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! 

Y is for Yellow or Birching Bordello part 6

As per long standing tradition, for Saturday Spankings blog, I post an installment of the Birching Bordello story. The picture taken from Perfectdt's blog, Spankedhortic II. 

To read the Birching Bordello from the beginning: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Izzie stiffens and lies down still. 

Nick decides to repeat it as a question. "Isabel, will you count down the last ten for me?"

For me. Two little words, like magic, yank her out of her daze. "Yes, Nicholas."

"Then let's turn you over. Get up." Nick nudges her shoulder and lifts Izzie on her feet, disregarding her mild protest. Nick hooks one arm under her knees and the other one under her shoulder and lowers Izzie on the edge of the bed, but on her back, while holding her legs up. The heavy dress falls down all around her, suffocating, and she still has those pantaloons on, opened up like a curtain around her butt. 

"What are you doing?" she sounds her protest. "I can't breathe like that." 

"Exactly, we shall get you out of this dress." 

"No, please, you can't see me naked," she blurts out. Boy, she can't even admit to herself how drown in this Victorian fantasy she is. 

Nick rolls his eyes. "Alright, but I'm unlacing this corset right now." 

He's amazingly efficient with all the ribbons, bows, and knots, and in no time she feels she can move around freely inside the confines of the dress. Next thing he pulls the pantalooons down to her ankles, and off they go, and no protest, sound or silent, can stop him. 

"You won't be needing these pantaloons any time soon. I bet you'll be glad not to have any fabric touching your skin. Am I right?" 

"Nicky, please." Izzie squirms, trying to hide in the wide skirt. She covers her face with her hands. 

"Please what?" Nick pulls her over closer to the edge, while holding her ankles in one hand. "Hands off, Isabel, I need to see your face." 

"Yellow!" she cries out. 

"What's wrong?" 

"It's embarrassing." She dutifully slides her hands off, clutching at the shawl around her neck. 

"And you know any spanking that isn't?" She shakes her head. "Then I want to finish it before you pass out. Is that all?" She nods. "Answer me, was it a reason good enough to cry wolf?" 

"I won't do it again, I'm sorry!" 

"Oh, you will be, that's three extra. What number will you start counting from?" 

He moves back a bit and to the side to give himself space to swing. 

"Thirteen?" 

"That's right, a baker's dozen. No more interruptions." He sounds stern and determined. 

The first three strikes are hard but uneventful. Izzie responds with the usual 'thank you sir.' The next three send her howling, and Nick issues a warning that clenching and moving will get her extras. She turns her face away, and he doesn't say a thing. At nine Nick stops to rub for a few long minutes, and Izzie can swear that she heard him muttering 'I can't' and' yellow'. That's when she started crying, more sorry for poor Nicky than for herself. Two more, and finally, she let it go, Nick told her later. He went on for two more to keep her there, and as soon as he was done, scooped her in his arms. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she wails. "To put you through this." 

And all of a sudden it's not a Victorian Miss Isabel, but the real Izzie, hiding her face against his chest. 

To be continued. 

See below the linky link for the blog hop:

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?" 

V is for Vanilla

It's sooo late right now, and I'm writing a post to publish tomorrow morning. So, a cheat day, aka a poem day. 

V is for Vanilla

No one is ever vanilla

Everyone has some sort of kink

Tiny one or the size of Godzilla 

Pause, allow these words to sink

Sleep mask is a makeshift blindfold

Playful swat is an impact play

The Look that will keep you mindful

Strong as leash, be that as it may

Holding wrists is a type of bondage

Roleplay bound are Santa and elf

Naked Red, in Halloween homage, 

Riding Wolfie, is C-M-N-F

Primal is marking and biting

'Not yet' is permission to come

Playing hard or barely acting

Don't you dare to yuck my yum! 

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." 

S is for Spanking or Birching Bordello part 5

 

Next installment of the Birching Bordello story. We finally got to the actual spanking part. Enjoy! Picture from Tumblr. To read from the beginning: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

The wide stripes that the belt leaves quickly overlap with the thin red lines made by the roses. But the marks do not scare Nick anymore. He know how to keep it just on this side of pain to draw the right mix of ouches and moans but not to send her howling. Izzie is not rolling away, trying to avoid the impact. It's the opposite, she arches her back to meet the belt halfway, the same way she thrusts back when he takes her from behind.

The leather strap caresses while hurting good, and finally it makes sense. The belt is not the enemy but a well known acquaintance that you dislike but tolerate, that you're curious about enough to consider to become friends.

