Brand new cover for Uncle Ar: Yay or Nay?

 

Rebranding Uncle Ar as a witty and sophisticated dark romance. I am witty and sophisticated, am I? Ha ha. 

What do you think of a new cover? Yay or Nay? Any graphic designers out there? 

It's Book One of The Belt series, hence the jarring contrast of the belt cutout over the mellow Rome ruins in the background. All the pictures and design by yours truly.

B is for Belt

 

Before becoming a senator, he was known as General Arlinus Maximus, a title he cherished very much and considered much more important than any political nonsense. He remained a military man at heart and ran his household with an iron fist, using his sword belt to keep disobedient slaves in line. In fact, despite the current fashion, he always wore his sword belt over the tunic, not only as a soldier’s habit but as a constant reminder for his staff. For all but one: his dear sex slave, Giulia.

He bought Giulia at the slave market in the summer when she turned one and twenty. Dark blonde with a big mouth and narrow hips, captured in Gaul, a recent widow, spared by the soldiers to fetch a better price, and barren. The first part Arlinus could see himself; the rest of the slave merchant’s rap made his mind spin with the possibilities of what would fit and where, and in what sequence. Arlinus was a man of an admirable sex appetite with perversions and a toy chest to match, way ahead of his time.

“What’s her name?”

“She calls herself Jools,” the merchant replied.

“Jules? That’s a man’s name. I will call her Giulia.”

“But Giulia is a noble name, senator.”

“Are you telling me how to call my slave?”

The girl’s eyes darted from one man to another, who were deciding her fate, but they never reached Arlin’s face. Women from Gaul, besides having a lovely accent, received high praise as more refined and adventurous in bed, perhaps in the local brothels, because this one seemed shy and inexperienced. She kept her eyes downcast and blushed at every crude remark. More fun to break her in!

“Spin around and show me her feet,” Arlinus asked.

Feet so dirty, he couldn’t see her toes, speckles of dried-up blood on her legs from walking barefoot, bright red marks on her wrists from the ropes that she kept scratching, when she didn’t rub the matching red marks on her thighs. Quite a leper she was, but a fascinating one. Nothing that hot baths and aromatic oils won’t fix, and then he will add his own welts to mark her. Note to self: to pick up the rose petal oil from Persia, she will smell divine while writhing under him or trying to evade his belt.

“Show me the rest,” requested Arlinus, and the merchant yanked the filthy fabric that covered the young woman’s torso to show off his product.

The woman, unaware of the slave market’s tradition, pulled the fabric back to preserve her modesty, for which the trader reprimanded her with a whip across her ass.

“No,” motioned Arlinus, “don’t touch my property.”

“Not yours yet,” scowled the slave merchant.

“I beg to differ,” smirked Arlinus, as he handed over the leather bag with coins. “Twenty thousand denarii and my belt on her arse say she’s mine.”

With that, he unbuckled his sword belt, upended the befuddled Giulia and bent her over the edge of the platform she had been showcased on a moment ago. Twelve rapid-fire strikes of the belt covered whatever fading whip marks she had with twelve angry crimson stripes.

And thus, the education of Giulia had begun.

L is for Leather

Aldous, despite being only one eighth Scottish, had a strong affinity for the Scottish tawse and the kilt belt. Rated eleven on the one to ten scale of severity, the Scottish tawse is more brutal than the cane, though the sensation is entirely different: a bone-deep thud versus razor-thin sting. Its younger cousin kilt belt is from the same leather family, wide and heavy by nature, but kinder on the bum. Then again, its effect depends on who yields it and for what purpose. The other factor being my post-orgasmic floaty state, and the third but not least, I loved leather. 

That was the pep talk running in circles in my head, and you cannot survive a heavy spanking without some pep talk, better delivered by your disciplinarian, or if not, by yourself. Aldous was not into pep talks or any kind of positive reinforcements; his lectures, usually accompanied by severe spankings, sent me straight down the rabbit hole. Nick’s experience, so far, was limited to my dreams. Whatever I liked, he liked. Whatever stance on spanking I wanted him to take, he surely did: gentle, hard, leisurely slow, or breathtakingly fast; mind reader Nick got it all.

