G is for Gentle

Dear diary,

Enough reminiscing over Aldous, it hasn't always been bad. We had our good days too. I will write more later. The most important thing is that I've been my own woman for five years, and I don't depend on any man. Now, as I wrote the words, I realized that I've never said it out loud. And not so sure how I feel about it. Do I want to be my own woman? Do I need a man to lean on? Feminists, don't listen. I'm joking, no one will ever get their hands on this diary, it's my private vault. 

Fast forward to yesterday. You will never believe whom I met yesterday. That's another thing to keep in the vault, no one will ever know about us. It can ruin his life, he's married, my life, it will be a ginormous mess. Besides, what ‘us’? He's a unicorn, a true unicorn. You don't get to keep him. It's a catch and release kind of a situation. Enjoy every second of it, and voila, he's gone and nothing but a memory.

I met him last night in our bar downstairs. Can you believe it, Nick X. himself in this hole in the wall, sorry Senor Pereira, hotel bar? That's not his initials but his real name is Nick. And he spent the whole night in my room, in my bed, doing all kinds of gentle things to me. He confessed that in college his nickname indeed was Gentle Nick. He's so fucking awesome, I've been fangirling for a while but, seriously, how a man, in flesh and blood, could be so awesome? Every single inch of him. Smell so good, look so good, taste so good. That million dollar smile. He can have any woman in the world, but he chose me, even for a night or a weekend, who cares. I'm not exactly a nobody myself, but he doesn't know who I am, and I like to think that the world forgot about me. 

And that goofy English accent, he can switch back and forth. You know how I love accents. Stuart was Australian, that was golden. Bobby was Italian, their English is ridiculously funny. I had to pinch Nick to switch to that posh Londoner lilt. I noticed he winced every time, same as when I bit his finger. There is something wrong about it, I will probably not have time to figure it out. 

You know how the celebrities wear hats and sunglasses, so no one would recognize them? He had glasses on, a simple pair of  black Wayfarers, he usually wears contacts, and no one recognized him. One guy in the lobby asked if he was him. Nick laughed it off dismissively. Said, I get it all the time, I'm his doppelganger. I saw it on TV recently at some tennis tournament. Yes, I still watch Bobby's matches. Ok, short version, if you insist. Bobby wanted me to go on tour with him, which meant to sit in his player's box for the whole world to see, with a camera in my face. I said ‘no’ and stayed in Ibiza, and we left it at that. Bobby was nice to me, another gentle giant.

Back to the story, at that tournament, for fun, a few tennis players acted like they were parking attendants or security at the gate. All on camera, of course, and if someone would recognize them and ask for an autograph, they laughed it off, no, I just look like him. Pure fun. No one knows how little time for anything resembling fun these winning machines have. I do. And in a tournament of sixty-four players, there is only one winner and sixty-three losers, that's tennis for you. 

With Bobby, it was getting serious, and I got to the point, I felt I needed to scratch the old itch. Not by myself, but with someone I could trust. I trusted Bobby, but he was undeniably vanilla. That was the deal breaker for me, and, of course, to come out of a five years of hiding.

But there was one time, when I got to scratch the itch. It was way before Bobby, maybe my second year living here. Summers are always hot, even hotter in the kitchen. I finished my shift at eleven, and went upstairs to my room to take a shower. It was a weekday, I would usually go to bed but I was really craving an affogato or just a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Silly, isn't it? Me, craving vanilla ice cream. I picked up a sundress or oversized top, I could never figure it out. It was too short to be worn on its own, without shorts or tights. And I grabbed a pair of clean shorts in the dark. Hint, that was a crucial moment in this story that defined the course of the evening.

So I went downstairs, the bar was still open. I've already been friends with Diego the bartender, who kept my personal stash of ice cream in his freezer. And here he was, an English gentleman, white beard, thick cigar, nursing his G&T at the other end of the bar.

F is for Foul

 

Dear diary,

Foul. There is no other word that describes better how I've seen myself. Lying on my back at the edge of the bed, my hands and ankles locked in restraints and hooked to the spreader bar, knees wide open, my ass propped up with the pillow. Aldous milked my humiliation to the fullest, touching random spots on my body with buzzing Hitachi, waiting for me to beg, after edging me for what seems to be centuries. My ass and thighs, with marks in various shades of red, were smeared all over with his cum.

