V is for Velvet

 

Dear diary,

I thought of many words that start with V. Vicious, vile, vengeance came to mind. I'm not seeking vengeance anymore, karma will eventually get everyone who did me wrong. But vile things keep happening to me, none of them I wish to share in my diary, a home of my happy place.

When I think of a truly happy place, I see a green velvet couch. I don't know where it will be, in which house or even in which country, but I can see the couch so clearly. Apparently, they are a thing, both on the internet and in real life. An interior design darling for many years, unassuming soft velvet in any shape and form, I prefer those with big tufted arms, so comfortable to bend over. In many hues of green, from British racing green to dark khaki and back to lemony neon green of tennis balls. For me, the more neutral and soothing the colour is, the better, because many nasty and naughty things will happen on and around that green velvet couch, or sofa, as Nick would call it. 

With blankets and throws, so soft and cozy, folded neatly at the end of the day or left crumpled in the corner, to cover, to hide, to cuddle, to keep warm, to fight the inevitable chills I get at the end. With an array of oversized pillows in magenta, baby pink, and orange, some made of leather, some shaggy, some in matching velvet, each to play its own role, to fit under the right limb, to tuck, to prop, to lift. 

Right now I'm bent over the back of the couch, face down and hands clutching the pillows, naked from the waist down, my ass sticking high in the air. Not my favourite position, just a nudge better than the dreadful legs up, but I can decipher why Nick chose it. With my high heels on, my ass is at the perfect height for the main event, for him to fuck me after. 

Not sure why people call it a main event, as for us the main event starts when he guides me over and throws a blanket over the couch, not so much to protect the couch from the aftermath, but for my comfort and arousing soft touch of the fabric against my naked skin. Or even earlier, when he announces the verdict, how many strikes and with what I deserve for my imaginable crimes. Or what roleplay is in the cards, out of a long list I confessed to him earlier. I live and breathe for the moment he takes my hand in his and announces, “It's time.”

My crime today was leaving the pool toys in the pool and, gasp, a martini glass made out of real glass on one of the floats. In my dreams I drink martinis with extra olives, smoke an occasional cigarette, and wear skimpy bathing suits. This time it was an orange bikini, two tiny triangles over my tits and a thong, with full access to my butt cheeks. Nick still had to make a show of taking it off me and gagging me with it, for some peace and quiet, as he noted. 

A potential broken glass was a serious crime that required an equally serious weapon, so Nick brought out the cane. Nough said. The martini glass was obviously made out of clear plastic, I would never go near the pool with real glass, but Nick was itching to try the new cane on me, hence the big crime. 

“Why can't you be more careful? Why do I have to resort to the cane?” He tapped my butt cheek lightly.

I mumbled through the bikini bottom. 

Nick was faced with a dilemma, either the gag is out, or his speech will become a monologue. He loved my smart mouth more than his peace and quiet, and the gag was out with a caution. “That was a rhetorical question, keep it quiet, or I will gag you again.”

I just nodded in agreement. In the dream, Nick was as funny and clumsy as in real life. We've already fooled around on the same green velvet couch and knocked down the whisky tumbler he left on the side table. The next half an hour we spent on all four, trying to find all the broken glass pieces and shaking off the rug. Since I was already on all four, one thing led to another, and the first round, forewarned by some nice warm-up with a leather paddle, was out of the way. 

I didn't invent that trick: cum first, spank later. I read about it and always wanted to try. Today it just happened without any planning, and I could see it by the playful glint in Nick's eyes, he was happy to take it off my bucket list.

Maybe my martini glass was imaginable, but my ass was paying for Nick's own mistake. Kind of the same way like the birthday spanking works. It might be his birthday, but I will be getting the spanking, to his and my delight. On the same green velvet couch.

PS Picture from Tumbler.

Q is for Questions

 

Another snippet from Izzie and Nick verse. 

Q is for Questions 

"Were you spanked as a child?" 

