L is for Labels

Dear diary,

It's been four days since I saw Nick last time, still not a word. It looks ridiculously like ghosting, not sure if he is aware of the term. He doesn't seem like a person who would disappear from your life without saying goodbye. I should probably stop mentioning his name in this diary. I worked hard enough to keep my life private in this corner of the world. One word or one picture, and I can say goodbye to my peace and quiet.

No matter what will happen, I'm grateful for these two days. It felt so much longer, when in fact we had only two nights to ourselves. I was shocked how different he was from his public image. Don't get me wrong, Nick is a highly likable person, no matter what the circumstances are. But in the bedroom, he would shed his authoritative armour as fast as he shed his clothes. With me, he wanted to follow, not to lead. And I was comfortable telling him what I wanted.

I heard about powerful men turning submissive behind the closed door, a known trope. Seeing one in real life was an out of body experience. Nick adamantly preferred to kick back and enjoy the view. I probably went on top more times than in ten years with Aldous. This doesn't mean Nick was lazy in bed. No, he was the most generous lover, yummy cummies abound. I could see how he earned his nickname in college, Gentle Nick. With his head between one lucky girl's legs.

The only time I saw the other side of him was on the second night, in the pagoda at the beach. He pushed hard but, thankfully, backed out with grace, when he saw how vulnerable I was. I wasn't ready. I'm still not ready to hand over the reins. For me it would be five steps back, when in fact, in my ideal fantasy world, it will be ten steps forward. 

Oddly enough, in that awkward conversation we both mentioned giving and receiving, acknowledging the liquidity of power exchange. What really puts one on either side of the slash? It's not who puts what in where, and not who yields the leash, but the puppet and the puppeteer, even for a few hours at a time. 

It's not coincidental that Aldous avoided the use of labels like a plague, when it came to our relationship. I always defended him to others, a very few of those who knew bits and pieces, always insisted that our relationship was consensual. But looking back and analyzing, was it really? Aldous was a master of blurring the line, toeing the line. At the end the tables turned, the same words, camel's back, played in my head, when he disregarded my consent, plain and simple.

In the years after Aldous, I immersed myself in the vanilla world and vanilla relationships, with a rare exception of Uncle Ar and my hairbrush. And after a while, I became more selective in bruising my cervix department.

Could it be that there is a middle ground between the two worlds,  the vanilla one and the kink one? Is it possible to enjoy all the benefits of a vanilla relationship but kick it up a notch or two or a hundred when the mood strikes? To satisfy those pesky unexplainable needs? The same as one encounter with Uncle Ar, when clearly he was very much in control, driving the message home, but the message was articulated by yours truly. If I would dare to use any labels, does it make Uncle Ar a Service Dom? Or in Nick's case, a Pleasure Dom? 

Am I onto something? Isn't it what so many women want, someone to take over the control but in a perfectly prescribed way? Reign me in at my command! 

All hail Pleasure Doms! Damn labels… 

Happily Submit

Forgive and forget. Let go. Don't dwell. Don't recite all my wrongdoings till the cows come home. Don't blame all of our failures on me. Don't yell at me. Control yourself first. Own your mistakes. 

Lead. Take responsibility. Make me feel safe and secure. Protect me. Watch me. Don't let me go by myself after dark. Don't encourage harmful habits. 

Laugh with me. Read with me. Watch me dance. Leave silly notes for me. Cook with me. Share a meal not food. 

Don't put tomatoes in the fridge. Don't try to sneak a pair of black socks into the white laundry. Change that lightbulb without a gentle weekly reminder. 

Tell me, I got you. Call me a good girl. Take care of me like no one else before. 

Braid my hair. Pull me onto your lap. Hold me tight. Fall asleep with me. Kiss my forehead in the morning. Check on me. Don't let me drop. 

Look me in the eyes. Hold my chin to look into yours. Touch me for no reason. Pin me. 

Buy me an almond croissant once in a while but not too often. Make me presents that money cannot buy. 

Listen to me. Support me. Inspire me. Lift me up. Don't refer to anything I'm into as crap or bullshit. Believe in me. Cheer me up. Root for my success. Be proud of me. Cherish me. 

Accept me for who I am. 

Then, I will HAPPILY SUBMIT. 

PS Yes, it's so much easier to pour my heart out to complete strangers in hope that maybe, just maybe, my words, this instruction manual, will make a difference in someone else's life. 

PPS That’s Ralph Marvell and Samantha Woodley on the picture, and the still is from a Shadow Lane video (thank you, Erica, for identifying). A famous photo, popular in the community, mercilessly cropped by yours truly (unintentional pun) in order not to get nuked over one picture. No, I will not send you the original. What, you haven't seen enough red bottoms already?

Irrelevant, a spanking story

Izzie nudges the door open and tiptoes into the bedroom. But alas, a familiar voice, now unbearably curt and stern, calls her from the couch at the bottom of their bed. 

"Go pee first and come over here. Chop-chop." Working, always working, Nick quips without looking up from the laptop. He pats on what he called 'here', and the distinctive sound of his bare hand hitting the leather surface sends shivers down Izzie's spine. 

It's the New Toy, that's how they christened it. A huge massage block for pregnant women with three hollows for belly and tits, a lovely idea by itself, that allows her to lay down on her tummy, a forgotten pleasure, and to Nick to lay down on top of her, full weight and all, and fuck her brains out. But now, wedged against the armrest, it meant one thing only. And if that wasn't enough, the double-folded belt, laid right next to it, completed the picture.

"Don't you want to ask me how was my day?" Izzie chirps. 

"How my day was." Nick has to correct, a stickler to the proper grammar. A stickler to proper everything, and this conversation is only another proof. "I'm pretty much aware of how your day was, especially where you spent it." Nick unlatches his wary eyes from the screen and switches to her, taking her in, from the soles of her flats to the messy bun on the top of her head. "We spoke at lunch, but it didn't cross your mind to mention that you were a few hundred miles away."

"Two." One syllable to start a useless fight. The more Nick talks, the less words she uses, but the desire to fight her way out of inevitable prevails. Isn't it what she wanted, to be seen, to be taken care of and held accountable? 

"I beg your pardon, two, what?"

"Just two hundred miles, and you already knew it when we spoke." She actually stomps a little, with a huff, no less. 

Nick's eyebrows jump up an inch, but the voice remains measured and low. "Indeed, I wanted to hear it from you. Where is the dress, Izzie?" 

"What dress?" Feigning innocence is the wrongest route to take when Nick is that close to explode. And explode he does. 

