The Pen Is Mightier

by Alyx

"Hey, that's a neat pen. Can I see it?"

Erin leaned over the table where her lover Clare sat, jotting down notes for the music class she was going to teach. Clare handed over the implement with a smile.

"You aren't going to write with it."

Erin, marveling at the beautiful mottled blue wood grain in the shaft of the pen, barely heard her. When the words penetrated, she looked up with a startled grin.

"You're not serious?"

"I'm afraid so, darling. You see, fountain pens 'mold' themselves to one's way of writing. It now suits me perfectly and if you tried to use it, your different style would end up ruining the nib. If you want one of your own, we can buy one for you."

"Well, no, I don't want one," Erin said slowly, handing it back. "I just wanted to see this one."

"It is beautiful, isn't it? I love writing with it." And she went back to her writing without a second thought.

Erin, meanwhile, retired to her room, feeling oddly chastened. She knew Clare hadn't meant the comment in an admonishing way, but it did sort of imply she thought Erin would ruin her property.

"What, does she think I can't be trusted to handle anything but plastic Bics?" she grumbled under her breath.

Their cat Dash (named solely for his speed to the food bowl...most of the time he was Buddha-like in his immobility) looked at her and blinked his golden eyes. He had Chartreux somewhere in his ancestry, which made his fur bluish, short and thick. He declined to answer, and lifted a paw to lick.

"Hah, you always take her side!"

It must've been Fate which caused Clare to leave her pen lying on the table a week later, and then go out shopping. At least, Erin decided it was a sign from the universe, completely overlooking the fact that Clare frequently left her writing implements on the table, but none had captured Erin's attention like the fountain pen since since she'd been told not to write with it.

Erin sat down and picked the pen up idly, admiring once again the unusual pattern of its wood grain. She unscrewed the cap and whistled at the brilliant gold finish on the grip.

"Geez, I never realized she was so 'high-maintenance'," Erin said, chuckling as she imagined her partner's outraged expression if she could hear that assessment.

Don't do it, came a little voice from the back of Erin's head.

"Do what? I'm only looking at it," Erin answered the voice aloud, her tone defensive. She tore out a blank piece of paper from Clare's notebook.

She told you not to, came that niggly voice again.

"She was worried I would ruin it, and I'm not planning to ruin it," Erin said with irritation.

She said specifically you were not to write with it.

That did it. "She's so damn possessive and paranoid sometimes," Erin complained as she drew a tentative circle on the page. The ink flowed like silk.

"Ooo, this is smooth! No wonder she loves using this!" Emboldened, Erin next wrote out her name, enjoying the balance of the fine instrument in her hand, taking care not to push down too hard.

"Mreow?"

"Yikes!" Erin jumped in alarm, the pen slipping from her startled grasp. It rolled off the table and landed on the floor with a thud. A dark stain pooled where the nib obviously struck the hardwood flooring. Erin stared at it in horror, before turning accusing eyes on her witness.

"Dammit, Dash, why the hell are you sneaking up like that! You scared the crap out of me!"

The cat twitched his tail, affronted by her tone. He turned and stalked out.

Erin knelt down and picked up the pen with suddenly trembling fingers. She attempted once again to write with it. The ink flowed like a severed vein.

"Shit, shit, shit! The nib is ruined. Clare is going to KILL me!"

She sat back in her chair and tried not to hyperventilate. She'd just broken her girlfriend's precious pen. Maybe it wasn't too late to join the Foreign Legion.

Think, she told herself desperately. There must be a way to fix this!

"Fix it. Exactly. I'll just have to get it repaired." Erin quickly screwed the cap back on and picked up Clare's notebook. Better not to remind her she was writing. She put the notebook on Clare's desk in the study, a likely enough place for her to leave it, but less in the open. Besides, there were lots of other pens on the desk.

Then she attempted to remove the ink blot from the oak wood floor. She was able to mop most of it up with a paper towel, but if one looked closely a black nick was visible. Fortunately, Clare never wore her reading glasses unless she absolutely had to.

"Thank the goddess for vanity," Erin murmured to herself. She sat back down at the table with the Yellow Pages, and looked for the closest stationery store. She had at least an hour before Clare got back.

