A Strawberry Incident (Fun Summer Fiction)

[sarah thorne]

We have a tradition every year. It's the Strawberry Festival at Huber's Farm in Starlight, Indiana. For weeks after, we eat nothing but strawberries; strawberry pie, strawberry shakes, strawberry shortcake...you name it, if you can use strawberries in it, we make it. I love strawberries, they're my favorite fruit, so I always make sure we don't miss it. There's absolutely nothing like crawling around on the ground in the middle of a strawberry field, mid summer, eating berries right off of the plant. Now some may think that's dirty, but warm strawberries are not so bad.

Of course, there are other fun things to do that make it well worth the two-hour drive. Homemade cider, caramel apples, hay rides, even blackberry picking as well, something I always try to do while we're there, if time allows. Everything is fresh, right from that farm. The family restaurant serves the juiciest, freshest chicken that I am sure is chased directly into the kitchen from the farm itself for the meal. It's a wonderful way to spend a summer day.

This time when we went, however, it meant that he had to miss some must-see event on ESPN. I guess it was ESPN, as that is where the tv stays locked non-stop. He was just a teeny bit grumpy. Not too bad, but it was just some place he preferred not to be. He didn't see the point in crawling in the dirt like snakes, picking strawberries when we could simply go to the produce section in the grocery store and buy them. (Me, I don't see the point in vegging out in front of the TV watching cars go around in circles or men bounce a ball up and down a court.) He had already threatened to spank me for causing him to miss his show.

It was quite a warm day. He grumbled about that and how he wanted to be in the comfortable air conditioning. I told him we could go to Huber's Family Restaurant (quite the pretty penny) afterward for dinner, cool off and eat. He complained there'd be a long wait, which is usually true. As I crawled, inspecting berries and tossing the very big, nice looking ones in my box, he crawled behind me, grumbling about the lack of worthy berries to pick.

"It's because I've already picked where you're looking," I told him, deciding silently to leave a few good ones behind for him, as I would a child. "Why don't you find a spot all your own?"

"And miss the view?" He gave a firm smack to my shorts, the first real lighthearted thing he'd done all day. He crawled up, leaned over my body and said in my ear, "You're getting more of that later for dragging me out in this sweltering heat, except your shorts will be off."

I laughed and bumped him with my bottom. He almost toppled, which caused me to laugh again, but he didn't find it amusing.

After I had a full box compared to his lack of one (he ditched it), we waited for the tractor to come back to the field to pick us and others up, take us back to the farm to weigh our strawberries and pay. He mumbled something about finally being able to leave but I just smiled at him and said, "Blackberries are next, honey. Besides, don't you want a caramel apple?" I did! They always had the best apples I had ever tasted.

"No," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Damn, it's hot."

"You shouldn't have worn jeans," I teased and he gave my bottom a good swat.

I reached back with one hand, balancing the box with the other. "Whaaaaat? Well! You shouldn't have!"

The tractor pulled up and we climbed on to the large trailer and I sat down on the bench first, my box in my lap. I swear, I don't know what made me do it (must be the brat in me the ties up the angel every now and then), but just as he was starting to sit next to me I took my box of strawberries and quickly sat it down mere seconds before his butt plopped on top of it. Yes, the surprised look on his face was worth the sacrifice of my carefully picked plump strawberries. Immediately that surprised look turned into a dark look of doom, the look that says 'you are in so much trouble' without a word spoken. Boy, did he look ticked, but I had to laugh! I laughed and laughed as he stood and removed the box, handed it to me then got off of the trailer, showing off the red, seedy juice still dripping off the back of his pants.

"Come on, sarah," he said sweetly, for everyone else’s benefit, not mine. I was not fooled by his sweet tone. "Let's walk back."

"But I don't want to walk back," I said coyly. I wasn't stupid. I knew, oh yes, I knew.

He tugged my arm and reluctantly, amid the curious and amused attentions of the other people on the trailer, I hopped off the back with my now smashed berries. Soon after we started to walk away from the tractor, it pulled away. I trailed behind him slowly, noticing that he was walking toward a thicket of trees rather than back to the farm. I followed even slower. When I got a good look at his red rear, I laughed out loud again.