When he got me off that bench, Aldous made sure to demonstrate to me his handiwork in the mirror. The intermediate results, as he worded it. After that, he led me to the bed and showed me the proper waiting position. Bend over the pillows, cuffed hands behind my back, feet shoulder wide. The bed was too tall, without the bench to kneel on, my toes were barely touching the floor. 

“To give you a taste of how we'll do it next time,” he announced and tapped my butt with the edge of the belt.

“Aldous, please. I learned my lesson.”

“Who's Aldous?” The belt viciously bit into my already agonizing body.

“Please, sir!!”

“Keep your voice down.” He warned me, and I added ‘or else' in my head. “I like that phrase a lot, you are indeed learning your lesson. I will give you five more, and after each stroke you will say it.”

And that's how it went. “Owww! I learned my lesson.” Five more times, the harshest ones of that night.

True to his word, after that he called it a day and took me from behind. The height of that bed was not coincidental, it was built to his specifications, at the perfect height to bend me over and fuck me from behind. He didn't care much how long he lasted, the trusty Hitachi was there to finish the job. He laid on top of me, whispering in my ear a promise of glorious yummy cummies. His cum mixed with sweat dripped down my raw flesh, intensifying the pain.

Filthy, ugly, indecent. Foul.

According to Aldous, the ladies first rule was invented by amateurs. On the contrary, ladies second would give the lady in question all the time in the world. When it came to pleasuring me, Aldous was an expert to pick and choose the best tool of the trade. Funny enough, with Hitachi it never took me too long. Little I knew what he had in mind.

Only when he flipped me on my back, I saw the spreader bar. Aldous locked my ankles and extended the bar to the fullest. Then he put my wrists into the cuffs with a longer chain and told me to hold the bar myself. He yanked me to the edge of the bed and lifted my ass to add another pillow. I was holding myself open for him to draw the pain and the ecstasy from me as he pleased.

Obscene, unsightly, hostile. Foul. 

And then he invented a new game. Every time I was on the brink of an orgasm, he brought back the belt. And I had to yelp, I learned my lesson, again and again, after each strike. He would back out and edge me again. 

“Look at me,” I heard his voice too near to my face. I didn't realize that I kept my eyes shut the whole time. My body, exhausted from the pain, was screaming enough, but my reckless brain demanded to keep going. 

“I will not stop this time, Elizabeth, I will let you cum. And I want to hear the magic words as you cum.”

“Yes, sir.” I responded with a hoarse from all the screaming voice.

“What are the magic words?”

“I learned my lesson,” I chanted effortlessly.

“Good girl. And from this day onwards, whenever you cum, either with me, or by yourself, you will always repeat those words. I learned my lesson.“ 

He pressed the Hitachi against my clit and kept lacing my ass with his belt. I couldn't tell anymore, if I kept cumming from the Hitachi, or the belt, or the words that turned on some part of my brain I wasn't aware ever existed. 

Unclean, disgusting, miserable. Foul.

Aldous is long gone from my bed, it took me years to learn not to feel foul anymore, but the words stayed. No matter who I'm with, like a clock, even if I scream out my partner's name or God's name, in my head I repeat those words: I learned my lesson.

E is for Eager

Dear diary,

You have to understand, at that point Aldous was the only man I've ever been with. We met when I was seventeen, he was ten years older, patiently waiting for me to grow up. We didn't have sex till we got married when I turned twenty one. Maybe one day I will write about that. These days they would call it grooming. But back then, I liked how he was always there for me. He was there in the front row, when I fell on stage. He took care of everything. Maybe that's what I always wanted, to be taken care of.

As long as I could remember, I danced. Always in a pursuit of that perfect stance, perfect jump, always at the expense of an excruciating pain. When I fell, and it was over for me, there was another pain, of loss of something I loved the most. And Aldous was there for me as always. One day he just replaced one pain with another and took it to a different level. I was indeed a pain slut, as he liked to call me, and he was the only one who understood that part of me, how much I craved it, how eager I was to learn all the new ways to receive it. So he gave it to me.

It's weird, from someone who has never been touched sexually, I felt men's hands on my body quite often, of my ballet partners, of course. The hands that would hold tight onto my waist, lift me, ground me, keep me safe. Except when I fell. There was a deep connection between those strong hands on my body and feeling safe. And as anything else, Aldous took it one step further. His secret spot was the small of my back. With his hand there, he would guide me through a crowded party, lead me on the dance floor, nudge me into position. Like it was a switch to turn off my anxiety and connect me to him even more, with no words necessary.

