N is for Need

Dear diary,

Here we meet again. I bought a new notebook at the airport and now have three hours before my next flight. Plenty of time to finish that ping pong story. Real life is so bad, I have to stick with my happy place, and writing down these fantasies seems to do the trick just fine. So, without further ado, I will get back where I left myself in the dream. On the floor.

Spread-eagled on the rug in front of the green velvet sofa, I tried to get the damn ball out with the help of my ping pong racquet. The damn sofa, as Nick called it, was way too low to fit my hand with the racquet. While trying to rescue the stuck ball, I pondered whether he would spank me with his paddle or the one I'm holding, to make it even more humiliating. I squirmed at the thought and pushed my knees together.

“Tsk-tsk, keep them open, bad girl, and hurry. Ain't got the whole day.” Nick's attempt at the Southern twang was funny. He bounced another ball on his paddle. Of course, there was a full box of fifty ping pong balls, an unlimited supply, conveniently set on the same side table as a crystal decanter full of whisky, his other unlimited supply. 

“Why am I a bad girl?” Back to the ping pong table, I pouted my lips. “I want to be a good girl.”

“You're always my good girl, when you don't keep me waiting.” Now Nick was hitting the ball high up and catching it with the other hand.

The addition of ‘my’ to compulsory ‘good girl’ is known to weaken the legs of the said girl. Not fair before a ping pong match. And bullshit about keeping each other waiting. That bratty anticipation banter was the best part in each dream. Getting me all warmed up, oozing with need. He knew what he was doing, a wink here, a raised eyebrow there. How I would ogle his bulge, when he would purposefully adjust himself in front of me. The perfect man of my dreams knew how to push all my buttons.

“Rally for the serve?” He bounced the ball off his side. “One, two, three,” he counted the slow rally shots. I expected the fourth to be a thunderous winner, but no, like a hungry but playful cat, he liked to toy with his pray, and graciously let me win the serve. 

I considered myself a decent player. Ping pong was Bobby's favourite leisurely activity, beside fucking, in the little time he had left off court or gym. I managed to learn a trick or two from him and got offended by Nick's overly gentlemanly attitude. But I decided not to try my luck.  He will have me no matter what, but at what cost to my ass. I did some mental math, which is always a challenge in a dream. His example of fourteen swats per match, times three, to win the best of five, meant a hefty forty something licks of a ping pong paddle. Do I really need that much? Ouch! 

Nick grinned as I rubbed my pristine butt. “What's wrong, love? Writing cheques you can't cash?”

“I will cash,” I stood my ground and served. 

Few mild shots later I missed, and it's love - one. That's zero - one for the uninitiated. Love means nothing, as the old tennis joke goes. Three serves later the score was love - four. On my fifth and last serve I managed to slam right behind the net and earn my first point, one - four. It's his serve now, and I've already seen how he serves. Nick decided he showed enough mercy and it's time to speed things up, literally. On his fourth serve, I learned to get to the ball in time. On the fifth, I played it back but still lost the point. That's nine - one to him. 

There was no chance in the world I could get any points off him on his serve, maybe a few on my own serve. Do we really need it play by play? The final score was 21 - 5. Wet hair stuck to my forehead and out of breath, luckily I wore a tank top, or I would be sweating buckets. Nick brought me a glass of cold water and took it from my hand as soon as I stopped drinking. What did he think, I would throw it in his face, cause a scene? Not my first rodeo, but definitely the first time betting my ass on a minor sporting event. Don't ask, I could foresee more betting in the future.

“I prefer to collect my debt as we go,” Nick quipped with a tap on the table. “Need proper height.”

I huffed and bent over the edge, resting my head on folded arms.

“On the bare,” he added in a stern voice, and I hastily pulled the shorts down to my knees. “How many?”

“Fifteen.”

“Sixteen. Where did you learn math?” Nick shook his head.  “I need you to count.”

M is for Morning and Marks and Middle of the night

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

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

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

"What a gentleman!"  

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

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

"Though I need to assess the damage."

"Not if it's a spankable offense."

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Nick paused and spoke. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Count Me Down (Carpe Diem)

I can't believe it, I found a Carpe Diem T-shirt today, see the picture above! You will have to read the story to find out why I'm so excited.

That soft weary voice on the phone, so endearing and tantalising in his begging, and yet she can't resist the urge to drag on and play him because that's what he wants, that's what she wants, whether she admits it to herself or not. 

“Izzie? Are you in bed? I can't see.”  

She moves the phone camera around, she’s indeed sitting on the bed. “Izzie who?” 

“My morning star,” he responds like it’s the only possible answer. 

“Good god, what do you need so badly?” 

“Can you count me down? Please?” 

Who can say no, when he is pleading like that, looking like the original sin, all bundled up in a white hotel robe, propped on one elbow, the other hand combing through the wet hair, trying to look better for her? Is it even humanly possible to look better than that? “You know, there are phone lines with professionals for that.” 

“I can't dial those numbers from my phone. Besides, I want to hear your voice.”

“How sweet. From a hundred?” 

“More like from twenty.” 

“I see, already warmed up. Give me one good reason why should I.” 

“I had a rough day. “

“When don't you?”

“When I get to talk to you at the end of the day.” 

“My, my, such a blatant suck up.” 

“Touch you at the end of the day.“

“What else?” 

“Are you wet?” Nick asks. 

“Nope.” 

“Check now.“

Her hand slides under the covers. She quickly wipes her fingers and wiggles her hand in front of the phone. “Not even the slightest.” 

“I just saw you wiping your fingers.” 

“Oh, did you now?” 

“Will you come for me? “

“Not today,” Izzie replies, and gets a happy giggle from Nick. “Why are you giggling, numpty?” She didn’t call him a numpty for so long, it short-circuits his already struggling brain.

“It was a perfunctory ask.” Nick confesses with ease, despite the voice in his head calling him a numbnut, she can kill you for less, you daft git. Let me be, Nick pleads to the voice, for once she accepts me for what I am. Let me be.

“When you want the answer to be ‘no’. You are such an –"

“Manipulative narcissist?” he asks, and she lets it slide too. 

“An arse.” 

“That I am. I hate when you come without me.” 

“I hate that too. Go on. Carpe diem, Nicky.” 

“I will carpe diem your brains out when I'm back.” 

“You will, Nicky.” 

“You will be begging for me to stop.” 

“Yes, I will.” 

“Why am I doing all the talking?” Nick whines an octave higher, breaking the character.

“Because that's what you do for a living,” she coos.

“I do, I do,” he’s back on track. 

“Because your mouth is not otherwise occupied.” 

“Sadly.” Nick's camera falls and stays pointed at the ceiling. 

“Nick?” 

“Yes, ma'am.” 

“No further questions. Tits?” 

“Yes, please.” 

She pulls her t-shirt over her head. Throws her hair over one shoulder. “Ready, cowboy?”  Silence. “Can't believe how easy you are.” 

“Izzie.” 

“Yes, that's what I said, easy.” 

“Iz!” 

Aaaand that's how you do it when apart. Thank you, Hermione, for the reminder! Some fluff read for the weekend. Enjoy and don't forget to click on the Almond Croissant to read all the other stories and comment. I command you to comment! Pretty please...