Listening to Pink is a mistake: when you’re in a bar at closing time. What she can sing about is not what I should say when I’ve been drinking since ten the previous night. Why drink? Hell, it’s not like I like the taste. But the freedom it offers. Haven’t you always wanted to say whatever the fuck you wanted to whomever you wanted whenever you wanted? Like it’s the buzz, the release of that nattering nanny – aka Mommy Dearest – who is always telling you to keep your knees together and your underwear clean. Hey bitch! I don’t wear underwear anymore! So there! I drink because I’m a powerful modern woman who takes no prisoners. Gurls rock! I LOVE YOU PINK! OK. Hangovers suck. Especially since all my BFFs have betrayed the code and gotten married to “He’s so sweet and nice and so romantic.” Fuck you! I don’t need you to hold my hair back. Rubber bands work just fine. I don’t need romance and flowers and hearts carved in trees. If I want sex, I take it. No man has ever turned me down I’ll have you know. I use them and toss them back into that cesspool known as dating. I don’t date. I fuck. I fuck in the day, at night; whenever and wherever I want. I can’t believe they busted me for public indecency! Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve blown over half the cops in this crappy town and now they suddenly get all righteous on my ass? WTF? Hey! I got a great ass if I do say so myself and I do say so myself even if it’s currently parked in the slammer between a hooker and a druggie. Excuse me? Alcohol is legal and so is sex: the last time I checked it was still a free country. Everyone has sex but everyone acts like the biggest frigging prudish hypocrite when they actually see something sexual going down. Did I mention I like going down? Please. Like any guy would turn down a blow job from a smoking hot chick like moi. That’s french for ‘me’ in case you were wondering. I am an international woman of mystery. But I wouldn’t blow Austin Powers on a dare. Five hundred? Maybe. Fine. I’m picky, so sue me. It’s not like I’m desperate or anything. We are way off the beaten path in this podunk excuse for a community, but there are still enough guys, married or otherwise to go around. Believe you me, they get around, I have the pictures to prove it. Did someone say pictures? I meant memories. I would never stoop to shooting a porno flick. I mean I could, I am a dynamic sex goddess even if my name isn’t Crystal Kneepads, but you know, making money off my body doesn’t seem right. Food and drinks are good, jewelry and gift cards are better, but straight cash seems tawdry and cheap. Sorry if that pisses you off honey but I like to choose my partners. Really? Judge Myers? He does what? That pervert! I can’t believe it! What? It beats a couple of years upstate? How many times have you… that many? Why do you keep coming back? You like it? WTF? Why would anyone like to be spanked? Cause it feels good? OK. If you say so. Damn. I have got to get outta here. Stuck in jail with bimbos who like to get spanked by a judge in lieu of prison time. That’s french for ‘you’re fucked so bend over and take what’s coming to you’. Oh well. I guess it’s better than being some dykes bitch. Maybe Judge Myers would accept a blow job instead. Haven’t done him yet. Always thought he was kinda creepy. Who knew?
fiction
Too many men want my bottom
You’d think she’d be happy. Men walked into walls as she sashayed by, hips twitching the short skirt tightly bunched around the best ass they’d ever seen. Teasing looks, double entendres and some not so subtle come-hither smiles usually resulted in all the wrong men for all the wrong reasons. Violet loved a good fucking now and then, but being bent over and sodomized lost its thrill after the fiftieth time or so. That’s all men wanted from her. No blowjobs, no cunt fucking, certainly no going down on her, just bend over and spread em. They were obviously watching too much Rocco. Didn’t they know a woman’s bottom was actually made for only one thing? A good hard spanking, preferably with a thick leather belt or paddle until the ass was fire engine red and so hot you could cook eggs on the surface. Then, after setting the stage, a good fucking became a great fucking. Too bad men were such dorks. What did Violet have to do? Wear a skirt saying ‘Spank Me’ across her bottom?
