Uncle Ar is LIVE on Amazon!!

 

Yes, it's live!! Can you feel how excited I am? And I'm counting on your help.

Here is the link to Uncle Ar on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Read Sample includes the first three chapters: A is for Ancient, B is for Belt, and C is for Cherished. I had to remove the rest from this blog, as per Amazon rules.

If you did like it, please reblog / promote (especially if you have a big account) / buy / write a review.🙏 

One-handed reading is encouraged! 😎🌶️😱 

PS You don't need a Kindle reader to read e-books. You can read them on any computer or tablet or phone. I will add instructions how or let me know in comments if you have a problem with EPUB. 

PPS All of you that read the original version during the A to Z challenge, were my inadvertent ARC readers. You can leave a review without buying a book, it will help me a lot. Just please add at the beginning. "I read an advance copy of the book." 

Thank you, all!! Without your support this book would never happen.

Two Hundred and Sixty-seven (Stuart - 2)

To read Stuart - part 1, please click here: The Day She Showed Up. There are still some plot holes that need to be fixed. Yes, I know what I deserve for leaving them out there. But I really wanted to post the second part. So, here we go...

It was nice to be here, in the back seat of the car, to be driven, instead of driving it. That's why Stanley is who he is. When Stuart barged in into Stanley's office, despite the screaming protests of his secretary, and asked for a car with a siren, he just took one look at his, Stuart's, face and said yes. Then being Stanley, he improved on his offer and sent a car with a siren, to get out of the city fast, and a driver. Granted, that was to guarantee that the aforementioned driver will drag his, Stuart's, arse out of his whorehouse on time and get him back, on time. Because he, Stuart, cannot be one minute late today or else. And, yes, Stanley had no doubts about what kind of "emergency" he had at home. Stanley dealt with Nick's emergencies of a similar nature on a daily basis. Is that clear, Chef? 

The car hits a bump, and the shallow carton box from this morning vegetables delivery, now overflowing with takeout containers, shifts off the leather seat. Stuart catches the corner just in time to prevent the food from spilling all over the floor. What a mess and a waste that would be! While he was talking to Stanley, Sarah packed some obscene amount of food, cold and hot, from today's staff dinner and from whatever they will be serving later on tonight, including two bloody branzinos. When did she have time to prepare all this, that minx? Did she fillet and sous vide it first? Sarah texted him to come by the kitchen and didn't say what for. Silly goose, she was afraid that he will refuse to take it. Bollocks! Firstly, it was the staff meal time, and Stuart was hungry already. He didn't even know, when will be the next time he will have a few minutes to grab some food, definitely not while at home with Sherry. 

Hold that thought! The smell of yucca fries, sprinkled with Sarah's own secret spice mix, coming from the top container, was driving him up the wall. And the small plastic cup with yuzu mayo got all warmed up from the fries, and now was adding its own tangy undertone in this divine cacophony of smells. Stuart dug into fries, as he kept looking what other finger food is there. Bingo! Mini arancinis stuffed with asiago and mushrooms. Any real protein, perhaps? Here we go, the famous bison meatballs. Now, all set, munching through all three, Stuart could get back to his train of thought. 

No, he's not wasting one fucking minute on food, out of two measly hours he is left with. Sherry can take a bath and eat later, after he will leave. Or, maybe, they will still have time to hop in the shower together. Stuart shifts uncomfortably, should have rubbed one off, but he didn't have a bloody minute to spare, since he got her message, the fateful message that set in motion all this kerfuffle. 

For some strange reason, at that point Stuart recalled a seemingly insignificant incident that happened a few days back, right after Nick  appointed him as a scapegoat, responsible specifically for  feeding and plumping up Izzie. Stuart just personally delivered a piping hot dinner upstairs and chatted Izzie up. She was getting all squirmy and jittery, when she finally blurted out that Nick will be back any minute. That was definitely Stuart's cue to skedaddle. To avoid bumping into Nick, Stuart took the back stairs. Lo and behold, panting and skipping three steps at once, here he was, Nick himself, tie undone, jacket in his hand, unbuttoning his shirt further down and pulling the hem out. With that particular look on his face, the same look that Stuart is sporting right now. Exhausted and frisky, depleted and horny, tired beyond any measure after a fourteen-hour day but still ready to devour her, the one so impatiently waiting for him upstairs. Two men just nodded to each other, acknowledging the unfortunate fact of getting in each other's way, and that was it. 

A pang of jealousy washed over Stuart. It was not the fact that Nick was in a hurry to see Izzie. Stuart's own fling with Izzie was ion years ago, way before these two lovebirds met, and, truly, after being friends with benefits, they became just friends, real friends for life. That shit does not happen often, whether Nick likes it or not. It was the fact that Nick and Izzie had this hunger for each other in their lives, and he, Stuart, did not. Well, he did, but the object of his affection lived thousands of miles away. That was about a week ago. 

Right now, in the back of this car, skillfully whisked away and out of the city, finally, on the country road, he could exhale and think of Sherry, who was not thousands of miles away anymore. 

Stuart replayed in his head the last conversation he had with her two days ago. 

"Are you still counting, the extra swats?" she asked. 

