I crossed the street. Rang the doorbell. Mrs Olsen opened the door in her bathrobe. I entered she had little choice but to step back as I towered over her 5' petite body. I walked in and found her son laughing to his mate on the phone about fucking the hot bitch next door. Well I punched him in the gut and then bent him over the table as spanked his ass soundly. His mother watched silently. When I finally calmed down, my hand was sore, he was crying like a little bitch. I turned to his mother. "Some discipline is needed in this house" I shouted. "Get your butt over here Mrs Olsen " I ordered. She was stunned but obeyed. She removed the silk bathrobe revealing her small perky breasts and the auburn trimmed pubic hair above her nice slit. Her milky white skin and emerald green eyes giving me a hard on. "Bend over my lap" I instructed. I watched as she came to my left then bent over my lap. "Now count each smack Mrs Olsen" I used my left hand to spank her ass cheeks" she was crying after. Now, I was just losing my mind in a large lonely house, unable to type a sentence. And if I left the house, I had people everywhere asking me how it was fucking coming. None of them wanted to hear that I had gotten as far as goddamn ‘The’. So I stayed locked away, growing a beard that would have looked right on a motorcycle gang’s meanest member. Never write a fucking novel. Chapter 2 So I’m sitting and ‘writing’ at my computer, watching the slush that they call snow here fall, when I heard the doorbell ring. Nobody rings my fucking doorbell. At least not since I ran my last agent off with a golf club. Especially not on Christmas. When I opened the door, golf club in hand, all I found was a very wet, very cold girl standing in a soaked dress and pulling a small rolling suitcase. ‘Can I come in?’ She asked, except when she did it her teeth were chattering. I, because I am and will always remain a dumb son of a bitch, stood in the doorway staring at her for at least fifteen seconds.
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