The gentleman behind the counter of "NoteAbles" raised his eyebrows as Erin burst into the store, still breathless from running.

"Quick, I need you to fix a pen!"

"Our repairman is not on the premises," he said, in a voice which somehow managed to convey disapproval even through its extreme politeness. "What seems to be wrong with it?"

Erin uncapped the pen and held it out. "It fell on the floor."

The salesman tutted his tongue as he took the pen. Erin, who had never actually heard anyone make that sound in person, watched in fascination. She took in his brocade vest and brilliantine-slicked hair and was tempted to ask his age – he couldn't have been more than in his mid-thirties but dressed like some old geezer. She managed to bite back the question, however; she needed his help.

He pulled out some paper and a blotter and held the pen over them. "May I?"

"Of course," Erin said.

As he drew the pen over the thick paper he shook his head and tsked some more. "Yes, the point definitely needs replacing. Possibly the feed as well."

"Okay, so how soon can you do that?"

"Well, unfortunately, we don't keep the parts for this brand in stock. This is a Lanier....24-karat gold plating....the iridium-tipped nib is German-made."

Erin could feel the muscles in her shoulders tightening. "So what does that mean?"

"We'll have to special-order them. Should take about...mmm....two weeks at the most?"

"TWO WEEKS!"

The man behind the counter jumped, and Erin realized how loud she'd gotten. She took a deep breath and tried to speak more calmly. "Two weeks? Couldn't you put a rush order on it? I....really need it before then."

"Well, even a rush would probably take a week," he said regretfully. His manner softened in the face of her obvious distress. "You really love this pen, don't you?"

"You have no idea how vital it is to my well-being," Erin replied with feeling.

The salesman nodded. "Oh, I do, I do," he said, his tone lowering. "We become unbelievably attached to things that are precious to us." He sounded like an attendant at a funeral home.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Erin asked.

"I hate to suggest it....I know it wouldn't be the same...." he hesitated.

"Yes?"

"You could buy a new one."

"You mean you sell them?!" Erin resisted the urge to throttle him. "I thought you said you didn't stock these!"

"I said we don't stock the parts," he said, moving back slightly. This customer was clearly desperate. "We do sell the pens themselves, however."

"Fine, then I'll buy one! No need a bag or anything, just ring it up."

"Well, there is one problem...."

"Yes?" Erin ground out. Better make a dental appointment, she would definitely need new fillings after this.

"The body is made out of blue box elder, yes? We don't have this particular exotic wood in our current inventory."

Erin closed her eyes and reopened them slowly. "You don't?" she asked politely. She had gone far past the wailing stage. The universe was obviously testing her.

"I'm afraid not. However our Carmel store is sure to carry it. Would you like me to have it sent here for you to pick up?"

She fought back hysterical laughter. "That would be lovely. How long would that take?"

Erin waited for him to tell her that the Carmel store had recently experienced flooding and would require FEMA to assist. But apparently the Powers That Be had a smidgen of pity left in them.

"Two days."

"Two days? Really?" A gleam of hope appeared in her eye.

"Yes," said her rescuer, smiling. He was glad to be able to help someone who held such love for good pens, even if she was a bit strange. "Shall I call them?"

"Please."

In the end, Erin got home well before Clare returned. She had no pen, but she would in two days, and that was much better than two weeks. There was no way she would've been able to hide its absence from her lover for that amount of time. As it was, there was a tricky moment the very next day.

"Erin? Have you seen my pen?" Clare called from her office.

Erin, sitting in the living room watching TV, froze. She looked at Dash in desperation. As usual, the feline was busy licking his private parts and was no help whatsoever.

"What pen, honey?" She made her voice sound as distracted as possible.

"My fountain pen. You know, the one we discussed the other day?" It sounded like Clare was heading for the dining room table, where she frequently worked. Erin knew there was no way she could look Clare in the eye and continue the charade, so she dashed for the bathroom. She closed the door just in time.

"I thought I'd left it right here." Clare's annoyance was evident even through the wood door.