"No, got a lot of yelling. I danced since I was five. I think no one would ever touch me out of  fear of visible bruises or marks." 

"So, when did it start?" 

"My ballet teacher had this vicious bamboo cane that everyone was scared of. We never knew if these stories were true or just stories to keep us in line. Until one day, just before the recital, I could get my plies right, and he told me to stay after.. after." 

"How old were you?" 

"Old enough. It was horrible, but I was more scared that the next day everyone will see the marks. So for the recital I changed the tutu to a long skirt. He said that he will spank me again and cane me for changing the skirt, right after the recital. I don't know how I could dance, knowing of what was coming, but it was my best performance ever. And after..." 

"Are you sure you want to continue?" 

"At first I thought I will die, it was so unbearable, I was still very sore from the spanking he gave me before the recital. And then I reached the point when... I didn't want it to end." 

Nick holds his breath, afraid to interrupt her, but his treacherous hands hug her tighter, and Izzie speaks again. 

"He never touched me again. I turned to Mister Hairbrush, he was very handy and  accommodating, as you can imagine." 

"What about Aldous?" 

"Not today, Nick. Aldous is a bone fide sadist, and I'm not a masochist, not exactly. But I asked Aldous first, not the other way around. That's all you need to know."

N is for Nothing

This story turned into something much longer than I expected, with multiple instalments, starting with the letter G: G is for Going, Going, Gone

"Are you done there yet?" Nick hollers from behind the closed bathroom door.

No, she is not done. In fact, she didn't even start yet, peeing, that is. Izzie still stares at her own reflection in the mirror, a very particular part of the said reflection, her bum, as Nick likes to call it. It's hard to twist her head that way and look over the shoulder, while holding up the pajama top with one hand and touching the almost smooth surface of her butt with the other. Damn it, why is it so smooth? Nick caned her for real last night and paddled with the new leather paddle before that. And nothing! She is still very sore, but there is nothing to show for it, except for two thin red lines.

Nick picks through the door with a peace offering of sorts, the butt plug that he holds by the fox tail end. Izzie disapproves of his cleaning technique, which is leasurely rinsing it in a soapy water. She scrubs her toys with the same vigor the professional chefs clean their kitchen at the end of the service. 

Izzie unscrews the tail and drops the plug in the sink to wash later, turning her attention back to the fading marks. Nick stares at the same spot, except he doesn't need to look at the reflection. With a smug grin, he points with the tail at the lines. 

"Where is the third one?" Nick folded the tail in half like a makeshift feather duster and now tickles her back and butt with it. 

"Ask yourself, the cane master."

"Hey, not too shabby for the first time. See, they are perfectly parallel. Told you, I've been practicing."

"On the pillow?" Izzie squirms away from the tail. The soft fur feels funny on her still sore bottom. 

"Yep, one lucky pillow. Covered in ketchup now."

"Say what?"

"How would I know where exactly they land? I put some ketchup on the cane and, you know..." Nick swooshes through the air with the tail. "Come on, Iz." He adjusts himself impatiently, his sleeping shorts doing little to hide his morning wood. "Will you hurry?"

"Be my guest," she replies with a giggle, for the second time this morning, and waves at the toilet.

Amused by the cheeky suggestion, Nick stares her down, head cocked to the side. "Well, there is always the first," he says as he lifts the toilet seat. "For your eyes only."

Izzie can't take her eyes off the show he puts on for her. Is it the way his cock lays heavily, filling the palm of his hand, the thumb pushing the tip down with the force, or the sound of the loud stream hitting the water, or the foam? She. Is. Staring.

"Ahem!" Nick pulls her out of the daydream, but the show continues with the shaking to the last drop and putting away. 

Pity, she gulps and clenches her butt. Oops, still naked butt. She quickly pulls the pajama shorts up. 

"Not so fast, keep them down." That voice, Izzie sighs but pulls the shorts down, just below the seat spot, and subconsciously flinches again. "Who was that wiggle for, my cock or my hand?"

