Y is for Yes

Dear diary,

Before I go back and finish the Red and Wolf story, I will throw in a shorter one, dedicated to two words that start with Y, yellow and yes.

Aldous and I were travelling in Spain. First year of our marriage, way before all the kink started, and I was still skinny but started to put on weight from the endless supply of paella, sangria, and that amazing almond pastry I forgot the name of. I only mention it because it's important to the story.

I don't remember where we spent the night, but we were heading to Cordoba. In early fall the weather is weird, too chilly in the morning and crazy hot during the day. We left the hotel right after early breakfast to spend most of the day in Cordoba. I had that summer dress on, sleeveless, of course, because I knew that it's always hot in Cordoba in the afternoon. The dress had a fitted top, black with embroidered flowers, dainty small flowers in yellow and orange, and a long flared yellow skirt, way below my knees. I still have it somewhere. Weird, I gave away and donated so many clothes throughout the years, but never got rid of this dress, though there is no way in the world that I would ever be able to fit in it. Again, it was a chilly morning, so I added a few layers.

First, panties were not as tiny back then, as they are now. High waisted, tight elastic band biting into my skin, or maybe I already needed one size bigger panties. Topped with pantyhose, because it was chilly, and that's another elastic band, even tighter, because those fucking pantyhose supposed to make you look slimmer, and they fucking do, at the expense of comfort, that is. Try to eat in those or climb inside a low sports car and spend a couple of hours on the road after a hearty breakfast. All that plus a short tweed jacket, I was feeling nauseous in no time. For a few good days after that I was giddy and happy, I thought that I got pregnant. Fortunately, I didn't say anything to Aldous, because I was not. But that morning I just felt woozy and about to throw up all over that skanky red convertible, roof closed, because remember, it was cold when we left the hotel. 

We stopped on the side of the road. I climbed out of the car, ripped the jacket off, panting for some fresh air. Grey olive trees on the endless hills, clear blue skies, yada yada yada.

“What's wrong, Elizabeth?” Aldous asked.

“The fucking elastic!” I even slid my hand through the dress and under the waistband, to reduce the pressure.

Aldous bit his lip but didn't comment on the cuss word. “Take them off.”

“Pantyhose?”

“And panties. Both.”

“Are you nuts?” I couldn't believe my ears. My strictly by-the-rules  husband was ordering me to walk around pantiless.

“Watch your mouth.” Aldous pointed his long finger at me. “Either you're taking them off, or I will take them off for you.”

“But we're driving into the city.” I mumbled, while pulling down both garments.

Aldous turned me around against the sun and looked judgmentally between my legs. “Can't see anything. Next time I expect to hear, yes sir!” He smacked my ass to drive the message home.

When we drove into Cordoba, the heat was at 35 degrees Celsius, or 95 Fahrenheit. I was grateful not to have anything on but my bright yellow summer dress, smooth cotton rubbing against my bare ass, summer breeze not meeting any barrier between my legs. It turned me on so much, my secret pantiless state of undress and the sudden smack from before, I was afraid that my wetness would stain the dress for everyone to see. I sneaked into every restroom I could to check on my dress.

We did a tour of Mezquita first, and I took a thousand obligatory pictures of striped arches and columns. We saw Romani women on the streets, selling red carnations. I don't know how, but from some deep childhood memory from a thousand miles away, I did recognize them by the traditional clothes. We had an ice-cold gazpacho for lunch and a seafood paella, yellow from a generous amount of Spanish saffron, washed it down with a classic sangria made out of local wine and oranges. Life was good.

Aldous was always on the mission to plump me up. Either as a security that I would never go back to dancing, or even then he already had something else in mind, certain long-term plans for my rounding ass. I didn't think about any of it on that day. 

Life was good and careless

In the yellow dress

Breeze between my legs

Saying yes sir yes

Picture of the Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba (Mezquita) from Wikipedia.

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?

How it works

I've been in a bit of a hiatus, since I finished the A to Z challenge, it sucked too much energy out of me. Probably I should stop apologizing for the lack of proper posts.

So, Molly's Kiss, or more specifically, her Kink of the Week is hosting a theme right now, Pigtails, that I can relate to. I thought of writing something new for it, but again, the creative juices were running low. And then I recalled one of my old spanking stories that was fine in my opinion, but didn't get enough love from you, my lovelies. I thought I would resurrect it with some editing.

Low and behold, that old story already had two pigtails rolled into mini buns on top of Izzie's head, that made her look like a meerkat. That's a start! Then I thought I will add some proper hair pulling, which I also like as a kink. Maybe Nick will unroll the buns back into pigtails or order Izzie to do it. But I needed some reason, something. 