"Well, sweetheart, you know how you're always misplacing things," Erin called back. She sent a silent prayer up to the heavens, then flushed the toilet for good measure.

Clare sighed. "Yes, that's true. However, it's really very irritating."

"Darling, I'm sure it will turn up." She crossed her fingers and waited. Silence. After a few more anxious heartbeats, Erin slowly opened the door. Clare had gone back into her office to work. She took a shaky breath. "I wish I was like you, with nine lives," she whispered to Dash. "I'm sure I used up one right then!"

He chirped at her and rubbed against her legs, more interested in dinner than in her narrow escape.

"Hungry, huh? Okay, let's go. I believe I'll have a glass of wine while I'm at it. Maybe several."

The next day after work, Erin headed for the store. As promised, the pen was waiting for her. She almost choked on the price, however.

"Eighty dollars?!? For a PEN?!"

Fortunately, the salesman who had originally helped her was not there to hear this bit of sacrilege. The much younger saleswoman behind the counter was amused at Erin's reaction.

"That's nothing. We got Waterman's that'll cost you more than a car."

"That's crazy!"

"You're telling me. So – you want it, or not?"

Erin handed over her credit card and reminded herself that it was for a good cause – to preserve Clare's happiness.

You mean preserve her ignorance, came that annoying little voice at the back of her mind.

Ignorance is bliss, Erin answered it hastily. And bliss is another word for happiness. Don't quibble.

When she got home, she placed it on Clare's desk, hidden under a reference book. The next time Clare went searching, she was bound to find it.

Which, as it turned out, was that very evening.

Clare sat down at the table after dinner with her notebook and several folders. She uncapped her pen and began to write. Erin, sitting on the living room sofa with her laptop, tried to make it appear as if she was busy surfing rather than holding her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her lover frown.

"That's odd," Clare murmured. She looked at her pen point closely, then wrote a bit more. "It feels all wrong."

"What does, hon?" Erin kept her eyes on her monitor.

"My pen....it's not writing the same." She looked up suddenly. "Erin? You didn't use my pen, did you?"

Erin managed a rather hoarse laugh. "Sweetie, you told me I couldn't!"

"I know I did, and I explained why, darling." Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she sensed an attempt to evade the question. "So...did you?"

"I swear I have never used that pen," Erin intoned, hand raised as if making a vow. She managed to meet Clare's look without quailing.

Clare shook her head in a puzzled fashion. "Well, it could be the weather, I suppose. Affecting the metal or the ink." Her gaze dropped back down to her work, and Erin went back to her computer. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, and a pang of guilt assailed her.

Well, it's true! she told the little voice that was tutting at her (sounding remarkably like the young geezer in the pen shop). I never wrote with that pen!

As if the universe was conspiring to increase her feelings of guilt, after dinner Clare decided she was feeling extra affectionate.

"You want me where??" Erin asked her.

"Right here," Clare said, patting her lap.

"Er....why?" Erin eyed her uncertainly.

"Can't I cuddle with my girlfriend in my lap?" She was sitting in her favorite spot, a low-backed antique armchair which was a gift from her parents. The upholstery had a lovely washed gold effect and it had a way of cradling whoever sat in it, but there was really only room for one person.

Erin sat as instructed, not entirely comfortable despite the feel of Clare's strong thighs beneath her. Clare's arms wrapped around her immediately, stroking her back, caressing her leg, little loving touches which made Erin sigh and lay her head on Clare's shoulder.

"So what did you do today, sweetheart?"

Erin told her about her day at work, which, since Erin worked as the groundskeeper of a private elementary school, meant tales about landscaping, pruning, and talking with students. Clare in turn discussed her current struggle with assigning grades to her music students, and worries about their curriculum budget being cut. It was a typical peaceful evening at home, and Erin had been lulled into feeling cozy and relaxed, when Clare sprung her trap.

"Darling?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you answer me that way?"

"Mm? What way?"

"When I asked you about my fountain pen, why did you answer with those specific words: 'I have never used that pen'?"

Alarm bells went off in Erin's head. She found herself spluttering a little. "Uh...I don't know. What did you want me to say?"

"Just answer this question: Did you use my pen?"

