Perception (a punishment spanking)

 

Dead Dove Warning: Pregnant Izzie gets a punishment spanking.

My dear readers, it's been a while since I posted a spanking story. If you can get past the premise, you are in for a treat, I promise. 

Also posted to Saturday Spankings Blog, linked here

Nick positions her in front of the couch arm. "Shorts and knickers off."

"Do it yourself," Izzie growls back.

"I didn't hear you, try again?" It's not the raised eyebrow, not his hands on the hips, not the way he looms over her, all six-foot-three of a menacing presence, but the disappointed look on his face that sharply knocks her down a peg.

"Yes, sir," she responds in a quick whisper.

"Too late." And he does it himself. The shorts and knickers fall on the ground, and she swiftly steps out of them.

The massage block

And then he brings out the New Toy, the pregnancy massage cushion, more like a solid  block with a deep hollow for a belly, that the brochure called, a stomach recess, and two smaller ones for boobs. That "recess" was big enough for any pregnant belly, not just her puny watermelon.

When they got it a few days ago, Nick was thrilled, squealed with excitement. Finally, she was safe and sound in this body armour, best thing since the sliced bread.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, still staring at the thing.

"Oh, I'm thinking so many things, my head spins." She couldn’t get her eyes off it.

"No worries, I will always catch you," he grinned. He disappeared in the walk-in closet and shouted from there. "Where did you find it?"

"Google and Amazon, women's two best friends."

"I think you have another best friend." Nick pressed against her from behind. "That can't wait to get reacquainted with you."

Izzie’s hand reached back around his waist and jerked away when met with the soft fabric of Nick’s sweatpants. "It's not there," she exclaimed.

"What's not there?"

"Your belt, numpty."

"I meant my dick," Nick huffed, annoyed and unable to hide his disappointment.

"I meant your belt,” she scoffed. “Why did you change?"

"Because these are comfortable, to start with. Can we be somewhat vanilla for once and play with the new toy?"

Oh, the pleasure of lying down on your stomach again. He laid on top of her for the first time since Ibiza. Really, just laid there, skin to skin, happy.

Now it looks like a full body restraint that will hold her tight in place, locked and loaded. It's all about the perception, they say. One turn of events, and their happy place becomes the chamber of torture. Nick wedges a cushion under the leg end of the massage block to lift it up and level with the couch arm.

"Bend over, Iz," he pats on the couch.

 

Feet off the floor

He helps her to climb over and slide into place, locking her belly and boobs safely in the massage block. But her feet, her feet can't touch the floor anymore. She tries to stand on her tiptoes, looking for purchase, but Nick slides her forward and slaps her thighs hard. Her butt, not fully exposed, is still covered with the hem of his own t-shirt.

 

Hair tie

He puts a pillow under her head. Her hair spills over and cover her face. Like on a cue, the hair tie magically appears in his hand, and he ties her hair in a messy bun, careful not to pull.

"I need to see your face at all times."

"Didn't need the first time," she turns away from him, facing the couch.

"I was an idiot. Turn to me and stay that way." Hand on the back of her neck guides her head to turn his way. "Don't force me to hold you down, because I will."

 

Baby oil

Nick rushes to the bathroom again and brings a bottle of unscented baby oil. Not a game.

"Why?" she jerks off. "It will hurt more."

"I know. Let's speed the things up, shall we?" Finally, he peels back the t-shirt and generously spreads the oil all over her butt and thighs. All his preparations, so clinical, like ticking off the boxes. T minus five. T minus four. It's not a game. T minus three. When he leans over to kiss her temple and brush an escaped curl off her forehead, she starts crying.

"I'm so sorry, Nicky."

"Please don't call me that now."

"I'm so sorry, sir."

"What are you so sorry for?" his voice is shaking. Quiet, broken, like it's him who is about to get spanked, not her.

 

Hairbrush

Nick makes another trip to the bathroom and this time returns with her hairbrush.

"Not the brush," Izzie props on her hands, trying to get up, but the hand on the back of her neck promptly pushes her back.

"You don't get to choose today, unless you want to do it yourself. Do you want to do it yourself?" Nick squats by the couch to be face to face with her.

She vehemently shakes her head, refusing his suggestion. Never. She will take whatever it is, anything he will give her, just not to go back to spanking herself.

"Then it's up to me." A bare hand smack. "Remember?" Smack. "When, how, and for how long." Smack. She squints her eyes with every swat. Nick gets up on his feet and out of her sight. All business now, he switches to the hairbrush. The first few hesitant strokes, clearly too mild, just for him to gauge her reaction, they remind her of the horror of her self-spanking days, the time he caught her up in the bathroom. She squirms from the humiliation and hides her face in the pillow. He pauses and clears his throat, the hairbrush resting on her smarting butt. He waits until she turns his way. He waits by her side until she opens her eyes and looks at him. And that’s the last break that he has given her.

 

The Punishment

Nick picks up the pace and doubles the intensity. The baby oil indeed is doing the trick, it hurts so much more, and besides the first few blows, he didn't start slowly either. In no time her hands, buried under the pillow, dig into the fabric in a futile attempt to stay there and not to fly back to cover her flaming bottom. Uncomfortable enough with her feet off the floor, last thing she needs is her hands pinned down behind her back. Locked in the massage block, she cannot wiggle, so she kicks her feet even more than usual, but today Nick is giving her a few swats on her thighs for every kick.

It seems like it has been going on forever, the relentless fury of deafening, stinging, searing blows, every single one of them biting into her flesh, but probably it wasn't, probably it lasted mere minutes. Time moves differently during spankings.

He stops abruptly. No, she's not ready for this to be over. She did not beg for mercy and didn’t cry. She desperately wants to cry. He gingerly rubs her bum, for which she's grateful, and sinks into the couch next to her head. He strokes her hair in a complete silence. He's definitely not done, it's just a break. The pain settles in, it is everywhere. Her thighs burn like hell. Her butt burns like hell. He has never been so thorough before, covering every inch of her butt and her thighs. He never hit her thighs before. He always jokes that he enjoys her curling on his lap without squirming. But then, he has never punished her before either. Judging by the pain, she is already the brightest shade of pink, maybe a few bruises, where he pounded the same spot over and over again. She wouldn’t dare to lift her head to take a look, not with his hand still raking through her hair. She will not ask. She fell into a habit of speaking only if spoken to during the spankings, like any good girl should. It’s so nice to melt under his hand gently touching her hair, the same hand that just spanked her. She will not ask.

Any other person would think that it was all part of an evil plan, devised long in advance, but Izzie knows him better, Nick never planned to punish her, ever. All this came together, when she forced his hand, while he was walking through the house, he put all he knew together in action. To make the spanking humiliating (because a punishment should be humiliating), uncomfortable (nailed that), effective (he hates doing it), and above all, undeniably safe. To make it memorable and not in a good way, he said it out loud quite a few times already, to make sure that she remembers it long enough and well enough, they don't have to repeat it any time soon, or better ever again.

"We're not done yet. You know that, right?" he finally asks when her breathing slows down to normal. She nods with a tiny sigh of relief. "Colour?"

"Green."

"Good," he exhales. "That was the punishment part. Now, the lesson."

He rises on his feet and unbuckles his belt.