So when Aldous slid his palm down my back and rested it on the small of my back, it wiped out all my fears and hesitation. I was his, eager to take whatever he planned to dole out. But this eagerness was calm and serene, if it makes any sense. Overwhelmed no more, I was eager to serve.

“May I please you?” The smell that sent me into the agony mere minutes prior, was now as welcoming as ever. 

“You mean, please me, please me?” He chuckled but I noticed the familiar twitch.

I was nervous, as we never tried it before, you know, him striking me with him in my mouth. What if I bite him by accident? But Aldous had more faith in me or just wanted to teach his pony a new trick. He unzipped and fed himself into my mouth. I wiggled my hands, still tied behind my back, and got my wish granted. After all, Aldous loved my inexperienced hands on his body, tugging, squeezing, pulling him closer. 

The blows that followed did not distract me, I welcomed them the same way I would his playful swats. The belt bit into my ass time after time, but I sucked on him with a newfound reverence. I even rocked my hips, following his rhythm, eager to feed his both needs: the need to give me that pain and the need to fuck my mouth. It shifted the mood. There was neither place, nor time, only his belt falling on my ass and his cock in my mouth.

Aldous admitted to me once, how many times he fantasized about my mouth, while watching me perform on stage or later, getting off to my videos. He was eager to teach me to suck properly. I couldn't take him in at first, which frustrated me so much. Obviously, I had no one to compare him with, but he explained to me that he was much thicker than average. So, he bought a collection of dildos for me to practice with, though I still had to learn to deep throat.

“Good girl,” Aldous touched my cheek, and I let him go. I didn't even notice that the blows stopped. “Stay here,” he got off the bench and patted my butt. 

Only now I realized how thoroughly he thrashed it. My poor ass burned the same as my thighs, before he numbed them with the cream. I heard the water running and the sound of a fabric being wrung from the excess water. When Aldous pressed the hot wet towel over my smarting cheeks and held me down, I yelped in agony. He was ticking off every single rule in the book of torture.

“You didn't think we're done, did you?” He adjusted the hair that was blocking my eyes, and I saw my pink Hitachi on the bed next to the pillows.

D is for Discipline

Dear diary,

The sounds of Aldous constantly moving behind my back were maddening, but I didn't dare to peek and kept my nose glued to the corner that pleasantly smelled of old wallpaper. There wasn't much furniture in the bedroom. When I heard something dragged to the middle of the room, it could only be the long tufted bench at the bottom of the bed that I knelt on, while waiting for Aldous. The old hardwood floor creaked as he walked to the bathroom and banged a few vanity drawers looking for something, then came back and rummaged through the drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed, the side that was closer to the door. 

I heard Ellis, the gardener, watering the roses and walking away along the gravel path. My mouth felt dry, and my heart was pounding. If I could hear the dainty sounds of water and gravel, Ellis for sure heard me scream. As Aldous liked to joke, this guy worked longer at the estate than I was alive. Will he tell anyone else? Will I lose respect of the staff, or will they feel sorry for me? Will they tell Uncle James? To whom was Ellis more loyal, Aldous or Uncle James? Back then I was still trying to figure out their family dynamics, which our marriage affected so much.

I didn't stay in the corner for long, before Aldous called me out and pointed at the same spot in front of the mirror, but now there was also a bench right next to it.

“Pillows-shmillows, I will buy a proper bench for the next time.” He patted at the end nearest to the mirror. I froze at the words ‘next time', unable to move. “Hop on. Straddle it.” Aldous patted the same spot with more vigor and pulled my hand towards the bench. 

With two hands on my bare waist, he guided me over. My torso pressed flat on the bench, legs spread out wide, feet dangling in the air, face turned towards the mirror. He pulled out one of my scarves from his pocket and tied my crossed wrists together to stay behind my back. I closed my eyes from the embarrassment. His handprint on my ass faded away, the jarring contrast of my white butt and crimson thighs was terrifying and humiliating at once.

“Yes, dearest, I will not wait until you transgress again.” I felt his hand rubbing something cold on my burning thighs. I didn't care anymore, if it was to make me feel better or worse. Either way his conniving mind will come up with a new torture. I just hoped it was not capsaicin cream. “Little girls like you need discipline on a regular basis. Will start with weekly.”