Erin opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She'd run out of prevarications.

"Yes," she said finally.

"So you lied about it."

"Well, not exactly...."

"No? Then what exactly would you call it?"

"I bought you a new pen," Erin explained hesitantly. "The old one sort of...uh...got damaged, so I replaced it. But I never actually used the new one—" but Clare cut her off at that point.

"Don't you dare!" Her lover's sometimes hazel eyes were flashing green with anger. "You knew precisely what I meant when I asked about it, and precisely what you were implying with your answer. Didn't you?"

Erin could be selective with the truth, but she didn't outright lie. "Yes," she admitted, hanging her head.

"Go get the hairbrush."

Erin's head whipped back up in shock. "W-what??"

"You heard me."

She had heard her, but couldn't quite believe her ears. They often played with discipline erotically, but never as punishment. Erin searched Clare's face for the unlikely sign that this might be a joke, but her expression was uncompromisingly stern. Swallowing, Erin went to retrieve the implement as instructed.

As she picked up the brush from the top of the dresser, Erin found her palms were sweating slightly. Though she trusted her partner completely, there was a definite fluttering in her tummy. This was a side of Clare she had never seen, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. When she returned, she handed the brush to Clare and waited nervously.

"Over my knee."

Erin moved to lean forward, but was stopped by Clare's forearm against her mid-section.

"No, I want you bare-bottomed."

Flushing, Erin fumbled with her jeans and underwear. As humiliating as the act of exposure was, what was even worse was her body's embarrassing reaction: In spite of the very real dread she was feeling, another part of her couldn't help but respond to her lover's authoritative manner. She suspected that trickle of arousal would soon disappear, however.

The chair was the perfect height for having someone across your lap, Erin noted with dismay as she lowered herself. Clare's thighs were level and steady beneath her, with Erin's arms and legs draped on either side almost comfortably. As comfortable as one could be in this situation, Erin thought miserably. Clare held her firmly and placed the smooth wooden surface against her right cheek. "You need to learn respect for other people's property," she said crisply. "Let's see if we can impress upon you the importance of that, shall we?"

And then she drew the brush back and brought it forward with a sharp snap. It landed against Erin's skin with a SWAT! that made her draw in her breath quickly. A second later it landed in similar fashion on her left cheek. These were no warm-up swats, but a full-fledged spanking that had the hard maple surface landing steadily over every inch of her bottom. Erin tried to restrain her reaction, but soon she was squirming over Clare's lap in a futile effort to avoid the scorching impact of the hairbrush. When Erin was well-warmed up, Clare paused.

"Do you have any idea why I'm so angry?"

Erin nodded, eyes on the floor in front of her. "Because I broke the pen you like so much. But I didn't mean to – it was an accident!" Above her, she heard a sound very like a growl. Oh-oh.

"If you really think that the accident is the point of all of this, then I obviously haven't conveyed my message sufficiently!" And she proceeded to do so, rhythmically and rigorously, in a way that had Erin kicking and struggling anew.

"Owww! Honey, that hurts! Wait...Clare....please!!"

Another pause. "Well?"

"It wasn't the accident. It was because I used your pen when you told me not to." Erin shifted painfully. "I'm sorry. It's just that, when you told me my writing would ruin it, it was...almost insulting."

"I did not say your writing would ruin it. I said that the nib had conformed to my style of writing, and that any other would change that." She sounded incredulous. "Do you really not see the difference between the two?!"

"Well...."

"Yes?"

"I guess I do....now. But at the time, it sorta hurt my feelings!"

"You mean you chose the most childish way possible to interpret it."

"No! It wasn't like that!"

"It was exactly like that." The satin-smooth surface of the brush tapped warningly against Erin's bottom as Clare made her point. "Instead of seeing my request for the reasonable one it was, you chose to react as if I was making a comment about you personally. Even when I explained very carefully why I asked you not to touch it."

"But...but...but..."

"You chose to ignore my explanation and behaved like a sulky, spoiled brat!" Clare's tone was outraged as she recalled the extent of her lover's trespass, and she resumed spanking with vigor, concentrating on Erin's sit-spots and emphasizing her words with brush-strokes. "You damaged something which meant a lot to me, and you didn't even have the decency to own up to it!"