He jumps on his feet, but keeps a distance from her to not tower over. "Your fucking wedding dress, in a huge fucking white garment bag." The jazz hands make big circles in the air, like a cloud around the mythical dress. "The first thing I stare at, when I walk into the closet each and every day."

"Oh, is that why you called me at lunch?" Izzie steps into his space, chin up high to hold the glare. 

"Answer the fucking question!"

"I took it to the salon for a fitting. You know, I'm getting fatter every week." 

"You're pregnant. You're getting bigger not fatter, young lady." Nick visibly calms down as he utters the words 'young lady' as if the buzzword magically ties him into the calm, cool, and collected version of himself. "Don't talk about it like it's a nuisance." 

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child!" 

"You behave like one, so I'll treat you like one." Nick's hand accidentally bumps into the belt, and he jerks away from it. "That's not what I meant, I would never touch a... You know exactly what I meant! I'm still waiting for that bum of yours to get over here!" Nick turns around to pat on the New Toy. "You ran away again, Iz, to New York." He plops back on the couch, elbows planted on his knees, fingers intertwined.

"What am I, a prisoner?"

"God forbid, by all means, the door is always open." He waves in the direction of the door that's fortunately closed. At least this room is soundproof, and nobody can hear the yelling and, well, what about to happen. "I hope, you will have a decency to throw it in my face, if you decide to leave." 

"I promise, if I will ever decide to leave, you will be the first to know. 

"Do you know that every time you disappear, hell, even for a walk with Bear, some part of me spirals into the same hole I spent months in when you skedaddled to Thailand?"

"Skedaddled? You couldn't find a better verb?"

"Alright! Fled, happy?" 

"If I will ever run away, I wouldn't tell Stanley and Owen. I just took a dress for a fitting."

"Behind my back!" Nick slaps his knee and winces with an ouch. "Aren't there any fine seamstresses here, in our nation's capital?  Or they are not good for Your Highness?"

"It's the salon's job to fit the dress. Maybe if you wouldn't buy it behind my back and bring it here, I wouldn't need to sneak it out." 

"Maybe I like seeing it here, as some sign of commitment?" 

"Why am I getting a spanking? I didn't break any rules. I didn't go alone, I took security. And I had a big lunch with Nechami." 

"I knew it! That her name will come out soon. What did the righteous one said this time?" Nick cocks his head with a mock interest.

"Don't mock her. She didn't say a thing. I had to ask her something." 

"Dare I ask, what was it? So urgent and important that you had to fly out there to talk to her in person?"

"It's irrelevant now." Izzie stares at her feet. 

"Strike two, it will become very relevant after I'm done with you." 

"What do you mean, by strike two?" 

"It's not enough that you went to New York on a day trip without telling me, you refuse to say why. How does that falls under the rules umbrella? Or is it the four D's, I forgot?" 

"I need to pee." She looks away.

"Of course, you do." Nick nods and gestures to the en-suite. "On the second thought, I need to finish something." He opens his laptop again. "Take a shower while you're at it. Might take some fizz out of you and make my job easier."

"Your job?" 

"What do you think, I enjoy it?"

Sorry for disappearing!!! Will come back to edit further and to write part two, less angsty. I thought it's better to post something than nothing. Posting to Saturday Spankings.

Denial

"Do you have a lot of work to do?" 

"Almost done. Why?" 

"You were in a hurry this morning."

"Uh-huh."

"I didn't come."

"Do tell."

"Was it on purpose?"

"Yeeees?"

"Thank you thank you! Can I come tonight?" 

"I wasn't planning on any carnal activities." 

"In the morning?" 

"I have an early meeting. Wait, wait. Done. Where were we?"

"Lunch time? Can you sneak out at lunch?" 

"You horny little devil, have you been scrolling through Tumblr again?" 

"Nnno." 

"Liar. Do you know what happens to little liars? You do, right?" 

"They get a spanking." 

"That's right."

"When?" 

"When I say so." 

"Meany, you always make me wait, and then you forget completely, and I have to remind you, or not, and it drives me nuts." 

"Do you want two spankings tonight?" 

"One is fine, thank you so very much."

"Sassy! Two it is then." 

"No, I will be a good girl, a very very good girl, please!" 

"A good girl would share with me those pretty naked bums you were ogling at. You think I didn't see what you were scrolling through?" 

"Here. Happy?" 

"Wait, wait, go back. Can you find panties like that?" 

"Yeah, you like them?" 

"Am not cold-blooded." 

"Sometimes. Ouch! What was that for?" 

"Downpayment. How do I like it?"

"You click on the heart, obvs. Ouch! You can't just like it, reblog it."

"How? No more sass."

"No more downpayments, your hand is worse than a paddle. You click on these arrows." 

"What about this one? Wanna try it?"

"Oh yeah? Look who's the horny devil now. Still no carnal activities?"

"I thought you like denial." 

"I do but but..." 

"That attention-seeking butt. Well, let's hear it. Beg, and I might reconsider." 

"Will you please let me come tonight?" 

"Who?" 

"Sir. Will you please let me come tonight, sir?" 

"Something's missing. What do we need to do before that, I forgot?" 

"Uhmm, spanking. Sir." 

"Now, try again." 

"Will you please spank me, sir, and after that, will you let me come, please, sir?" 

"There we go!" 

Please No

This story is from the very early days of their relationship. Nick knows nothing. 

Izzie's fingers, now done with caressing Nick's cheek, slide into his thick hair. She struggles not to pull on his curls too hard. Beats her, how a simple act of caressing one's hair is considered an encouragement. She hates a hand on her head whilst she bestows the hand owner with a blowie. But Nick doesn't mind, and  he definitely doesn't need any encouragement.

A stray thought shots through Izzie's agonizing brain, who knew that Nick is so good at... How many women out there know, in a very biblical sense, that Nick eats pussy like a pro? With each lick, bite, tug, and swift circle, he quickly ascends to the top of her personal eat-it-like-you-mean-it list.

He doesn't waste any fingers. While the palm of his hand applies some delicious pressure on her mound, the fingers spread the pink lips wide open for his tongue to dive in. The fingers of his other hand sink in and out, following the tempo of some heavenly song. He cautiously circled around her back door once, and she shook his hand off from there. Not all at once, Mister. Leave something for the next date. But that was the only time she intervened in his proceedings. Magnifique, he was simply magnifique.

She didn't notice how her usual 'please please please' mantra became audible, and seconds later interlaced with no's.

"Please no please no."

Screeching halt. All digits and tongue withdrawn at once, he jerks away too fast, dragging his stubble against the sensitive skin of her thigh. The burn is surprisingly pleasant, but not the feeling of the cold air where his face was just a moment ago.

"Why did you stop?" she pants.