She was referring to the extra spanks that Stuart had assigned for mentioning Clayton, her spineless cunt of an ex that abandoned Sherry at her most vulnerable. Long story to be told some other time. By all means, the spanks were not meant to be a punishment of any sorts, as Stuart did not want to discourage her to vent out. But, dear God, at first, it was non stop, Clay this and Clay that. So, to curtail the nasty habit, Stuart jokingly offered five spanks per uttering of the C-name. Sherry didn't seem to worry and did not slow down one little bit. When the total number climbed up into the second hundred, he took a pity on her bum and unilaterally reduced the sentence to three per occasion, instead of five. 

Stuart kept his math silent, but Sherry occasionally asked about the total. Mind you, with her living on the West Coast, the chance of Stuart ever collecting his debt were slim but not none. They did talk about her visiting but never ventured into the logistics of it. After all, Stuart's days were ridiculously long. It could only work, if he will get a few days off, but then she wouldn't need to come over here, they could meet anywhere. 

"Naturally. We are at two hundred and sixty-seven." 

"Oh... Are you sure?" Her enthusiasm audibly deflated at the number. 

"Most definitely. Not to worry, mon cheri, I can split it, say, into three visits to the woodshed? Ninety-ish each?" Stuart tried to present his spanking math in the most  casual manner, maybe with a good dollop of sarcasm. While he was the bottom feeder in the sarcasm food chain when it came to Nick and Stanley, right now he got the upper hand, and Sherry was folding. 

"You mean, your woodshed?" she squeaked. 

"The proverbial woodshed, Sherry. My humble woodshed doesn't have any suitable furniture in it. But, if you wish so, I can always bring over a chair or even a--" 

"Ninety? Did you say, ninety? Clay would never--" 

"Too bad. That will be two-seventy, ma'am." Stuart dropped the new total. 

"Fuck off, Stuart!" screamed Sherry. 

"That's exactly the bloody problem, Sherry! If you would've been here, in this room, you would be right here, bare arse up in the air, begging for mercy in fifteen seconds flat, yes, hard and fast. And then whatever swearing is still left in you, along with that spineless cunt's name--" 

"Stuart!" Sherry was an American and didn't take the word lightly. 

"My apologies, darling, I meant, coward. That coward's name, I will fuck out of you for as long as it takes." Surprisingly, Stuart didn't raise his voice and kept his calm to the end. "These pouty lips of yours, unless wrapped around my cock, will be sputtering one name, Sherry, one name only, mine!" Crap, that last word came out a tad louder. Maybe, a lot louder. "Sherry? Hello?"

The Day She Showed Up (Stuart -1)

Part 1 - The Day She Showed Up 

Stuart will never forget the day she showed up. It was not the first time women would show up on his doorstep. After all, he was a minor celebrity for at least three years now, and the famous Australian accent lured the innocent maidens, like the Piped Piper in the old fairytale. Except no one could find him here, since he bought and moved to this small farm in Virginia, close enough to get to DC under one hour. The farm in Virginia was Izzie's idea, she yapped so much about it, that one day Stuart thought, why not, and just did it. If Izzie would ever buy a farm in Virginia, it will be the size of that mansion in Hudson Valley, complete with a sizable tobacco plantation for all Nick's cigar needs. Sorry, not within Stuart's budget. His own five acre farm with a small but relatively new house on the top of the hill was exactly what the doctor ordered.

He blinked again, as he stared at the same text, "What time are you coming home?" Of course, he panicked. How could he not? A woman he met online three months ago just casually asked, when he's coming bloody home! He stumbled into his small office and slammed the door. That didn't stop Sarah, his sous, to knock on the door and step inside without waiting for his permission.

"Are you alright, Chef?" The plastic container with ice water she brought with her meant one thing only, she noticed everything. Everything he tried to hide.

"I need five." Stuart takes a sip but the cold water doesn't help a bit. Stuart counted on his fingers, one hour there, one hour back. Ahem! "Actually, I need three hours, better four."

"The service is in four, you can't leave it on me. What the hell is going on?" Sara's hands planted firmly on the edge of his desk, her head cocked inquisitively. 

"Someone is at my house." Stuart tap-taps his phone, eyes downcast. 

"Like broke in? Do you see anything on camera?"

"Right, the camera. Thank you, Sarah." He flips through the apps on his phone, three times back and forth before he finds the bloody camera. The porch camera that is pointed towards the driveway. And there she is, sitting on the ground, back against the mulberry tree, hot pink sneakers propped on the blue carry-on. Hot pink, her favourite colour, same as the dress on that picture she sent him a week ago. Whisky Tango Foxtrot, as Nick always says!

"Do you know her?" Sarah picks over to get a better look.

"Sort of." Good question, what did he really know of her. Somehow he's not surprised to see her. The trail of crumbs he kept dropping, intentionally and unintentionally, the town news, the street name, three mulberry trees in the front. She joked once, that there was only a handful of homes on his short street, and probably, if she will zoom in, and look for a house with a swing on the front porch, not too far from the road to watch his jogging neighbour Jess, and the old white woodshed in the back. But that would be too creepy, right? Fuck, she's getting a major spanking, as soon as he gets his hands on her. Oh, the things he will do to her, when he will get his hands on her... 

Stuart clears his throat, "Sarah, I think I left the stove on. At home, that is."