But some dreams are unscripted, and this one is running amok.

“Holy fuck, it’s twice wider than my belt!” Nick yelps.

“And twice heavier too,” replies Aldous. “Don’t fret, she took tawse like a good girl, she’ll be fine.”

 “But she just came,” protests Nick.

“Exactly! The best time to punish her for coming without permission. On her back and legs up,” Aldous concludes with a verdict.

That’s an evil twist! The diaper position (on the back with legs up) is one of the most hated positions for the utmost exposure and the skin pulled tight, with the primary targets being the sit spots and the upper thighs, the most painful areas to spank.

Out of nowhere, a metal canopy bed with a bare mattress rolls out, with the cuffs dangling on a long chain over the footboard. Free of any restraints and on my wobbly feet, I have a moment to stretch my limbs. After the hard surface of the spanking bench, the bed looks like a luxury upgrade, if it wouldn’t be the premise of the next assault on my ass.

“Assume the position!” Mistress Kat barks the order.

I climb on the bed, taking my sweet time, but mindful of a reprimand. I flip on my back and lift my legs, waiting for her to secure my ankles with the cuffs. Maybe if I will be a good girl, she will show mercy. She yanks my hips forward, over the edge of the bed, readying for full access. No mercy yet, I sigh.

“Sorry, mate, no choosing the view for this one,” I hear Aldous. The bed has a tall headboard and moving it around would obstruct the view for my two spectators.

“Quite an opposite,” rebuffs Nick. “Turn her around.”

Ouch, I jerk. Don’t wake up the beast, or Aldous will gnaw his paw to get the upper hand.

“Alrighty then,” says Aldous, and at his command the bed rolls around one-eighty degrees. “Since I can’t see her, I can only rely on her screams.” He agrees matter-of-factly. “She will count, and after each five I want to hear: thank you, sir, I love your kilt belt. Any mistake, we go back to one.”

“Until when?” asks Nick.

“Oh, you will know. It’s a punishment, not some play with your leather trinkets.”

The Western cowgirl and the Stranger: a roleplay

The words of the week were Western and Stranger. 

As always, we suggested one word each. I went with Western, as we missed the Western themed party at the club last week, and you know how much I love dressing up. He chose Stranger. I wasn't surprised; he hinted a few times that a certain hello stranger roleplay was in the cards. And whatever he says, goes. 

It's peculiar, how we choose the accessories for our play. Each has a special meaning or a hidden purpose, like a real life double entendre.

Studded boots with much needed heels will reduce the height difference. His green flannel shirt, too big for me, will keep me warm as the only garment left on. New jeans won't stay on for long, neither will star spangled panties. 

Flirty velvet ribbons braided into my pigtails match the green of the shirt. Neither of us is into ageplay but who can say no to a cowgirl with pigtails and a red bandana around her neck? 

In a sweet anticipation, I listen as wood crackles and pops in the fireplace he started before I came downstairs. The warmth spreads through the room, through my shaking limbs, through my bones. A hot flash hits me like a wall. I can't wait a second longer for him to get rid off my clothes. I inhale hard and whimper to shush my pounding heart. 

When I hear his steps on the creaky stairs, I don't move a muscle, standing still with my back to the door. I don't need to see him, I could always feel his presence. And now he is relishing the view of his present, wrapped in so many layers, for him to take off bit by delicious bit. 

He reaches from behind to untie the bandana on my neck. The new fabric rustles when he folds it into a strip and gives out the smell of my parfume. A makeshift blindfold covers my eyes. 

The massive silver buckle clangs when he pulls my belt through the loops and secures my wrists behind my back. He unbuckles and pulls out his own belt next and folds it in half with a sound clap, so I have no doubts of what this Western adventure will entail. 

Slight nudge on my neck, and I bend over the antique rocking horse that I dragged into the middle of the room, my bare stomach pressed to the well worn leather saddle.

