K is for Kneeling

Dear diary,

I'm in a weird place right now. After spending another night at my place, Nick and I got busted while having breakfast in a tiny café in a quiet part of town that I like, in the wee hours of the morning. I was surprised they were even open so early. No one wakes up early on this island, let alone for the sole purpose of feeding the tourists. Nick leisurely nibbled at a fluffy frittata and tried to feed some of it to me. I dozed off on his shoulder, we didn't get much sleep, as you can imagine. And yet, he was found and whisked away because, of course, he had places to be, at all times. 

It's been two days since then, and not a peep. Admittedly, he doesn't know my cell phone number, and I don't have his. Very nineteenth century of us. To send a pigeon, maybe? This affair, if you can even call it that, had no chance to last even two nights, has no place in this world, and yet, I wanted the impossible, for it to last a bit longer. Forget about all the fucking, that morning in the café I felt safe and at peace. The only other place and time I ever felt that safe was when I was kneeling. 

And the last time I knelt in front of a man was Uncle Ar. Why time and time again, I think of that single day when that man showed me his compassion and understanding? That all this, frowned upon by most of the civilized world, brutal play, for some of us, could become a salvation. How at the end of it, I knelt at Uncle Ar’s feet, naked, in a pain-filled state but unscarred. The pain that was brought upon me at my own willful request, by a willful surrender, freed me and brought me to a cathartic nirvana and peace.

I knelt at his feet quietly, grateful, thankful. My head resting on his lap, his hand stroking my hair. He fulfilled his side of the contract, I fulfilled mine. There was nothing more to it. And nonetheless, I had never had my needs met as fully as on that day. No amount of sex can replace that. I will always crave it. I will always look at every man in every vanilla relationship and wonder, will he ever be able to understand that part of me. 

No, I do not live under the rock. I do know about FetLife and Tumblr. Hell, I googled the local clubs. These would be the easy ways to find someone to whom I won't need to explain a thing. Hey, I like A, B, C. You like C, D, E. Let's try C together and see what comes out of it. Call me old-fashioned but I wanted to get to know the person first and not choose one by his kink resume. I know I'm oversimplifying things, but it wasn't for me. My only connection to this world was Aldous, the one I so desperately wanted to forget and more importantly, forgive.

Often, after a self-session with a hairbrush, I would strip down completely and kneel in front of the mirror in an attempt to recreate that day. While shying away from the scene, I was still attracted to the glamourous leather and shiny metals. I bought a few things on the internet: leather handcuffs, a thin leather collar that I could wear during the day, it was no different from any choker necklace. And a tasteful metal chain with a leash to attach to the collar. I would tie my hair in a high ponytail, paint my lips red and eyelashes black, put the collar on, clip the leash, lock my wrists in the handcuffs, kneel, and stare at myself in the mirror. 

One day I shall will him out of thin air. The one that would want me to kneel.

Pigtails Spanking Story: Bloody Green (Revisited)

Nick stands in the bathroom doorway with a toothbrush in his mouth, staring at the back of Izzie’s head that sticks just above the couch. With her straight spine, long neck, her hair in two high pigtails rolled into mini buns on the top of her head, she does look like a meerkat, not as horny now as before but still always ready to go.

He watched her, the whole process. How first she split all her her in two and made high ponytails. Nick noticed how loose her hair was, that he could easily slide his hand underneath the hair tie, close to her scalp, how safe it would be to pull her hair like that. They both enjoyed hair pulling as a kink, one on the giving, the other one the receiving end. And recently discussed how hair pulling gone wrong could lead to the most horrendous of consequences, including snapping one's neck. Not on Nick's watch, of course, but seeing Izzie putting an extra effort to make it easier for him was endearing.

She braided each ponytail into a scrawny but long pigtail. What a disastrous name for something so innocent and sweet! Then she rolled each pigtail into a bun and secured the loose end under the same hair tie. There we go, the meerkat look unknowingly accomplished.

Now Izzie stares at her phone screen, and Nick tiptoes and peeks over her shoulder: it's their latest banter.

Izzie:

Bathroom before bedtime?

                        Nicky:

                         Sure.

I want more rough.