"You said, no." The sound of his voice comes from somewhere awfully close. She opens her eyes, and, bam, he is staring at her, like a deer in the headlights, his worrisome eyes just a few inches away from hers.

"I didn't mean it," she mumbles. "Go back." She nudges his head down.

"Wait, wait a minute. What do you say when you do mean it?"

"I doubt we'll ever get there." She muses, pushing away a forgotten memory. But no, he doesn't buy it, still waiting for an answer. "Don Quixote."

"Is this some kind of a safe word?" Nick asks. 

"Yes," she nods. "It's my safe word." That was not safe enough, her memory reminds her. The safe word that was discarded, disregarded, violated. That night that broke her, send her running for the hills, and eventually, to this island. That changed everything, and most of all, her ability to trust, to put herself in the hands of the other, guarded only by one little word that draws the line between whatever they do and abuse. Since then, years past but she never tried again: to trust. 

Whatever Nick sees in her face, he freezes, but it doesn't stop him from asking more. "Did you ever have to use it?" 

And she can't, she simply can't admit, the shame, the betrayal, the failure she felt. How later she got caught up in a lie. It's so much easier to invent a lie, even only to herself, than to admit the inexplicable. So she repeats the same lie. 

"I consented." 

Pink Red Purple

It's Monday morning, seven-thirty, to be exact. Nick just tied the shoelaces of his black Oxfords, one of six almost identical pairs. Now he is back on his feet, checking in the mirror if the shirt is tucked in properly, his fingers running along the belt. No, the other belt, obviously. Izzie's dreadful brown belt, as Nick calls it, that they use for spankings, or whippings, if you want to be anal about the spanking terms, is safely hidden on the highest shelf of their walk-in closet. 

He puts on the suit jacket and glances again at the marble-top central island. Seven pink cards, cut from heavy cardstock, with the days of the week written in Izzie's calligraphic handwriting, stare back at him. "Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday," Nick recites with a fake Italian accent and considers for a second to switch the cards in the true Apollonia's order. Would Her Highness mind? Nick picks out to check on the Princess. 

Izzie's long hair spread like a halo on the white of the pillow that in her sleep she pulled almost to the middle of the bed. The contours of her body barely visible under the fluffy duvet. Asleep! Nick tiptoes back to the closet. 

Switching weekdays might slide under the radar but not Sunday and Saturday, and Nick quickly rearranges the cards back in the proper order. He opens Izzie's underwear drawer and focuses at the task at hand, to choose her panties for the upcoming week. 

Last weekend they put each other through a wringer, an unnecessary wringer. One thing led to another, one implement followed the next one. And now, Monday morning, Nick is scared to check on her arse! Izzie doesn't mark or bruise easily, except that time when she almost stepped in front of the car and he yanked her by her forearm. Those fingerprints were quite a sight to remember, went through all the colours of the rainbow. Something Nick is not looking forward to repeat, especially with her lovely bum. One thing is to turn it pink and then red that would fade fairly quickly, Nick is not ready to see any purple. If we are speaking in colour metaphors, they are not black and blue people, at least, not Nick.

He picks three identical pairs of lace panties in purple, red, and pink, and lays them under Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Then he picks a pair of white eyelet bikinis with small pink rosebuds for Thursday and a white thong for Friday. And nothing for Saturday and Sunday. Here! Does it send the message loud and clear, that in all likelihood, there will be no spanking till Friday? Oh, the pouting he will have to endure.

"Are you choosing my panties?" calls the sleepy voice from the bedroom.

"Indeed. Go back to sleep." Nick comes over for a goodbye kiss.

"Are there any pink ones?" Bollocks! She's fully awake.

"Yes, go back to sleep," Nick repeats more sternly.

"What if I won't?" 

"Firstly, we agreed that bratting is disrespectful, especially under such circumstances. You're trying to make me late, aren't you? Add it to your Friday list." 

"Friday? Do you mean no spankings till Friday?" That pouting.

"Wanna make it the Friday after?" Nick raises an eyebrow.

"Nicky!"

"Who's Nicky? Three weeks."

"No, sir! I will be a good girl. I will wear all the panties you chose for me."

"What about bratting?"

" I won't brat, sir. Will you spank me this Friday, please?"

"I might reconsider," Nick suppresses a smirk. "Are you asking me to spank you on Friday?"

"Yes, sir, please!"

"Go back to sleep." Izzie buries her head in the pillows. "Good girl." Nick smiles, they don't call him the best negotiator for nothing. 

EDIT: I do not like the ending, so part 2 is coming up to rectify this accidental mind fuck. Nick seems to be manipulative and ignoring Izzie's needs, which he is not. 

Posting to Saturday Spanking Blog, in hope that Headmistress Blake will be pleased with this entry:

W is for What you Want

 

Well. this postcard is the exact opposite of what D/s is about. I guess it will be a correct statement for a F/M relationship. I'm just a sucker for silly postcards, corny t-shirts etc. Anything that has a dad joke feel to it, I have to take a picture.

But, on the other hand, Nick is a bit of a Service Dom, if  we are talking labels, and his and Izzie's relationship is a journey that we get to witness, so Nick is sometimes stuck in this situation. 

We pick up right after U is for Upsy-daisy.

W is for What you Want

Nick doesn't do what he wants. What he wanted was to have a peaceful and quiet evening, and he gets that occasionally, but not because he wants it. What did happen last night was: humiliation, ok, that part was actually orchestrated by him, butt plug, paddling, canning, and eventually lots of fucking in the middle of the night. And now, this morning, a request of a spanking to tears, to which he also obliged.

Right now he's finally doing what he wants, watching Izzie sleeping peacefully in his arms. After he carried her back to bed and put some lotion on her ridiculously red bum. That part was definitely against her will, rubbing on the lotion. This woman do NOT want to heal faster, like he would allow that to happen. Thankfully, after a short fight, Izzie gave up her futule attempt to stop him from lathering her with a soothing goo. 

Exhausted, she drank some lukewarm orange juice through a straw that Nick held for her, asked for the fluffy socks, took a deep breath interrupted by a hiccup, and fell asleep. Just like a Sleeping Beauty. Damn it, Izzie said to never use that expression as it reminds her of the other book and not to Google it either. So far he kept the promise. If that book was too kinky for the beloved, he doesn't need the details.

It looks like she sleeps in the cloud, all wrapped in that huge fluffy duvet she bought for Valentine's, the most ridiculously romantic gift he ever received. This winter every time they made love under this duvet, he thought of it as a magic bubble that separates and protects them from the outside world. No one can ever know of what they do. And under that duvet he felt safe, safer than within the soundproofed walls of this room. 