"Both, sir." Making her cheeks blush became Nick's favourite pastime. Both sets of cheeks.

Nick settles on the edge of the bathtub. "That sir again, I see. And what does my princess desires first, this lovely Saturday morning?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Nick repeats after her.

"Nothing, sir. The princess desires for you to choose."

"Are you sure you're not too sore?" Nick rubs his eyes warily, a telltale sign that he's genuinely concerned.

"I'm sore inside out." Izzie shrugs her shoulders. Duh! 

Nick smirks first, suppressing a mischievous chortle, then burst into a full-blown, snickering, howling peel of laughter. "Sorry, love. I was debating, which apology would insult you more, for wearing you in or out?"

"Is it a joke for you?" Izzie pouts.

"No, love. Last night was no joke, for sure. But I guess I did something right, as you've been all giggly and wiggly this morning."

"I know what I desire." She looks up at him, suddenly all quiet and solemn. "I want you to spank me to tears." She gulps before she repeats with a small correction. "I need you... to spank me to tears."

"Where the fuck did this come from??" He jumps on his feet. 

"Nick!"

"No Nick here. Talk!"

"Nothing!" 

"You don't get to say 'nothing' to me. Not anymore."

"I don't know!" She cries out in a frenzied panic. 

Nick rushes out of the bathroom and comes back with a leather belt in hand. He slams it on the counter and sits back on the bathtub edge. 

"Talk, and I will decide whether to spank you or not." No, she is still frozen in time, staring blankly at the wall. "Come here." Nick pulls her onto his lap, the right hand firmly around her bare butt. Izzie curls under his chin, hiding her face in his chest. Smack! Comes the first encouraging swat. "Talk."

These are the best ones, cuddle and spank, hard and slow. Izzie closes her eyes and waits for the next one, and the next one. The lump in her throat shrivels, ready to break into tiny pieces. 

"I don't want to decide, I don't want to choose." She pauses on the brink of tearing up. and he swats again. "Don't let me choose, not in the bedroom." 

"We're in the bathroom." Smack! One hand pressing her head gently against his shoulder, the other one carries on the onslaught. 

"You know what I meant. Please!" The next swat brings out the first sob and a tear. 

"Here we go. Anything else?" Nick's arms are long enough to reach for the belt on the counter. He wraps it around his fist to shorten it as much as possible. 

"No." She shakes her head, drawing closer into him. "Nothing." 

 

 My lovely readers, how did yo like the ending? What do you think in general, too graphic and too much smut, or crank the heat up?

M is for Morning and Marks and Middle of the night

Morning came too early. Nick woke Izzie up with soft tentative kisses on her naked shoulder and hard erection pressed against the small of her back. So subtle for a Saturday morning! She stretched with gusto and turned around to face a shy smile and a ready to pounce mood. And pounce he did, lips on lips, eagerly pushing his minty tongue in. 

"Didn't you have enough last night, Casanova?" she asks. 

"I did. I wanted to check on your marks but then thought I should kiss you first."

"What a gentleman!"  

"That I am." He pulls away the covers with a flourish, only to discover a pajama-shorts-covered butt. "Ah! Did you put them back without permission? That's a spankable offence."

"Be my guest." She laughs. "I just need to pee first." 

"Though I need to assess the damage."

"Not if it's a spankable offense."

"You minx, you tricked me into a refresher!" Nick shouts to her back, as Izzie giggles on the way to the bathroom. 

She has so many reasons to giggle about. Last night Nick didn't follow on any on his empty threats. He didn't give her the six of the best or draw a five-barred gate as he promised. Gasp! That most dreaded stroke across the first five, crossing the lines, that is considered  a cardinal sin by some and the intentional evil-doing by the others. But none of that happened. 

Last night was a long night. When at last they were done with the talking, and she laid across his lap, he made good on his promise and took out the fox tail butt plug. She squirmed, and he just caressed her bottom in silence. Usually a chatterbox, Nick was done with the words for the night. 

