Rachel’s First Time (Hardwood Academy)

It’s not fair. That’s all I can think of. It’s bad enough that I was sent to this so-called “school”, now they expect me to wear a uniform and do homework like I’m still a fucking teenager… Pfft, even in my mind swearing makes me tense, like one of the so-called teachers in this place could hear me. They call it the “Hardwood Academy for Troubled Girls”. The Shitwood Shittydemy for Unfairly Treated Girls, more like.

I sigh. The bench is uncomfortable. I can’t believe I’m sitting by the Headmistress’ office, at 22 years of age, like some kind of schoolgirl. I tug on my ugly, scratchy skirt. I sigh again. Bloody uniform. I guess I am a schoolgirl at the minute… Still, it’s better than juvie, I guess. Barely… A reform school, the last chance at redemption, queue the strings and emotional music…

It’s not a fun place. It’s work, work, work, and you get in trouble for the slightest thing. They had me write “I must not smoke” a hundred times. By hand as well, like, have they never heard of copy and paste? Jokes aside, it’s pretty miserable. At least most of the other girls are all right. There’s even one teacher who’s got a nice ass, Mr Scott. He’s well boring, mind you, but he’s something to look at while the minutes go by. Slowly.

Still, it’s not fair. One, I shouldn’t even be there. Yes, I messed up, blah blah blah, driving without a license, blah-dee-blah, under the influence, yada-yada… Like they’ve never been young or something? There wasn’t even anyone in the car I hit. So yeah, I shouldn’t be here. In this… School, Academy, whatever.

But more importantly, I shouldn’t be here, waiting by the door to be called-in and scolded by that old bat, the Headmistress. Madame Dubois, they call her. She’s French or something. Don’t know, don’t care. She’s old, and she thinks she’s better than you, that’s what I know. She wears tight skirts and blouses, and peers at you from behind her frames, like an old owl. I haven’t had the pleasure of being called to her office yet, besides the introduction on the first day. They had my parents in as well; that was really uncalled for. I swear they were relieved to be rid of me for a few months. Rude. I haven’t had a party at home for months, I don’t know what they’re complaining about. Plus, if they want me to move out, in this economy, they can pay my rent. Boomers.

Anyway, I keep getting distracted. I didn’t do it. I didn’t bring the smokes in, I didn’t steal Nicole’s money or whatever, and I didn’t flood the toilets on the second floor. I’ve been here a week and I swear they’re just trying to pin stuff on me like it’s beasting season on Rachel’s bloody back. Oh yeah, I’m Rachel, by the way. Nice to meet you and all that, but please leave me alone, yeah? I’m not in the mood. I don’t know why I’m even here and it’s not f—

“Rachel?” comes the voice from inside. Sounds French. I don’t like it. I get up, nonetheless. Deep down, I know that if I behave, I’ll be out of here faster, so I might as well try, for now, and see what she wants.

I shuffle in, uncomfortable and stand in front of Madame Dubois’s desk. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I don’t think she’ll like me crossing my arms. Do I put them behind my back? I miss jeans and pockets. In the end, I just let my arms hang loosely and try not to think about it. I feel pathetic. She hasn’t said anything, and she’s already made me mad. This is going to be fun…

“Rachel, how long have you been with us?” she asks. I know that she knows, I wish she would get to the bloody point.

“A week,” I reply.

“A week ma’am,” she corrects me. Does she think she’s the Queen or something? R.I.P., by the way.

“A week, ma’am,” I repeat back like a frigging parrot.

“Better” she says with a smile that cracks her old wrinkly face. She’s like, ancient. Older than my mum, which isn’t saying much, really, she had me young. That’s probably why I’m so troubled, the bloody counsellor told me. Can you believe it? Bang out of order, that.

I say nothing. If she’s got something to say, she can just say it, I’m not here for a little tea party and a chinwag.

“A week,” she says again like I’m deaf or something. “And already your teachers have been reporting to me that your behaviour is causing trouble.”

“Who said that?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Does it matter?” she answers. I shrug.

“I haven’t done anything,” I say, and it’s true, I haven’t. Not really.