                        Rougher. I want more brattiness.

Screw you.

                        You. Gladly.

Nick tiptoes back to his post at the bathroom door, it's time to get the show on the road. He takes the toothbrush out and clears his throat. No reaction from the meerkat beside a small jerk of her head, the one you bestow on an annoying fly. He wishes he could nuzzle into that soft spot on her neck, but, no, this has to wait, he has a job to do first. Nick whistles softly, and Izzie turns around with a frown.

"Did you just whistle?" she scoffs aghast.

"Uh-huh," he grins.

"Care to explain?"

"Feels better than to text you. I'm going to bed."

"Yeah. And?" Someone ordered more brattiness? Bring it on.

Nick disappears in the bathroom to rinse his mouth. "You have ten minutes to turn in. As per our rules, remember?" He reappears with a towel, wiping his face.

"And if I won't, what will you do? Let it slip again?"

"Watch it, young lady!"

"You watch it. I'm reading."

"No electronics before bedtime. Eight minutes."

"Alright, alright, I'm up!" She brushes against him on her way, nudging him out with the bathroom door.

Nick waits till he hears the toilet flushing and opens the door again. "Someone needs an attitude adjustment, don't you think?"

"I'm here, it's eight minutes. Duh!"

"I said, attitude. Maybe to give you a little taste of how it will feel like, when I won't let it slip, as you graciously worded my shortcomings." He sinks his hand in her hair and tugs her head up, forcing her to look at his reflection in the mirror. "Colour?"

"Green."

“Green who?” Nick quirks an eyebrow.

“Green, sir,” Izzie corrects herself quickly. No hesitation here.

Nick releases the pigtails from their hair tie prison. Izzie pouts in silence.

"I want to see them sway, the pigtails, when I spank you." Nick nudges a pigtail to swing like a pendulum. Izzie gasps, and Nick pauses to let it sink. For the first time ever, he did something for himself. The swaying pigtails, that was for him only, for his viewing pleasure. And Izzie's tiny but triumphant gasp only confirmed the significance of this moment.

He folds her arms on the vanity top, and pushes her shoulders down till they land on her arms, while his other hand peels off her shorty shorts and white lace panties. Smack! The pigtails bounce as on cue.

He bends over to whisper in her ear. "I will tan your hide regardless, but will it be the good girl tanning or the bad girl's?"

"Good girl, please."

"As you wish."

In her three-inch espadrilles and shoulder wide stance, her small bum sticks up high in the air. Nick kicks her feet back closer together with his foot, always thinking forward, not to hit accidentally between her legs, only to confirm how impossibly different he is. He sets into an unrelenting pattern of an open hand swat and squeeze, swat and squeeze.

"I don't think that will do, because you were not a good girl today.” Smack! “You were a complete brat, that is.” A harder smack! “A very disrespectful brat." He pauses to rummage through the vanity drawers and picks up a hairbrush.

"No, not the brush," she jerks away. The hairbrush reminds her of the self-spanking days, not a trigger but kind of off-limits. Ah, what the hell, it was worth a try to add some spice to their otherwise orchestrated scene, thanks so very much.

Smack! "Are you telling me what to do?" He promptly drops the hairbrush back in the drawer and slams it shut. "Bad girls don't get to choose." Smack! "Bad girls get what they deserve. Hold it there."

Nick leaves and comes back with the belt. Izzie rises up while locking eyes with him in the mirror, gleefully in sync, and he pushes her shoulders down again. He keeps his left hand on the back of her neck, with both pigtails in his fist. 

"Colour?"

"Bloody green." Izzie grits her teeth.

"Blood is actually red." Nick tugs at the pigtails. "Let's try it again. Colour?"

"Green, sir." Gulps down. Eyes down. Ready...

All said and done, they are in a so familiar embrace. Nick perks on the wide edge of the tub with Izzie curled up on his lap. He pulls a plush towel from the towel warmer on the wall and wraps her in it.

"Thank you, sir." Izzie murmurs into his chest.

"Hope the thanks were for the warm towel." Nick tries to weed out the hair ties with one hand, without pulling on her hair. He chokes on that thought, how careful he is now, not to cause any extra pain, after what he just did to her.