His favourite rope, coiled into a lasso, lays motionless on the floor, but for now he doesn't need it. He yanks my tight jeans down to the ankles and smirks at the view of the star spangled panties. He rubs the bare skin before pulling the panties down. Now the double elastics trap my feet in place better than any rope. The hem of his flannel shirt folded up to reveal the blank canvas my body is for him, at his mercy. 

I am the Western cowgirl, and he is the Stranger. 

X is for xxxx

Dear diary,

First, an explanation, xxxx is not a euphemism for anything but a simple stand-in for the word that slipped my mind, that I have to come back later and replace with a real word. I read a great piece of advice once: when writing, don't interrupt the flow, let it spill on the page without consulting with any thesaurus or synonym lists, just get it out there, the first draft. The article suggested using a rare word as a stand-in, like elephant or penguin, unless you're writing about penguins. I took it one step further and use xxxx. It stands out and is hard to miss, like a sore thumb, raising its little hands, waiving, here, here, pick me, fix me. The only question remains, who are Red and Wolf in the story? Are they stand-ins for someone else, or can they stand on their own? Only time will tell, and right now it's time to get back to the story.

The odd branches broke under the stranger's feet, closer and closer, as he walked back from the creek. Then the sounds of two quick blows that Wolfie, a fan of the five second rule, does when he picks the toast from the floor. 

“Why are you still here, Red?” Finally, Wolfie's own growling voice, muffled by the poppy seed pastry. “I gave you such a long head start, and you didn't use it,” he huffed. “You could've been home by now, bolting the door. Not that it would stop me.”

I jumped on my feet and turned around to face the smug bastard. “Do you have any fucking idea, how much you scared me?” I pushed his chest.

“Language, or you will get extra with these lovely fresh switches.” He picked the willow branches, he just cut, from the ground.

“How could I move, if…” I stopped mid sentence. I didn't dare to move, because that's how it always was with Wolfie. If I'm told to hold still, I hold still. In my frightened stupor I just stayed bent over, the way he left me. The blood coloured my cheeks with embarrassment.

“Oh no, you didn't notice, you weren't tied to the tree?” He licked off crumbs stuck in the corner of his mouth with his long tongue. Something in my eyes told him that his game plan backfired, and it's time to dial down. He pulled me to his chest, and I was happy to bury my nose in his fur. “Darling, did you think it was a stranger?” I nodded in silence. “In my forest?” He put an exaggerated emphasis on the word ‘my’. “No one will ever touch you in my forest. I know everything that's going on. Do you remember to whom all the animals report here?” I nodded some more. “It was getting dark, so I decided to meet you halfway. With some fresh switches I cut on my way. You fought so lovely, I had to tie your wrists, and then cut some more. I guess I overdid it.” He kissed the top of my head. I froze but for a different reason, Wolfie was apologizing. “I mean, if you say you were scared, I definitely overdid it. I'm sorry, I never want you to feel unsafe, that's not how we play.”

“If I knew for sure that it was you, I guess, it would be fine.” I blurted out my darkest fantasy. And immediately I felt a familiar twitch against my stomach.

“Can we pick up from the part where I brought more switches?” he whispered in my ear and guided me back to the tree trunk.

With the hood over my head again, all I could see were his big feet on the ground and feel his big hands, baring and caressing my ass. The old words felt as right as ever.

“What big hands you have! Oww!” Wolfie was already giving me a warm-up with his hand.

“The better to smack your ass with.” Sweet mother of Jell-O, with hands like that, who needs anything else. Well, Wolfie does. I heard the holy xxxx of the belt buckle.

“Ouch! What a big heavy belt you have!” I tried to rub my butt, but the willow knot held my hands in place.

“The better to show you how much I care about you.” Wolfie gave me a rub himself. “The better to mark you.” He marked me alright. I won't be able to sit tomorrow, if not for the Princess Red pillow, as Wolfie called it.

“What a big cock you have!” I decided to spruce it up a bit.

“My naughty Red.” He hugged me from behind, pressing his big cock against my butt and wrapping his big arms around me. “The better to stretch your pretty lips. To wear you inside out. To bruise you where nothing else can.” 

“What big arms you have!” I threw in a fourth one, wishing for the moment to last longer.