“Let’s see…” she says, opening a notebook. Not a computer file, no-no, a green notebook with a handwritten sticker on it. I swear these people hate technology. Everything is musty and old. Old classroom with tables and benches, blackboards and chalk, the whole shebang. I think I visited a school museum as a kid that had more modern equipment than that. Oh, and no phones allowed, of course. I guess they’re afraid that we’ll call for help to escape this hellhole.

She flips a few pages of dense handwriting. It looks alright, I guess. I do like calligraphy, it’s about the only fun thing they have us do. That and the showers after P.E., but I don’t think we’re supposed to do that the way that we do. Finally, she finds the page. It has my name at the top. There’s a lot of lines filled in. I feel a knot in my stomach. It can’t be all bad stuff, right.

“Well,” she says with a very dry smile, “it seems that every teacher had something to report, miss Bennet.”

Rachel Bennett, that’s me. My friends call me Rach. Don’t call me Rach, we’re not friends. I shrug again.

“Just getting used to the rules, I guess…” I say, “Ma’am,” I add.

She nods. Her finger goes down the list of things that I’ve supposedly done. She tuts and shakes her head slightly. I blush in spite of myself. She seems genuinely disappointed, and for some reason, I seem to care. Bloody nonsense. I shuffle on my feet.

“Have the other girls told you about how we deal with behaviour here, miss Bennett?” she asks, her gaze fixing me. Kind of intense, the old lady. I swallow.

“I’ve… heard… things…” I say, unsure. It’s true, I have heard things, but it’s mostly been stuff that’s been made up to wind me up. Like, I know they’re old school, but they’re not that backwards.

“What sort of things?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I… Some of the girls say that you still do, like, corporal punishment and stuff…” I say, “I can give you their names, if you want, like, they’re spreading rumours…”

“Rumours are unfounded pieces of information, my dear,” Madame Dubois says, “And this is anything but. Corporal punishment is a fundamental part of our process here at Hardwood Academy. It’s written there, in your agreement, the one that you signed.”

I scratch my hand uncomfortably. Yeah, I did sign that thing, it was better than jail, but did I read it? Did I read it bollocks. Still, I would have remembered something about getting my ass spanked in there. Right, there was this girl the other night, Helena, who was crying, and Nicole told me that it was because she had been spanked, yeah? But I didn’t believe her, of course, because that’s ridiculous. I did notice she didn’t shower with us the next day, but that must have been unrelated, right?…

Right?

“Anything to say, Rachel?” the old bat asks.

“No ma’am,” I say, “I’ve done nothing, like I told you.”

“Rude comments to Mr O’Leary, drawing a penis in your book in Mrs Schwartz’s class, hiding your classmate’s underwear in P.E., caught smoking by Mr Lewis,” she enumerates, “Need I go on?”

All right, there were a few things. The schlong was funny, though, it had veins and everything. Haley found it hilarious, that why Mrs Schwartz saw it. I try not to smile at the memory. I fail.

“Oh, you think this is funny, do you, young lady?” she says, the tip of her fingers on her desk.

“N-no…” I say. She might be ancient, but there’s something scary about her, I don’t know what it is. She glares, and a shiver runs up my spine. “I’m sorry, ma’am…” I say a sincerely as I can, which is not much. I shouldn’t be here, and if I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t be drawing dicks and hiding Molly’s fugly knickers. She’s got a fat ass anyway, Molly. I don’t like Molly.

“Well,” Madame Dubois says, “I think that once you understand exactly how things are done here, your behaviour is bound to improve dramatically.”

The knot in my stomach tightens as she drags a chair from behind her desk.

“Please, ma’am…” I say, “Just… like, give me a chance. I’ll earn it back, okay? There’s really no need for…” I can’t even say it. I’m not getting spanked. I’m 22, not 12, and even then, my mum never did. I wonder what the counsellor would think of that. Wanker.

“Harwood Academy is your chance, Rachel,” she says, and sits down. She can dream on; I’m not going to go over her lap. I’m not.

“You, like all the girls here, have got an opportunity to seize,” she continues, “and it is my duty, as is the duty of every other teacher here, to make sure that you do. We all want you to succeed, Rachel, and if that means punishing you when you go astray then, well, we’ll do it.”

She’s got a point, it’s pretty much my last chance before things get bad bad. Still. No way.

“I-I don’t think there’s any need for… This…” I say, still unable to say it.