He brought her hand up to kiss her palm, the same way she kissed his a moment ago. He pinned it to the small of her back and held it there, fingers intertwined, his way of saying, I got you. He didn't speak, when he tapped her bottom with that leather paddle, preparing her for the first swat. He didn't say a word, when she thought about Aldous again and clenched her butt. Nick just rested the paddle on her thighs and waited quietly till she relaxed. When she looked again at the cane, resting on top of the armchair in the middle of the room, she shuddered and closed her eyes, Nick turned her head the other way and paused. He paused so many times. He sighed in silence and went on with the paddling, hard measured blows falling, falling, falling. Until she stopped fidgeting and fighting, until her breathing became even, until she gave in. And then he stopped and patted her bottom to let her know that she can get up.

Izzie was thoroughly sore and buzzing with the pain when she got on her feet, and yet she knew that all this paddling was just a preparation for the main event. Nick motioned with his chin to the armchair and helped her to lay in between the armrests. She was comfortable enough, as one can be while awaiting the caning.

Then once more Nick proved how different he was not just from Aldous, but from anyone else. Not that Izzie had ever been spanked by anyone, beside Aldous or Nick. Instead of giving her a dreadful caning, hard strikes that would send her wailing, each and every one of them, no, Nick chose a series of short and fast strokes. Ramping up the intensity little by little, they still stung a lot, pain accumulating fast. But Nick wasn't after teaching her a lesson, or leaving marks that last, or scaring her off with every whooshing sound. It wasn't much worse that the belt, or that butchered attempt with the roses. As she lay there, accepting and grateful for each stroke, it hit her. This caning was to help her let go and move on from all the bad memories of Aldous, the caning included, and come out of it unscarred, both literally and metaphorically.

And then Nick paused and spoke. 

"Three last ones, Iz. These will hurt more." It did hurt much more, her foot left the floor in a kick. Nick gave her enough time to recover and catch her breath. 

"One, thank you, sir." Nick didn't ask to count but he didn't object either. Izzie wanted to signify this moment and didn't know any other way how. 

After the third one, Nick touched her shoulder, and she shook her head. No, she was not ready to get up. She didn't want to get up. Never in her whole life she felt as overwhelmed as in that moment. 

Nick crouched in front of her and lay her head on his shoulder. "I got you. It's over, darling, it's over." He kept repeating again and again. 

Izzie couldn't cry but the relief she felt was incredible. She just held onto him until she felt cold and shivered. Nick carried her to bed and wrapped her in the duvet. She protested because she wanted to feel his skin on hers, Nick quickly undressed and climbed into bed with her. They both felt so drained, they drifted asleep in a matter of minutes, just holding each over.

The Casanova part happened much later, when they both woke up in the middle of the night, Nick looking for water, Izzie for bathroom, both for some food. 

And after, wrapped together in the same duvet, they watched the sunrise.

L is for Licks and Lust

Chronologically, this story follows I is for Izzie's First Caning. Told from Izzie's POV. 

"So, how many licks, how many cane strokes max did Aldous ever give you?" 

A single question, like a tight leash, yanks Izzie out of that sweet submissive state she was already in. 

"Did you have to mention him?" she riles up. "No, no cane." 

It seems like Nick disregards her tantrum. He pulls the fox tail from underneath her top and lets it swing. 

"Lovely! Every time I mention the cane, the tail shakes." Nick bends forward and talks to the tail. "No matter what you say, darling, tonight I will cane you."

"Nicky, please, use whatever you want from that damn box, just not the cane." 

"I will allow 'Nicky' just for once, and indeed, I will use whatever pleases me from the box. And then the cane." 

Now she can feel herself how the tail shakes and brushes against the backs of her legs. 

"You're staring at that damn tail. Can you please take the plug out?" 

"I certainly can, and I will, once I'm done with the questions." He waves her off. "Back to the corner." 

Back to square one and facing the wall, Izzie  leans with the forehead on her fists. 

