D is for Discipline

Dear diary,

The sounds of Aldous constantly moving behind my back were maddening, but I didn't dare to peek and kept my nose glued to the corner that pleasantly smelled of old wallpaper. There wasn't much furniture in the bedroom. When I heard something dragged to the middle of the room, it could only be the long tufted bench at the bottom of the bed that I knelt on, while waiting for Aldous. The old hardwood floor creaked as he walked to the bathroom and banged a few vanity drawers looking for something, then came back and rummaged through the drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed, the side that was closer to the door. 

I heard Ellis, the gardener, watering the roses and walking away along the gravel path. My mouth felt dry, and my heart was pounding. If I could hear the dainty sounds of water and gravel, Ellis for sure heard me scream. As Aldous liked to joke, this guy worked longer at the estate than I was alive. Will he tell anyone else? Will I lose respect of the staff, or will they feel sorry for me? Will they tell Uncle James? To whom was Ellis more loyal, Aldous or Uncle James? Back then I was still trying to figure out their family dynamics, which our marriage affected so much.

I didn't stay in the corner for long, before Aldous called me out and pointed at the same spot in front of the mirror, but now there was also a bench right next to it.

“Pillows-shmillows, I will buy a proper bench for the next time.” He patted at the end nearest to the mirror. I froze at the words ‘next time', unable to move. “Hop on. Straddle it.” Aldous patted the same spot with more vigor and pulled my hand towards the bench. 

With two hands on my bare waist, he guided me over. My torso pressed flat on the bench, legs spread out wide, feet dangling in the air, face turned towards the mirror. He pulled out one of my scarves from his pocket and tied my crossed wrists together to stay behind my back. I closed my eyes from the embarrassment. His handprint on my ass faded away, the jarring contrast of my white butt and crimson thighs was terrifying and humiliating at once.

“Yes, dearest, I will not wait until you transgress again.” I felt his hand rubbing something cold on my burning thighs. I didn't care anymore, if it was to make me feel better or worse. Either way his conniving mind will come up with a new torture. I just hoped it was not capsaicin cream. “Little girls like you need discipline on a regular basis. Will start with weekly.”

The cream worked its magic, soothing and numbing the scorching pain. I understood his evil plan, to numb the pain in my thighs, so it will not distract me from the new batch. On my behind. But before proceeding any further, he sank two fingers deep inside me and quickly withdrew. I squirmed from the pain and sudden intrusion.

“Oh. You're as dry as the Sahara Desert!” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “Why? Is my little pain slut not happy to see me?” 

My eyes filled with tears, and I turned away. 

“Answer me.” Aldous poked my hand.

“No, sir. Yes, sir.” I yelped. “I'm always happy to see you, sir!”

“Then why so dry?” He kept his hand on top of mine, still tied with the scarf.

“It's the pun– sorry, the discipline, sir.”

Aldous shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn't mean I won't fuck you after. Doesn't mean I won't give you your yummy cummies.” He pinched my ass cheek. “I'm going to teach you a valuable lesson.”

“Please, sir.” I grabbed his hand with mine. I didn't know what scared me more, the further onslaught or the threat to fuck me after. Or even worse, to force me to cum with Hitachi, when all I wanted was to be left alone and fall asleep. All I wanted was for this to be over.

“Please what?” He freed his hand.

“I learned my lesson.” That was the first time out of thousands I uttered the wretched phrase. I learned my lesson. I sold my soul to the devil. I learned my lesson. Aldous was and will control every aspect of my life. I learned my lesson. There is nothing I can do about it. I learned my lesson. My ass is his, in any way he desires. And so is my pussy and my mouth and whatever else Aldous will come up with. I learned my lesson.

“No, darling. We are only halfway through your discipline. One third.” He corrected himself and straddled the bench behind my head. “Can't neglect those pillows.”

One hand on my neck, pressing my head hard against his crotch, I could smell him through the thin fabric of his summer linen pants. The smell, intoxicating any other time, suffocated me to the brink of a panic attack. I thrashed under his hand like a fish out of water, gasping for air. Aldous lifted my head and stroked my hair until I calmed down.

“I need you to stay still, doll.” He leaned forward, pressing one hand between my shoulder blades. And then I heard the belt buckle.

 

C is for Camel's back

 

Dear diary,

I cannot emphasize enough how that day changed my life, how the sole thing I crave turned into my worst nightmare. The very words that I whisper every single time I cum, “I learned my lesson”, were prescribed on that God-forsaken day.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Aldous charged from the doorway.

I jerked from the sound of his voice, the belt slid off my butt and fell on the hardwood floor with a loud bang. I jumped off the bench to pick the precious thing off the floor in a hurry and to kiss it, the same way I saw my friend N. kisses her prayer book. The parallel I just thought of, comparing the belt with N.’s prayer book, was appalling. I blushed profusely from that more than from any other reason. Starting from the fact that I had to face Aldous in nothing but a short blouse, while clutching his belt to my chest and cupping my bare bush, unable to raise my eyes. Anything to avoid that glare.