The cream worked its magic, soothing and numbing the scorching pain. I understood his evil plan, to numb the pain in my thighs, so it will not distract me from the new batch. On my behind. But before proceeding any further, he sank two fingers deep inside me and quickly withdrew. I squirmed from the pain and sudden intrusion.

“Oh. You're as dry as the Sahara Desert!” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “Why? Is my little pain slut not happy to see me?” 

My eyes filled with tears, and I turned away. 

“Answer me.” Aldous poked my hand.

“No, sir. Yes, sir.” I yelped. “I'm always happy to see you, sir!”

“Then why so dry?” He kept his hand on top of mine, still tied with the scarf.

“It's the pun– sorry, the discipline, sir.”

Aldous shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn't mean I won't fuck you after. Doesn't mean I won't give you your yummy cummies.” He pinched my ass cheek. “I'm going to teach you a valuable lesson.”

“Please, sir.” I grabbed his hand with mine. I didn't know what scared me more, the further onslaught or the threat to fuck me after. Or even worse, to force me to cum with Hitachi, when all I wanted was to be left alone and fall asleep. All I wanted was for this to be over.

“Please what?” He freed his hand.

“I learned my lesson.” That was the first time out of thousands I uttered the wretched phrase. I learned my lesson. I sold my soul to the devil. I learned my lesson. Aldous was and will control every aspect of my life. I learned my lesson. There is nothing I can do about it. I learned my lesson. My ass is his, in any way he desires. And so is my pussy and my mouth and whatever else Aldous will come up with. I learned my lesson.

“No, darling. We are only halfway through your discipline. One third.” He corrected himself and straddled the bench behind my head. “Can't neglect those pillows.”

One hand on my neck, pressing my head hard against his crotch, I could smell him through the thin fabric of his summer linen pants. The smell, intoxicating any other time, suffocated me to the brink of a panic attack. I thrashed under his hand like a fish out of water, gasping for air. Aldous lifted my head and stroked my hair until I calmed down.

“I need you to stay still, doll.” He leaned forward, pressing one hand between my shoulder blades. And then I heard the belt buckle.

 

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.”

B is for Begging

Dear diary,

We left this story with me, marching upstairs, crying my heart out, with my husband's leather belt in hand. But before I will describe what happened next, I need to explain a few things. It helps me to analyze what happened, to move on. I'm not the same person now, as I'm writing down these words. I'm much older, I've been with many men since Aldous. Each and every one of them treated me better. But none of them knew of my real needs the way Aldous did. But let's get back to that dreadful day.

There was another word that Aldous avoided at all costs, punishment. When we discussed the consequences of me breaking the rules, Aldous referred to it as a disciplinary action, without getting into too much detail, except that it will be severe enough for me to avoid breaking rules. The conversation we just had downstairs defined the action clearly enough. Whipping my ass with his belt. No matter how much I argued, Aldous would not budge. The belt that he handed over to me as I was leaving the room was a vivid reminder that it was really happening. My first disciplinary action. With his belt. That he never used on me before.

Aldous was not into the domestic side of kink. He was quite the opposite, obsessed with high aesthetics of black lace, leather toys, and other shiny accoutrements. We didn't try too many at that point, but I could see the logic, to separate play from discipline, pain for pleasure from pain for remorse and tears. The belt seemed like a universally accepted tool for it, an ideal weapon, scary but not excessively harsh. In theory.

From the videos I used to watch, the belt massacre would often start over the jeans, and then would peel layer by layer after each dozen, each stroke accompanied by a scream. Just the thought of a belt hitting my behind a dozen times, even protected by fabric, made me shudder.

I was wearing a knee length sundress for a walk. So I sat down on the bench at the bottom of the bed and bared my thighs. Smack! Ouch, it was way worse than anything else Aldous ever tried on me, which, again, was not that many things at the time. But his hand could be heavy enough, if he wanted it to be. 

Wearing jeans was not an option. That was not an outfit for a proper lady. Proper lady my ass, if hitting me with a belt is! One thing was a fantasy to get off too, and a completely different thing was actually waiting for it to happen. With Aldous possibly already on his way. He didn't specify when he would come or how long I would wait, but he clearly ordered me to be ready, which I was not.

