C is for Crying and Corner and not the Cane

C is for Crying 

DEAD DOVE Warning: Do NOT read if spankings, even consensual, are not your cup of tea.

Note: This is not your typical spanking story. Nick is a hesitant Top, guided by a more experienced bottom, Izzie.

“Nick, you bloody bastard, it hurts!” Izzie wiggles and moves away from the belt with every stroke but comes back like a clock. Yet something doesn’t add up.

“It’s supposed to hurt,” deadpans Nick. “Wait, what did you just say?” A flurry of painful strokes lands on her upper thighs, a well-known medicine for cursing.

“It fucking hurts!”

Another long flurry ensues. “Please continue with the cursing. Or shall we start over?” All the rehearsed buzzwords and phrases come out with ease. But, thank fuck, she cannot see his face, because Nick is on the verge of panic.

“Stop it!”

“Colour?” He knows better than to stop. The semaphore system is more for Nick than for Izzie. Green means, don’t you dare to stop spanking no matter what I say. Yellow means he can take a break to talk and then continue the spanking. Red or her safeword means something is really wrong, so, yes, full stop. Needless to say, the only answer he ever heard was green. No matter what.

“Yellow!”

Aghast, Nick chokes on half a sob. “Izzie, my love, what’s wrong?”

“It’s too fast and too much. I can’t let go like that. Not in this position.” Izzie is still bent over, knees on the couch, naked from the waist down. Her face, turned away from him, lies atop of the couch’s back. She spits out the words in a hurry. But all Nick sees is her pregnant belly, hanging there, presumably safe. And her wobbly knees.

“Do... do you want me to build a pillow fort?”

“No, I’m sorry, Nicky.” She sits back on her heels. “What if?” 

“Anything! What do you want to try?”

“Can you sit here on the edge?” 

Nick obliges without a clue what she has on her mind. Izzie scoots to the floor and stands to the right from Nick, staring down at his open knees. And now he gets it! He pulls her gently across, one bony knee wedged underneath her belly, the other right above it. Left arm curls around her waist to keep her in place. She fits, and she’s safe.

“I got you.” Nick rubs her back.

“I know you do, Nicky. Now, long and hard. Make me let go. Make me cry, please.”

C is for Corner 

I posted this limerick before, for all limericks go here. But since the A to Z challenge brings so many new readers, good things are worth repeating twice:

Corner time is a heavy affair
Sighs, regrets, pouts, hiccups to spare
With red bum on display
It's the price one must pay
For the pleasure of poking the bear

C is for not the Cane

On the scale of one to ten, the Cane is eleven. 

You can't be partial when it comes to the Cane. You either love it, hate it, dread it, or all of the above. Those who swear by it, still dread it. 

There is more love for the Cane across the pond due to its former use for corporal punishment.

Caning is considered an art. As any art form it requires plenty of practice.

Cane marks are universally admired, cherished, photographed, posted, and discussed at length. 

Those perfectly parallel crimson welts on someone's otherwise alabaster bottom and thighs cannot be mistaken with anything else. 

And that's all I have to say about Cane!

Now, caning tips from Ronnie of  Heart and Soul, read here. Ronnie doesn't cane, but her husband does. You can also buy them from her website.

C is also for Consent and Cock and another four letter C-word that shan't be mentioned, but seriously, I can't just write one paragraph about Consent!

Three letters down, 23 to go!