“A spanking,” she says, looking at me past her glasses. It sounds weird in her accent. “You are going to come over my knees and get spanked over your skirt. Then, I’ll lift that skirt, and your knickers will go down. A bare-bottom spanking, young lady. That’s what’s going to happen.”

She doesn’t smile, but I swear that there is a glint in her eyes. She’s loving this, isn’t she? Perverted old lady…

“And if I refuse?” I say. I wish I could sound more confident.

“Then all that you’ll achieve is making the punishment harder, my dear.” Now she’s smiling. “I haven’t used the cane in a long time, but rest assured it is ready.”

I shake my head “N-no, not the cane…” I stutter. I’m embarrassing myself.

“Then over my lap, young lady,” she says sternly.

“No…” I say, unable to argue further.

“One condition of your remaining here in our care is that you abide by the rules that you signed. If not, I’m afraid there is only one way out… And even if you think this place is not to your taste, let me tell you that His Majesty’s Prisons are a lot less… Refined.”

That’s low. Straight to the prison threats. It’s also pretty effective. I take a step towards her. She says nothing, like she knows what’s going through my head at the moment. Okay. I messed up. It’s been a week and I didn’t really try to keep a low-profile. Maybe she cares. Maybe. She’s not even mad. She’s not yelling. It’s bloody awful. At least with my dad, I knew where I stood. When the door slams, you know, you know? But she’s just calm, she’s just telling me that’s she’s going to spank my naked arse like it’s nothing…

I take another step. I disgust myself. I should run away from this bloody office, and that smug French woman. But I don’t. I take one more step. She’s still saying nothing. I suddenly notice she has a ruler in one hand. Bloody brilliant… I stand two steps away from her.

“I’m sorry,” I say. She nods.

“Do you want to tell me why?” she asks. I chew on my lip.

“For not trying very hard…” I finally say. I leave it at that. There’s no need to go through the whole list, is there? She doesn’t care about the list. Well, she might care, I don’t know, but I don’t. I don’t think it’s what I did that’s getting me the… spanking. It’s that I’m not making any progress, or any change at all. Shit. I feel… bad about it.

“Do you want to try harder?” she asks, and her voice seems surprisingly soft. I feel tears coming to my eyes. I nod and sniffle. I shuffle two steps forward and lower myself over her knees. That seems to answer her question.

Her hand pats my skirt a few times as a adjust my position over her lap, then she holds my hip firmly and slams her palm into my ass. I let out a cry of surprise and tears start running down my face. It’s not the pain, though the following quick succession of slaps make my bum warm-up in no time. No, it’s not the pain but the sudden realisation that makes me cry. It’s that for the first time, I realise that I’m really in trouble; I fucked up badly and it’s taken me this long to realise it. Not when the police got drunk old me out of the car. Not when I saw the judge, not even when my dad started yelling at my mum because of me. I shrugged it all off back then. But look at me now? How low do you have to get to find yourself over an old woman’s knees, getting your bottom battered? She keeps spanking me, and the tears keep coming.

I fucked up. Badly.

Soon, my skirt comes up, and I don’t even think about the embarrassment of it. I don’t think I have any more shame left to wallow in. Her hand feels cold against my warmed-up cheeks, even with my pants still on. I know it won’t last, and that she’s not even nearly done with me. The pain is brutal, radiating from my bottom upwards. My eyes hurt as well, my whole face is burning in wet embarrassment. This whole time, she hasn’t said anything. Does she know what I’m thinking?

I suddenly realise that the slaps have stopped echoing around the wood-panelled office. I sniffle and turn my head round to look up at Madame Dubois.

“Are we learning something, miss Bennett?” she asks.

I noddle and try to wipe my nose. I feel like a year 7. “Yes ma’am…” I say between the tears.

“You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you?”

I nod again and clench my buttocks in anticipation.

“Y-you’re going to… take my pants down…” I say. I can’t believe it. Rachel, how have you let it go this far?

“I am,” she confirms, “And I will spank you with the ruler.”

“Oh ma’am… Please…” That’s all the protest I can muster. My ass is already on fire, and that was just a warm-up to her.

“A bare-bottomed spanking, young lady, that’s how it’s done. And that’s how it will be done any time that you need to be reminded to keep your behaviour to the straight and narrow.”