"You know they weren't." There is so much love and tenderness in her voice, her soft embrace. It breaks and melts his heart in the most unexplainable way.

"Can you drop it already?" Nick's fingers trail through Izzie's hair, unbraiding the pigtails into lush wavy curls, getting her ready for bed.

"You like your buzzwords and rituals, I like mine," Izzie says. A peaceful protest. Surprisingly, even in her post-spanking haze, Izzie stands her ground.

“Which bottle can I use?” Nick nods at the array of bottles and jars on Izzie’s side of the vanity. 

“Anything but that glass jar, it's an expensive face cream.”

“I think that's exactly what I will use. Your sore bum is no less important.” Nick hums contentedly their own Bottom Song to the tune of some long-forgotten lullaby, while rubbing the cream over her reddened cheeks. But the pause between the chorus lines is getting longer, his hand just hovers over her bum now. Nick, only surviving there, a wind-up toy with no juice left, the last splash of energy spent on moving them back in the bedroom to crash onto the bed.

"It's over, Nicky. It's all good. You did so well. I'm so proud of you." Izzie coos as she strokes his hair, caresses his stubble, traces his eyebrow.

"We are not normal, aren't we? Isn't it I'm who's supposed to praise you?" he sighs with a little glint, a sure indication that he’s coming back to life.

She reaches under the covers to check on him. More of a perfunctory check to switch his mind to what's coming next. "Mmm, you're ready for the fun part." She reaches over for the lube bottle and puts tons of it on her bum hole, the only place between her legs that's not wet yet.

A whiff of strawberries with some flowery undertone hits his nose. "What's that smell?"

"Strawberry lavender. You like strawberries, I like lavender, so I made the lube myself." 

"You made it??" This woman will never seize to surprise him.

"It's not a rocket science, you know," she shrugs off his question. "Just added some oils for the scent. I should run a workshop, make your own lube."

"Please don't," his voice finally soft and calm. "By the way, oils are not safe for condoms."

"Thanks for the PSA, Mister Know-it-all." Izzie rolls her eyes. "I made it for us. Ready?"

His eyes squint in a jubilant smirk. "I'm not done with you, pigtails girl. Hands and knees. Now!"

My apologies to those who read the original version. I wanted to elaborate on pigtails and hair pulling plot. Also, if anyone knows the author of this magnificent painting, please let me know, I will gladly add the credit.

EDIT: thank you, JM! The painting is: Bound(2014) by Ray Caesar

To Molly, thank you for the inspiration. This story was dead without the proper pigtails.

EDIT: Also, submitting to Saturday Spankings Blog because it was a hectic week IRL. Hopefully Headmistress Blake will not be too harsh and forgive my audacity.

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. 

A is for Arse and Anticipation and Aftercare

Can't believe it's April already, which means it's time for A to Z challenge, that I so cheekily promised to participate in. And not only that, to stick with the spanking theme. 

So, here we go:

A is for Arse, which a nicer version to say ass, also known as bum, or bottom, or behind, butt, buttocks, buns. Why are there so many words that start with B? There is also rump, rear, tush, seat, booty or bootie (another one that starts with B), keister, tail, cheeks, posterior, fanny. You get the point.

Is there any other part of the body that has so many names? I dare you, try to find a synonym for knee or elbow, even for something bigger, like arm. To think of it, maybe only the other prominent feature of female anatomy or the second part of T&A has many names for it: breasts, boobs, tits, tatas. You know the drill. Still, not as many as so dear to us bottoms.

I like the word arse. It implies something ample, something tangible, something that jiggles on impact, something that bounces when stricken, something that blows your mind. Something that's loud and big, that cannot go unnoticed or be neglected, something majestic. Arse.

A is for Anticipation. Enough said about those butterflies in your stomach whose little wings make you squirm and wiggle and twist and fidget. No fidgeting in the corner! 

Alright, a bit of cheating, I will use snippets from my own stories. This one is about Anticipation, from A Tale As Old As Time:

"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." 

Aaaand...