Nick rubs the sting away before adding more to it. He takes a break to calm down her breathing, to gauge where she's at, to chat, because she is not much of a listener during the act.

"Reminders shall be given on a regular basis, Isabel. Don't you agree? Say, Sunday morning before you go to church." His thumb traces the invisible tiny welts from the roses, now buried in the sea of crimson, so warm to the touch. Nick wonders if they will be still there tomorrow. Note to self, check Izzie's bum in the morning. Huh, like he ever missed that thrill.

"I go to church?" Izzie breathes out, still riding the pain.

"It's nineteenth century, darling, everyone does. You won't be allowed to fidget whilst sitting on the wooden bench. That would be quite a sight to watch you, trying not to squirm too much. Maybe I will join you."

"You will?" She rolls her hips, pushing into his hand.

"Uh-huh, to have a quick shag in the carriage on the way home. To make you sore inside out."

Izzie snickers in a quite sober voice. "Look who's missed on making out in the car in his teenage years."

"Yep," he pats her warm bum absent-mindedly, "I said shag, not snog. Back to Earth, aren't we?"

"You're enjoying it, aren't you?" Her lips stretch in a proud smile.

"I thought you want me to enjoy it, Isabel." Nick's hand drops in between her legs, dangerously close to...

"Ah! Milord, but my maidenhead." She jerks away from his hand, switching back into his Victorian fiancée, Miss Isabel.

"Right, a true Virgin Mary here. Shall we call him Jesus too?" The same hand now rubs on her pregnant belly, breaking an unspoken rule they have, never to mention the baby during any spanking, any kind of scene. Izzie's lower lip quivers, she's frozen, yanked into the wrong reality. Nick curses under his breath. Way to muck up, you daft git. There is only one way out of it now: forward.

"Do you want to cry?" he asks, and waits for her nod. "Will you take some hard ones? For me?"

For me. Nick learned recently that any request, well, Izzie does not like when he phrases it as a request. But adding 'for me' at the end elicits a full body shudder from Izzie and a fervent nodding. 

"Let's count down from ten, shall we?" 

To be continued 

R is for Reminders or Birching Bordello part 4

 

This is part 4 of Birching Bordello story. Click here for part 1, part 2, and  part 3

Nick finally gets on his feet and picks up a few roses. When he drags the rose buds across her cheeks, Izzie clenches her perky butt and immediately gets a sharp reprimand on her thighs.

"Wait, what if I will need a reminder? A regular reminder?" She picks over her shoulder.

"I guess I can fit your reminders into my busy schedule," he chuckles.

"Please do not laugh." Izzie hides her face in the bed sheets.

"Am not. Not when your lovely bottom is on the line. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Nicholas."

"Off you go, then."

Nick starts slowly with lighter taps, it scares him how similar to a cane the twigs feel in his hand. He recalls the vivid image of her slapping her own palm and yelping from pain. In no time he will hear the same yelps and worse but under his strokes. He wishes it would be white roses, not red, as the petals are flying everywhere and cover the floor like splashes of blood.

"I can't." Nick stops to a halt and shakes his head.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Izzie turns her head but stays on the bed.

"It's no different from a cane."

"So?"

"Iz, I will not cane you." Bollocks, he's putting his foot down, at least for today.

"Nick, it's roses, thornless leafless roses."

"That leave the same marks as a cane."

Izzie jumps off the bed to face him. "Oh, you are the expert now!" The sarcastic remark doesn't get her far.

"Yes, thanks to you, I am."

"What do we do then?"

"You mean, what do I do??" Nick points at his own chest to make sure she understands who is running the show.

Nick picks up the forgotten belt from the table and snaps the halves with a deafening clap. Quite a standoff they are having: Izzie's fists on her hips, skirts tucked in at the waist, baring a very pink butt, Nick's double folded belt tapping his knee.

"But I want roses!" She is anything but stomping her feet.

"I said, no. Bend over, Iz." Nick points at the bed with the belt.

"Or what?"

"Or else."

"Argh!"

"Remember? It's up to me, when, where, and how. Isn't that right, Isabel?" 

"Yes, Nicholas." Using her formal name, her Mayfair maiden's name, does the trick and puts Izzie back into the forgotten roleplay.

Nick twirls his fingers in the air, and she turns around and plops back on the bed. Yet her fists hit the sheets with the fervor.

"Isabel?" Nick raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, Nicholas."

"I think it's time for a reminder you were asking for. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Nicholas."

"I'm not feeling it." He taps the small of her back with the belt, and she lays her crossed wrists there. For him to hold. 

To be continued

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."