“You said to get ready and presentable,” I mumbled.

“Don't be ridiculous.” Aldous waved in the direction of the dressing room. “Go put that dress back on.”

“And panties?” I blurted out, as I scurried to get more clothes to cover my body, if only for a few minutes.

“Sure. Why not.” He plopped on the bench with a sigh of annoyance.

For a quick second I considered putting on my lucky yellow with white trim Zimmermann dress, but then decided that no luck in the world will help me and I wouldn't want to marr the dress with a memory of this day. Somehow, I already knew, this day will stay with me forever, the same as the day I fell on stage. The light green sundress with daisies I wore on the walk was pretty, but I wouldn't hesitate to get rid of it and throw it into the donation bin, if it comes to that.

When I came back, Aldous was standing in front of the full length mirror, fixing his hair. The Venetian mirror with an ornate wooden frame hung in between two tall windows, now suspiciously closed and heavy curtains drawn shut. This bedroom faced the back lawn, surrounded by the rose bushes, right now being trimmed by the gardener. I audibly gasped. Aldous expected me to get loud, he won't gag me, but he doesn't want the gardener to hear me scream.

He stepped back from the mirror and motioned for me to step in between. With his both hands on my shoulders, he positioned me sideways and pushed my head down, a sign to bend over. I usually liked to be manhandled in the bedroom, but there was something eerie in everything he did. I completely forgot about my plan to beg, I already molded into a puppet-like state of mind.

“Look in the mirror,” he touched my cheek. “Do you see your panties?” 

My back was parallel to the floor in a perfect upside down letter L. The dress rode up but nowhere near to show the white lace panties. I shook my head. Smack! His hand landed on the exposed skin just above my knees.

“I expect either of two answers: yes sir or no sir. What is it going to be?”

“No, sir!” I yelped, anticipating another smack. It was like I couldn't wait any longer and wanted to provoke him to get going. So at some point, he will be done with it. I wanted nothing more but to be done with it.

Smack on the same spot. “No reason to raise your voice, Elizabeth. I'm riiiight here. Not going anywhere.” His hand on the small of my back nudged me to bend more. “Come on, bend in half, like you did on stage. And grab your ankles.” I followed his order without any hesitation. “Look again, can you see your panties?” The dress rode higher but was still safely covering my butt.

“No, sir,” I whispered this time. Grab your ankles. That was one of the worst positions. I knew too much, I read too much, I saw too much. I knew exactly what was coming. The skin got pulled so tight on my legs and my butt, each stroke will hurt tenfold.

“Do you know why? Do not answer.” Aldous walked over to the bed to pick up the forgotten belt. “Because your dress is long enough.” Fire! It felt like fire just licked my upper thighs. Ah! With my head down, I could see the belt moving toward my legs with a threatening speed. One, two, three, four, five, six. He stopped at six. He went so fast, so hard. I was whimpering already.

“Do you think I'm giving you a whipping for being late?”

“Yes, sir.” I breathed out in between the sniffles.

“No, dearest, it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.” He delivered another six before he paused again. He seemed not to be bothered by my bawling,  “Probably the cane would be a better substitute for a straw.

“Nooo! Please, not the cane,” I wept.

Aldous ignored my pleading and added three more. The bastard was aiming at the same spots over and over again. 

“It's not up to you, Elizabeth, and I've already ordered new canes.” He tapped my thighs with the edge of the belt, indicating that he was about to strike me again. One, two, three! 

“Ahhhh!”

“Be thankful that I chose the lightest belt.”

“Thank you, sir.” If you are ordered to be thankful, you better say it, that I knew well.

“Good girl, you're learning your lesson.” Aldous rubbed my burning thighs, as he paused. “Right, as I was saying, it was a long list of transgressions. Just this afternoon, before your fateful walk, you were arguing over the length of your dresses.” 

Another six, one by one, bit into my thighs. The stinging overwhelmed me. I was afraid to lose balance, to let go of my ankles, to do anything that would cause Aldous to hit me more and more. I so wished he would move onto my butt. He never hit my thighs before, I heard that it's more painful but the reality was way worse than I'd ever imagined. 

“Get up,” he patted my back, and I managed to awkwardly straighten up. “Do you see the beauty of it?” Aldous waved at my tearstained reflection in the mirror. The skirt of the dress fell back to just above my knees, covering the scarlet red thighs. “No one can see you've been whipped.” He picked up the hem to fold up and tuck it in between the buttons on the back, then yanked the panties down, revealing my still pale butt. He smacked it with gusto, leaving a red handprint of all five of his fingers.

“Go stand in the corner and think about it. I'm not done with you yet,” he smirked. “Your pile of pillows, too adorable to not give it a go.”

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.

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

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.

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.

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!"