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.

Perception (a punishment spanking)

 

Dead Dove Warning: Pregnant Izzie gets a punishment spanking.

My dear readers, it's been a while since I posted a spanking story. If you can get past the premise, you are in for a treat, I promise. 

Also posted to Saturday Spankings Blog, linked here

Nick positions her in front of the couch arm. "Shorts and knickers off."

"Do it yourself," Izzie growls back.

"I didn't hear you, try again?" It's not the raised eyebrow, not his hands on the hips, not the way he looms over her, all six-foot-three of a menacing presence, but the disappointed look on his face that sharply knocks her down a peg.

"Yes, sir," she responds in a quick whisper.

"Too late." And he does it himself. The shorts and knickers fall on the ground, and she swiftly steps out of them.

The massage block

And then he brings out the New Toy, the pregnancy massage cushion, more like a solid  block with a deep hollow for a belly, that the brochure called, a stomach recess, and two smaller ones for boobs. That "recess" was big enough for any pregnant belly, not just her puny watermelon.

When they got it a few days ago, Nick was thrilled, squealed with excitement. Finally, she was safe and sound in this body armour, best thing since the sliced bread.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, still staring at the thing.

"Oh, I'm thinking so many things, my head spins." She couldn’t get her eyes off it.

"No worries, I will always catch you," he grinned. He disappeared in the walk-in closet and shouted from there. "Where did you find it?"

"Google and Amazon, women's two best friends."

"I think you have another best friend." Nick pressed against her from behind. "That can't wait to get reacquainted with you."

Izzie’s hand reached back around his waist and jerked away when met with the soft fabric of Nick’s sweatpants. "It's not there," she exclaimed.

"What's not there?"

"Your belt, numpty."

"I meant my dick," Nick huffed, annoyed and unable to hide his disappointment.

"I meant your belt,” she scoffed. “Why did you change?"

"Because these are comfortable, to start with. Can we be somewhat vanilla for once and play with the new toy?"

Oh, the pleasure of lying down on your stomach again. He laid on top of her for the first time since Ibiza. Really, just laid there, skin to skin, happy.

Now it looks like a full body restraint that will hold her tight in place, locked and loaded. It's all about the perception, they say. One turn of events, and their happy place becomes the chamber of torture. Nick wedges a cushion under the leg end of the massage block to lift it up and level with the couch arm.

"Bend over, Iz," he pats on the couch.

 

Feet off the floor

He helps her to climb over and slide into place, locking her belly and boobs safely in the massage block. But her feet, her feet can't touch the floor anymore. She tries to stand on her tiptoes, looking for purchase, but Nick slides her forward and slaps her thighs hard. Her butt, not fully exposed, is still covered with the hem of his own t-shirt.

 

Hair tie

He puts a pillow under her head. Her hair spills over and cover her face. Like on a cue, the hair tie magically appears in his hand, and he ties her hair in a messy bun, careful not to pull.

"I need to see your face at all times."

"Didn't need the first time," she turns away from him, facing the couch.

"I was an idiot. Turn to me and stay that way." Hand on the back of her neck guides her head to turn his way. "Don't force me to hold you down, because I will."

 

Baby oil

Nick rushes to the bathroom again and brings a bottle of unscented baby oil. Not a game.

"Why?" she jerks off. "It will hurt more."

"I know. Let's speed the things up, shall we?" Finally, he peels back the t-shirt and generously spreads the oil all over her butt and thighs. All his preparations, so clinical, like ticking off the boxes. T minus five. T minus four. It's not a game. T minus three. When he leans over to kiss her temple and brush an escaped curl off her forehead, she starts crying.

"I'm so sorry, Nicky."

"Please don't call me that now."

"I'm so sorry, sir."

"What are you so sorry for?" his voice is shaking. Quiet, broken, like it's him who is about to get spanked, not her.

 

Hairbrush

Nick makes another trip to the bathroom and this time returns with her hairbrush.

"Not the brush," Izzie props on her hands, trying to get up, but the hand on the back of her neck promptly pushes her back.

"You don't get to choose today, unless you want to do it yourself. Do you want to do it yourself?" Nick squats by the couch to be face to face with her.

She vehemently shakes her head, refusing his suggestion. Never. She will take whatever it is, anything he will give her, just not to go back to spanking herself.