What's the best part beside the spanking itself? Well, not all spankings are for fun, you know it better than me. But no one can deny the importance of:

A is for Aftercare 

Aftercare can be many things, some as simple as holding close, hugs, kisses, and cuddles. Bonnie wrote a whole tutorial on Aftercare, click here for Aftercare - Bottom Smarts. She has also a tutorial on Anticipation - Bottom Smarts.

Don't forget, that Doms/Tops need aftercare too, especially if they are experiencing a Dom drop. You can search for Dom drop in my stories by clicking on the tag. 

Just curious, does any of you use tags to search for stories? I like that cloud on the right. Kind of shows the things I write more about or more obsessed about.

So, here is a bit of a Dom drop snippet for you from another story, Bloody Green

"Nick hums contentedly their own Bottom Song to the tune of some long-forgotten lullaby, while spreading some cream over her reddened cheeks. But the pause between the chorus lines is getting longer, his hand just hovers over her bum now. Nick, only surviving there, a wind-up toy with no juice left, the last splash of energy spent on moving them back in the bedroom to crash onto the bed.

"It's over, Nicky. It's all good. You did so well. I'm so proud of you." She coos as she strokes his hair, caresses his cheek, his soft stubble, traces his eyebrow.

"We are not normal, aren't we? Isn't it I'm who's supposed to praise you?" he sighs with a little glint, a sure indication that he’s coming back to life."

And another one about Dom drop from  A Proper Young Lady Shall Never 

"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."

The very last sentence prompted one of the most amazing comments I ever received in my short blogging life, the ones you remember forever. We live and breathe for these moments: 

"That is one of the most beautiful scenes I’ve ever read. I’m here for the raw sexuality, the lust and overpowering passion of our particular kink(s) as much as anyone, but these are the real golden moments. So beautiful!"

And that concludes our first day of challenge. Goodbye, letter A! 

Hundred - To M and B

Hundred years passed today

But the story lives forever

Only words are gonna stay

Scattered in the world wide ether

"Hundred pounds soaking wet"

Winning smile that lit the room

Feisty, strong, and smart, you bet

Turning Dom into a groom

Hundred hours no need to wait

When you know, they say, you know

Call it love or call it fate

One reins in and one to bow

Hundred bear hugs were given

Scratch that, thousands, that is

Surely up the wall had driven

Him that spunky sass and tease

Hundred blows on bare bottom

How many is too much? 

Sting not meant to be forgotten

Followed by gentle touch

Hundred parties lay unravelled 

Bottoms sore and also hands

Hundred miles of road less travelled

Peanuts boiled are yikes, no thanks

Hundreds seeds of pomegranate 

Six - thirteen to be exact

May your life will be abundant

All these hundred years back

Little facts:

- The poem is set in the year of 2123

- The author is a helpless romantic and believes that love stories live forever

- "Hundred pounds soaking wet" is a direct quote from Erica's post

- I cannot write Dom with lower-case. Sorry if it offends anyone's sense of grammar.

- It's believed that there are 613 seeds in pomegranate, therefore making it a symbol of abundance

- Most important: the poem is solely based on a few teeny tiny facts from Erica's post, the rest is all figments of my own depraved imagination.

Meddling again, in the hope that two wrongs will make it right. When I wrote the first poem, To M and Erica, something irked me endlessly, and I apologized for meddling (thank you, Erica, for the kind words). It took me a while to realize what it was:

It was supposed to be all about M and B, but the first poem came out about M and Erica, which was wrong. I thought I didn't know anything about B, but then again, what do I know about M, really? So, here I am, apologizing my heart out in another poem, because that's what I do... in a hope that one day it would bring a smile on their faces.

To M and B

To M and Erica

I know it's not them on the picture. Read the damn post, will you?

Trusting her body and soul

Body heals, soul, not so much

Life's taking unfair toll

Out of reach, not out of touch

Fond memories of Shadow Lane

Forever cast into living on

Silly crazy, or safe and sane

Humming into oblivion

Poking without fear

First got her attention with scorn

Please do not disappear

The rarest of unicorns

Pain's easy, words make me weep

Of firm hand and of gentle heart

Yielded masterfully belt or whip

May your hand will never gets smart

Taking care of the one you love

Loyal achingly yang to her yin

I can't help, only cry or laugh

With a hope that good karma wins

I'm honestly weeping as I'm writing this post... Sorry for butchering otherwise beautiful picture, will give you the link to the original in a sec. 