"Your butt's red," I laughed. He took my elbow and nodded, walking faster.

"And yours will soon be," he said and I stopped laughing instantly.

"What?"

"Oh yes, sarahbaby," he told me. "And then we'll both be red back there, won't we? Better not complain or I'll give your thighs much attention so that everyone can see from below your shorts exactly what happened to you."

Well, of course I began to sputter apologies, in between seriousness and giggling, which I think only furthered his determination. We walked a little past the trees until he found a stump and sat down. We were far enough away from the field that we were safe from being heard, but that didn't decrease my nervousness. He took the box out of my hands and laid it on the ground and, without a word, upended me over his lap, pulled down my shorts and panties and began to spank. No warm up, no light paced spanks first. No, he was spanking quite firmly from the beginning. It was not long at all before I began to struggle and gasp apologies. He said nothing, only spanked. I kicked. I wiggled. It burned.

"You think it's funny now?" he asked and he sounded amused, actually. I wasn't amused at all. Talk about not being able to take a joke! Hand rising, coming down, the smacks deafening, at least to me, heat rising. Oh man, was it rising.

"N-no," I managed, thinking to myself ow, ow, ow, ow, ow…..

He stopped, rubbed and I thought he was done. Little did I know he was simply surveying his handiwork.

"Nope," I heard him say. "Not nearly as red as a strawberry." And he began once more, even harder.

"Stop! It was a joke!" I cried. "Don't make my butt that red! It hurts so much already!"

"Yes," he agreed, never missing the rhythm he had going. I almost thought I heard him humming and spanking to the tune of 'Strawberry Fields Forever', but it could have been my imagination. "And we've got a long trip home, sweety. Gotta make sure you're nice and comfortable." Smack! Smack! Smack!

Oh my gosh, he was right! I hadn't thought about that! It only served to renew my vigorous struggling. I was seriously starting to regret picking only the juiciest, reddest ripe strawberries I could find. Funny, I wasn't regretting putting the box under his butt. I chuckled again at the recollection of the look on his face, then emitted an "Ow!Ow!Ow!" as he smacked a thigh.

"You're still amused?" he asked, slapping the already tender area where bottom meets thigh, five times, then the other side, then back for the same. In my limited ability to think and speak, I spluttered an answer, “yes...I mean, no, no....please! The ride back is two hours!"

"Yes, there will be one squirming young lady in the car on the way back," he answered, his hand finally giving that one spot relief only to target my buns once more, starting at the bottom of one cheek, moving up, then the other, moving down, then back again for the same. It's funny what I remember despite the fire in my fanny, from being so close to the ground. Ants marching, red ants, of all things and I wondered if their little ant brains had any kind of a concept of what was going on above their little world. Which led me to wonder what the more intelligent animals in the trees, or bushes, who may be spying this odd human scene, may think about such, or even IF they thought anything of it. It did help just a tad to keep my mind off the growing flame on my backside. Not an easy thing to do.

I thought he'd never stop, but finally he did. Oh, how my poor tush burned! I just lay there, out of breath from twisting and struggling over his lap for a moment.

"Well!" he said finally, giving my red-hot cheeks a few pats. OW! That hurt! "Come on, baby. Ready to get some dinner?"

Gingerly, I peeled myself off of his lap, glaring at him while carefully pulling up my panties then my shorts over my oh-so-sore-bottom as he looked on in amusement. Our moods had shifted. He was humored. I was annoyed.

We ended up catching the tractor again and sitting on that hard bench. Every bump sent me into agony. He laughed while I gasped after hitting a particularly large bump. We weighed the box of smashed strawberries, paid, and then tossed them. I was no longer craving caramel apples or fresh cider, just ice for my butt to sit on on the way home. He walks faster than I anyhow but he had to walk even slower than normal to allow me to catch up, as even walking was near painful. I was not looking forward to the two-hour drive back home.

To top it off, when we got to the car, he tossed me the keys with a very wicked grin, "Here honey..you drive."