C is for Camel's back

 

Dear diary,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nooo! Please, not the cane,” I wept.

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

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

“Ahhhh!”

“Be thankful that I chose the lightest belt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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?

Love Me Tender part 2

For part 1 click here

"It was not a nightmare or a disaster back then. It was what it was, and I didn't want to change it, but I wanted to have it with you. With you." 

Nope, she didn't get the memo. She puts her hand on his shoulder, and he tries to shake it off, but she keeps her hand there. 

"You would never believe that I wanted it, that it was my doing, unless I would put you through it, for which I'm really sorry. I'm truly sorry. Can you hear me?" 

"I can hear you." His voice is low and muffled but clear enough.

Izzie can't see his face now, buried in the pillows, but when he came back, she saw that his eyes were still red and puffy. Nick doesn't cry, period. Except that time after the knee accident, but then again, he was high as a kite, accidentally overdosed. Nick would not cry from pain. He would shut down, collapse, throw up, but not cry. But he did just throw up. Is he in pain and hiding it? 

"I said, I'm sorry," she repeats. Nick's hand snakes out from under the pillow and wraps around her legs. "Aldous didn't speak to me for a week and moved to another bedroom. He would come down for dinner, and we would eat in silence, on our honeymoon." 

Izzie pulls the pillow that covers his head, and he lets her, but promptly turns his head the other way. "So, Nick, if you want to do better, it's your hour to shine. You can take another shower, drink whiskey, have a smoke, scream into the wilderness, but I want you back, preferably soon, with your magic fingers and a dirty story to go with it." She lets her words sink. Nick stirs in silence. "And bring me some strawberries from the fridge on your way back."

This is simple, strawberries, fridge. He can do simple things. Nick takes his sweet time as he stumbles to the kitchen and back. He waits by the bed till she bites into the first one, and the smell, the smell of ripe strawberries and summer reminds him of what he wanted to do for what seems like eternity, to kiss her on the lips. 

"I like when you taste like strawberries." 

"I know." She breaks the kiss. "Go, Nicky, get some fresh air and come back with a story." 

It's not about me, it's not about me, it's not about me. It's about her, and Her Highness gets what Her Highness wants. The princess and the strawberries, I can work with that. 

Izzie smiles at how red his lips are, not just kiss-swollen, but from the strawberry juice he picked from her. In her daze, she watches as he slides down to put his head on her lap and presses his lips, red lips, against the white fabric. There is no way he won't freak out, the second he lifts his head, the second he sees the red stain. Izzie slides her hands under his cheeks to lift his head and asks him to close his eyes, and he does, he does, till she shudders from trying too hard to stay calm. His eyes widen in horror, the same horror as when she screamed from pain, and he immediately came inside her. 

This time he stumbles out of the room in no time, grabbing his jeans from the floor, and into the kitchen. 

"I will change! Nick, come back."  

To be continued.

Love Me Tender

Let' start the Valentine Day week with this throwback to the earlier chapter in Izzie and Nick relationship, when they just started exploring their kinks and roleplay.

When Nick comes back from the bathroom, Izzie is sitting against the headboard, in the same white nightie, now down to her knees, legs stretched and crossed, no doubts, it is his Izzie, somber eyes, tight lips, ready to read him the riot act. Nick falls on the bed, face down in the pillows, if she doesn't get the hint, he pulls another pillow over his head.

Red flags, where do I start? What can go wrong, if you both have some sort of virginity kink to work through and decide to roleplay a do-over of the first time, her first time? Everything! Nick has been with a virgin only once when he was twenty, and she was eighteen, it was not bad, but he could do so much better now, if he could give some advice to his twenty-years-old self. Ha! Right, define 'better'. Nick always knew that something went wrong between Izzie and Aldous on their wedding night. No judgement, but seriously? Then again, she was only twenty, doing only ballet, and that douche Aldous was watching her like a dog and not letting anyone near her since she was sixteen.

Izzie wanted to start everything from scratch, a fresh start. And if it meant to replace Aldous in popping her cherry, Nick is in, pun thoroughly intended. All joking aside, if it would help her to put Thailand behind, he would do anything. Their sex life went back to normal, but she still had her nightmares. and he still hasn’t seen her fully naked, she would always leave something on. He asked her once, if a sleeping mask counts as clothes, she laughed but that was it. He would say and do anything to hear her laugh.

They decided to do it on the weekend, in the most remote chalet in that ski village they both liked. Good choice! Izzie announced it on Tuesday and kicked him out of her bedroom to make sure that by Friday night he will be horny as hell.

When they were finally alone, he didn't even notice when everything went pear-shaped and turned into a shitshow. It was not his Izzie there but her twenty-year-old version, wide eyed, antsy, jittery, restless. That's when Nick asked her to call the whole thing off for the first time. She insisted that they need to consummate their marriage, or it's not real. He wanted to calm her down, but she wouldn't let him talk. It felt like they were in Jumanji, trapped on this giant bed. Her anxiety spread onto him like a wildfire, he was shaking like a leaf, like it was his first time too. They kissed like two horny teenagers, not aware of the existence of the third base. Real Izzie would be soaking wet by then. Young Izzie didn't let him touch her or kiss her anywhere below her waist, let alone undress her.

