This week’s Flashback Friday, was originally posted April 11th, 2010. This will be the next to last Flashback Friday, as I have plucked the best of my past writings of 2009-2010 from the archives. After next week’s final posting, I will be changing the posting schedule. My plans are to continue posting the Victorian novel, The Bumhampton Chronicles, in 100-word drabbles on Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sun. Every Monday, a new non-fiction essay of 500-1,000 words about D/s, based on various prompts I find in the vanilla world. On Tuesdays, I will be starting a new serial novel called, Kismet of Submission, with 1,000 word episodes. The first two have already been posted for past Wicked Wednesday prompts, but I will be reposting them before moving on to new episodes. Lastly of course, there is the weekly Wicked Wednesday. Still in progress is my follow up Sir Fang novel, The Case of The Scarlet Paddle. Speaking of beta readers, if you are interested in helping me by reading drafts of current fiction, please don’t hesitate to drop me a line via email, either to Lurv Spanking, or Byron Cane.
The blue spruces shuddered violently. Lightning danced rapidly from menacing flannel clouds approaching the homestead. Heather Parks wrung her hands thinking of her husband Josh driving home in this terrifying weather. He’d been gone a week this time on business and despite nightly calls she constantly worried about his health. Her concern was a constant source of friction. Josh hated being ‘babied’ and Heather had fled in tears after many an argument. If only he would see what she needed, what she craved: he was oblivious to her! As the storm grew harsher so did Heather’s thoughts until the crashing thunder shook dust from the rafters.
“Mom! Where’s my yellow shirt?”
“It’s in the wash! I’m trying to write, have Daddy help you!” Corrine Campos grimaced hearing the horde descending upon her unsuspecting husband. Carmelo was warm and loving, except when it came to women’s work. Old-fashioned to the extreme he would never even consider lifting a finger to help around the house. He supported Corrine and their three children by running his own consulting business and that was enough for him and his mother. She’d found his masculinity overwhelming when they were dating but after ten years of marriage the resentments were reaching the breaking point. When her phone rang; well, Corrine snapped out without checking ID.
“What!”
“My, my, Corrine. Testy today?”
“Sorry, Roxy. Bad day.”
“I understand. Hate to rain on your parade but ‘Over the top’ needs work, lots of work.”
“I know, I know, I know. I’m editing now, Roxy, please give me a little more time.”
“I’m sorry, Corrine, but the deadline is Wednesday and if you don’t have a publishable draft by tomorrow the magazine is going to cancel. There’s nothing more I can do. Give me something to sell and I’ll go to the mat for you.”
“Okay, Roxy. Tomorrow, I promise. Gotta go, hubby is pounding on the door.”
“What are you doing? Your children are driving me crazy!”
“I’m sorry, Carmelo. I was talking to a friend. I’ll be right there.”
Corrine put her computer to sleep and wasted two hours caring for her children before foisting them off on her sister for the rest of the day. Carmelo had left, to go and do who knew what, but Corrine was quite happy to see his BMW squealing out of the gate. Finally: Peace and quiet.
The blue spruces shuddered violently as if in the throes of orgasm. Lightning danced rapidly from the menacing flannel clouds approaching the homestead intent on rape. Heather Parks wrung her hands thinking of her horny husband Josh driving home in this terrifying weather. He’d been gone a week this time on business and despite nightly calls she constantly worried about the health of his penis. Her concern was a constant source of friction. Josh hated being ‘babied’ and Heather had fled in tears after many a blowjob. If only he would see what she needed, what she craved: he was oblivious to her! As the storm grew harsher so did Heather’s thoughts until the crashing thunder shook dust from the rafters. What if she never got a chance to suck on his hard cock ever again?
Josh pulled into the garage amidst hail as large as fists and rain so thick the wipers failed to keep up. He was trembling with fatigue and looked forward to a long, hot soapy shower – by himself. Heather was so needy lately! What was her problem? He was less than pleased to open the door and find Heather on her knees, warm mouth open and blue eyes pleading for his cock. He finally snapped. Grabbing her long blond hair in his calloused fingers he dragged her into the living room and threw her over the back of the couch. Whipping out his belt he proceeded to beat his wife on her rounded quivering bottom while she cried and begged the entire time. When her ass was covered with weals he threw down the belt, stalked to her head, yanked up her head and shoved his cock down her throat.
Heather was in shock. Where was the loving gentle man she’d married? Why was he doing this? Her ass was on fire and while it hurt, the pain was nothing compared to her broken heart. When he pulled out of her mouth she protested again but then he began to pound her pussy each thrust slapping her sore bottom. Heather felt her climax building, the storm continuing unabated, neither one noticing the lights failing or glass shattering. Rain driven by violent winds soaked them as Josh fucked Heather as hard as he could: not caring a whit for her needs. She screamed again, pain was creating pleasure and her soaking wet cunt flooded the cushions. She moaned and writhed until she felt Josh shooting his spunk deep inside.
“What the fuck? What the hell are you doing?”
“Carmelo! Stop that! You have no right! This is private!”
“The hell it is! No wife of mine is going to read this filth!”
“It’s not filth, Carmelo! I wrote this for publication, for money!”
“You wrote this perverted trash for money? Money? You whore!”
Corrine slapped her angry husband. “How dare you call me a whore? I am the mother of your children and if I’m a whore then you’re a pimp!”
“You’ve gone too far this time, Corrine. I’m the man in this house and I decide what my wife does.”
“Bullshit! I don’t have to take this crap from you! Let me go! I’ll call the police.”
“Fine, Corrine, call, but first, I’m going to teach you some long overdue manners!”
Corrine felt herself rapidly thrown over her furious husband’s knees, dress tossed over her head and panties thrown on the floor. Carmelo’s large hand descended in rapid-fire order on her naked bottom punctuated by his stern lecture on proper behavior. Corrine squealed and bucked but her husband had little problems keeping her in her place. “I should have done this on our wedding night! You will obey me, Corrine, or I’ll spank you every day, twice a day for the rest of your life! Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Corrine choked out.
After more than half an hour of spanking, Carmelo threw his weeping wife on their bed and stalked out slamming the door behind him. Corrine reached back and gasped as she felt the heat pouring off her battered ass. Gingerly rolling over she swayed to the bathroom to observe the damage.
“Roxy? It’s, Corrine. Don’t bother with ‘Over the top’. I’ve got a new story to write: ‘Disobedient and beaten wife’. Yeah, it’s personal, very personal.”
Spank Me Hard! ... Please? 