“The better to carry you away, after I'm done with you.” He stepped back. “You will not talk me out of using these fresh switches, young lady!” 

F is for Foul

 

Dear diary,

Foul. There is no other word that describes better how I've seen myself. Lying on my back at the edge of the bed, my hands and ankles locked in restraints and hooked to the spreader bar, knees wide open, my ass propped up with the pillow. Aldous milked my humiliation to the fullest, touching random spots on my body with buzzing Hitachi, waiting for me to beg, after edging me for what seems to be centuries. My ass and thighs, with marks in various shades of red, were smeared all over with his cum.

When he got me off that bench, Aldous made sure to demonstrate to me his handiwork in the mirror. The intermediate results, as he worded it. After that, he led me to the bed and showed me the proper waiting position. Bend over the pillows, cuffed hands behind my back, feet shoulder wide. The bed was too tall, without the bench to kneel on, my toes were barely touching the floor. 

“To give you a taste of how we'll do it next time,” he announced and tapped my butt with the edge of the belt.

“Aldous, please. I learned my lesson.”

“Who's Aldous?” The belt viciously bit into my already agonizing body.

“Please, sir!!”

“Keep your voice down.” He warned me, and I added ‘or else' in my head. “I like that phrase a lot, you are indeed learning your lesson. I will give you five more, and after each stroke you will say it.”

And that's how it went. “Owww! I learned my lesson.” Five more times, the harshest ones of that night.

True to his word, after that he called it a day and took me from behind. The height of that bed was not coincidental, it was built to his specifications, at the perfect height to bend me over and fuck me from behind. He didn't care much how long he lasted, the trusty Hitachi was there to finish the job. He laid on top of me, whispering in my ear a promise of glorious yummy cummies. His cum mixed with sweat dripped down my raw flesh, intensifying the pain.

Filthy, ugly, indecent. Foul.

According to Aldous, the ladies first rule was invented by amateurs. On the contrary, ladies second would give the lady in question all the time in the world. When it came to pleasuring me, Aldous was an expert to pick and choose the best tool of the trade. Funny enough, with Hitachi it never took me too long. Little I knew what he had in mind.

Only when he flipped me on my back, I saw the spreader bar. Aldous locked my ankles and extended the bar to the fullest. Then he put my wrists into the cuffs with a longer chain and told me to hold the bar myself. He yanked me to the edge of the bed and lifted my ass to add another pillow. I was holding myself open for him to draw the pain and the ecstasy from me as he pleased.

Obscene, unsightly, hostile. Foul. 

And then he invented a new game. Every time I was on the brink of an orgasm, he brought back the belt. And I had to yelp, I learned my lesson, again and again, after each strike. He would back out and edge me again. 

“Look at me,” I heard his voice too near to my face. I didn't realize that I kept my eyes shut the whole time. My body, exhausted from the pain, was screaming enough, but my reckless brain demanded to keep going. 

“I will not stop this time, Elizabeth, I will let you cum. And I want to hear the magic words as you cum.”

“Yes, sir.” I responded with a hoarse from all the screaming voice.

“What are the magic words?”

“I learned my lesson,” I chanted effortlessly.

“Good girl. And from this day onwards, whenever you cum, either with me, or by yourself, you will always repeat those words. I learned my lesson.“ 

He pressed the Hitachi against my clit and kept lacing my ass with his belt. I couldn't tell anymore, if I kept cumming from the Hitachi, or the belt, or the words that turned on some part of my brain I wasn't aware ever existed. 

Unclean, disgusting, miserable. Foul.

Aldous is long gone from my bed, it took me years to learn not to feel foul anymore, but the words stayed. No matter who I'm with, like a clock, even if I scream out my partner's name or God's name, in my head I repeat those words: I learned my lesson.

E is for Eager

Dear diary,

You have to understand, at that point Aldous was the only man I've ever been with. We met when I was seventeen, he was ten years older, patiently waiting for me to grow up. We didn't have sex till we got married when I turned twenty one. Maybe one day I will write about that. These days they would call it grooming. But back then, I liked how he was always there for me. He was there in the front row, when I fell on stage. He took care of everything. Maybe that's what I always wanted, to be taken care of.