She didn't notice his boner he was so embarrassed of. Yes, it's just a physical reaction, she has an arse to die for, literally. But there is a right place and time for everything, and after this particular spanking it was not the right thing to do. 

Who knows, when she will wake up, she might be in the mood, and then he's game. If not, he can rub one off without a complaint. She wants him to take without asking, blanket consent and all. Sometimes, in the spur of the moment, when she's a willing rug doll in his arms,  it feels right. But not now. 

 

Izzie stirs in her sleep, and shortly her quick breaths mix with little sobs. "You don't want me anymoooore," she whines. "Because I'm fat and uuuugly."

Nick rolls his eyes, curses under his breath, dives under the duvet, and presses against her back, all at once. "Darling, I will always want you, and we made love, umm, six hours ago." To disregard her latter statement seems like a smart move. 

"Because you were hot and bothered after the spaaanking." She keeps on wailing. 

"I'm hot and bothered now." Oh please, she has a proof lodged against her sore bum.

"But you didn't wake me uuup."

"Ahh! How dare you to suggest such a crime against the princess." Nick huffs, mocking an offense. 

The princess finally turns around, fresh tears trickling down her cheeks. 

"Are you really crying over me not waking you up to fuck?" Nick gasps sarcastically. 

Izzie sticks out her lower lip and nods. 

"Well, we know how to rectify that." One ankle in each hand, he yanks her down from the pillows. "One round, and then breakfast, or you will earn yourself another spanking, Your Highness." Izzie grins with a glee. "Or is that what you want?" 

K is for This is Kink

K is for Kink 

I was dying to write a post about this article, since the day I bookmarked it: If I Ever See Another Checklist I Will Scream: An Extremely Thorough Play Checklist 

I think it's a must read not only for kink-minded but vanilla alike. I think your perception of what is kink and what is vanilla will change drastically after reading the whole list.

Let me start from a simple example of how deeply wired perceptions are. How does really physical attraction works? 

H is a regular heterosexual guy, very near and dear to me, with certain likes and dislikes when it comes to the female beauty and body types. If a woman is too skinny, flat chested, so thin that she has a gap between her legs, he is not only find her unattractive, but even ugly. That includes all those gorgeous tall model-type size two women.  Mind you, that's his honest opinion. At first I thought he says that to please me, as I'm definitely not tall, size two etc. But no, he sincerely doesn't get it, that other people consider these women extremely attractive. He doesn't fine them attractive simply because they are not his "type".

Now, that checklist is massive, skim through it as you first read it. Try to count how many things from the list you did, had done to you, like in general, wouldn't mind doing if it will please your partner. Share that number in the comments, please. 

I've been going through this list a few times already, and it amazes me every single time, how many items on the list no one would even consider a kink. In fact, some are not kinks or fetishes at all, like kissing, but all of them have names.

You went to a Halloween party as a Little Red Riding Hood and a Big Bad Wolf, and on the way back home got unexpectedly aroused by your furry partner and want to jump his bones? That's quite a few from the list: animal role play, fur play, clothed male naked female (CMNF, surprisingly not on the list), possible CNC (depending on Wolfie's behavior). 

Morning quickie with a sleeping mask still on? Blindfold. Pinning hands above one's head? Light bondage. Biting the toes? Foot fetish. Biting in general? Primal. 

What is your number? Did you post it in comments? 

My blog is only five months old, and I've been browsing through the kink blogosphere for a few months before I started posting. I read tons of blogs, tons of personal experiences. If I was an observer back then, I was a keen observer. 

Let me tell you one thing I learned. Labels don't mean a thing. There is a reason why so many despise labels. No Venn diagram, with the spanking as a cornerstone of it, will ever define all the possibilities. Labels are boxes. People do not fit in them. 

Every relationship is different. Exceptions are everywhere. I will start from the most extreme ones and work my way to the mildest. 

Masters marry their slaves in romantic ceremonies. Slaves sleep in cages and are used (yes, that's the term) daily, but punishment is extremely rare, and pain is not a goal. Properties are loved and cherished and sometimes served breakfast in bed by their owners. DD/lg (Daddy Dom/little girl) does not necessarily envolve age play. Princesses get spanked too. Though everyone loves plushies and pictures of cute animals. Daily BJs are earned, not asked for. Respect is earned.  

Strictest of D/s doesn't necessarily mean the most severe implements, some submissives just do not have the pain tolerance for that. Some use spanking only for punishment, while being a feminist in real life. 

Some swear by both D/s 24/7 and DD (Domestic Discipline). While generally speaking, those who practice DD usually despise the connection to D/s as it's a part of BDSM. TTWD (That Thing We Do) is used as an umbrella for other than M/F relationships and spanking in general. 

Those who do use spanking as a punishment admit that the reason is a pretend reason (funishment), and it's always serves as a foreplay. Then, there are those who just like the spanking by itself, and are able to separate it from sex completely. 

Bratting can be encouraged and can be frowned upon. Spanking parties are good, but dungeons are bad. Positions as hard limits. Cane is evil but a necessary evil. Wood versus leather, thud versus sting. Belt gets extra love. Of course it hurts, it's supposed to hurt, doesn't mean it shouldn't be comfortable. Bring extra pillows. 

Black and blue is admonished by some, and admired by others. Bruises and marks freak some out, or worn with pride. All shades of red are more than welcomed. 

Now fantasies, that's a creature of its own. Those who do not practice punishment spankings, almost always fantasize about them, sometimes during the spanking. 

But everyone is on the same page about the aftercare. Rubbing, hugs, kisses, sex, chocolate, juice, blankets, plushies, arnica, lotions, more rubbing, and favourite movies. Excellent! 

Don't forget, Doms are people too. With all the insecurities and doubting themselves. Doms also have drops and need aftercare.

We are all a mess, one big sweet hot mess, whether you call it a kink or not.

This is us. 

H is for Humiliation and Humility

This story happens right after G is for Going Going Gone, but can read as standalone. Warning: graphic details abound. 

H is for Humility and Humiliation

At first, Izzie thought that Nick is putting on a show for her, giving into her humiliation kink. With all the permissions negotiated and granted in advance, taming and taking seems like a scripted game. 

Too powerful in real life, Nick always avoids spilling his innate dominance into their bedroom play. His version of D/s is timid by any standards. Sarcasm and snarly remarks are reserved for the verbal fights only. Nick prides himself for exceptional self-control, but Izzie heard him roar on a few occasions, though never unleashed onto her. 

But today the hand on her throat, not choking, but firm and unyielding, was there to convey a different message. Nick is not putting on a show, but running the show. 