She asked him to take everything off, and her eyes widened even more, when she looked down, like she'd never seen a naked man before. It was surreal. Her tanned face went pale. He begged her to stop. She asked him to make babies, right now. She laid on her back, pulled the nightie up, and opened her legs. He saw that she still had her panties on. They both blushed as he pushed her knees back together and lifted her bum to slide the panties off. And again, her legs fell open for him.  He knew that Izzie could flex and hold any muscle of her body, but it felt insanely tight. He stopped and asked her, he does not remember what he asked her, but she grabbed his shoulders and demanded not to stop until it's over. And as gently and slowly as he could, he did. Love Me Tender Award of the Year.

He noticed the forgotten bottles of lube and the lavender oil on the nightstand. Izzie never needed lube, they used lubes and oils just for fun. Now he wished he would remember to use it. What if he would pull out and put some, will she notice? It's still unbearably tight. Izzie, that loved rough sex, any sex, was motionless under him. She was quiet at last, and he whispered dirty nothings into her ear. She blushed and finally smiled. She lifted her hips, and he helped her to wrap her legs around him. He kissed her before picking up the pace. He was watching her face, eyes shut tight, mouth open, forming little o's with every shallow thrust. They were doing great, all things considered. He wanted to bite down that lip to stop it from quivering. He leaned forward when she opened her eyes, full of tears she couldn't hold back anymore, and screamed at the top of her lungs, screamed his name, a scream that turned into uncontrollable sobs, and his world turned upside down.

"Nick?" Izzie pulls him back into the present.

How on earth did this happen, how could he misread it so badly, the signs that she was in pain, that quivering lip? Nick presses his hands on top of the pillow that covers his head, an international sign for 'I don't want to hear a word'. But yet she speaks.

For part 2 click here

Paint it red

"I'm ready. I think I'm ready," Nick announces half-way out of the door. 

    "Oh. What, today?" Izzie's eyes go wide, and he can't read, is it out of excitement or something else. Dropping the bomb and leaving suddenly doesn't look like a good idea. He closes the door and steps back in. 

    "I don't know, what, today no good?" 

    "If you say today, it's today. What time?" she asks, like setting up a time for a business meeting. 

    "When I come back? Iz, are you ok?" he probes with caution. 

    "I'm getting my ass whipped tonight, of course, I'm not ok," she bites her lip. 

    "That.. that's not exactly the reaction I expected." 

    "What did you expect? That I would jump for joy?" she lashes out again. 

    "Kind of. You've been grilling me to do it for so long." 

    "Not long enough." 

    "No? What do you want, Iz?" 

    "Beside world peace?" She turns away to hide the rollercoaster of emotions. "You didn't scream 'language'." 

    "I don't scream. When?" 

    "I said 'ass', you didn't say anything." 

    "Iz, what are we doing?" both hands are buried in his hair. 

    She saw a modern sculpture in a gallery once, a mighty lion, its taut body ripped in a powerless silent roar of grief or despair. That's what Nick was now, a wounded animal, and she couldn't help him, he had to step up himself, had to take the damn plunge, to call it. 

    "No! No wiggling out of it," she launches into a new brazen tirade. "If you said today, then so be it. After you come back tonight, so be it. If you say, every Friday before bedtime, so be it. If I'm yelling at you like this, that's an extra trip to the couch, right there and then." 

    "Which couch?" he asks just to break her monologue. 

    "That couch," an angry finger points in the direction of the couch. "Bare bottom, paint it red. No discussion."

    He nods absent-mindedly, no discussion, that's the key, that's what she wants. He sheds off his suit jacket without looking at her. He fumbles with the cuffs, then decides to leave them be and just pulls the sleeves up as far as they go. In the corner of his eye he sees her gulp and drop her head. 

    He gestures to the couch with his chin, and that's enough to send her in motion to get over and ready. For the first time, to lower her panties in front of him, not for sex. 

    She holds her breath through a few hard no-swing swats, knowing that this barrage won't go on for long, few seconds, and his near-zero pain tolerance will take over. 

    "How will you shake hands? At least, use your left hand," she pleads. 

    "Don't tell me what to do,"  he grits through his teeth, and yet, he switches the sides to deliver a few with his left hand. 

    "You can't use your hands. Use your belt."

    "Shush!" He collapses with a yelp next to her, cradling both hands and almost crying out of frustration. Her bum is the slightest shade of pink, and he saw the pictures, when she said red, she meant red, crimson red. 

    "Nicky, you're killing yourself." In an attempt of a hug, she pulls his head to rest on her shoulder, but he brushes off her hand. 

    "You don't say." He reaches for the inside pocket of his suit jacket and gobbles up two of his painkiller pills. "That was a downpayment for tonight." He pats her bum and gets up on his feet. "I'll call you later." 

    "Nicky?"

    "What?!"

    "Thank you." 

    "Oh please, spare me." 

To be continued