"Yeah, right. Stuart? You're so fucked, you can't leave me alone, not today. When will you stop thinking with your dick?"

"Cock! Don't raise your voice or you will spend the rest of the day prepping vegetables!"

"I thought you need me on the pass, Chef," Sarah snorts. "So you can go home and fuck her." 

"How can I leave her there? May I remind you what time we finish??" Stuart roars loud enough to bring in another spectator.

"Chefs?" Ricardo nudges the door open. "Where do you want the branzinos?"

"Up your bloody ass! Yours and anyone else's who will dare to open this door!"

"Put them in the walk-in, Ricardo. I will be right out." Sarah closes the door shut before Stuart jumps Ricardo's throat. "Doesn't your neighbour Jen have an extra key?"

"Jess. Brilliant. What would I do without you?" Stuarts leans for a quick peck on the cheek, but Sarah swirls away from him. He dials Jess. No answer. "Fucking voicemail!"

"I ask myself the same question every fucking day, Stuart. Show some appreciation."

"Jessica dearest," Stuart holds his hand up as he coos into the phone. "There is a lady in front of my house. Would you be so kind to let her in and show her around? I will owe you a four-course dinner, and if you will feed her, I will... Hiiii, Jess, I was leaving you a message. Yes, the dick next door, that's me. Nope, you're not in charge of the brothel I'm running. Yes, absolutely. I swear, it's the last time ever."

The last time ever. His own words hit him like a brick wall. He looks up at Sarah and smiles like an idiot. "Ask anything."

"Croissants from Bouchon every morning." Sarah snaps back without missing a bit.

"No can do. Besides, Antoine's croissants are better. Anything else?" Stuart wiggles one eyebrow, the way only Stuart can. 

"Just go, and fuck her faster, or whatever you straight people do." Right, talking to his disappearing back again.

"Yes, ma'am." Stuart hollers from the hallway.

My lovely readers, sorry we didn't get to the actual spanking part yet. 

I'm trying something new. Though, Chef Stuart and his sous Sarah were already part of Nick and Izzie verse, Stuart deserved his own love interest. That deserves a looong spanking. So, sit tight for the next instalment.

Happily Submit

Forgive and forget. Let go. Don't dwell. Don't recite all my wrongdoings till the cows come home. Don't blame all of our failures on me. Don't yell at me. Control yourself first. Own your mistakes. 

Lead. Take responsibility. Make me feel safe and secure. Protect me. Watch me. Don't let me go by myself after dark. Don't encourage harmful habits. 

Laugh with me. Read with me. Watch me dance. Leave silly notes for me. Cook with me. Share a meal not food. 

Don't put tomatoes in the fridge. Don't try to sneak a pair of black socks into the white laundry. Change that lightbulb without a gentle weekly reminder. 

Tell me, I got you. Call me a good girl. Take care of me like no one else before. 

Braid my hair. Pull me onto your lap. Hold me tight. Fall asleep with me. Kiss my forehead in the morning. Check on me. Don't let me drop. 

Look me in the eyes. Hold my chin to look into yours. Touch me for no reason. Pin me. 

Buy me an almond croissant once in a while but not too often. Make me presents that money cannot buy. 

Listen to me. Support me. Inspire me. Lift me up. Don't refer to anything I'm into as crap or bullshit. Believe in me. Cheer me up. Root for my success. Be proud of me. Cherish me. 

Accept me for who I am. 

Then, I will HAPPILY SUBMIT. 

PS Yes, it's so much easier to pour my heart out to complete strangers in hope that maybe, just maybe, my words, this instruction manual, will make a difference in someone else's life. 

PPS That’s Ralph Marvell and Samantha Woodley on the picture, and the still is from a Shadow Lane video (thank you, Erica, for identifying). A famous photo, popular in the community, mercilessly cropped by yours truly (unintentional pun) in order not to get nuked over one picture. No, I will not send you the original. What, you haven't seen enough red bottoms already?

Lithuania

“Where did you go, you silly kid?” Huh? A slightly overweight blonde boy calls out Little Eddie in a so familiar drawl. No fashion sense. Ugh, his swim shorts pulled up all the way to his belly button. I have no idea how old he is, can be eight, can be twelve. I can’t tell how old Nechami’s kids are, have to ask shamelessly every time.

“This is Martin, he’s from Lithuania,” says Eddie. You’re joking with me, right?

“Do you know where Lithuania is?” Martin repeats in a perfect sing-song London accent.

“Say what?” I swoon and suppress a giggle at the same time. How is it even possible, to swoon and giggle, that is?

“Li-thua-ni-a,” he repeats, syllable by syllable. Up-up-down-down. Four round notes form a pleasant melody. No wonder all the greatest musicians came from there. How do they do it, so effortlessly, unaware of what it does to us? But most of them know. Nick knows too well, that bastard, and milking it. Out of all them, he milked it to the highest degree, all the way to the White House. No wonder I have to beg him to do the accent.

“Of course, I do. Baltic Sea. Do you live there?”

“No, I live in London.”

“Were you born in Lithuania?” I ask more inquisitively this time.

“I was born in London.”