"Which one of your three holes should I use first?" Izzie's full body shudder doesn't go unnoticed. "Is that what you want to hear, sweetheart?" She mumbles incoherently in response. "That was a yes or no question."

"Yes, sir." 

Nick steps away to grab a pillow from the couch and throws it on the floor. "Kneel." 

Izzie lowers her knees on the pillow in front of him and watches mesmerized as Nick unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the loops with a holy whoosh. 

"Don't get your hopes high." He sends the belt flying to the corner, taking down something with it in the process. An eyebrow raised, Nick follows the trajectory, curious if there is broken glass involved. Unbothered, he turns his attention back to Izzie. "No beloved belt for you today, I have something else planned. Lots of new toys. You love toys, right?" 

Izzie pouts at the news that the belt is off the table and shuts her mouth into a thin line, just in time for Nick's dick to touch her lips.

"What, your big mouth is too small for my cock, all of a sudden?" Izzie's jaw drops open, taken off-guard by the unusual obscenity, and Nick doesn't waste any time guiding his cock in. "Hands off!" He doesn't apply any force, god forbid, she is as willing as ever. But there is a new unrelenting determination and tenacity in everything he does today.

"Someone has been too mouthy lately." Nick continues his lecture. "Getting her way too much, talking back, forgetting her place. Someone needs to be taken down a peg or two." One hand in her hair, the other holding her chin, he punctuates the words with deeper thrusts, taking her to the point of gagging and sputtering saliva. "Someone needs to be reminded of who's in charge around here."

Nick withdraws as swiftly as he shoved himself in. 

"Did you lose all your deep-throating skills, darling? Or just out of practice with your loving and caring boyfriend? Talk!" 

"I don't know, Nick!" Berating his loving and caring alter ego was never a good sign. He prefers to be loving and caring, no quote marks required.

He pulls her up on her feet and turns around to pin against the wall. 

"Nick?" Pressing into her back, he whispers in her ear. "Nick is not here. You can scream, no one will hear you. This room is soundproofed, you soundproofed it yourself, how lovely. No one will come to rescue you, damsel in distress. Isn't that what you fantasize about?" He grabs both of her wrists and folds them to rest on the small of her back. "That someone will, um, forcefully take you?"

Nick's hand slides under her skirt and in between her legs. Izzie arches her back and opens her stance wider. He pushes the panties to the side and sinks two fingers in." Hoover Dam! Aren't you happy to see me? Talk!"

"Yes, sir," comes out more like a moan.

"What about the last one?" Nick holds down her shoulder to keep her in place, while he pulls out his fingers, dripping wet up to his knuckles, and slides it over to probe her pink hole with the middle finger. "By the time I will get to this tight spot, your arse will be too raw to notice. So, enjoy now." 

He nudges against the rim till she does open up. She rides his finger almost against her will. They say it about guys that their blood is all drawn south, and they can't think with their brain. That's how she is right now. 

Nick is lying through his teeth. He knows how much Izzie loves anal, how she will squirm, wiggle, thrust back into him, how easy it will be to make her come. But all this dirty talk and humiliation make her arousal to shoot through the roof. 

He pulls the finger out with a pop and brings it to his nose, and then to hers. "Phew! Is that how you get ready for me?" He wipes the fingers with the hem of her dress. 

"Nick! It's my favourite dress!" Izzie yelps with annoyance.

A resounding smack on her bottom, the first one since they got into the bedroom, without a failure, puts her back into the submissive mode. 

"You won't be needing it tonight." He pulls the dress up and over her head, leaving her in panties only. Another yank, and the panties join the dress on the floor. "Go clean yourself up and put on a top and leggings, on bare bottom. Off you go!" Another smack sends her on the way. 

Red from the embarrassment, Izzie scoots to the bathroom. She scrubs herself inside out with a makeshift secret brush that she uses when there is no time for enema. 

Tight top and leggings, that's what Nick wants. Of course, to peel the leggings off just enough to expose her poor butt and thighs only. It's worse than being fully naked, she hates it. But she craves the humiliation that comes with it and loves how well he knows her by now.

She adds the platform heels to her outfit. All white to contrast her soon to be scarlet bottom. And pulls her hair up into a high ponytail, like a good subby that she is supposed to be. 

"Come here." Nick calls her when she reappears in the doorway. 

He takes everything to the next level today, fiddling with a new toy, a foxtail butt plug. The plug itself is a medium size, much smaller than his dick, but, hey, it's stainless steel and probably cold. 

"Do you know what it is?" Nick watches like a hawk when she presses her legs together and clenches her butt in anticipation. 

"A foxtail." 

"No, my dear. It's a reminder of who's in charge here."

He pulls her leggings down, just enough to expose her bottom, and rubs it aimlessly in circles, waiting for her to relax. 

"Bend over." Nick reaches for the lube and spreads it generously on the plug. 

A simple command sends Izzie into a chain of familiar steps: bend, spread, hold. Nick swats her hands away. 

"Did I tell you to spread?" 

"No, sir." Hands fall to the sides. 

"That's right!" Nick accentuates every word with a loud smack. "I. Did not. Tell. You. To spread." He pauses. "You see? You do need a reminder of who's in charge." Her butt swallows a well-lubricated plug like magic. Only the bushy tail treacherously propagates the tiniest movements of her tensed muscles. 

"Corner!" Another command, accompanied by another swat on the already reddening cheek, sends her waddling to her lonely destination, the fox tail swaying from side to side by the force of gravity. Whoever came up with the idea of tail plugs, had a wicked sense of humor. 

Nose to the wall, Izzie can trace everything Nick does by the trail of the sounds. He ventured to the next room to slosh whiskey from to the crystal decanter he picked from the mirrored tray. He slammed back the wooden humidor lid after picking up the cigar. Not too big, as he is not planning to smoke for long. The leather couch creased as he settled back in to admire his work. He clicked the lighter a few times before he got the cigar going. Izzie inhales deeply the pleasant cigar smoke. 

She dares to look over her shoulder. "The fire alarm will go off, just saying." 

"For the life of you, you can't stop." Nick huffs with a relaxed smile but fishes out the phone to send a message to the staff to deactivate the alarm in the bedroom. Izzie grins, and Nick winks back at her. "Nose to the wall, muñequita."

Nick never calls her Spanish pet names, but today that's exactly how she wants to feel, his little doll. Mind reader, he is not, but he repeats, as he takes another puff. 

"Mi muñequita linda."

*mi muñequita linda - my lovely little doll (in Spanish)

E is for Enter

E is for Enter

Some smut fiction with a half-ass spanking and a splash of D/s. Again, in first person. You've been warned. 

"May I enter?" Nick grazes my earlobe, suppressing a giggle. 