Perhaps a spanking wouldn’t be the worst thing…
Not that she really wanted a spanking. They hurt, especially the paddle when swung with purpose from behind by a stern man determined to enforce the rules on her bare bottom. Rules she’d suggested, rules she bent, twisted, spindled and ignored whenever she knew he wasn’t aware. Somehow though, his naughty radar always found out her transgressions and very shortly afterwords, she would be bent over, naked from the waist down and be punished until he decided the redness fit the crime. It wasn’t a crime to smoke, or cuss, or be late, or… any of the hundreds of rules both significant and petty she’d drawn up over a period of weeks in a fit of determination followed by frantic backsliding. Too bad he wouldn’t budge, not an inch, not one single stroke pulled in the name of mercy. She wanted spanking, she demanded spanking: Far be it for him to go back on his word. She knew his word was bond, but did he have to be so perfect? Couldn’t a girl mess up just once without a sore bottom the result? Evidently not. Forgetting the mail was one thing, forgetting to pick up the kids after school was not acceptable. Before dinner, the children doing the normal electronic immersion it was off to the woodshed and a date with the following: A padded sawhorse, leather restraints, rubber bit and a three-tailed tawse due to impact one hundred times. Still… when she’d realized she’d forgotten and rushed off to the school only to find her children gone, her terror and shame were more painful than any spanking he could ever inflict. The look in eyes when he’d brought them home: She wanted to crawl away and hide. Strapped face down, completely nude, nipples clamped and butt plugged, she looked forward to the scorching stripes about to decorate her bottom. Maybe, just maybe, this time ‘it’ would finally kick in and she’d change for good. If not… well, there was always the cane.
The ball drops
The animal pulse rose with the passage of every minute. Nearer to midnight and nearer to the sanctioned unleashing of social passion. The second seating was cleared away and couples filled the parquet, swirling to frenetic mixes and beats. Clutching her champagne, Alli felt completely out of place: A drab hen amongst birds-of-paradise. The very air was charged with attraction as men and women grew ever bolder under the strobing glitter balls draped with mistletoe. Bumped and jostled, Alli gradually was forced against the far wall, strangers taking kisses without consent, eyes undressing her, hands roving her curves. Tears shimmered above her purple shadow, crimson lips trembled, arms defensively crossed and she was on the verge of full-blown panic when the press suddenly eased. Firm hands draped her bare shoulders guiding her numb feet safely away from the frenzied mob chanting down the waning seconds to unbridled licentiousness.
Abruptly the sensual roar was silenced by clanging doors. Alli’s ears rang and her emotions gave way. Turning into her savior, she wept loudly with released fright and relief. Long arms wrapped her close, fingers stroked her hair, then steadily lowered her zipper, the scrap of black fabric falling in a dark puddle at her burgundy stilettos. Shocked, Alli opened her mouth to protest, but words were swallowed by hard lips and probing tongue. Her bare breasts crushed against silk, rough hands kneading exposed buttocks, Alli wanted to run, needed to stay, hoped nothing would happen and prayed everything would. She felt overwhelmed by the sheer masculinity holding her tight and her sex flowed in response to his unspoken demands. He led, she followed. A path never taken, for Alli was innocent in all ways. Her very first New Year’s party and now, half-naked, in a dark room with someone who she didn’t know, hadn’t spoken and was intent on taking his pleasure in her unsullied body.
Alli stared out into the night lit by skyscrapers. On her stomach, her thong lowered to her ankles, thighs forced apart and then, male fingers carefully entered her. She tightened with instinct, he grunted, she gasped, he asked, she answered yes, a virgin. To his disbelieving statement, she grew indignant, a woman should be able to do what she wants without fear of rape. A long pause, the world stilled, the tension rose before the storm broke. When Alli felt him withdraw, she protested, still prone, still offered sacrifice, he declined, she was crushed. Rejection stung worse than ever. She knew she was nothing special if a man, this man refused to take her only gift. Rising, Alli was brusquely shoved back down on the desk, hips locked on the edge, she heard a whisper of cloth, then, his hand firmly holding her small of the back, a streak of fire across her proffered bottom.