So, here I am, on my walk. By the way, I'm writing this post from the park bench. And I see a runner, with a huge high ponytail, gorgeous hair, swaying with every step, like a horse's tail. And it hit me, that's it, that's what was missing:

"I want to see them sway, when I spank you, the pigtails," Nick says. 

R is for Reminders or Birching Bordello part 4

 

This is part 4 of Birching Bordello story. Click here for part 1, part 2, and  part 3

Nick finally gets on his feet and picks up a few roses. When he drags the rose buds across her cheeks, Izzie clenches her perky butt and immediately gets a sharp reprimand on her thighs.

"Wait, what if I will need a reminder? A regular reminder?" She picks over her shoulder.

"I guess I can fit your reminders into my busy schedule," he chuckles.

"Please do not laugh." Izzie hides her face in the bed sheets.

"Am not. Not when your lovely bottom is on the line. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Nicholas."

"Off you go, then."

Nick starts slowly with lighter taps, it scares him how similar to a cane the twigs feel in his hand. He recalls the vivid image of her slapping her own palm and yelping from pain. In no time he will hear the same yelps and worse but under his strokes. He wishes it would be white roses, not red, as the petals are flying everywhere and cover the floor like splashes of blood.

"I can't." Nick stops to a halt and shakes his head.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Izzie turns her head but stays on the bed.

"It's no different from a cane."

"So?"

"Iz, I will not cane you." Bollocks, he's putting his foot down, at least for today.

"Nick, it's roses, thornless leafless roses."

"That leave the same marks as a cane."

Izzie jumps off the bed to face him. "Oh, you are the expert now!" The sarcastic remark doesn't get her far.

"Yes, thanks to you, I am."

"What do we do then?"

"You mean, what do I do??" Nick points at his own chest to make sure she understands who is running the show.

Nick picks up the forgotten belt from the table and snaps the halves with a deafening clap. Quite a standoff they are having: Izzie's fists on her hips, skirts tucked in at the waist, baring a very pink butt, Nick's double folded belt tapping his knee.

"But I want roses!" She is anything but stomping her feet.

"I said, no. Bend over, Iz." Nick points at the bed with the belt.

"Or what?"

"Or else."

"Argh!"

"Remember? It's up to me, when, where, and how. Isn't that right, Isabel?" 

"Yes, Nicholas." Using her formal name, her Mayfair maiden's name, does the trick and puts Izzie back into the forgotten roleplay.

Nick twirls his fingers in the air, and she turns around and plops back on the bed. Yet her fists hit the sheets with the fervor.

"Isabel?" Nick raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, Nicholas."

"I think it's time for a reminder you were asking for. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Nicholas."

"I'm not feeling it." He taps the small of her back with the belt, and she lays her crossed wrists there. For him to hold. 

To be continued

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?" 

Hurt Not Harm

An incredible account of a journey from vanilla to Master from his perspective. There are so many bottoms/submissives journeys and so little from Tops/Doms/Masters.

Found it on Tumblr on Scarlet's Real Magic page (here), she has a fantastic blog. No idea how to re-blog from Tumblr, so just copied here with back link. The picture is mine.

toysmaestro:

heramberheart:

guardianofamber:

The very first time we spent a night together, I playfully swatted your backside during sex. I wasn’t prepared for the reaction, but something in my brain registered it. Your face lit up, your whole body reacted and you closed your eyes in satisfaction. That time, that was all it was, a few tame swats in the middle of sex to get your attention. Something lingered though.

Months later, we began to talk about spanking. I had a hard time getting my head around it. Of course I understood pain and how it can excite, we had a ready begun to dance around that idea. But I struggled with so much of this. Could I hit you, with intent? How would it feel to make your cheeks redden, or still, bruise you? Why did you want this? What would you get from it? What could I get from it? What if I hurt you? How would this come to be? Wouldn’t it feel like role play, to have you over me knee? Etc, etc, etc …

You were incredibly patient and considerate. You explained time after time even though you found it difficult and uncomfortable to express your needs, you gave me space to think, to question, and in turn, to try. You felt my lack of surety, you explained and guided me again and again. Yes, submissives guide their Masters too. This was in our early (ish) days, I wasn’t your Master at that point in truth.

The path to spanking has been slow, and probably for you, tortuous. But I had to be sure of my step each time. I had to understand and be confident. Light slaps became firmer. I began to use spanking as another way to control and focus you when you lost it. Stopping mid-devotion when I could feel you spinning out of control to put you over my knee and centre you.