Bummer, should I tell him? If any girl, woman, chica, bird, even sheila, don’t see too many of those here, asks you ‘where are you from’, for the rest of your very long life, you will answer, ‘I’m from England’! I get it that your parents want you to remember their roots and traditions, but, darling, we are not deaf. You open your mouth, and I can pinpoint your accent down to the city. You open your mouth, and I smile like an idiot, sorry, like a numpty. Nah, no more meddling for today. He will figure it out on his own in about three years, maybe even earlier. Those Brits don’t waste time.

“How old are you, Martin?”

“Eleven.”

“Martin, it’s quite grand of you to take care of young Eddie here. See you around, boys.”

Just a short snippet today, no spanks, no smut, maybe a tiny smidge. The scene is happening on the beach. A quaint day on the beach, Izzie is drawing a little boy Eddie, when another boy Martin comes over looking for Eddie. The very first days of Izzie and Nick story. 

Is anybody still reading it?? 

Not a Monster (Irrelevant p. 2)

"Before you disappear into the bathroom, order some food, will you? And leave your phone here when you're done." 

"Can I order sushi?" Izzie asks a loaded question, without looking up. And in response, Nick clears his throat. "Sorry. May I order sushi?" 

"Darling, I didn't mean the grammar but the raw fish."

"Pretty please? It's completely safe! They know that it's for us. They triple check every piece that goes into our order. The last thing they need is to poison me." 

"Alright, order sushi."

"Thank you! And chicken teriyaki for you?"

"Salmon teriyaki, time to live dangerously."

"Your salmon is cooked."

"I'm not a monster, Iz."

"You are not, Nicky."

"I didn't mean sushi."

"I know. Still, not a monster. Just a Big Bad Wolf."

"With his Little Red?"

"Yep! And they lived happily ever after. Eventually. For what time?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"For what time to order sushi?"

"In an hour? Will we be done in an hour?"

"Are you asking me? It's your show, Nick."

Sorry, it's super short and dialogue-only but with a lot of feelings, doubts, and hesitation, and also, moving the story forward. Isn't it just the best thing, after the spankings, of course?

Submitting last minute to Saturday Spanking Blog. Picture from Tumblr.

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.

Denial

"Do you have a lot of work to do?" 

"Almost done. Why?" 

"You were in a hurry this morning."

"Uh-huh."

"I didn't come."

"Do tell."

"Was it on purpose?"

"Yeeees?"

"Thank you thank you! Can I come tonight?" 

"I wasn't planning on any carnal activities." 

"In the morning?" 

"I have an early meeting. Wait, wait. Done. Where were we?"

"Lunch time? Can you sneak out at lunch?" 

"You horny little devil, have you been scrolling through Tumblr again?" 

"Nnno." 

"Liar. Do you know what happens to little liars? You do, right?" 

"They get a spanking." 

"That's right."

"When?" 

"When I say so." 

"Meany, you always make me wait, and then you forget completely, and I have to remind you, or not, and it drives me nuts." 

"Do you want two spankings tonight?" 

"One is fine, thank you so very much."

"Sassy! Two it is then." 

"No, I will be a good girl, a very very good girl, please!" 

"A good girl would share with me those pretty naked bums you were ogling at. You think I didn't see what you were scrolling through?" 

"Here. Happy?" 

"Wait, wait, go back. Can you find panties like that?" 

"Yeah, you like them?" 

"Am not cold-blooded." 

"Sometimes. Ouch! What was that for?" 

"Downpayment. How do I like it?"

"You click on the heart, obvs. Ouch! You can't just like it, reblog it."

"How? No more sass."

"No more downpayments, your hand is worse than a paddle. You click on these arrows." 

"What about this one? Wanna try it?"

"Oh yeah? Look who's the horny devil now. Still no carnal activities?"

"I thought you like denial." 

"I do but but..." 

"That attention-seeking butt. Well, let's hear it. Beg, and I might reconsider." 

"Will you please let me come tonight?" 

"Who?" 

"Sir. Will you please let me come tonight, sir?" 

"Something's missing. What do we need to do before that, I forgot?" 

"Uhmm, spanking. Sir." 

"Now, try again." 

"Will you please spank me, sir, and after that, will you let me come, please, sir?" 

"There we go!" 

Please No

This story is from the very early days of their relationship. Nick knows nothing. 

Izzie's fingers, now done with caressing Nick's cheek, slide into his thick hair. She struggles not to pull on his curls too hard. Beats her, how a simple act of caressing one's hair is considered an encouragement. She hates a hand on her head whilst she bestows the hand owner with a blowie. But Nick doesn't mind, and  he definitely doesn't need any encouragement.

A stray thought shots through Izzie's agonizing brain, who knew that Nick is so good at... How many women out there know, in a very biblical sense, that Nick eats pussy like a pro? With each lick, bite, tug, and swift circle, he quickly ascends to the top of her personal eat-it-like-you-mean-it list.

He doesn't waste any fingers. While the palm of his hand applies some delicious pressure on her mound, the fingers spread the pink lips wide open for his tongue to dive in. The fingers of his other hand sink in and out, following the tempo of some heavenly song. He cautiously circled around her back door once, and she shook his hand off from there. Not all at once, Mister. Leave something for the next date. But that was the only time she intervened in his proceedings. Magnifique, he was simply magnifique.

She didn't notice how her usual 'please please please' mantra became audible, and seconds later interlaced with no's.

"Please no please no."