"Every time I mention Aldous, you clam up. You need to lay the ghost to rest, Iz." Nick follows Izzie to the corner and now talks to her back. "So today, with the help of my little lie detector," he tugs at the fox tail. "And the cane," he taps her cheeks with the cane, and she jerks away. "I will get to the bottom of it. If required, a bright red bottom with some perfectly parallel stripes. Told you, I've been practicing." 

"What do you want me to say?" 

"The truth, mostly."

"After I fell and quit dancing, I felt hollow, there was nothing left." To put her in the corner was a smart move. It felt like a confession, talking without facing him. She forgot about the jitters, the cane, and her bare bum on display. The words just poured out of her with ease. "Aldous was always there. I wanted to replace one pain with another. Once we started with the spankings, we tried everything. And I wanted him to humiliate me. It was easier to take when he called me his little rag doll, his pain slut." 

"One can safely assume that any professionally trained ballerina is, in a sense, a pain slut." The tail twitches. "What, you don't like the word slut?" 

"No, I don't." She shakes her head. 

"Blacklisted. Go on, please."

"Before Aldous, back when I danced, the pain was a necessity, part of the routine. Aldous taught me how to love the pain, to crave it. To crave the humiliation that comes with the spanking. It's different than any other muscle pain. You should try once, just for the experience."

"No, thanks. I would rather observe." Nick purses his lips. 

"Or inflict."

"Yes, or inflict, at your bidding." He confirms with a solemn nod. "The question still stands, how many strokes? What was the worse he ever gave you?" 

"Three sets of twelve."

"Please remind me," Nick pinches the bridge of his nose. "Why is Aldous still alive and at large?" 

"Because you promised me." 

"And why did I do that?" 

"Because I asked you. Nick, he's not a criminal. Yes, he's a sadist, but I consented. Besides, he's the only other person in the world that--" 

"Spanked you?" A bitter question leaves Nick's lips. 

"Understood me. Better than I understood myself." It's not all, but more than enough for one day. There are so many more things she can tell him, but not now. Right now she is relieved and ready, and wants to turn around and be with him, in any way he will decide. Her small breasts, that got so much rounder in the last two months, rise and fall as she breathes deeply.  

"On the scale of one to ten, how badly do you not want me to cane you?" Nick asks a loaded question in a low raspy voice. 

"About four." She can feel Nick somewhere right behind her.

"I can live with four. On the scale of one to ten, how badly do you want me to cane you?"

"Eleven." She blushes at her own confession and at the thought that he can see it. 

"How badly do you want to come right now?" Nick is down to a whisper. 

"Eleven." Lust, oozing with lust. 

"Same here. I would hate to come in my pants. Never happened since I was thirteen."

And then, the voice disappears. Nick moves around the room. She hears the furniture scraping the floor, the swing of the bathroom door, the creak of the towel bar. 

"As much as I want to cane your pristine white bottom, it won't do. Need to prime you first, right?"

"Yes. Can I take off the leggings?"

"You cannot. That's awfully a lot of requests for someone standing in the corner with a bare bottom. Come here."

Izzue finally turns around to face a room. She sees a massive armchair Nick put in the middle, a folded bath towel cushions both wooden armrests, swinging low in the middle like a mini hammock. The cane rests on top the towel. 

"Now, be a doll and choose a paddle. They are all leather." Nick calls to her from the couch. He is perched on the edge, legs wide open and crossed at the ankles, waiting for her. 

All three leather paddles are of a similar size. Izzie picks the heaviest one without giving it much thought and kisses it before she offers it to Nick. He helps Izzie to lie across his lap, the pregnant belly safely locked between his skinny knees. 

He usually turns her head to face him, but not today. Today he wants her to face the room. When he moves to the side all her cascading hair, she can see why. Straight in front of her is the armchair that he prepared for the caning. 

Nick wants her to look at the cane throughout her paddling. One hand rested on her cheek, the other one holds the leather paddle, pressed against the other set of cheeks, he's ready, and so is she. Izzie lifts her head just enough for her lips to catch Nick's fingers for a feather-like kiss. 