A bit late for that question, as Nick is already on his way in. Curled behind me, one leg wedged in between mine, propped on the elbow, perfectly aligned. He is ready to sink in, to bottom out. Jam it, no, that's too rough, Nick doesn't jam. Penetrate, no, to clinical. Enter, that's the perfect word, enter. 

Since Nick discovered that the word 'enter' is giving me major hots, every day is a field day. Any knock on the door is greeted by a cheerful "Enter!" from Nick and a sideway dirty glance with a wink at me.

It all started a few nights ago, when Nick came home way past midnight, after one of his charity events. I wonder how many skimpily dressed young things circled around and rubbed against him there, he was properly hot and bothered when he crawled into bed. And let out a loud huff, because he thought I was asleep. Fair enough, I was indeed half asleep, so I mumbled, "Go ahead, Nicky." 

To which Nicky responded with reaching for all the familiar buttons to get me going. No, I was not in the mood, so I swatted his hand and repeated, "Don't bother with me, just go ahead." 

"Hall pass?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Please, don't keep the score."

"You're the league champion, I'm barely hanging there. I always keep the score." 

"Then stop. Can you please just fuck me?" 

Nick gasped at the obscenity. The duvet went down, the nightie went up. He maneuvered me around, so now he's facing my bum, still covered with panties. 

Taking off my panties is Nick's job and his only. Sometimes he yanks them down, sometimes he makes a show out of it, glacially peeling them off. This time they were off with a lightening speed, accompanied by a thunderous smack. "Language!" 

"It was a verb!" I protested with vehemence. 

"Choose another verb. Five more coming up." 

"Like what, enter?" 

"Count!" Nick paused for my response. "I didn't hear you."

"Ok, I'll count."

"Wrong answer," followed by a smack. Wow, Nick switched to his Dom mood. 

"Yes, sir!"

Counting the remaining five was uneventful. Now I was completely awake, but still not in the mood. Half-ass spanking of a half-asleep woman doesn't get you far, Nick didn't learn that trick yet. 

Covering his lap didn't help, Nick was still hard, if not even harder. I saw it in his flushed face, burning ears, darker than the night eyes. 

"We need to talk, Nick." 

"Right, perfect timing as always." 

Now, the whole concept of taking without giving, even temporarily, is foreign to Nick. The thought of completely taking over the control in the bedroom doesn't bode well with him either. So, I tried to explain the simple truth in the most idiotic way. 

"Look, in layman's terms, when you feel great, I feel great. When you take me, enter me, I feel great, because it makes you feel great. I don't always need to come to feel great. When you get home late, I want you to wake me up and take me. When you enter me," Nick smirked, but I decided to disregard it for a moment. "It's the best thing in the world. Do you get it, what I mean?"

"Yes," Nick nodded. 

"Yes who?" 

He straightened his back. "Yes, ma'am."  A boyish smile lit up the room. "So, enter, eh?" 

D is for the Dreaded D position

Have you read my previous post, C is for Crying and Corner and not the Cane ?? If not, head over there. I think C is for Crying is my best flash fiction so far.

When it comes to spanking, D is a loaded letter. Originally I was planning to write this post as "D is for Doms and DD and Dreaded D position" but then I thought, no, I'm not going to tackle all that in one post, it's ridiculous.

I would rather direct you to the experts on the matter. For all things D/s (Dominance and submission) and DD (Domestic Discipline), my go-to site is Amy Submits. She covers extensively vanilla-to-D/s and new-to-D/s. Lots of articles, personal stories, anecdotes, can browse by tags. Amy answers questions in Asks.

Cherished property is another expert on D/s. I just love her writing, well written, both educational and highly personal.

So, now we are down to:

D is for the Dreaded D position

For a full tutorial, head to Bonnie's Top 20 Spanking Positions.

For those of you in the know, obviously D stands for Diaper. A little while ago, Jean Marie (of Butt Stuff, temporarily offline) and I unilaterally decided NOT to call it that but instead use a more appropriate term. So I came up with Legs up!

D position, or Legs up!, resembles very much the one in the picture: flat on her back with legs up,  but usually the face expression is the one of a dread, not surprise. 

Why? For a few reasons:

It's considered one of the most humiliating positions, because it's childish and more importantly, 

A full eye contact and nowhere to escape from it. Most other positions do not have spanker and spankee facing each other. Staring at the carpet is a part of the lore. 

Even more humiliating if the spanker holds the legs up in the air by the ankles. 

It's one of the most painful positions, because the skin is stretched super taut and everything is fully exposed, all the bits.

Decidedly the most hated position among all spankees, no poll needed.

But hey, it doesn't mean that Legs up! can't be used for fun for all the same reasons: eye contact, legs held up in the air, lying comfortably on the back.

Sore is More here proudly presents a snippet from its own story Legs up! 

Note: Izzie and Nick are in the middle of a roleplay as Muriel the Mermaid and Flynn the Fisherman. Don't forget that Izzie is pregnant, so it's quite a comfortable position for her. I was recently specifically told NOT to Google "pregnant mermaid", apparently it's a thing. Also, I don't usually write in first person, it's so much fun.

“No, no, Muriel. If it’s for me to decide, we’re doing it my way. I want to see your face.” He tips me on my back, wraps one arm around my knees, so conveniently trapped in the tail, and drags me to the edge of the bed. “Legs up! I mean, tail up.”

Glittering tail up in the air, I grin. My bottom, he’s so desperate to get or more like, not to get access to, is still inside the mermaid’s costume with the zipper securely guarded under my back. Quick push to lay me on my side and a tumble with a zipper, he yanks it open down to my knees, like a jar of sardines, folding the fabric back, all my flesh freed up. The tiny bikini in matching colour, only another layer to peel off, Nick is never the one to hesitate. 

I’m burning with anticipation, what cool air, a cold shower won’t cool me down. Nick pulls me further over the edge of the bed, so my bum is all out in the open, not dangling, but ready for his assault, as he puts the tail with my ankles in it on his shoulder. No, not Nick, it's Flynn the Fisherman, my hero, my lover, my protector. I shut my eyes and hold my breath. Action!

Psst! Admit it, you did like the manhandling part, didn't you?

Four letters down, 22 to go!

 

A proper young lady shall never...

“A proper young lady–” he scoffs and withdraws with a growl.

“Shut up,” she cries out at a sudden loss, sensing some further scolding, and then blushes at her own outburst, and he lets it slide for a quick moment.