Erin felt terrible, and not just the part of her that was on fire. Hearing her actions described that way struck straight to her heart, and the guilt was nearly overwhelming. Her thoughtless behavior had really hurt her lover, and that knowledge was more painful than any hairbrushing could ever be.

Though this one came pretty close.

Eyes watering due to the combination of remorse and throbbing derrière, Erin bit her lip and wondered whether to use her safeword. It had never been necessary when they were playing, but it didn't seem right under these circumstances either. After all, she deserved everything Clare wanted to dish out, and more. She closed her eyes and resigned herself to her punishment.

But in that incredibly intuitive way she had, Clare must've sensed Erin was reaching her limit. She stopped and put the brush down on the table next to her. There was silence for a moment, broken by the sound of their labored breathing. Clare's left hand, which had been wrapped around Erin's hip, holding her in place, shifted to the small of her back. She rubbed lightly, reassuringly. It was all Erin needed.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm so sorry!"

"Apology accepted." Clare's reply was low. "And you do understand why I asked you not to use my pen?"

"Yes, yes, and you were right. I was selfish and acted like a child. Please forgive me for ruining something so precious to you?" Her voice broke.

"Darling, you are precious to me. That you would treat my possessions that way is what hurt, not the fact that it got broken."

"I don't blame you. I should've respected your wishes. I betrayed your trust....and lied to you." Erin's voice was sincere, with no more attempts to evade responsibility.

"Yes, that's another thing...." Clare sounded stern again. "Once that accident happened, you should've told me about it immediately. I can't believe the lengths you went to to hide it!"

"I'm sorry, darling," Erin said contritely. She turned her head to look her lover in the eye. "I know you're right. I just panicked. I knew you would be furious with me."

"Not as angry as I was when I realized you attempted to fool me!"

Erin winced. "It won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't. And just to emphasize that point...." She rested her palm against the center of Erin's still red-hot bottom.

Erin groaned, but she didn't protest. She lowered her head back down and waited.

SWAT! "You will..."
SWAT! "not dare..."
SWAT! "to lie to me..."
SWAT! "like that..."
SWAT! "ever again!" SWAT!
"Is that clear?!" SWAT! SWAT!

The hairbrush whacks had been fast and stingy. The pain had built incrementally until the surface of her buttocks and thighs were blazingly sore. The strokes from Clare's palm, in contrast, were slow and thuddy. Each measured wallop drove Erin forward and jolted the breath from her body. It also, now that she knew Clare had forgiven her, contributed to a tremendous sense of relief.

And that relief, combined with the feel of her lover's palm against her skin and strong thighs under her, brought back the whisper of arousal which had disappeared earlier. The fire in her bottom was spreading to other nearby parts, and the pain was superceded by more pleasurable sensations. She moaned for an entirely different reason.

Clare heard the difference immediately and her brow rose. "Was that your answer?!??"

"No!" Erin gasped. "I'm sorry, I really am. It won't happen again. I swear!"

Clare cupped Erin's cheek gently as she considered that. "It had better not."

"It won't," Erin promised breathlessly. "And I'll make it up to you, honey."

"You will, eh? When, and how?"

"Right now," Erin's body arched as Clare continued to caress her achingly sensitive buttocks, "and...oh.....let me show you how?"

"Very well. You can leave your clothes there....you won't be needing them."

"No," Erin agreed, as she rose from Clare's lap, rubbing ruefully. She headed for the bedroom, knowing the sight of her flaming red bottom would have Clare following immediately in her wake. She passed Dash in the hall, and he watched them unblinkingly. He made to follow, but the door was shut gently in his face.

From past experience, he knew this meant they might not be out for hours. It was a good thing he'd been fed already, he reflected. His humans were really quite unreliable. Especially when they played their peculiar game of chase and pounce. It always ended with both of them yowling behind the closed door.

Ah well, it usually meant extra cuddles and snacks for him afterwards, for they were often both in very good moods. He settled down on the sofa to wait. And he began to lick himself....just because he could.

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