Screeching halt. All digits and tongue withdrawn at once, he jerks away too fast, dragging his stubble against the sensitive skin of her thigh. The burn is surprisingly pleasant, but not the feeling of the cold air where his face was just a moment ago.

"Why did you stop?" she pants.

"You said, no." The sound of his voice comes from somewhere awfully close. She opens her eyes, and, bam, he is staring at her, like a deer in the headlights, his worrisome eyes just a few inches away from hers.

"I didn't mean it," she mumbles. "Go back." She nudges his head down.

"Wait, wait a minute. What do you say when you do mean it?"

"I doubt we'll ever get there." She muses, pushing away a forgotten memory. But no, he doesn't buy it, still waiting for an answer. "Don Quixote."

"Is this some kind of a safe word?" Nick asks. 

"Yes," she nods. "It's my safe word." That was not safe enough, her memory reminds her. The safe word that was discarded, disregarded, violated. That night that broke her, send her running for the hills, and eventually, to this island. That changed everything, and most of all, her ability to trust, to put herself in the hands of the other, guarded only by one little word that draws the line between whatever they do and abuse. Since then, years past but she never tried again: to trust. 

Whatever Nick sees in her face, he freezes, but it doesn't stop him from asking more. "Did you ever have to use it?" 

And she can't, she simply can't admit, the shame, the betrayal, the failure she felt. How later she got caught up in a lie. It's so much easier to invent a lie, even only to herself, than to admit the inexplicable. So she repeats the same lie. 

"I consented." 

Pink Red Purple

It's Monday morning, seven-thirty, to be exact. Nick just tied the shoelaces of his black Oxfords, one of six almost identical pairs. Now he is back on his feet, checking in the mirror if the shirt is tucked in properly, his fingers running along the belt. No, the other belt, obviously. Izzie's dreadful brown belt, as Nick calls it, that they use for spankings, or whippings, if you want to be anal about the spanking terms, is safely hidden on the highest shelf of their walk-in closet. 

He puts on the suit jacket and glances again at the marble-top central island. Seven pink cards, cut from heavy cardstock, with the days of the week written in Izzie's calligraphic handwriting, stare back at him. "Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday," Nick recites with a fake Italian accent and considers for a second to switch the cards in the true Apollonia's order. Would Her Highness mind? Nick picks out to check on the Princess. 

Izzie's long hair spread like a halo on the white of the pillow that in her sleep she pulled almost to the middle of the bed. The contours of her body barely visible under the fluffy duvet. Asleep! Nick tiptoes back to the closet. 

Switching weekdays might slide under the radar but not Sunday and Saturday, and Nick quickly rearranges the cards back in the proper order. He opens Izzie's underwear drawer and focuses at the task at hand, to choose her panties for the upcoming week. 

Last weekend they put each other through a wringer, an unnecessary wringer. One thing led to another, one implement followed the next one. And now, Monday morning, Nick is scared to check on her arse! Izzie doesn't mark or bruise easily, except that time when she almost stepped in front of the car and he yanked her by her forearm. Those fingerprints were quite a sight to remember, went through all the colours of the rainbow. Something Nick is not looking forward to repeat, especially with her lovely bum. One thing is to turn it pink and then red that would fade fairly quickly, Nick is not ready to see any purple. If we are speaking in colour metaphors, they are not black and blue people, at least, not Nick.

He picks three identical pairs of lace panties in purple, red, and pink, and lays them under Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Then he picks a pair of white eyelet bikinis with small pink rosebuds for Thursday and a white thong for Friday. And nothing for Saturday and Sunday. Here! Does it send the message loud and clear, that in all likelihood, there will be no spanking till Friday? Oh, the pouting he will have to endure.

"Are you choosing my panties?" calls the sleepy voice from the bedroom.

"Indeed. Go back to sleep." Nick comes over for a goodbye kiss.

"Are there any pink ones?" Bollocks! She's fully awake.

"Yes, go back to sleep," Nick repeats more sternly.

"What if I won't?" 

"Firstly, we agreed that bratting is disrespectful, especially under such circumstances. You're trying to make me late, aren't you? Add it to your Friday list." 

"Friday? Do you mean no spankings till Friday?" That pouting.

"Wanna make it the Friday after?" Nick raises an eyebrow.

"Nicky!"

"Who's Nicky? Three weeks."

"No, sir! I will be a good girl. I will wear all the panties you chose for me."

"What about bratting?"

" I won't brat, sir. Will you spank me this Friday, please?"

"I might reconsider," Nick suppresses a smirk. "Are you asking me to spank you on Friday?"

"Yes, sir, please!"

"Go back to sleep." Izzie buries her head in the pillows. "Good girl." Nick smiles, they don't call him the best negotiator for nothing. 

EDIT: I do not like the ending, so part 2 is coming up to rectify this accidental mind fuck. Nick seems to be manipulative and ignoring Izzie's needs, which he is not. 

Posting to Saturday Spanking Blog, in hope that Headmistress Blake will be pleased with this entry:

Pigtails Spanking Story: Bloody Green (Revisited)

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

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

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

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

Izzie:

Bathroom before bedtime?

                        Nicky:

                         Sure.

I want more rough.

                        Rougher. I want more brattiness.

Screw you.

                        You. Gladly.

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

"Did you just whistle?" she scoffs aghast.