"Then it's up to me." A bare hand smack. "Remember?" Smack. "When, how, and for how long." Smack. She squints her eyes with every swat. Nick gets up on his feet and out of her sight. All business now, he switches to the hairbrush. The first few hesitant strokes, clearly too mild, just for him to gauge her reaction, they remind her of the horror of her self-spanking days, the time he caught her up in the bathroom. She squirms from the humiliation and hides her face in the pillow. He pauses and clears his throat, the hairbrush resting on her smarting butt. He waits until she turns his way. He waits by her side until she opens her eyes and looks at him. And that’s the last break that he has given her.

 

The Punishment

Nick picks up the pace and doubles the intensity. The baby oil indeed is doing the trick, it hurts so much more, and besides the first few blows, he didn't start slowly either. In no time her hands, buried under the pillow, dig into the fabric in a futile attempt to stay there and not to fly back to cover her flaming bottom. Uncomfortable enough with her feet off the floor, last thing she needs is her hands pinned down behind her back. Locked in the massage block, she cannot wiggle, so she kicks her feet even more than usual, but today Nick is giving her a few swats on her thighs for every kick.

It seems like it has been going on forever, the relentless fury of deafening, stinging, searing blows, every single one of them biting into her flesh, but probably it wasn't, probably it lasted mere minutes. Time moves differently during spankings.

He stops abruptly. No, she's not ready for this to be over. She did not beg for mercy and didn’t cry. She desperately wants to cry. He gingerly rubs her bum, for which she's grateful, and sinks into the couch next to her head. He strokes her hair in a complete silence. He's definitely not done, it's just a break. The pain settles in, it is everywhere. Her thighs burn like hell. Her butt burns like hell. He has never been so thorough before, covering every inch of her butt and her thighs. He never hit her thighs before. He always jokes that he enjoys her curling on his lap without squirming. But then, he has never punished her before either. Judging by the pain, she is already the brightest shade of pink, maybe a few bruises, where he pounded the same spot over and over again. She wouldn’t dare to lift her head to take a look, not with his hand still raking through her hair. She will not ask. She fell into a habit of speaking only if spoken to during the spankings, like any good girl should. It’s so nice to melt under his hand gently touching her hair, the same hand that just spanked her. She will not ask.

Any other person would think that it was all part of an evil plan, devised long in advance, but Izzie knows him better, Nick never planned to punish her, ever. All this came together, when she forced his hand, while he was walking through the house, he put all he knew together in action. To make the spanking humiliating (because a punishment should be humiliating), uncomfortable (nailed that), effective (he hates doing it), and above all, undeniably safe. To make it memorable and not in a good way, he said it out loud quite a few times already, to make sure that she remembers it long enough and well enough, they don't have to repeat it any time soon, or better ever again.

"We're not done yet. You know that, right?" he finally asks when her breathing slows down to normal. She nods with a tiny sigh of relief. "Colour?"

"Green."

"Good," he exhales. "That was the punishment part. Now, the lesson."

He rises on his feet and unbuckles his belt.

Death, Taxes, and Belt

This story is a bit of a Dead Dove Do Not Eat variety, so proceed at your own risk. I promise there is a happy ending, as Aldous is Izzie's evil ex-husband, she left years ago. Mandy is Nick's ex-wife.

The memories that are flooding her brain, no, she's never going to tell Nick any of this. How she was lying on that rocking spanking bench, ball-gagged, hands tied behind her back, whipped into delirium, whimpering. How Aldous stepped on the runner to stop the bench from moving and pulled the gag out of her mouth. 

"What were you trying to say, doll?" Aldous asked. 

"Don... Don Quixote," she whispered her safeword. 

"Too bad, I'm done now." How the cold lube splattered on the small of her back. "What do you say now, doll?" 

"Please, Aldous, please. I learned my lesson!" 

"Tsk-tsk, that's not what you say, doll." He spread the lube over her reddened cheeks. It was one of those warming lubes, that was supposed to tingle, but on the whipped skin it burned like hell, same as fresh ginger juice or capsaicin cream. "Or should I pick up the belt again?" 

"No, no, sir," she writhed in pain. 

"Then say it." Aldous pressed two fingers till they sank in. 

"I'm just a hole, sir," she blurted it out in one burst. 