“Please…” I try again, knowing full well that it won’t change a thing. She doesn’t even reply, and I feel her fingers grabbing the elastic band of my knickers and pulling them down to my thighs. The tears roll down my cheeks once more. She takes the ruler that was resting over the small of my back in her hand.

The pain is like nothing I’ve felt before. It’s like fire raining down on my bottom every time the wooden ruler smacks it, and it does so hard and quickly. Right, left, right, left, Madame Dubois is relentless and systematic. Soon, there isn’t an inch of my round cheeks that isn’t marked and painful. She continues. I’ve long since abandoned any pretence of dignity, and I’m bawling like a baby, promising to whomever is listening that I’ll be good, that I’ll try hard.

And I do mean it. For one, I never want to be over her lap again, it hurts so much I know I won’t be able to sit for the next ten years. I know why Helena didn’t come to shower that night; these marks are going to be there a while. And it burns. I never want to feel so much pain again. I bet that childbirth is nothing compared to this. I cry all the tears I have left.

But I do mean it because I want to try. I owe it to myself. It’s my last chance to make a choice for myself. I need to— fuuuuuuck, she hits my thighs with that damn ruler, and I bellow in pain. I hate her. So much. But I stay over her lap and take it. She does it again, and again. I take the pain. I’ll do better.

No matter what, I’m never getting spanked again. I swear. Never.

At least not for a month.

A girl’s gotta start somewhere.

Her Boss’ Mistress

Janet checked the clasp of her garter-belt’s strap one last time. She wanted everything to look good for Him. No, not good, perfect. She pulled on the strap and let it snap against her thigh with a satisfying clack. A delicious shiver ran up her spine at the thought of His eyes running up and down her long legs clad in their dark stockings, of His gaze admiring her lacy corset and the smoky make-up look that she had spent an hour perfecting. She imagined His hands caressing the small of her back, tracing lines across her legs, the nape of her neck. She dreamt of His lips kissing her neck, her chest, and of His teeth biting her lips, teasing her with promises of pleasures to come.

She checked herself in the mirror one last time. Getting dressed in the office’s bathroom was not the most ideal of situations, but when you were having an affair with your boss, some sacrifices had to be made. Besides, He treated her really well, and that was not just the mind-bending sex. What could she say? A man who knew what he was doing was worth all the trouble, the secrets, the lies… And the fact that she found herself in a company bathroom at eleven at night wearing a rather naughty lingerie ensemble. She smacked her lips after applying a last touch of red to them. She was ready for Him.

Her heels click-clacking on the floor, she made her way to her boss’ office. The workspaces around her were dark, save the glow of a few computer screens that had not been turned off. Through the large windows beyond, she could see the lights of the skyscrapers of the city below. With a frisson of naughtiness, she wondered if a late-night worker in another building would catch a glimpse of her hips swaying in her skimpy outfit. Smothering a giggle, she placed her hand on the doorknob and knocked softly. She opened the door.

The office was dark. He did like the theatricality of it. It was part of His charm, really. He would always make her feel like every part of their secret time together was lifted from the pages of a book. Every minute an adventure, and she always loved the endings. The thought made her smile. The lights suddenly turned on, and she smiled broadly, her hand shooting to cover her eyes.

“Ooh!” she purred, “You surprised m—”

She cut herself short when she saw that the person sat behind the large oak desk was not her boss at all. It was…

“Sally? W-what are you doing here?” she asked, an arm covering the ample bosom that her corset flattered. The attempt at modesty was somewhat defeated by the rest of the outfit, frilly panties and all, but her mind was busy racing to find anything to say, and trying to understand why Sally, her boss’ personal assistant, was sitting there instead of Him.

“Hello, Janet,” Sally said, with venom in her voice as she spoke her name. “I was hoping to have a chat with you…”

“A… chat?” Janet asked, troubled by the other woman’s commanding tone. She was nothing like the demure, discreet assistant that she was used to seeing during the day.

“Yes… A chat. You seem surprised to see me here? Maybe you were expecting someone else?”

“I think you already know…” Janet answered, blushing. Her secrets didn’t seem so well guarded after all…

Sally got up from behind the desk and walked to her. With a smirk, she looked up and down the embarrassed younger woman.

“Yes. I’m afraid Jim won’t be coming… He has a dinner tonight,” Sally said after an uncomfortably long silence.

“D-does he?” Janet stuttered.