Her reaction was delayed, the belt whipping her several times before giving voice to her needs. Guttural moans rose from her swollen throat, fingers gripping, pushing up with each stroke, begging him with primal movements to continue, to hurt her, to make her a real woman. He complied, the leather painting her flesh, his hands fondling the dampness, his desire to punish subsiding and his desire to rupture growing. Alli rotated her hips, both cooling the burn and heating her womb. Brokenly she pleaded, please take me, please take me: A last flurry of blows, sharp smacks with his hand. Too hard to wait, too aroused to care, he eased into the virgin opening and, grabbing her hair, thrust hard through and into her channel. She screamed in pain, back arched, head raised, his stomach slamming her sore bottom, he waited as she rippled in shock. Tentatively he withdrew, clinging, she sucked him back. Her secretions eased his motions, her arousal transmuted pain to passion, his rapid strokes met with timid gyrations turned frantic. Beyond anything Alli had ever imagined, having him inside her brought her out of herself and freed her suffering soul.
The hand does not make you down*
*A football term
The CLANG reverberated through the house. Charles glanced up with irritation from his magazine. Tsao was still in a snit over his decision to attend the business conference without her. He’d made no promises when they’d gotten married soon after meeting in Singapore. Returning to London with exotic wife in tow had been met with great surprise, but Tsao soon won over his most jaded companions. Compliant and eager, she was also twenty years younger than him and her drive was based on a modern ethos he had grown rich from but had never been a part of before.
After seven months together he smiled whenever he thought of her golden skin flushing as she came with wild shudders. But lately; she’d withdrawn subtly. He tried the usual bribes [furs, jewels, cars] to no avail. Even fronting her fashion line failed to tame the widening schism. Tonight the loud noises from the kitchen drew a scowl on his lined face. Enough was enough.
Entering the kitchen fully prepared for a calm adult conversation, he was stunned to see the carnage. Pots, pans, flour covering the granite countertops: She’d destroyed the ambiance in her fury. “What the fuck is this?”
Tsao stared defiantly at her husband. “THIS! This is your fault Charles! You ignore me and treat me as a piece of furniture! I am woman! Not some cheap whore trotted out for your lecherous associates.”
Charles burned with anger. Tsao went too far. Way too far. He lunged across the slick tile floors, grabbing her arm as she slapped at his hand. Dragging her as she shrilled oaths, he seized a wooden paddle off the damaged counter. Sitting down on a tall bar stool, his petite wife was no match for his dominance: Nor were her designer dress and panties any protection from his righteous rage.
This time, the hard smacking noises in the kitchen caused howls of anguish from the trapped woman. Her silken bottom quickly flared red as Charles pounded out his frustrations on her perfect orbs. “I should have done this on our first date!” he growled.
“I never would have come back if you had!” Tsao yelled back.
Charles’ response was a flurry of sharp pops causing high-pitched squeals and rapid kicking of dainty ankles. He didn’t stop spanking his wife until she was sobbing loudly and her bottom was the color of cardinal. Hanging limply, Tsao didn’t answer Charles when he asked her if she’d learned her lesson. He smacked her twice with his hand.
“Yes sir! I have learned my lesson. Please don’t spank me anymore.”
Charles picked up the paddle off her back and told her she was getting five more hard swats. She moaned, but didn’t resist his final punishing lesson. Charles was quite content with his actions and the grateful blowjob and sex that followed. Perhaps he would have reconsidered had he seen, later that evening, when in the privacy of the master bathroom, Tsao examined her bruised cheeks with pride. Her triumphant smile was schooled into downcast fear when he called.
“Yes Master. I’m coming.” Tsao winked in the mirror and softly clapped her hands in thanks to her ancestors.
Black [and Blue] Friday
Flash Fiction Friday #14 is hosted by Measha this week based on this picture here.
She tried to hide the gifts. It was Christmas after all. She forgot the receipts. He found them. He ordered her into the studio. She waited for him to make music on her bottom. When he was done he would use her bottom in another way for as many seconds as she had charged dollars on her credit card. It was going to be a very long hour of reaming. He hoped she’d learn this time, but honestly, whipping and sodomizing his girlfriend was the best gift she could ever give him. Her tears tickled the ivories.