"Atta girl, now say it again, slower, and with more enthusiasm." 

Izzie stares at her shaking fingers. For the life of her, she doesn't know how to explain, what was a brutal nightmare with Aldous, would be a dream come true with Nick. But Nick is not ready for any of it. Not today, not now. The only thing she wants is to get out of here for Christmas. Next year will be different. There will be a whole year to figure it out. 

"That Christmas," she clears her throat,  "Aldous bought me a spanking horse, as a gift, and a Gucci scarf to tie my hands. I left him for good on New Year's Eve. Happy?" 

And the same as on The Day She Came Back, Nick crosses the distance between them in one move. Does he slide, like tennis players on a clay court? He holds her tight, as if his embrace can protect her from all the evil in the world, and in this moment, it feels like he can. 

"May I please kill him?" Nick says ever so plainly. 

"I consented. We were trying a new… dynamic, and I failed." 

"You failed? Izzie, I do know the difference between consent and abuse." 

"I consented." 

He holds onto her shoulders to look at her face. "What the fuck, Iz? You kept in touch with him. Hell, you were trying to conceive with him right up until you met me." 

"I did not sleep with Aldous since I left him!" she steps back. 

"I know, he told me." 

"What did he tell you?" 

"Ask her about the turkey baster, he said. Quite self-explanatory if you ask me."

"I wanted a baby, he was still my husband, legally. What was I supposed to do? Get pregnant from a stranger I picked up at..."

"Please continue, I dare you." Nick bites his lower lip, hands in his pockets,

"Piss off, Nick, not now," she pauses. "Stockholm syndrome. I don't know, the devil you know?" 

"Oh please! You let me be 'friends' with him, so to speak, I invited him into my house. For crying out loud, he slept with Mandy."

"More like, Mandy slept with him," Izzie rolls her eyes.

"Do you understand what you did?? Couldn't you bring this to my attention earlier?" Izzie buries her face on his chest, and that alone switches off his anger and into a protector that he is, first and foremost. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, forget everything I said." He pulls her into a bear hug, his lips pressing onto the top of her head. "I need to talk to Mandy. I can't let him anywhere near you, her, kids. Please don't go away, Iz. Not now, not fucking now." 

That’s just bloody epic, with Izzie on his lap, on the verge of a bloody nervous breakdown, he needs to deal with his ex-wife, aka Hurricane Mandy, thankfully on the phone.

“Mandy, Mandy, listen to me. I’m going to say it only once. I’ve just promised Izzie not to kill Aldous and not to put him in jail, and I’m not sure how to keep this promise. You’re not to see him ever again… Yes, that bad. You can get on Tinder and fuck half of  the tri-state area, I will say, good for her and give you a five-star review for excellent deepthroating skills... Why Uber? No reviews on Tinder? How do you know?.. No, I don’t give a fuck, I just told you. Have a nice and restless night!”

Free from the phone, his right hand presses Izzie’s head under his chin, fingers combing through her hair, touching her motionless shoulders, noticing how quiet she had gone. Gone.

Not today, not now but she will tell him one day. How she plays in her head this nightmare of a scene, an all-time numero uno mover and shaker of her personal wank bank. How the cameras roll every bloody time she is about to come, from the perfect vantage point of a pitiful but useless guardian angel, floating somewhere above, just underneath the mirrored ceiling, watching her old self, pinned down and screaming under the belt rising and falling in slow motion, as inevitable as death and taxes, on her crimson cheeks. Yes, that’s it, death, taxes, and belt. How she chants the words faster and faster until…

“Nick?” she cries out, holding onto the words that burn the bridges. Startled, he shakes his head slowly, sensing the disaster, begging not to speak, no more. She presses a single finger to his lips and takes the leap. “When I get off... it helps me to get off… in my mind, I see myself on that spanking horse, and I scream, please sir, I learned my lesson.”

“You mean, when you are by yourself?” he offers her a meek way out.

“Every time. I’m sorry.”

“When I make you come, you see Aldous beating the shit out of you, did I hear it right?”

“Nick, I’m so sorry.” 

UPDATE:

To read all the stories in order click here  I was hesitating to ask you, what would Nick do, but I'm afraid that the answer would be unanimous (Thank you, Hermione!). Hold your horses though, nothing is simple when it comes to Nick...