I began to find a way to use it for me, and for us. I found my way to make it fit into our way. All the time you’d patiently waited for me to get to where you knew I need to be.

The first time you slowly crawled across my knee, you looked at me and smiled. A smile of permission, a smile that asked, pleaded. As I spanked you firmly, purposefully, I felt your body tense then relax. Cries of pain and relief, sobs of acceptance. I watched in satisfaction as your arse reddened, leaving my mark behind on you. My mark of ownership. The dots in my mind began to join up.

This week there was another shift. The spanking was no longer just about you. I needed it. I needed to push you and challenge you. I had you bend over, hands on the bed frame. I hit you far harder and with more confidence and intent than ever before. It hurt, I know it did, it was supposed to. Afterwards you described it as being “on the edge of too much” and I felt such pride, that was exactly where I’d wanted to take you. I calmed you when it got too much, held you when your legs felt weak, and when I knew you could take no more, I stopped. But I wanted you to accept what I wanted to give you, for my own needs. I was so proud of you.

This week, we’ve completed a circle. I spanked you because I wanted to, because I wanted to hurt you and test you, I wanted you to take it for me. You wanted me to spank you because you need the pain and the challenge to centre you, to feel your submission so deeply, you would give me whatever I wanted, because you wanted to show me you will never ever quit, and will give me anything to please me.

Days later you showed me the pinkness of your arse and where once I would’ve wrestled guilt and concern, I felt just one emotion. Pride. I did that. You took that.

I marked you and you are mine.

Pride in each other and your ownership of me.

I love who we are with each other and for each other.

Beautiful steps to freedom for you both.

(via toysmaestro)

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.

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.”

My submission

He says things like, don't tell me what to do, or don't argue with me, and I don't find it odd. He always scolds me, when I raise my voice. He doesn't let me swear, and yes, bullshit is considered a swear word. He gives me The Look, when I pick on unhealthy snack, freeze with a phone in my hand, or in general, do something that I shouldn't. I get The Look a lot, and it usually pulls me right back, like a tight leash.

He obviously opens and holds the door for me, walks between me and the road, I walk upstairs first, as he does downstairs. Ordering food is tricky as he doesn't like to do it, so he explicitly delegates it to me, to navigate through the menu while juggling all his idiosyncrasies of what he would and would not eat.

I got into a habit of showing him three outfits to choose from. He was puzzled at first, I said, when I choose myself, you ask me to change too often, better to show you the choices in advance.

I cook the food and serve it to him. We like to have the appetizers mezeh style, small plates with salads and dips to nibble on before the main course. I make sure his main is hot enough, as he likes it super hot, plate it for him, and bring it to the table. I won't start eating, until he takes the first
bite.

He doesn't like bones in anything, I make sure to debone all his meat and filet the fish. He hates garlic in any incarnation, I learned to cook without it. When I make him tea with lemon, I pick all the seeds from the lemon slice. But enough about food.

He likes to bite me and suck on the spot, like a horny teenager, leaving his marks of ownership, and I love it. I squirm and wiggle when he bites me too hard while holding me down, not letting go, until he moves to the next spot, and I love it. It doesn't have to be during sex, sometimes he bites me just because.

Needless to say, he's dominant in bed, gentle, caring, but yet still so dominant. Honestly, I never liked being on top anyway. I like how he pins my hands above my head, how he pushes my legs apart with his knee, how he's always on his elbows, never putting his full weight on me, till I specifically started to ask for it, till he realized I'm not as fragile as he thought.

Sometimes he places my hands above my head and just I hold them there, the same way as if he would've pinned them there. He burns my skin with his short stubble. He guides me with a firm hand on the back of my neck.

When I ask to switch positions, not when I'm uncomfortable, but just for fun, I never know if he would do it or not, he won't say a word, no explanation, the final 'say' is always his.

He is patient and generous, every time he brings me over the edge, I supress the urge to thank him. When for some reason we skip a few days and I get myself off, I feel guilty, because in my mind all my O's belong to him.

I feel guilty when I hide things from him, when I disappoint him, when we fight. Makeup sex is good, but I feel like something is missing, I know something is missing, something to clean the slate completely, to let us both move on.

No, he doesn't spank me, maybe an occasional possessive swat, like I swat because I can.

We never discussed our little quirks and habits, they do not have a label, that's just how we live our life.

Dominance and submission can take many forms, I think, and if this all is not it, then what is?

How can he be so blind not to see it?