You know when it comes to pictures, my blog is ridiculously pg rated, yeah, flowers, macarons, and silly t-shirts. Not so much with words, just in the previous post, was discussing with Kathryn the merits of saying cock versus dick and Izzie getting spanked for using the latter. You can weigh in in the comments, whichever of two you prefer. 

It all started with this picture. For the original picture please go to Nora's blog: https://ourmarriageanddomesticdiscipline.wordpress.com/2023/01/05/his-discipline-nsfw-18-spanking-fiction/

I loved the story and the picture so much that I mentioned it to Erica, she said it’s a famous photo. Read original Erica's post here:

https://ericalscott.wordpress.com/2023/02/02/some-words-about-pictures/

Hi Erica, as I was reading your post, i was thinking of one particular picture with plenty of hands, both hands, rolled up sleeves of the white dress shirt (sic!), and most of all, plenty of tenderness. This picture pushed all the right and wrong buttons for me. I’m usually all about the words, but this picture just did it for me.

Sore — you have good taste; that is a very popular photo. It’s a small world; I know both of them. That’s Ralph Marvell and Samantha Woodley, and the still is from a Shadow Lane video. I believe it was called Older Men with Younger Wives, or something along that line.

And then I wrote a poem inspired by that picture called Thick Brown Leather:

https://soreismore.blogspot.com/2023/02/thick-brown-leather.html which both Erica and Nora loved.

But enough about my shit, what happened next is that Erica wrote the most heartbreaking, sweetest post about M: https://ericalscott.wordpress.com/2023/03/10/for-my-friend/

I sat there helplessly and cried and thought about that picture again. And then I wrote a poem about M and Erica that you've already read, because that's the only thing I can do. That's all. 

Now scroll up and read it again!

Thick Brown Leather

Here we go, a brand spanking new poem, partially inspired by Erica's recent post, and I threw in some Valentine's vibes. Also with a mini-challenge to write an Ode to Belt without mentioning the word.

Red thornless roses, petals drop
From sheer force of sweetest torture 
The sting, the bite, old chestnut trope
So many other ways to scorch her

The whitest shirt with rolled up sleeves
The snaking through and buckle sound
The darkest eyes that never leave
My face, my heart,  once lost and found

Of all the things that turn me on
The doubled over all-time winner
Thick brown leather, thanks a ton
Turns us into eternal sinners

The watch is ticking on his wrist
As loud as my heart is leaping 
Competing with the other beast
His arm will yield in nearing whipping

Of all the things that count more
The only one that really matters
To clean the slate, to set the score
And chocolate for quiet after

Tanning the tan lines (with JM)

Lovely Jean Marie of Butt Stuff posted about tan lines here. Since I'm a huge sucker for tan lines myself, I replied with a snippet, JM picked it up and took it further, and on we went. Then JM got busy and I just finished the story with a twist. 

Aaand, the Saturday Spankings are around the corner, so I linky linked it, see the link at the bottom.

Sore is more:

He dragged his tongue across her cheek along the sharp tan line that divided it perfectly in half, wondering if it would taste differently, and yes, it did indeed. The paler, almost alabaster triangle, was smoother and more tender to the touch than the few shades darker part on the other side of the border, roughed up by unforgiving Mediterranean sun.

Jean Marie:

He takes his cue from that unforgiving sun. He would “rough-up” the tender, alabaster skin for her. He begins to spank her, but not like you would a naughty child. This was a very adult disciplining, hard slaps across both ass cheeks, making her cry out, making her beg and plead. She sees that this makes no difference, so just hides her face in the crook of her elbow, and offers her ass up to his hiding, this tanning where she wasn’t tan.

When he finally stops, they both cannot help but rub the abused flesh, magnetized by the radiating warmth, mesmerized by the rosy color. He rubs lotion into the skin as if it was sunburned. It was Sirburned, and she got down on her knees to thank him. She worshiped his erect dick as he had her erotic derriere.

Sore is more:

“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 let it slide for a quick moment.