Spanking a willing woman
There is nothing better. To feel the weight of a willing woman bent over your lap, running your hand over her bare bottom and knowing she wants you to spank her. I could do that all day long. 🙂
“Carving the bird”
Laura always looked forward to the annual family holiday gathering at her parent’s house. This also happened to be the very first time she’d be bringing a ‘date’. Josh had agreed to meet the folks and they were giddy their ‘little girl’ was finally seeing someone. Laura knew her mother was probably already planning the wedding, but she and Josh planned to wait until after they both graduated and decided on career paths. They’d both seen too many relationships founder over jobs and kids. There was time.
Josh wasn’t too happy about sleeping apart, but her parents were rather old-fashioned. No ring, no sex in the house. They’d thought about a hotel, but decided a long weekend apart during the night would be good for them. Besides, there was always the backseat if they got desperate. There was one thing though Laura was going to miss: Her nightly spanking. When Josh first mentioned spanking, Laura was thrilled and the reality far exceeded her fantasies. He was firm, no-nonsense and kept her in place until he decided she’d had enough.
It shocked Laura hours after the first night’s dinner, when her parents asked Josh to join them in the den for a friendly chat and they then asked him quite bluntly if he was in charge of their daughter. He coolly replied that he was and said he understood the reasons for sleeping apart, however, he would appreciate some time alone before bed in order to stress to Laura who was in charge in their relationship. Laura blushed bright red when her mother asked curiously how Josh stressed that to her daughter and he casually said ‘I spank her every night’.
Her father cleared his throat and nodded to Josh before agreeing that Laura definitely needed a firm hand at her tiller in order to keep her level. He launched into several tales of misadventures Josh hadn’t heard before and raising an eyebrow, he looked over at Laura in surprise. She refused to look at Josh until he spoke sharply. At that point, her mother suggested they leave them alone in the den to ‘discuss’ the situation. ‘Take your time Josh. Laura can be quite stubborn and it takes an effort to get the lesson across.’
Before Laura could object, Josh patted his thigh and as her parents hugged her and slipped out the door, all Laura thought about was having everyone in the family hear her getting spanked. She wanted to sink through the floor, but she didn’t hesitate to lie over his knees and made no objection when Josh raised her skirt and lowered her panties. Bare bottomed she waited for her lover’s hand to descend on her needy skin. The only thing better – admitted only in the privacy of her mind – would be to be bent over the family couch watched by all her relatives as she was severely thrashed with Josh’s belt.
Holiday feast
Every year was worse than the last, more stress, less fun and harsh words with the in-laws. He wanted her to relax, but nothing worked. Desperate, he finally swallowed his pride and asked his mother for advice. He was shocked when she said, quite frankly, that his wife probably needed a good spanking. He couldn’t believe his own mother would suggest a spanking! When she told him to talk to his father, he did, eventually, afraid of what he’d hear.
In a daze, he hung up the phone and wandered aimlessly until he stumbled into the kitchen. His wife was swearing loudly trying to bake the perfect pie and breads for Thanksgiving dinner. He shook his head, clearing the images of his parents doing it… he shuddered, but decided to take action at long last. He grabbed his wife round the waist and dragged her away from the stove. She shrieked and protested but he paid no heed to her vociferous complaints.
They got much louder when he firmly placed her over his knee and began soundly spanking his now angry wife. By the time he’d finished, she’d threatened everything from sharp knives to calling the police. Letting her up, she stormed off upstairs, slammed the bathroom door and stayed there for nearly an hour. When she carefully walked back downstairs, he was waiting with open arms. She accepted his hug, and asked quietly why he’d spanked her. Because you needed the release.
He wondered what she’d say.
She replied simply, ‘you’re right.’
Spanking turns her on
The Sweltering Celt runs Microfantasy Monday and this week for #54 her prompt is games.