As long as I could remember, I danced. Always in a pursuit of that perfect stance, perfect jump, always at the expense of an excruciating pain. When I fell, and it was over for me, there was another pain, of loss of something I loved the most. And Aldous was there for me as always. One day he just replaced one pain with another and took it to a different level. I was indeed a pain slut, as he liked to call me, and he was the only one who understood that part of me, how much I craved it, how eager I was to learn all the new ways to receive it. So he gave it to me.

It's weird, from someone who has never been touched sexually, I felt men's hands on my body quite often, of my ballet partners, of course. The hands that would hold tight onto my waist, lift me, ground me, keep me safe. Except when I fell. There was a deep connection between those strong hands on my body and feeling safe. And as anything else, Aldous took it one step further. His secret spot was the small of my back. With his hand there, he would guide me through a crowded party, lead me on the dance floor, nudge me into position. Like it was a switch to turn off my anxiety and connect me to him even more, with no words necessary.

So when Aldous slid his palm down my back and rested it on the small of my back, it wiped out all my fears and hesitation. I was his, eager to take whatever he planned to dole out. But this eagerness was calm and serene, if it makes any sense. Overwhelmed no more, I was eager to serve.

“May I please you?” The smell that sent me into the agony mere minutes prior, was now as welcoming as ever. 

“You mean, please me, please me?” He chuckled but I noticed the familiar twitch.

I was nervous, as we never tried it before, you know, him striking me with him in my mouth. What if I bite him by accident? But Aldous had more faith in me or just wanted to teach his pony a new trick. He unzipped and fed himself into my mouth. I wiggled my hands, still tied behind my back, and got my wish granted. After all, Aldous loved my inexperienced hands on his body, tugging, squeezing, pulling him closer. 

The blows that followed did not distract me, I welcomed them the same way I would his playful swats. The belt bit into my ass time after time, but I sucked on him with a newfound reverence. I even rocked my hips, following his rhythm, eager to feed his both needs: the need to give me that pain and the need to fuck my mouth. It shifted the mood. There was neither place, nor time, only his belt falling on my ass and his cock in my mouth.

Aldous admitted to me once, how many times he fantasized about my mouth, while watching me perform on stage or later, getting off to my videos. He was eager to teach me to suck properly. I couldn't take him in at first, which frustrated me so much. Obviously, I had no one to compare him with, but he explained to me that he was much thicker than average. So, he bought a collection of dildos for me to practice with, though I still had to learn to deep throat.

“Good girl,” Aldous touched my cheek, and I let him go. I didn't even notice that the blows stopped. “Stay here,” he got off the bench and patted my butt. 

Only now I realized how thoroughly he thrashed it. My poor ass burned the same as my thighs, before he numbed them with the cream. I heard the water running and the sound of a fabric being wrung from the excess water. When Aldous pressed the hot wet towel over my smarting cheeks and held me down, I yelped in agony. He was ticking off every single rule in the book of torture.

“You didn't think we're done, did you?” He adjusted the hair that was blocking my eyes, and I saw my pink Hitachi on the bed next to the pillows.

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.”

B is for Begging

Dear diary,

We left this story with me, marching upstairs, crying my heart out, with my husband's leather belt in hand. But before I will describe what happened next, I need to explain a few things. It helps me to analyze what happened, to move on. I'm not the same person now, as I'm writing down these words. I'm much older, I've been with many men since Aldous. Each and every one of them treated me better. But none of them knew of my real needs the way Aldous did. But let's get back to that dreadful day.

There was another word that Aldous avoided at all costs, punishment. When we discussed the consequences of me breaking the rules, Aldous referred to it as a disciplinary action, without getting into too much detail, except that it will be severe enough for me to avoid breaking rules. The conversation we just had downstairs defined the action clearly enough. Whipping my ass with his belt. No matter how much I argued, Aldous would not budge. The belt that he handed over to me as I was leaving the room was a vivid reminder that it was really happening. My first disciplinary action. With his belt. That he never used on me before.