I darted to the dressing room to change. Off with the dress, I put on a short blouse that barely covered my stomach. A blouse that was meant to be worn with some high waist elegant pants, but all I had on below the waist was a pair of panties, which I decidedly got rid off too. Mirror, mirror on the wall. A skinny twenty something, with big round Audrey Hepburn eyes and tiny neatly trimmed bush, terrified out of her mind, was staring back at me. That's what Aldous wanted, his own Audrey or Jackie Kennedy look-alike, perfectly groomed and dressed to perfection, hourglass shaped and well mannered. His own perfect toy. And now he was about to teach his toy a lesson.

I've never felt so vulnerable in my whole life. Yes, he saw me completely naked hundreds, if not thousands of times, and taught me how to do all these nasty things in bed and purposefully caused me pain. But today was different, this pain was not for fun or his pleasure, but for me to cry, to regret, to plead, to beg. Yes! That's what I will do when he gets here. I will beg. Because I cannot go through it, I cannot let it happen, I can't. No one is immune to my begging. I will ask for his forgiveness, and Aldous will look into my big sorrowful eyes and reconsider, right? Right?

No, I have to get ready before I could wallow in self pity. Back to the bedroom! I've seen it done so many times. Somehow almost all actions that involved belts happened with two pillows under the poor woman's stomach. To make it look more presentable? To get a better access to the tender sit spots? To be easier to hold her in place if she moves? I doubt that her comfort was of any concern. I quickly piled up two long pillows along the bottom edge of the bed, climbed and knelt on the bench, and bent over the pillows. Hoping that my bare ass looks presentable enough to my husband's high standards. I panicked and clenched my butt at the thought, which was another no no, I'm not allowed to clench. As I clenched, I felt that I was still tender from this morning session, so not ready for the belt. How can anyone be ever ready for the belt?

The belt! Where is the belt? In my hurry I forgot it on my side of the king sized bed, too far to grab from where I was. I could swear I could hear Aldous’s steps, which was impossible, as all the hallways were laid with long runners. Maybe it was my own heart thumping. To the belt and back into the same position, bent over but now with my hands crossed on the small of my back, holding the damn belt, chanting in my head. 

I will be your perfect little toy, your obedient wife, but please please please reconsider.

A is for Arrangement

Dear diary,

I stumbled upon an interesting challenge recently, an April A to Z challenge. You're supposed to post on your blog a post each day, each day the topic of the post should start with the corresponding letter of the alphabet. A on the first day, B on the second, and on and on. You know, I do not have a blog, and I'll never be able to post any of my revelations publicly, but the idea seems quite alluring. As my Manhattan shrink liked to say, writing is healing. So, let's begin with the letter A.

A is for Arrangement 

It happened during the second year of my marriage. I was still settling into the role of a spoiled young wife. Aldous has been laying down the ground rules left and right, finishing off the gilded cage with equally gilded barbed wire. I went on the walk after dinner, Aldous was never a fan of those. Who really walks around here, along the country road, with an occasional car whooshing by? Before I left, he reminded me not to be late or else. We've never got to ‘or else's part, and I didn't think that Aldous would actually do anything about it. He would playfully swat my ass before or during sex, I will write more about how we started later. But this was different, my butt was tingling and not in a good way, while I was scurrying back home, ten minutes past my curfew.

I found my then-husband in the library, reading by the fireplace, with a lit cigar in his mouth and a double-folded belt on the otherwise empty desk. It was kind of hard to miss, a brown Italian leather belt, that was holding his pants when I left, now sitting on top of the polished like a mirror antique writing desk.

“If anyone would as much as lay a finger on you,” Aldous commenced with his speech. “I will have to hunt them down.” Way to refer to his ample gun collection, of both antique and modern warfare. “And then dispose of the body. Thankfully, plenty of space for that. But, considering the modern technology, who knows, I might still end up in jail!” He yelled the last part at the top of his lungs and then continued in his usual near whisper tone. “Without any conjugal visits. And we wouldn't want that, innit?” 

That last ‘innit’ really did it for me. I squirmed and blurted out. “If we had a dog, I wouldn't be walking by myself.”

“But we do not have a dog, at the moment. Do we?” Aldous was a master of stating the obvious and finishing a sentence with a question. 

“No, sir.” Why on Earth did I just call him a sir? Was it the years of pent up fantasies? Was it his stern voice that implied the only answer.

