes. Well, Mr. Adams, I am here to inform you
that you are now at a new stage of your existence. That
is, you are what you would describe as ‘dead.’ Actually
it is the wrong term,  but  that is what you would pro-
bably call it.  Your other life ended last  night,  and
you have now arrived here.  I am your personal servant,
and this is your room, and for quite some time, perhaps
for all ‘time’ you will ‘live’ here, and I will tend to
your needs.   You ask for whatever you wish, and I will
arrange to see that you have it.  You are here to enjoy
whatever  you  want,  and  I  am here to provide it for
you.” 

 Mr. Adams had never been a religious man, nor
had he ever seriously  contemplated  what  might  be in
store for him, if anything, after death.   He had lived
a fairly decent life, with a normal share of deception,
fornication, gluttony, greed, and duplicity, especially
around his sexual life. He had not been, in his opinion
a  bad  person,  but  he  had not been especially good,
either.   He was certainly an inherently  selfish  man,
living his life for  his  own  satisfaction with no in-
terest in marriage or family or the welfare of his fel-
low man. In fact, he was regarded by those who knew him
as a striving businessman, a bit over-competitive, per-
haps,  always  willing to screw anyone who stood in his
way, but not atypical in this regard. 

 Had any  of  his  business  associates know, of
course, that Mr. Adams had a secret  fascination with
spanking, a life-long obsession with all the literature
and  art  he  could  collect in this regard, a vault of
video-tapes from  Shadow Lane,  Calstar,  Redboard  and
others, a library filled with everything from Victorian
birching  novels  to the  most  recent issues of “Spank
Hard,” “Ma’am,” and  “Stand Corrected,”   he might have
been  vulnerable  as a corporate executive.  Had anyone
ever learned of his many  trips to local establishments
which allowed him to indulge his  passion for stripping
young women of all types and delivering sound spankings
to their bared bottoms,  he might not have been able to
remain  in  the  position of power he occupied.  Yet he
never  felt that these excursions,  or his  out-of-town
liaisons on business  trips  with  ladies  both profes-
sional  and  amateur,  ladies  who allowed him to spank
them,  or who, on occasion, put him over their knees to
redden his backside,  and generally followed such acti-
vities with cunnilingus,  fellatio,  and sexual  inter-
course,  were really sinful,  in spite of establishment
morality.     He felt that such activities were his own
business and no one else’s,  and had he ever thought of
an afterlife,  he would not have expected to be visited
by any heavenly  retribution  for  his sexual proclivi-
ties.   Looking about him,  and now contemplating  what
seemed to be his  apportioned  due  for the life he had
led, Mr.  Adams was gratified to see that he had been
entirely correct in this assumption.

 Mr. Adams had never failed to provide for his
own desires,  and  his  adjustment  to  his new circum-
stances was rapid.    He quickly had his  new  liveried
servant,  who called himself  “Aaron”  provide his room
with  comfortable  furniture, a complete  media center,
stocked  with  video  tapes and CD’s,  a closet full of
silk suits cut in an Italian  fashion as well as a full
variety of sports clothes,  formal and informal outfits
and shoes, and a Cuvier’s bathtub.   Before the day was
out  he  had  taken a long and luxurious steaming bath,
dressed in pajamas of gossamer quality,  and ordered  a
meal  of  steak  and  lobster  with exquisite soups and
sauces to accompany it,  followed by  a  rich chocolate
dessert,  feather light, and freshly-brewed coffee of a
richness he had never  tasted before.  With some trepi-
dation,  he asked  Aaron if there was any  way he could
have some  feminine companionship,  and within a minute
was  introduced to a young lady of perfect proportions,
dewy skin,  honeyed lips,  and,  he  discovered  later,
pelvic  thrusting which was awesome in its strength and
unflagging in its duration.

 Mr. Adams  spent  the next few days exploring
the space outside his room which  seemed to change from
day to day in ways which fit his desires.  If he wished
there to be a country club at his door,  with a freshly
trimmed golf course, there was. If he preferred a sandy
beach with Nubia’s  maidens scattered about,  the beach
was  there for him, and so were the maidens.  He could,
simply by asking for it,  conjure  up a street of shops
with  goods  of  every description the highest quality,
and he could take whatever  he  wished from any of them
without  paying.  There  were theaters  to  visit,  and
restaurants  to  try,  and  always  willing female com-
panionship,  willing to spend  his  days in leisure and
his nights in lustful explorations,  and  every morning
his  companion  would  vanish without recriminations on
her part or any obligations  on  his.  It was, he real-
ized,  his  life  as  he  had  wished  it to be-without
obligation or concern for anyone but himself. 

 Of course,  after a time, it became a bit dull.
But Aaron was at his hand to supply work when he wanted
it,  and Mr. Adams was able to work as he had when he
wanted to,  and he  did  not let himself be too worried
about whether or not that work had any real purpose.

 Still,  it was not too long before  Mr. Adams
became a bit restless.  He also felt a familiar longing
come  over  him,  one  which  had  surfaced   regularly
throughout his life,  and one which,  even though Aaron
knew him quite intimately,  he was embarrassed to share
with him. But before long, the urge became too great to
resist, and Aaron had to be consulted.

 “Aaron?” Mr. Adams inquired, “I would like to
visit a bookstore  today  where  I  can find a somewhat
special kind of literature,  related to,  uh, well, ac-
tually,  spanking.   You know, stories about spankings,
drawings, childhood experiences, that sort of thing. It
interests me.”

 “Oh,  I am sorry sir,”  said Aaron.   “We don’t
have any of that here for you.”

 “How odd,”  said Mr. Adams.   “Nothing? There
must be some such place, even here.   You do have porno
shops don’t you?”

 “Oh, yes sir.   We do indeed.   But they do not
have any of that kind of material.   No books, no video
tapes, no magazines concerning spanking.  Nothing.  Not
for you, sir. Sorry.”

 “I don’t understand this,” said Mr. Adams. “I
thought you could get me anything I wanted.”

 “Not quite,” said Aaron, with what seemed to be
the hint of a sly grin.

 “Well,  how about a girl — not one for sex, at
least not just for sex.  Aaron, can you get me a girl I
can spank.  I mean,  I know  it may seem odd,  but that
happens to be what interests me, and, well, that’s what
I want. Make her about 18, in a little school-girl uni-
form,  with  white  cotton  panties.  And get me an old
fashioned wooden hairbrush while you are at it, and…”

 “Sorry.  sir.  I cannot  do  that.  No spanking
here. No one will allow you to spank them.  No one will
spank you. No books. No magazines.  I cannot discuss it
with you, sir. No one can. That’s the way it is.”

 “But, Aaron, what is this? I have to admit it –
spanking is the one thing I have always been passionate
about.   Is it really such a bad thing?   It’s outlawed
here?   Have I been wrong in  believing it to be an in-
nocent pastime?”

 “Oh,  yes,  sir,  it  *is* an innocent pastime.
Many others enjoy it in the afterlife.  It is a wonder-
ful pleasure for those who practice it,  I  understand.
In fact,  it can be especially enjoyable when it can be
done openly,  and endlessly,  in front of others,  with
all ages and sexes, in so many ways. It is a delightful
erotic pleasure. But not here, sir;  at least,  not for
you, sir. Never.”

 “But Aaron, I love spanking.  I think of it all
the time.  It has always been the central passion of my
life.  If I can’t enjoy spanking, I might as well be in
hell!”

 “Yes, sir.  Well, sir,  where did you think you
were?”