“– shall never call the gentleman’s cock a dick”, he finishes in his lilted accent as he puts it securely away, behind the buttoned fly of his low-rise jeans. Deliberately slow, inch by inch, he pulls the belt through the loops, with the holy sound that makes her squirm and rejoice all at once into a full body shudder; a triumphant grin stretching her lips morphs into a hesitant frown when she sees him folding the belt in half. An 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.

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

"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 the shakes.

"For saying 'shut up'." 

"Huh, that. Let's deal with the profanity first." He leads her towards the bed. "Why so grim now?"

"It's the punishment."

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

No, not the diaper position, she bites her lower lip to not 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 swollen bottom. 

The wrong shade of pink hides the tan lines he was so fascinated with when it all started tonight. He drags her to the edge of the bed and places his left hand just under her knees, on top of hers to keep them from flying off.

"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." Deep breath out. 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 came to this single moment that 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. Six strokes rain down on her dreadfully fast, too fast to let her apprehend or absorb the pain, tanning the tan lines all over again into the sacred scarlet. The unwanted chore that fell upon him, the whole ordeal takes merely seconds, and then it's suddenly over. 

He falls on the bed next to her and pulls her closer and away from the edge. He's 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. His fingers travel the familiar route to sharply sink inside her, followed by her welcoming moans, taking her closer, closer, closer, and over in a record time. 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.

Never in Anger Song

Never in anger

Never in fear

Feeding my hunger

Consciousness clear 

Voice low and curt

Cue butterflies and shivers

Willing but hurt

Is the hesitant giver 

Clear that slate

Wipe out that guilt

Never too late

To confess what I feel 

Safer than ever

Sting of the cane

Lick of the leather 

Consented and sane 

Holding high court

Not allowed to veer

Belt folded short

Spells business and tears 

Smack of the hand or

Stroke of the belt

Swish of a hanger

Doled out and dealt 

Taut, bound, and sore

It's never a game

My body and soul are

Yours only to claim 

Thud of the paddle

Whisk of the whip

Rise off the saddle

Taking the leap 

Drowned in pain

Covered in snot

Naked and seen

Judged I'm not 

Bye, dear fairies

Back on your lap

Humbled and bleary

Closing the gap 

Seeking surrender

Crimson and over

Sinfully tender

Dutiful lover 

Malleable rebel

Cherished and loved

By the guardian devil 

Sent from above 

Stilled, acquiesced

And knelt in the night

Thanks for the rescue 

My fearless knight

Bloody Green

Believe it or not, the picture is of a label on bedsheets. 

This story happens more or less at the same time as May I have another?  

For all the stories in chronological order click on the Almond Croissant (top right). Pun, isn't it? Top is always right. 

Aaaand, spoiler alert, this story mentions a Dom drop, you don't see it often. So read on and drop me a line in comments.

Nick stands in the bathroom doorway with a toothbrush in his mouth, staring at the back of Izzie’s head that sticks just above the couch. With her straight spine, long neck, her hair in two high pigtails rolled into two small buns, she does look like a meerkat, not as horny now as before but still always ready to go.

Izzie stares at her phone screen with their latest banter:

Me:

Bathroom before bedtime?

                        Nicky:

                         Sure.

I want more rough.

                        Rougher. I want more brattiness.

Screw you.

                        You. Gladly.

Nick takes the toothbrush out and clears his throat. No reaction from the meerkat beside a small jerk of her head, the one you bestow on an annoying fly. He wishes he could nuzzle into that soft spot on her neck, but, no, this has to wait, he has a job to do first. Nick whistles softly, and Izzie turns around with a frown.

"Did you just whistle?" she scoffs aghast.

"Uh-huh," he grins.

"Care to explain?"

"Feels better than to text you. I'm going to bed."

"Yeah. And?" Someone ordered more brattiness? Bring it on.

Nick disappears in the bathroom. She can hear the sounds of him rinsing his mouth. "You have ten minutes to turn in. As per our rules, remember?" He reappears with a towel, wiping his face.

"And if I won't, what will you do? Let it slip again?"

"Watch it, young lady!"

"You watch it. I'm reading."