“– shall never call the gentleman’s cock a dick”, he finishes in his lilted accent, as he puts his cock securely away, behind the buttoned fly of his low-rise jeans. Deliberately slow, inch by inch, he pulls the belt out through the loops, with the holy sound that makes her squirm and rejoice all at once into a full body shudder. A triumphant grin that stretches her lips morphs into a hesitant frown, when she sees him folding the belt in half. With his eyebrow raised in a silent question and an outstretched hand, he waits for her to rise on her feet and put her hand in his, and that’s the only confirmation he needs. 

Taken in hand, the hand that puts her on the right side of the slash, she follows. He leads.

The swift shift in the mood is so palpable; his eyes, kind and playful a few minutes ago, now are flooded with hurt and disappointment. 

"I'm so sorry," she lets out in a whisper.

"I'm sure we'll get there, but for what, pray tell?" He squeezes her hand to still his own shakes.

"For saying 'shut up'," she stares at the floor. 

"Huh, that. Let's deal with the profanity first." He leads her towards the wide tufted bench by the window. "Why so grim now?"

"It's the punishment."

"No, darling, it's a preview of a punishment, if you will keep using such language." Calm and somber, he nudges her shoulder. "On your back and legs up."

That's why he lead her to that bench! It has no couch arms that get in the way, all flat and open, like a low table. No, not the diaper position, she bites her lower lip. Anything not to mention the specifically forbidden d-word to him and falls on her back, pulling her knees up with her hands to give him full access to her already spanked butt. Suddenly the throbbing pain in her swollen bottom comes back to life to remind her of what yet to come. And if the first spanking, no matter how hard and painful, was a welcomed prelude to the rest of their play, generously sprinkled with a multitude of orgasms. This spanking, a punishment spanking, she brought upon herself, while having sex, no less. Who can earn a punishment while having sex? It's ridiculous, pathetic, wrong. She tilts her head up to stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks, before he even touches her, before he starts lacing her again with the belt.

The wrong shade of pink hides the tan lines he was so fascinated with before. He drags her to the edge and places his left hand just under her knees, on top of her hands to keep them from flying off to cover her bum. She always does, even when she tries not to. Her bum can take a lot of heat, he learned that the hard way, but not her fingers. It's his job not to let her, to keep her hands safe. 

"Just six," he rubs his forehead with the back of his hand that holds the belt. "Look at me, I want to see your face."

"Six of the best?" she offers with a meek smile.

"Just six." He lets out a deep breath. It seems like all her jitters and anxiousness passed on to him. No matter how much they discussed and agreed that she needs it, when it all has come to this single moment, when he needs to step up, preview or not, not in a playful way as many times before that, but this time for real, all his certainty evaporates, and he's on the verge of bailing out. 

He doesn't look down, he doesn't aim, he doesn't hold back. Six strokes rain down on her dreadfully fast, too fast for her to apprehend or absorb the pain, tanning the tan lines all over again into the sacred scarlet. She squirms, she wiggles, she tries to pull her hands from under his hand that is holding them in place right under her knees. She screams and cries out his name. 

The unwanted chore that fell upon him, the whole ordeal takes merely seconds, and then it's suddenly over. Her hiccups and rapid thank-yous fill the silence. The belt buckle brushes against the metal leg of the bench before hitting the floor. They both jerk from the loud clank. Her fingers left white marks where she held her legs. She still holds them uncomfortably up, acutely aware that there is nowhere to put them down. In his close to throwing up state, he drops on his knees to bury his face between her legs and lowers her legs to rest on his shoulders.

"No, you can't do that," she sits up with a cry. "I'm supposed to thank you. Please!"

"Don't tell me what to do," he quips. Her smell and wetness cannot lie but he stops regardless.

"I'm not, I'm sorry."

He picks her up with ease and carries over to lay on the bed. He falls next to her, and she pulls him closer, murmuring her thanks again and how much she loves him. Him, the monster. How much she wants him, now and always. 

He is drained like he ran a marathon, forehead pressed against her shoulder, her gentle fingers threading through his hair, cooing the words of comfort into his ear. "It's over, it's all good, it's over."

When his free hand wonders along her curves again, he rises on his elbow and latches to the other set of tan lines, surrounding her small nipples. She grabs his hand and drags it down, on her terms, on her time. His fingers travel the familiar route to sharply sink inside her, followed by her welcoming moans, taking her closer, closer, closer, and over the edge. 

Whatever happened, whatever it is between the two of them, whatever you would call it, doesn't matter now. They have their whole lives to figure it out.

Hello, my lovelies, all my spanking stories are now on one page, link on the right under Spanking Stories, obviously. Posting this story to the Saturday Spankings Blog, link to the blog hop below.

A Tale As Old As Time (spanking story)

A tale as old as time, no, not the one with the songs about the Beauty and the Beast, although there is a beauty and a beast in this story too. As Izzie is a beauty, obviously, and Nick thinks of himself as a monster or a beast at times, especially when he needs to deliver a spanking that's not for fun.

So the other tale as old as time is, of course, a spanking story about a girl that did something wrong, felt guilty about it, got caught or confessed. In this case, she just said something wrong, many things in fact. Now she's about to get punished for it, that's the most important part of the tale, about her tail getting blistered. After which her bottom will be bright red and thoroughly sore, but it's all good, forgiven and forgotten. They live happily ever after, also known as HEA, until the next time, which is never too far around the corner.

Sounds familiar? Aren't all spanking stories the same? Aren't all spankings the same in general? They all end up with the same hugs and kisses, preferably with a gentle rub of the said sore bottom, preferably while sitting on his lap. Preferably followed by some passionate lovemaking, soft and gentle, fade to black kind, or rough and hard fucking, with the most lurid graphic details of all orifices involved. Or anything in between really, whatever floats your boat. Different strokes for different folks, they say. Aaand, back to strokes.

No siree, no two spankings are the same. Ever. It's not the number of strokes, or the implements used, or the intensity. Like a tennis match, each spanking is different. Nick won't be pleased with such a comparison, still occasionally jealous of her tennis player of an ex-boyfriend from three years ago. No, not poking the bear. Izzie literally bites her tongue at the thought, while she stares at the wallpapered wall. Yes, Nick put her in the corner, with her leggings and panties bunched around her knees, no less, the hem of her t-shirt hiked up to her waist, alabaster white bum on display. Yes, good guess, before the spanking, Nick never did that before.

"Why do you have to turn everything into a Greek tragedy?" she snaps. "Just get on with it." 

"I'm not 'getting on with it', " he mocks her with the bunny ears that she can't see, "until I hear a proper, wholehearted, sincere apology!" Nick paces the room behind her back. 

"Whatever," she utters the worst word to say in the middle of the fight. 

"Whatever is the opposite of contrite," Nick's voice jumps an octave. "Digging it deeper, aren't we?" 