"Thank you."

J is for Jitters or Ode to Cane

J is for Jitters

Jitters, the pre-caning jitters
Shaking tail from the silver fox

He plugged, and soon will hit her

With the cane from mahogany box 

He says it's the best lie detector

When I clench, the pendulum sways

I don't lie to you, my protector 

Only squirm, be that as it may

The jitters that keep me reeling

Wanting scream, fight, come, or break

Into million pieces, are peeling

Layers, onion layers of fake

Vicious bite that sends me to heaven

Stinging ouch that mends my heart

Out of ten, caning is an eleven 

Caning marks are a form of art

Boyish grin worth a candy store

Spreads contagiously, melts my knees

As I quietly kneel on the floor

No more jitters or pleading please

What needs to be done, be done

I'm ready, can't wait no more 

For five parallel lines and one

Right across to settle the score

I is for Izzie's first caning

Well, technically, it's Izzie's first caning at the hands of Nick. Read after G and H posts. I'm giving up on making it a standalone snippet, sorry. Also, trying to fix the confusions from the previous snippets. Thank you for the thoughtful comments! 

Izzie's POV. 

Izzie is not sure how long she's been standing there, nose in the corner, naked bum on display, with a bushy fox tail sticking out of it. She shifts to the side, so she can lean against the wall. Nick won't mind. Her lower back is acting up a bit, arching more with every passing week. 

Her belly grows alright, if you ask her. It's Nick who is freaking out over her not eating enough, not gaining enough weight. She has seen pregnant women whose belly looked like a soccer ball glued to their stomach, otherwise skinny as a stick. 

None of them though were carrying an offspring of a six-foot-three tall giant, like Izzie did. The doctor predicted ten pounds at term, which is a scary number to think of. Maybe subconsciously she is trying to avoid it, the baby growing so big, which is a sick and shitty thing to do to him. Nick says that the baby will grow big regardless, sucking everything he needs out of her. So by not eating well, she's only hurting herself. Which he won't let her. Her safety and her health are the only two punishable offenses they agreed upon many spankings ago. How Nick agreed to spank her pregnant, that's a story for another day, grab your biggest bowl of popcorn first. 

Izzie can hear as Nick moves around the room. He finished his whiskey, the crystal tumbler clanked against the glass tabletop. She can't smell the cigar anymore. Second hand smoking and all, they decided that a few minutes of pure tobacco smoke once in a blue moon will do less harm than whatever she will try to beat the craving. 

"Iz, turn around." Nick calls out from the couch. He changed into his comfy grey sweatpants and a t-shirt he wears at home, no beloved belt in sight. 

He holds a long dark mahogany box, top incrusted with lighter wood in an intricate pattern. "Brilliant, isn't it? Who would ever suspect what I'm hiding in here? And it has a lock." Nick opens the lid with a flourish. "Ta-da! I went on a secret shopping spree. Do you like it?" 

Nick, who fought the longest against any implements, got his own toy chest. A fully stocked toy chest, wide enough and long enough to fit two floggers, red and black, a riding crop, three leather paddles of various shapes, gorgeous leather roses, a razor strap, a short tawse, and... a cane. Izzie notices how the whole collection is conveniently all made out of leather, her choice of material, except, obviously, the Cane. 

"Do you know what goes well with butt plugs? Caning!" Nick exclaims gleefully, like a kid in a candy store. 

"You couldn't hit me with the roses, when we played the Victorian bordello, because, and I quote, they feel too much like a cane in your hand." Izzie clearly doesn't share his sudden enthusiasm, and the plug is doing a poor job in keeping her in a submissive state. "What the fuck is going on, Nick?" 

"Wow! And, it's 'what the fuck is going on, Sir.' That would be six extra."

"Six what?.. Sir." 