"Uh-huh," he grins.

"Care to explain?"

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

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

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

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

"Watch it, young lady!"

"You watch it. I'm reading."

"No electronics before bedtime. Eight minutes."

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

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

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

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

"Green."

“Green who?” Nick quirks an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

"Good girl, please."

"As you wish."

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

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

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

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

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

"Colour?"

"Bloody green." Izzie grits her teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How it works

I've been in a bit of a hiatus, since I finished the A to Z challenge, it sucked too much energy out of me. Probably I should stop apologizing for the lack of proper posts.

So, Molly's Kiss, or more specifically, her Kink of the Week is hosting a theme right now, Pigtails, that I can relate to. I thought of writing something new for it, but again, the creative juices were running low. And then I recalled one of my old spanking stories that was fine in my opinion, but didn't get enough love from you, my lovelies. I thought I would resurrect it with some editing.

Low and behold, that old story already had two pigtails rolled into mini buns on top of Izzie's head, that made her look like a meerkat. That's a start! Then I thought I will add some proper hair pulling, which I also like as a kink. Maybe Nick will unroll the buns back into pigtails or order Izzie to do it. But I needed some reason, something. 

So, here I am, on my walk. By the way, I'm writing this post from the park bench. And I see a runner, with a huge high ponytail, gorgeous hair, swaying with every step, like a horse's tail. And it hit me, that's it, that's what was missing:

"I want to see them sway, when I spank you, the pigtails," Nick says. 

Z is for Zingy

 

Wow! It's the very last letter of the A to Z challenge, I can't believe I made it. It was fun while it lasted, a very exhausting and stimulating fun. I learned to write on demand, late at night, knowing I need to come up with original content by midnight. 

Thank you to all who came here to read through my April journey! 

My apologies, I kept writing two long stories during A to Z challenge, the Birching Bordello story and the Alphabet story (this one). Promise, I will put together all the links in the Spanking stories, so it's will be easier to read in order.

This snippet is part of the Alphabet story, comes immediately after X is for Xanadu.

Z is for Zingy

Izzie shuffles semi-comfortably on Nick's bony knee. He spared her thighs, as he always does, but not completely this time. Some extra strokes for swearing, clenching, and arguing in general, did some damage to her future sitting pleasure, and now she wriggles from time to time, causing Nick to bite his lower lip and blush.

"Please dip the merguez in the yolk," she waves at the plate to distract him from their sitting arrangement.

"You mean your weird lamb sausage?" Nick chuckles, as he follows the specific instructions. "Here comes the airplane". A fork with a piece of the sausage dipped in yolk approaches Izzie's lips.

"It's flavourful and zingy." Her usual manners out of the window, hungry Izzie talks with her mouth full. "Not dull as your bacon, just empty calories."

"Bacon is salty and crunchy," Nick picks a forkful from his own plate.

"It has no zing. Take these roasted tomatoes, that's pure umami, the zing of life."

"Pray tell, what else is zingy?" Nick is too busy to feed Her Highness with as much food as possible. 

"The belt, of course. Threatening, punishing, exciting, all at once."

"What about the cane?" 

"We can be frenemies, with time. Definitely, zingy." 

"Hairbrush?" 

"No! Stingy is zingy, thuddy is cruddy."

"Is that so?"

"You know I hate wood, except your morning wood," she nods royally in the direction of his lap and royally doesn't bat an eye at the treacherous twitch. "And the furniture, some of it, not this hideous abomination." Izzie gestures at the rest of the room, and in the process she kicks the fork out of Nick's hand. The egg with tomato lands on the hem of his shirt she's wearing. Izzie jerks to stand up, Nick holds her down.

"Don't you dare to get up!" He picks the offending pieces off his shirt with a napkin and continues with the feeding frenzy. 

"But.." 

"No buts, except yours, which is off limits for the foreseeable future. Hence twenty-five lines of, umm, 'I will not wear Nick's dress shirts to breakfast.' Go on with your zing speech." 

"I can't." The ruined shirt and the prospect of writing lines instead of a spanking take the wind out of her sails. 

"Come on, I like it. Everyone needs some zing in their life." Nick nudges her mouth open with the next piece. 

"Yes," Izzie nods. "We all subconsciously pick something that excites us, the zing." 

"You picked me." Nick grins at the memory. 

"Uh-huh, at the bar, slow night."

Nick doesn't hesitate to deliver a hefty smack on her sore bottom with his free hand. 

"Ouch! What was that for?" Izzie reaches to rub, but Nick pins her wrist to the small of her back. 

"Say it, you picked me." Nick raises an eyebrow, but his eyes twinkle with amusement. 

"Ok ok, yes, I picked you. Happy?" 

"Quite. Not as happy and zingy as I will be after you'll finish writing twenty-five times, 'I will be grateful and respectful when someone gives me a compliment.'"

"Was there a compliment?" 

"Yes, of course, for your great taste, in picking me." His eyes twinkle again with a kind smile spreading across his lips. 

"Do I still need to write lines for the shirt?" 

"Of course. I do not give away rain cheques for zingy spankings, do I?" 

Goodbye, A to Z challenge! 

X is for Xanadu

The picture is from the show How to build a sex room. The story continues from W is for What You Want. Can't believe it's the last three letters!! 