"Like it would change anything," Izzie adds under her breath. 

"Did you have to do it?" Nick huffs. "All I wanted is to give you a nice good girl spanking and then some fucking but, no, you had to pick up a fight. Some special talent! And over what, really, what to order for dinner?"

"Better that than the time you joked about me burning your dinner in front of Aldous," Izzie quips with annoyance in her voice.

"It was a bad joke, and I apologized immediately. How long will you be holding onto that, hmm?" He unbuckles the belt, and she jerks her head at the sound.

"Do whatever you want, I don't care anymore!" she murmurs.

"I will, I will do whatever I want, because that's what I do, that's what you want me to do."

She shivers from the sound of the belt snaking through the loops but keeps her nose to the wall. "Why did you take off the belt?" she gasps.

"Don't you love the belt?" Nick sounds genuinely puzzled.

"I love it when you love me, not when you're mad at me!"

"Darling, I always love you." She jumps and clenches her butt at the sudden touch. But his hand stays there to rub and caress until she relaxes and pushes into his hand, seeking more contact. "I just want to restore the peace, and it seems to be the only way these days, isn't it?"

"Yes, but..." she whines.

"No buts." He slaps her bottom sharply with his hand. "You will be bitching around for the rest of the night and then some, if I won't spank you right now. Make up your mind, yes or no?" he doubles the belt up and pulls the halves together with a loud crack.

"That's not how it works. You can't ask me. Stop asking me!" she stomps her foot.

"That's how it works for me." Nick pinches the bridge of his nose. "You know perfectly well that I will not stop asking you. Yes or no?"

"Yes!" she stomps her foot again.

"Then enough, young lady." He stands right behind her, so close, she can smell his raspberry tic tac.

"The fuck with young lady, Nick?" she raises her hands in frustration.

Smack! "Language!"

"Ouch! You can't spank me in the corner!" Her hands fly back to cover her bare bottom.

"Says who, pray tell?" 

"Corner time is for mindfulness."

"Some mindfulness with that language," Nick huffs. "Hands off." Smack!

"Wait a minute!" Izzie half-turns, and Nick pins her wrists to the small of her back.

Smack! "Not until I get a proper response from you." Smack!

"Please, sir?"

"What?!" Nick steps back.

"May I turn around?" she looks at him over her shoulder.

"Alright, alright, you may. What is it?" he continues in a calmer voice.

"I'm sorry that I ruined our evening." She turns around, eyes down to the floor.

"Not the first time. At least now I know how to fix it and get it back on track. Is that all?"

"Yes, sir," she acquiesces. Something shifts in her tone. One little word 'sir' added, and the rest of it comes out from a different state of mind, a submissive state. "I'm ready for my spanking, sir. May I have it now?"

"You surely may, with ten extra swats for this outburst in the corner." Nick taps his leg with a belt as he speaks, and she can't take her eyes of it. A snake charmer indeed.

"Ten over what?" she gulps.

"Over any lucky number I decide upon, when I decide. Not any time soon, judging by this conversation!"

"Nick!" The last burst of despair leaves her lips. 

"Nobody by that name here," he sighs.

"Yes, sir." 

Suddenly Izzie kneels at his feet. Nick lowers his hand to the top of her head, brushes the hair off her forehead, massages her neck. When he taps her cheek lightly, after a few long minutes of silence, she looks up at him and his outstretched hand. The same hand that stops her foolishness, grounds and centers her, the hand that corrects her, shows her love and care, brings her pleasure, makes her feel safe and protected. The hand that reminds her that she is his.

The single moment of clarity, just the two of them, in the world they managed to build for themselves to hide from everyone else. 

She rises on her feet and puts her hand in his.

 Hello, my lovelies, all my spanking stories are now on one page, link on the right under Spanking Stories, obviously. Posting this story to the Saturday Spankings Blog, link to the blog hop below.

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.

What matters/Inspection

This post was inspired by Kink of the Week (KOTW), and this week's kink is Inspection! I clicked on the red lips on lovely Fondles website, and voila, here I am, rambling about inspection...

How did I miss it, oh how did I forgot to mention all these little things in my recent recollection, My Submission. 

Inspection, such a cold, clinical word. Inspection, if he would only know, how all the little things he does are called in the world of kink, he would freak out, step back, clam up. My journey so far is one-sided, taking and gratefully accepting whatever he doles out, without putting any labels on it, without calling it what it really is.

Inspection, his gentle fingers graze the contours of my face, my nose, eyebrows, my mouth. Like in the movies, when they always check that the newborn has all ten fingers and toes, they can see it but still always count. He slides the fingers inside my mouth and pulls it at the sides to open wider, touching my tongue and my teeth, and I start sucking at his fingers in earnest. 

His fingers poke into my nostrils, not to deep, just mockingly check if they are clean enough. Then the same with my ears. The fingers squeeze and mush my cheeks, with intent but without causing any pain.

He checks on the hollow of my navel, if it's washed properly. Full confession, I used to skip, or more like neglect it, and an occasional tiny bit of lint would get stuck in there, bringing up an aha! reaction on discovery. Not anymore, the navel passes the inspection with the flying colours.

He smells my armpits, and it will depend how late in the day we are, since I last took the shower. No, he doesn't like me to take the shower right before, always quoting Napoleon's letter to Josephine, “I will return in three days. Don't wash!” 

By that point my smell changes, it always changes when I'm aroused, to the one resembling the smell of a skunk or weed. Haha, I'm Mary Jane, I'm Spartacus. He laughs it off with a fake disgust.

He grabs and squeezes all my curves, including not the sexiest ones, hello tummy, that's so hard to get rid off, and sometimes I protest, hey, everyone has extra curves when they lay on their side, riiight?

Through moans and giggles he turns me into a ragdoll, his ragdoll, and he didn't even touch me down there yet. That's reserved for the main course, we are not done with the appetizers.

These undeniably possessive touches that claim me without marking. That proclaim, you're mine, louder than any words spoken. That take me and make me his, while giving so much. That remind me of who's-who and what matters.

Rein in

“I know that when you come home, you check it in at the door, but the power, the dominance, it's oozing out of your pores, Nick. Like in the movies, when an alien pretends to be a human. Some glitch happens, and, pouf, there is an extra arm or a head. The same with you.”

“I won't mind an extra arm or a head.”

“You're loving and caring and gentle, but when that glitch happens, at the same time I hate you and love you the most. Let it go, Nick. Sometimes you can just let it go with me, to be in control the way you always are in the outside world, to run the show called Izzie, for a very limited slice of time, to truly pull the strings and rein in.”