“Yes, he does… With his wife.”

Janet said nothing. Right. Think, what could Sally want? Money? She wasn’t particularly rich, but He had made her gifts that she could sell for good money. Maybe Sally would stay quiet for that pair of diamond earrings that He had gotten her last time. Think, think! She needed to stall for time.

“Did… did she send you?” she asked, “Does she know about… this?” she pointed to herself and to her outfit as she said the last word.

“What?” Sally scoffed, “That stupid frigid hag doesn’t know anything, nor does she care, really.”

Janet gasped, and Sally went on: “As long as he keeps her bank account well cushioned, I don’t think she gives a damn what he does, really. Or who.”

“But then… What’s all this? Why are you here? And… What do you want?”

Sally came closer, glaring. She frowned and cusped Janet’s chin between two fingers.

“Jim is mine,” she hissed, “and he has been mine for much longer than you have even worked here.”

“Wh-what?!” Janet said, blushing at her other woman’s touch.

“I’ve been his mistress for years and I’m not about to let him ruin everything for some bimbo who thinks dressing like that is what he likes!”

Janet was too stunned to speak. Sally? Sweet, boring, in-the-background Sally? She couldn’t imagine Him with her, no. No. That was a lie, it had to be! Janet had been seeing Him for over a month, she would have noticed something, she…

“I won’t let you have him,” Sally said again, “and I’m going to teach you a lesson…”

Without another word, her hand flew to Janet’s ear, and she was dragging her towards the desk. With cries of pain, Janet followed.

“Stop! What are you doing!” she moaned, to no avail.

“I’ll show you what little sluts like you deserve…” Sally muttered through gritted teeth. Sitting down in His chair, she forced the younger girl over her knees.

“You can’t be serious!” Janet protested, incredulous, “who do you think you—”

The first slap landing on her ample bottom broke her train of thought. It hurt! She kicked her legs and tried to get off, but Sally was surprisingly strong, and, peppering her bottom with one hand, she held her firmly with the other. Within seconds, the pain seemed to spread, and Sally was not stopping.

“You can’t do this!” Janet cried out, somewhat unconvincingly. Her eyes were tearing up as her bottom was warming, and she tried to cover it with her hand. Scoffing, Sally pushed it away, and it only made her spank harder. The panties, as nice as they were, offered little protection against the ire of the scorned woman.

“Jim deserves the best,” Sally said, “and I always make sure he gets it…”

“Well, then,” Janet said defiantly, “then you should let him have me, rather than having to deal with your saggy tits…”

Silence. The slaps stopped as both Sally and Janet fell silent. The latter couldn’t believe that she had just said that. The former stunned into apoplexy that this girl, this airhead, this slut would dare talk to her like that.

“You did NOT just say that,” she roared, and grabbed Janet’s panties to lower them down to her thighs. “I’ll show you just what you deserve…”

The slaps fell fast and hard, as did the scolding, the belittling, the insults. Clearly, Janet had unknowingly struck a nerve. Unfortunately for her, she was in too much pain to appreciate it. Her bottom was burning, her sit spots were on fire, and Sally was not stopping. Tears were now running down Janet’s face, and she didn’t know how this was all going to end.

“Please…” she begged between two sobs, “I’ll do whatever you want…”

“You won’t see Jim again?” Sally asked, holding her hand up menacingly.

“Well, I…” Janet hesitated. Sally hand slapped her offered bottom once again.

“Shouldn’t He get to decide?” Janet sobbed, “Why did He get with me in the first place, huh?”

“He…” Sally hesitated, “He can be like that, sometimes… He gets distracted…”

Janet waited for the slaps to come. The silence stretched. Taking deep breaths to try and calm the raging fire in her behind, she asked:

“Has… Has this happened before? I mean, am I the first one that—”

“No.” Sally cut her, bitterly. “No, you’re not the first… mistake… that he made. I had to… Correct some other girls’ silly ideas… Like I said, he gets distracted…”

She fell silent once more. Janet didn’t dare move to soothe her blistered behind, for fear that the other woman would start spanking her again.

“But…” Sally began, “He always comes back to me…”

Janet could hear the hurt in that voice, the slightest twitch of regret. Her hatred of the other woman seemed to fly away in that instant.