Of course, Izzie is closing her eyes again. She's probably got all drowsy the moment he pulls out. So much appreciation for his efforts from the mama bear. It's the second time the expression pops up in Nick's head, better to keep it to himself. 

"How do you manage to fall asleep so quickly? Wake up, wake up, sleeping b-b-bear. You need to eat something." 

"Why bear? Because I'm round?" Izzie mumbles with her eyes closed. 

"No, because you're warm and cuddly. Open your eyes." 

"Real bears are not cuddly, they are dangerous." 

"You can be quite dangerous too." 

"Nick, do you know any feel good words that start with X, not E-X, just X?"

"Will Xanadu work?" 

"What is it?" 

"An ideal place, a dream land, heaven, so to speak."

"Like subspace?"

"I guess. What do you need it for, Scrabble, Wordle?"

"My blog." 

"Your what? It will get traced back to you!"

"Nobody even knows that I'm a woman. I pretend to be a fourty-three years old Dom from Georgia with a younger sub."

"Iz, you can't have a blog. It's too dangerous." 

"The IT guys put like fifteen VPNs on my laptop. It's inpenetre- unpene--"

"Impenetrable," quips Nick. 

"Yes, thanks. Speaking of penetratiion, the guys said I can watch five midgets doing it with three-hundred-pound woman all day long, and even they won't be able to trace it." 

"How is that even possible?" 

"Three holes plus two hands, duh!" Izzie rolls her eyes. 

"Not that! What idiot said that to you? Name!" 

Loud knock on the door interrupts their heated bickering. 

"Saved by the bell, that's our breakfast. Put some clothes on, will you?" Nick nudges the door open just enough to take over the tray overflowing with food. 

"What did you order?" Izzie asks, putting on Nick's shirt from last night. 

"Food! You don't think the kitchen knows by now what would you eat on a Saturday morning, almost lunch time? And don't you dare to drop anything on that shirt." 

"Or what?" 

"Or I will go Xanadu on your arse." Empty threats go well with snorts and giggles. 

"Put the tray on the table, it's all too messy to eat in bed." 

Nick stares at two plates with full English breakfast. Same same, but different. While his plate is loaded with the most normal food, in his opinion, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, and beans, with a side plate of toasts, butter, and orange marmelade. Izzie's 

plate is some kind of a parody: the eggs are too runny, sausages are made out of lamb, vegetables represented by the grilled tomatoes, and the carbs... by home fries. That's a new development! 

"You eat real potatoes now? Or these are made out of cauliflower?" Nick oozes with sarcasm. 

"Ha ha! One more word, and say goodbye to your marmalade." She nudges his left knee out to perch on it. 

"Be my guest. You ok?" Nick rubs her bum gingerly and watches if she would wince. Not too much, he breathes out. 

"If you will also feed me," she rests her head on his shoulder, "I will be in the best Xanadu ever." 

W is for What you Want

 

Well. this postcard is the exact opposite of what D/s is about. I guess it will be a correct statement for a F/M relationship. I'm just a sucker for silly postcards, corny t-shirts etc. Anything that has a dad joke feel to it, I have to take a picture.

But, on the other hand, Nick is a bit of a Service Dom, if  we are talking labels, and his and Izzie's relationship is a journey that we get to witness, so Nick is sometimes stuck in this situation. 

We pick up right after U is for Upsy-daisy.

W is for What you Want

Nick doesn't do what he wants. What he wanted was to have a peaceful and quiet evening, and he gets that occasionally, but not because he wants it. What did happen last night was: humiliation, ok, that part was actually orchestrated by him, butt plug, paddling, canning, and eventually lots of fucking in the middle of the night. And now, this morning, a request of a spanking to tears, to which he also obliged.

Right now he's finally doing what he wants, watching Izzie sleeping peacefully in his arms. After he carried her back to bed and put some lotion on her ridiculously red bum. That part was definitely against her will, rubbing on the lotion. This woman do NOT want to heal faster, like he would allow that to happen. Thankfully, after a short fight, Izzie gave up her futule attempt to stop him from lathering her with a soothing goo. 

Exhausted, she drank some lukewarm orange juice through a straw that Nick held for her, asked for the fluffy socks, took a deep breath interrupted by a hiccup, and fell asleep. Just like a Sleeping Beauty. Damn it, Izzie said to never use that expression as it reminds her of the other book and not to Google it either. So far he kept the promise. If that book was too kinky for the beloved, he doesn't need the details.

It looks like she sleeps in the cloud, all wrapped in that huge fluffy duvet she bought for Valentine's, the most ridiculously romantic gift he ever received. This winter every time they made love under this duvet, he thought of it as a magic bubble that separates and protects them from the outside world. No one can ever know of what they do. And under that duvet he felt safe, safer than within the soundproofed walls of this room. 

She didn't notice his boner he was so embarrassed of. Yes, it's just a physical reaction, she has an arse to die for, literally. But there is a right place and time for everything, and after this particular spanking it was not the right thing to do. 

Who knows, when she will wake up, she might be in the mood, and then he's game. If not, he can rub one off without a complaint. She wants him to take without asking, blanket consent and all. Sometimes, in the spur of the moment, when she's a willing rug doll in his arms,  it feels right. But not now. 

