“It’s the Jews, stupid!” she yelled. Hipster winced. Here it comes, he thought.
An uncomfortable silence fell on the party guests, the silence only broken by someone coughing the back of the room. She was obviously three sheets to the wind at this point. Why did she always do this to him? Everyone was having such a good time and she was just determined to spoil it.
“Pipe down! You’re embarrassing us,” he whispered in her ear. “There’s a time and place, ok?”
“It’s the yids I’m telling you! Name the Jew! Die Juden!” She smirked, a self-satisfied kind of grin. She was enjoying this, no doubt. She moved forward ready to stand up, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Stop it, you’re just being rude,” Hipster said in a low but firm tone. “This isn’t helping.”
She snorted. “Hurumph! Over at Daily Stormer they name Die Juden all the time, and they have plenty of traffic! What are you, chicken?”
Hipster glared at her. Why did she always have to do this? She just was one of those women, she loved mouthing off. Oh she could be funny – hysterical at times – but she just didn’t know when to quit. She was petulantly looking around the room, with an utterly self-satisfied look on her face. Hipster looked over at Rob, the host. He was obviously growing impatient.
Rob spoke up. “You know what I meant. I invited Chaim because he’s sympathetic. He’s not a banker, he’s just a friend, ok? We’re not going to elect him President of the club or anything.” His face was a bit red and you could tell she was getting to him. “Oh god,” Hipster thought, putting his hand over his face in embarrassment. “We’ll never be invited back now.”
She was slurring her speech now. “Jew Jew Jew, Jew Jew Jew, Jew-be-jew-be jew jew jew! Ha!” She snorted.
“Alright, that’s enough young lady,” Hipster said sternly. “You’ve had enough. No, don’t finish the wine. Have some water.”
She pouted. A wicked gleam in her eye, she leaned in and said, purposefully loud enough that everyone could hear, “well I wonder if Chaim knows what you said about him.” Turning around, she started, “Hipster said that Chaim -”
Hipster cut her off. “That’s enough Missy. Stop right now. Otherwise I’m taking you home.”
Her eyes half closed she gave him a big, gaudy smile, then stuck out her tongue. “Pbbbt!”
“Alright, that’s it. You asked for it.” Hipster turned to Rob, “I’m sorry, I’ll take her home. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“It’s ok,” Rob said, clearly not ok. “I get it.”
She started humming a little tune, loudly, clearly proud of herself. She had likely sneaked a fourth glass of wine when he wasn’t looking.
Hipster stood up, grabbed her arm and pulled her up from her seat. “Let’s go, missy. Party’s over. We’re going home.” She opened her mouth starting to protest, but he squeezed her arm, hard. “Ouch! Don’t!” she protested.
“Enough!” Hipster said, “let’s go. Now.” Leading her by the arm, he shuffled her out of the room, smiled embarrassingly at various guests while trying to avoid eye contact. She was stumbling along, barely able to walk on her heels now. “Hey, slow down!” she whined. “Hush,” he said, “Quiet. Let’s go.” He pulled her out the exit and walked her towards to car.
When they arrived, she walked around towards the passenger door, but then stopped, turned around and leaned back against the car. She flashed him her naughty look, and puckered her lips and closed her eyes.
“Really?” Hipster blurted out, with a bit more anger than he meant. “Now you’re all lovey-dovey? I don’t think so, ma’am. That’s not how this works.” He grabbed the back of her hair. “Oww! Stop it!” she cried out. Gripping her hair tightly close to her scalp, he led her to the back of the car, and pushed her face down over the back of the trunk. Too drunk to keep her balance, she fell forward, splayed out across the trunk. “No,” she whined. “I’m sorry. I want to go back in.”
“No,” he said, firmly. “No more chances. Now you’re going to get it. Don’t move.”
Having trouble keeping her balance, her foot twisted and the heel of her left shoe broke. “Shit! My favorite heels!” She started to try to raise herself, but he gently but firmly pushed her back down. “Be still, I mean it,” he said, “Don’t move.”
She sighed, closed her eyes, looking like she was about to doze off anyway.
Gripping her firmly by the back of the neck, he raised his open palm and let loose. Smack! Smack!
“Ooow! Stop it!” She wiggled a bit, barely able to maintain her balance on her feet. “I’m sorry.”
He did it again, twice. Smack! Smack!
She barely made a sound. “Are you sorry for embarrassing me? Are you sorry for pissing off Rob?”
She turned her head back as far as she could, and sarcastically, mockingly said, “oh yeah, I’m so so sorry.” She snorted.
It just made him more pissed off. “Ok, fine, that’s how it is. You asked for it.” Still gripping her by the back of the hair and firmly holding her against the trunk, he used his other hand to unbuckle his belt, awkwardly folding it in with one hand, and pulled his arm back.
A shiver went through her body, she inhaled quickly. “Uh,” she said more seriously, “I’m sorry, I …”
When the folded leather hit her backside, hard, it made a loud snapping sound, and he could feel her whole body jerk. “Ahh!” she wailed, “I’m sorry! Don’t!” She started wiggling trying to slip her body to the side.
“Still! Don’t move,” he said, menacingly. He pulled back his arm again and snapped the belt against her butt again, even harder this time.
“Ow ow ow I’m sorry no, no stop!”