Aldous was not into the domestic side of kink. He was quite the opposite, obsessed with high aesthetics of black lace, leather toys, and other shiny accoutrements. We didn't try too many at that point, but I could see the logic, to separate play from discipline, pain for pleasure from pain for remorse and tears. The belt seemed like a universally accepted tool for it, an ideal weapon, scary but not excessively harsh. In theory.

From the videos I used to watch, the belt massacre would often start over the jeans, and then would peel layer by layer after each dozen, each stroke accompanied by a scream. Just the thought of a belt hitting my behind a dozen times, even protected by fabric, made me shudder.

I was wearing a knee length sundress for a walk. So I sat down on the bench at the bottom of the bed and bared my thighs. Smack! Ouch, it was way worse than anything else Aldous ever tried on me, which, again, was not that many things at the time. But his hand could be heavy enough, if he wanted it to be. 

Wearing jeans was not an option. That was not an outfit for a proper lady. Proper lady my ass, if hitting me with a belt is! One thing was a fantasy to get off too, and a completely different thing was actually waiting for it to happen. With Aldous possibly already on his way. He didn't specify when he would come or how long I would wait, but he clearly ordered me to be ready, which I was not.

I darted to the dressing room to change. Off with the dress, I put on a short blouse that barely covered my stomach. A blouse that was meant to be worn with some high waist elegant pants, but all I had on below the waist was a pair of panties, which I decidedly got rid off too. Mirror, mirror on the wall. A skinny twenty something, with big round Audrey Hepburn eyes and tiny neatly trimmed bush, terrified out of her mind, was staring back at me. That's what Aldous wanted, his own Audrey or Jackie Kennedy look-alike, perfectly groomed and dressed to perfection, hourglass shaped and well mannered. His own perfect toy. And now he was about to teach his toy a lesson.

I've never felt so vulnerable in my whole life. Yes, he saw me completely naked hundreds, if not thousands of times, and taught me how to do all these nasty things in bed and purposefully caused me pain. But today was different, this pain was not for fun or his pleasure, but for me to cry, to regret, to plead, to beg. Yes! That's what I will do when he gets here. I will beg. Because I cannot go through it, I cannot let it happen, I can't. No one is immune to my begging. I will ask for his forgiveness, and Aldous will look into my big sorrowful eyes and reconsider, right? Right?

No, I have to get ready before I could wallow in self pity. Back to the bedroom! I've seen it done so many times. Somehow almost all actions that involved belts happened with two pillows under the poor woman's stomach. To make it look more presentable? To get a better access to the tender sit spots? To be easier to hold her in place if she moves? I doubt that her comfort was of any concern. I quickly piled up two long pillows along the bottom edge of the bed, climbed and knelt on the bench, and bent over the pillows. Hoping that my bare ass looks presentable enough to my husband's high standards. I panicked and clenched my butt at the thought, which was another no no, I'm not allowed to clench. As I clenched, I felt that I was still tender from this morning session, so not ready for the belt. How can anyone be ever ready for the belt?

The belt! Where is the belt? In my hurry I forgot it on my side of the king sized bed, too far to grab from where I was. I could swear I could hear Aldous’s steps, which was impossible, as all the hallways were laid with long runners. Maybe it was my own heart thumping. To the belt and back into the same position, bent over but now with my hands crossed on the small of my back, holding the damn belt, chanting in my head. 

I will be your perfect little toy, your obedient wife, but please please please reconsider.

A is for Arrangement

Dear diary,

I stumbled upon an interesting challenge recently, an April A to Z challenge. You're supposed to post on your blog a post each day, each day the topic of the post should start with the corresponding letter of the alphabet. A on the first day, B on the second, and on and on. You know, I do not have a blog, and I'll never be able to post any of my revelations publicly, but the idea seems quite alluring. As my Manhattan shrink liked to say, writing is healing. So, let's begin with the letter A.