“I wish I could call you a good girl.” His lips turned up into a vicious smirk. “But we're far from it, the misfortune I am about to rectify.” He put the cigar down. “Did I tell you what happens to naughty girls, Elizabeth?” Aldous nodded at the belt.

“You did, sir.” 

“Then why did you disobey your husband and put yourself in harm's way?”

“It's just ten minutes. I was ten minutes late.” I still tried to wiggle out of the inevitable.

“Do we have an arrangement that you so blatantly broke?”

“Aldous, I'm really sorry, it will never happen again!”

“It's high time to stick with ‘sir’, Elizabeth. And, yes, I will make sure that you will take my words more seriously from now on. Because I do deliver, do I not?”

“Yes, you do.” I nodded and hastily added. “Sir.”

“Good. Now go upstairs and get ready.” All I could do was nod. “What will you make yourself presentable for? I want to hear the words.” 

“For you to whip me, sir. With your belt.” Aldous avoided the word ‘spank’ like a plague, and so did I. “For coming home late. And putting myself in harm's way.” I was filling the scary void with the words.

“Excellent. You're halfway to learning your lesson. Now go and wait for your imminent encounter with my belt.”

As I marched up the stairs, I burst into tears, unable to hold them any longer. I knew that it was the first time of many. Many dreadful whippings coming my way. And there was no way I could change any of it.

PS My dear readers, for those of you who has been following Izzie and Nick story. First of all, sorry for disappearing!! And thank you for all your kind words! 

In January, Sage Blum wrote to me and explained WHY Izzie and Nick are so awesome. I was blown away by her words. At that point, I was halfway through writing a spinoff about Stuart and Sherry.

I thought long and hard about Sage's words, because Izzie and Nick are indeed my favourite couple. I'm happy to report that I'm back on working on that book. The problem is/was that initially it was written as a vanilla book, smutty vanilla as I call it. I needed to introduce kink, so... drum roll.. I'm writing Izzie's back story as a diary. You can read it this month of April 2024 as part of the A to Z challenge. Aldous is Izzie's ex-husband. It's quite dark and ambiguous, but I hope you will enjoy it!

And as always, I'm dying to hear what you think. So, don't be shy, leave a comment.

A to Z challenge

 

Hello, my darlings! Yes, I've been away for way too long, and I missed you all dearly! 

As far as my writing conundrum goes, I had finished putting together what I decided would go into the first Izzie and Nick book and even started editing it from the beginning.

But-but-but editing is hard, right? Especially when my writing style changed soo much, since I wrote the vanilla part of the story. So, if anything we the procrastinators like to do the most, is to find another reason to do the mundane. 

And there it was, a new shining April A to Z blogging challenge. For you, it means a new snippet every day. For me, it means to get all pumped up, have the creative juices flowing, and to add so much needed kink to the otherwise exciting and adventurous vanilla story.

The stories will be written from Izzie's POV, at least that's the plan for now. You know, boosting that highly desirable female protagonist POV haha! Also cranking up some word count and writing less dialogue. The good stuff.

So, visit me often and cheer me up, please, because it's quite a vexing enterprise, that A-to-Z thingy!

When Valentine's Day falls on humpday

 

I made my own Valentine's card !!! 

When last week I realized that Valentine's falls on Wednesday this year, I decided I have to do something with this precious discovery. And voila, the card was born, the fireworks picture is also mine from ages ago.

How are you, my friends? Have a fireworks day, today and any day you wish!

Hugs,

Sore (@three-red-horns on Tumblr, visit and say hi)

PSA: Looking for An Old Story

Asking for a friend. No, seriously. A mutual on Tumblr asked for help on finding this old story. I know that many of you have good deep archives or equally good memory. Any leads greatly appreciated. 

Here is his description:

I've been searching for this smut for a long time. If I understand it correctly, the original writer had it taken down everywhere online because he was trying to get it published. It was very well written. It was called "The Lottery Winner" but the only name I have for the writer was his handle from back in the BBS days, "Nightwind." The story was about a man by the name of Paul Renner or Renier or something like that who won the lottery. Used his winnings to create a harem of women from around the world. Of course there were smutty parts but the writing was so exceptional even in the vanilla parts I have no doubt they could have gotten published. I have no problem paying for the work, but I've not been able to to find it anywhere. There was a newsgroup post with maybe 20 chapters of it, from the middle. But, not the whole story.