 

Izzie stirs in her sleep, and shortly her quick breaths mix with little sobs. "You don't want me anymoooore," she whines. "Because I'm fat and uuuugly."

Nick rolls his eyes, curses under his breath, dives under the duvet, and presses against her back, all at once. "Darling, I will always want you, and we made love, umm, six hours ago." To disregard her latter statement seems like a smart move. 

"Because you were hot and bothered after the spaaanking." She keeps on wailing. 

"I'm hot and bothered now." Oh please, she has a proof lodged against her sore bum.

"But you didn't wake me uuup."

"Ahh! How dare you to suggest such a crime against the princess." Nick huffs, mocking an offense. 

The princess finally turns around, fresh tears trickling down her cheeks. 

"Are you really crying over me not waking you up to fuck?" Nick gasps sarcastically. 

Izzie sticks out her lower lip and nods. 

"Well, we know how to rectify that." One ankle in each hand, he yanks her down from the pillows. "One round, and then breakfast, or you will earn yourself another spanking, Your Highness." Izzie grins with a glee. "Or is that what you want?" 

U is for Upsy-daisy

Next installment of the Alphabet Story, happens right after T is for Tears. The picture is from my Duolingo Spanish lesson. 

U is for Upsy-daisy 

Nick waits in silence until the kicking stops and then some. Izzie shifts and wiggles impatiently on his lap, actually on his left knee, or the front leg, as she calls it, reminding of the task at hand. 

She has already softened and eased into a pliable mess. He could have carried her back to bed, made sweet love to her, and call it a day. But she wants more, a total meltdown, a sobbing mess. All he needs is to carry on to that tipping point, to keep calm and carry on. Bloody hell, he's stuck. 

The belt, folded short, is still wrapped around his right hand. Nick taps her bum lightly to show that he's ready. He slides her lightly to the side, so he can wrap his left arm around her shoulders. He looks down again at the pinkened bum dangling between his knees. 

"Vamos," he deciphers a whisper. It's bad, so bad, when she reverts to Spanish. "Azotarme duro, querido." Spank me hard, darling, just like on those shorts she wore in Ibiza. 

Run out of excuses, Nick starts slowly but steady. Izzie stays still through the first few swats. But Nick can't be fooled, he knows that every single one of them stings, especially now, especially after last night. 

Dragging it any longer, he's doing her a disservice. So Nick cranks it up, swinging harder, hitting harder. Through squirming and clenching, through kicking and screaming and bawling, through begging and pleading, he doesn't stop covering every inch of her bottom with punishing stripes. Until Izzie breaks into heavy sobs and never-ending chant of Nicky-please. And then she is motionless again, accepting the blows as they come. 

The execution is over, but she is still shaking in his arms. Nick is not sure, if Izzie can even hear him in this dazed state or comprehend the words. He has so much to tell her, yes, right now. 

"I will be here to catch you, if you stumble. To cheer you up, if you are sad. To pick you up, if you fall, please don't fall, I beg you. To share your joy and your sorrows. To applaud your success. I will be here with you every step of the way." 

At this point Nick can't really tell if the words coming out of his mouth are his own, or he's playing the part. 

"And yes, to remind you and correct you, if you wish me so, as we are in it together, Isabel. Do not hide from me anymore, do not lie to me, that's one thing I will have trouble  forgiving you." 

"Upsy-daisy," she says through the quieting sobs. 

"Beg your pardon?" 

"You say upsy-daisy when you pick me up," she repeats. "You always pick me up and put me together. Upsy-daisy." 

T is for Tears and Taken

 

It's part of the Alphabet story. To read in order start at G is for Going Going Gone, then H, I, L, M, and N. Sorry for juggling a few things during A to Z. The picture is from Wiki. And, it's been a long day for me, so a shorter story today. 

We are picking up after N is for Nothing. Izzie and Nick are in the middle of the morning spanking, my favourite cliffhanger. She asked to spank her to tears. 

"Does it count as tears?" Nick asks a rhetorical question, as he wipes a lonely tear with his thumb.

Izzie shakes her head.

"Alright then." Nick shuffles her over his front leg, readying for his makeshift paddle. He folded the belt so short, that it's no different from a leather paddle. Nick wonders, if it would still count as belting or paddling in Izzie's book. But who really cares, if he was asked to spank her to tears, that's what he will do.

She is definitely still quite sore after yesterday's beating. That's what it is in his mind, no matter how consensual. Brits are more casual with the term, considering spanking a milder counterpart. If there are implements involved, especially cane, no siree, can't call it a spanking. Thankfully, Izzie doesn't object to the word. As long as Nick agrees to inflict it on her, she doesn't really care how he calls it. 

The few swats that he just gave her with his hand warmed her up enough. But he hesitates for another moment, and like on cue, he feels The Kick. Izzie was leaning so tight against him, her pregnant belly to his stomach, that Nick freezes sucker-punched. 

"Nicky, he's fine. If I'm happy, he's happy." Izzie snakes her arm around his neck. 

"You're crying." Nick whispers into the top of her head. 

"Not yet, but you will make me, right?" she tries to lift her head to look up but he presses it harder against his shoulder. 

"Give me a moment, please." 

"Take it, and then take me. That's what I need, to be taken. To break into pieces and rise again, taken." 

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?