"Of the best, of course." Nick digs out the cane from the box. He slides his index finger along the length, admiring it like a precious piece of art. "Didn't you hear me? Plugs and caning go together like water and chocolate." 

"You mean, milk and chocolate." 

"Whatever. Why so glum?" 

"It's a real cane, Nick. It's not a game." 

"I know. I've been practicing." He twirls his fingers in the air in a universal 'turn around, missy' gesture. He folds the tail up and tucks it under the tight top to get it out of the way. 

The soft fur touching her naked skin and the gentle tug of the plug, a combination that... that makes her wanna scream, run, come, and fall into million pieces at his feet, all at once. 

To be continued

C is for Crying and Corner and not the Cane

C is for Crying 

DEAD DOVE Warning: Do NOT read if spankings, even consensual, are not your cup of tea.

Note: This is not your typical spanking story. Nick is a hesitant Top, guided by a more experienced bottom, Izzie.

“Nick, you bloody bastard, it hurts!” Izzie wiggles and moves away from the belt with every stroke but comes back like a clock. Yet something doesn’t add up.

“It’s supposed to hurt,” deadpans Nick. “Wait, what did you just say?” A flurry of painful strokes lands on her upper thighs, a well-known medicine for cursing.

“It fucking hurts!”

Another long flurry ensues. “Please continue with the cursing. Or shall we start over?” All the rehearsed buzzwords and phrases come out with ease. But, thank fuck, she cannot see his face, because Nick is on the verge of panic.

“Stop it!”

“Colour?” He knows better than to stop. The semaphore system is more for Nick than for Izzie. Green means, don’t you dare to stop spanking no matter what I say. Yellow means he can take a break to talk and then continue the spanking. Red or her safeword means something is really wrong, so, yes, full stop. Needless to say, the only answer he ever heard was green. No matter what.

“Yellow!”

Aghast, Nick chokes on half a sob. “Izzie, my love, what’s wrong?”

“It’s too fast and too much. I can’t let go like that. Not in this position.” Izzie is still bent over, knees on the couch, naked from the waist down. Her face, turned away from him, lies atop of the couch’s back. She spits out the words in a hurry. But all Nick sees is her pregnant belly, hanging there, presumably safe. And her wobbly knees.

“Do... do you want me to build a pillow fort?”

“No, I’m sorry, Nicky.” She sits back on her heels. “What if?” 

“Anything! What do you want to try?”

“Can you sit here on the edge?” 

Nick obliges without a clue what she has on her mind. Izzie scoots to the floor and stands to the right from Nick, staring down at his open knees. And now he gets it! He pulls her gently across, one bony knee wedged underneath her belly, the other right above it. Left arm curls around her waist to keep her in place. She fits, and she’s safe.

“I got you.” Nick rubs her back.

“I know you do, Nicky. Now, long and hard. Make me let go. Make me cry, please.”

C is for Corner 

I posted this limerick before, for all limericks go here. But since the A to Z challenge brings so many new readers, good things are worth repeating twice:

Corner time is a heavy affair
Sighs, regrets, pouts, hiccups to spare
With red bum on display
It's the price one must pay
For the pleasure of poking the bear

C is for not the Cane

On the scale of one to ten, the Cane is eleven. 

You can't be partial when it comes to the Cane. You either love it, hate it, dread it, or all of the above. Those who swear by it, still dread it. 

There is more love for the Cane across the pond due to its former use for corporal punishment.

Caning is considered an art. As any art form it requires plenty of practice.

Cane marks are universally admired, cherished, photographed, posted, and discussed at length. 

Those perfectly parallel crimson welts on someone's otherwise alabaster bottom and thighs cannot be mistaken with anything else. 

And that's all I have to say about Cane!

Now, caning tips from Ronnie of  Heart and Soul, read here. Ronnie doesn't cane, but her husband does. You can also buy them from her website.

C is also for Consent and Cock and another four letter C-word that shan't be mentioned, but seriously, I can't just write one paragraph about Consent!

Three letters down, 23 to go!