A is for Arrangement 

It happened during the second year of my marriage. I was still settling into the role of a spoiled young wife. Aldous has been laying down the ground rules left and right, finishing off the gilded cage with equally gilded barbed wire. I went on the walk after dinner, Aldous was never a fan of those. Who really walks around here, along the country road, with an occasional car whooshing by? Before I left, he reminded me not to be late or else. We've never got to ‘or else's part, and I didn't think that Aldous would actually do anything about it. He would playfully swat my ass before or during sex, I will write more about how we started later. But this was different, my butt was tingling and not in a good way, while I was scurrying back home, ten minutes past my curfew.

I found my then-husband in the library, reading by the fireplace, with a lit cigar in his mouth and a double-folded belt on the otherwise empty desk. It was kind of hard to miss, a brown Italian leather belt, that was holding his pants when I left, now sitting on top of the polished like a mirror antique writing desk.

“If anyone would as much as lay a finger on you,” Aldous commenced with his speech. “I will have to hunt them down.” Way to refer to his ample gun collection, of both antique and modern warfare. “And then dispose of the body. Thankfully, plenty of space for that. But, considering the modern technology, who knows, I might still end up in jail!” He yelled the last part at the top of his lungs and then continued in his usual near whisper tone. “Without any conjugal visits. And we wouldn't want that, innit?” 

That last ‘innit’ really did it for me. I squirmed and blurted out. “If we had a dog, I wouldn't be walking by myself.”

“But we do not have a dog, at the moment. Do we?” Aldous was a master of stating the obvious and finishing a sentence with a question. 

“No, sir.” Why on Earth did I just call him a sir? Was it the years of pent up fantasies? Was it his stern voice that implied the only answer.

“I wish I could call you a good girl.” His lips turned up into a vicious smirk. “But we're far from it, the misfortune I am about to rectify.” He put the cigar down. “Did I tell you what happens to naughty girls, Elizabeth?” Aldous nodded at the belt.

“You did, sir.” 

“Then why did you disobey your husband and put yourself in harm's way?”

“It's just ten minutes. I was ten minutes late.” I still tried to wiggle out of the inevitable.

“Do we have an arrangement that you so blatantly broke?”

“Aldous, I'm really sorry, it will never happen again!”

“It's high time to stick with ‘sir’, Elizabeth. And, yes, I will make sure that you will take my words more seriously from now on. Because I do deliver, do I not?”

“Yes, you do.” I nodded and hastily added. “Sir.”

“Good. Now go upstairs and get ready.” All I could do was nod. “What will you make yourself presentable for? I want to hear the words.” 

“For you to whip me, sir. With your belt.” Aldous avoided the word ‘spank’ like a plague, and so did I. “For coming home late. And putting myself in harm's way.” I was filling the scary void with the words.

“Excellent. You're halfway to learning your lesson. Now go and wait for your imminent encounter with my belt.”

As I marched up the stairs, I burst into tears, unable to hold them any longer. I knew that it was the first time of many. Many dreadful whippings coming my way. And there was no way I could change any of it.

PS My dear readers, for those of you who has been following Izzie and Nick story. First of all, sorry for disappearing!! And thank you for all your kind words! 

In January, Sage Blum wrote to me and explained WHY Izzie and Nick are so awesome. I was blown away by her words. At that point, I was halfway through writing a spinoff about Stuart and Sherry.

I thought long and hard about Sage's words, because Izzie and Nick are indeed my favourite couple. I'm happy to report that I'm back on working on that book. The problem is/was that initially it was written as a vanilla book, smutty vanilla as I call it. I needed to introduce kink, so... drum roll.. I'm writing Izzie's back story as a diary. You can read it this month of April 2024 as part of the A to Z challenge. Aldous is Izzie's ex-husband. It's quite dark and ambiguous, but I hope you will enjoy it!

And as always, I'm dying to hear what you think. So, don't be shy, leave a comment.

Irrelevant, a spanking story

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I beg your pardon, two, what?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Answer the fucking question!"

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

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

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child!" 

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

"What am I, a prisoner?"

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

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

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

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

"Alright! Fled, happy?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean, by strike two?" 

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

"I need to pee." She looks away.

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

"Your job?" 

"What do you think, I enjoy it?"

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