“Oh, Sally…” she said, moving to get up. The older woman said nothing and didn’t stop her. Janet stood up in front of her tormentor, her hands unconsciously flying to clutch her bruised bottom. She winced, then looked at Sally. Tears were running down her face as well.

“Oh, Sally…” Janet said again, and against all instincts, she took the woman in her arms.

“Sally, you deserve so much better…”

“I don’t want better,” Sally sobbed, “I want him.”

***

In the end, it turned out that when both women brought proof of what Jim had been doing for all these years, his wife did actually care about it very much. Far form the stupid, pampered bimbo that Janet had imagined from Sally’s description, his wife had been generous and empathetic. Most importantly, she had gotten mad at him rather than at the other women. As the high-profile divorce made headline for months, all three women found themselves forming an unexpected friendship, and saw each other often long after.

More surprisingly still, Janet found herself over Sally’s lap again, numerous times. That night in the office had opened doors in her that she hadn’t known existed, and she had been eager to cross that threshold again, but with a friend, a lover, that time. Sally, it turned out, had been just as eager.

Gaëlle P.

Words of wisdom… And a picture to celebrate the many benefits that friendship can bring 😉

On a more personal note, it’s always fun to work with people to commemorate special times in their life, or to surprise a friend/partner with some naughty fun ^^

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

Remember, what happens in Supermac’s stays in Supermac’s!

Have a good time, everyone, and enjoy the craic (and the buttcraic, in this case!)

Is breá liom sibh go léir!

Asking for it

I’m not saying that she was asking for it, but as I closed the door to our tiny apartment, she was lying over the back of the sofa, her tight skirt-clad bottom gently swaying up in the air, enticing me, beckoning me over. Next to her, precariously balanced on the back of the sofa was a hairbrush, a silicon spatula and a belt, waiting for me. From the tightness of her skirt, I could see that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. She didn’t say a word and shook her bottom a little more, as if a taunt.

Not one to go against her wishes, I uncuffed my shirt and rolled up its sleeves. I appreciate comfort, you see, and I didn’t want to give her a subpar performance. After all, she had gone through all that trouble to… lie around waiting for me, I guess. There probably were a hundred reasons for her to deserve a spanking, and, truthfully, I didn’t really need to know which one had brought that about right then and there.

Instead, I put the tip of my fingers in the small of her back, and felt her shiver. A small moan escaped from her lips, and I noticed that she was wearing a blindfold. One hand still on her back, the other slid across the skirt and cupped her round cheeks. She shook her bottom a little more, pushing it into my hand. I went down to her thighs and caressed them, seemingly at random, losing my hand between them. Her breathing was getting harder already, and she spread her legs a little.

Bending down, I laid a soft kiss on her right cheek, then immediately followed with a hard slap that pushed her hard against the back of our sofa. She cried out, but said nothing more. I spanked her left cheek just as hard, and she pressed herself against the sofa again. She raised her bottom up, tiptoeing in her heels, wordlessly begging for more. Being a gentleman, I obliged.

Slap after slap, she cried and moaned and heaved. At some point, her skirt had come up, revealing that I had indeed been right and that no underwear was to be found underneath it. Her pearly white cheeks had gone to pink, to red, to bright, deep crimson. I could see that her blindfold was getting wet, and that she was biting her lips not to cry harder. Between her thighs, the pearling wetness was an invitation and I couldn’t help but slide my fingers over it, caressing, probing, and teasing her. She pressed her legs shut and pushed her bottom out. Clearly, it wasn’t time for that yet. I grabbed the hairbrush.

Later, finally satisfied, she ripped the blindfold off, panting. On trembling legs, she got up. Without looking at me, she started walking towards our bedroom. Then, looking back over her shoulders and with her tongue licking her lips, she asked:

“Well? Is that all you’ve got?”

Happy Valentine’s

If I take you over my knee
And punish you mercilessly
Will you be mine?
Will you be mine?

If I spank you with hand and brush
And make both pairs of your cheeks blush
Will you be mine?
Will you be mine?

If I cane your trembling bottom
The colour of leaves in autumn
Will you be mine?
Will you be mine?

If I promise I’ll make you cry
While telling you exactly why
Will you be mine?
Will you be mine?

If I promise to hold you tight
And hold you close throughout the night
Will you be mine, will you opine?
Love, will you be my Valentine?