"No electronics before bedtime. Eight minutes."

"Alright, alright, I'm up. I'm up!" She brushes against him on her way, nudging him out with the bathroom door.

Nick waits till he hears the toilet flushing and opens the door again. "Someone needs an attitude adjustment, don't you think?"

"I'm here, it's eight minutes. Duh!"

"I said, attitude. Maybe to give you a little taste of how it will feel like, when I won't let it slip, as you graciously worded my shortcomings." He grabs her chin and forces her to look at his reflection in the mirror. "Colour?"

"Green."

“Green who?” he quirks an eyebrow.

“Green, sir,” she corrects herself quickly. No hesitation here.

He folds her arms on the vanity top, the wide part of it in between two sinks, and pushes her shoulders down till they land on her arms, while his other hand peels off her shorty shorts and white lace panties. Smack!

He bends over to whisper in her ear. "I will tan your hide regardless, but will it be the good girl tanning or the bad girl's?"

"Good girl, please."

"As you wish."

In her three-inch espadrilles and shoulder wide stance, her small bum sticks up high in the air. Nick kicks her feet back closer together, always thinking forward, not to hit accidentally between her legs, only to confirm how impossibly different he is. He sets into an unrelenting pattern of an open hand swat and squeeze, swat and squeeze.

"I don't think that will do, because you were not a good girl today.” Smack! “You were a complete brat, that is.” A harder smack! “A very disrespectful brat." He pauses to rummage through the vanity drawers and picks up a hairbrush.

"No, not the brush," she jerks away. The hairbrush reminds her of the self-spanking days, not a trigger but kind of off-limits. Ah, what the hell, it was worth a try and to add some spice to the otherwise orchestrated scene, thanks so very much.

Smack! "Are you telling me what to do?" He promptly drops the hairbrush back in the drawer and slams it shut. "Bad girls don't get to choose." Smack! "Bad girls get what they deserve. Hold it there."

Nick leaves and comes back with the belt. Izzie rises up while locking eyes with him in the mirror, gleefully in sync, and he pushes her shoulders down again.

"Colour?"

"Bloody green."

"Blood is actually red. Let's try it again. Colour?"

"Green, sir."

All said and done, they are in a so familiar embrace. Nick perks on the wide edge of the tub with Izzie curled up on his lap. He pulls a plush towel from the towel warmer on the wall and wraps her in it.

"Thank you, sir."

"Hope the thanks were for the warm towel."

"You know they weren't."

"Can you drop it already?"

"You like your buzzwords and rituals, I like mine."

Nick nods at the array of bottles and jars on Izzie’s side. “Which bottle can I use?”

“Anything but that expensive face cream.”

“I think that's exactly what I will use. Your sore bum is no less important.” Nick hums contentedly their own Bottom Song to the tune of some long-forgotten lullaby, while spreading some cream over her reddened cheeks. But the pause between the chorus lines is getting longer, his hand just hovers over her bum now. Nick, only surviving there, a wind-up toy with no juice left, the last splash of energy spent on moving them back in the bedroom to crash onto the bed.

"It's over, Nicky. It's all good. You did so well. I'm so proud of you." She coos as she strokes his hair, caresses his cheek, his soft stubble, traces his eyebrow.

"We are not normal, aren't we? Isn't it I'm who's supposed to praise you?" he sighs with a little glint, a sure indication that he’s coming back to life.

She reaches under the covers to check on him. More of a perfunctory check to switch his mind to what's coming next. "Mmm, you're ready for the fun part." She reaches over for the lube bottle and puts tons of it on the only place between her legs that's not wet yet.

A whiff of coconut with some flowery undertone hits his nose. "What's that smell?"

"Coconut lavender. You like coconut, I like lavender, so I made the lube myself."

"You made it??" This woman will never seize to surprise him.

"It's not a rocket science, you know, just added some oils for the scent. I should run a workshop, make your own lube."

"Please don't," his voice finally soft and calm. "By the way, oils are not safe for condoms."

"Thanks for the PSA, Mister Know-it-all. I made it for us. Ready?"

His eyes squint in a triumphant smirk. "I'm not done with you, you insolent brat. Hands and knees. Now!"