A holiday party:
Thirty guests:
Cheesy music:
Spiked punch:
Mistletoe: with a twist:
She’d invited all her friends – those into spanking that is – with the stipulation they each bring a favorite implement of correction as the price of admission. When everyone finally straggled in she and her husband gathered them in the living room. Hanging from the ceiling fixture was a large bunch of fresh mistletoe. Underneath: a chair and a coffee table covered with a festive cloth. The rules are simple she told her friends. Please place the implements you all brought on this table. For the rest of the party, anyone standing under the mistletoe is to be spanked five times by the first person to grab them. At the nervous giggle from the crowd, she smiled. Of course you may need a round or two of punch first, but I hope by the time dinner is served, everyone will be in the proper holiday spirit. So saying, she slid under the mistletoe and waited for her husband. To her shock, the first person to grab her was her best friend Gale, a fellow submissive. Quickly sitting down, Gale drew her across her lap and picked out a leather crop. Whacking her hard five times, her friends counted and cheered when blushing, she stood up catching her husband’s eye. He shrugged and winked. Soon, all their friends were playing a game of musical chairs, the soundtrack, hard spanks and laughter. When the clock struck ten, she tapped her glass for attention. I forgot to mention. For the next thirty minutes the game has changed. Anyone standing under the mistletoe can select any other sub and spank them ten times.
buy you a drink?
I recently read an article where it stated we decide the compatibility of a potential mate in less than a second. Overall it takes no more than three continuous minutes of interaction to determine if a relationship is possible.
How does this relate to spanking? Are the criteria the same? Or completely different?
She was lonely. Too quick to judge – no, no, no, hell no! – no, no, no… Too impatient for even speed dating, she was leaving when the scent of him stopped her dead. She shook her head, he took her hand, she pulled away, he swatted her bottom, she gasped, he smiled, she swung, he ducked, she swore, he threw her over his shoulder and carried her away. He’d decided in .7 seconds to take her, she’d decided in .3 to run, but he was too strong. She discovered later, patience was a virtue, instilled one spank at a time, one lecture after another. After three minutes, she was no longer lonely, he was no longer solely interested in spanking. Another success for the Tri-Cities SpankoMunch.
Posture lessons
FFF#12 at The Daily Toast is based on this picture here and should be a drabble of exactly 100 250 words this week only.
Vivian shook when she entered the room. Mistress Violet was stern, if fair and her lessons were always hard. Beginning with deportment and ending with vocabulary, Vivian was discovering hidden depths to her desires. When she’d been approached by Mistress in the mall Vivian had been drifting into a lifestyle of petty crime and hooking up with strangers for the thrill. Offered room and board for a year in exchange for complete submission, at first, Vivian had laughed uproariously. Mistress explained it was such a waste for a lovely girl to throw away her life.
Vivian had been surprised to leave with Mistress. Curious perhaps, she spent the week learning about Mistress’ expectations and demands before being asked to commit. Hesitating, Vivian wondered if she’d be harmed in any permanent way. Assured she would not, but would be physically disciplined, emotionally humiliated and stripped to her core before being built up into a proper young lady.
Even after six months of daily punishments, Vivian still feared Mistress. The chair upon which she sat was very familiar. Mistress had immediately bent her fully clothed over the back of the wooden chair and caned her severely. Twenty-five vicious strokes had Vivian screaming. It was the only time she was ever punished while dressed. Her routine was the same: an over-the-knee spanking at breakfast, strapping for lunch and a flogging at dinner. The cane was for whenever she was placed in the chair to contemplate her errors. It was now time to atone.
Trying too hard
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
She frowned before she pressed send. If he found out… he’d always threatened to tan her hide good… she sighed with frustration. Being good was too hard. She tried, she really tried to avoid the temptation, but the more she read, the more people she met, the more dissatisfied she became with him. Realistically she knew it wasn’t his fault she’d changed the rules mid-marriage, but why was he so dense? Why did she practically have to cheat on him in order to provoke a reaction?
Two days later, two days too late to turn back she paced outside the seedy motel room. Angry he’d forced her into this by ignoring her needs – unspoken as they were – but still, he should’ve known! Why else drop subtle hints about wooden spoons and leather belts? Was her husband brain damaged? Why couldn’t he just spank her? Fulminating she failed to notice the door opening inward. A voice spoke to enter: if she dared.
Sniffing, she dared and entered the dark room only to find… him… angry as ice staring at her as if she had betrayed everything good in their marriage. She had and her plummeting stomach nearly retched with fear. He raised his hand to her, she flinched, then turned back waiting for the deserved blow. Instead, a gentle caress caused her to burst into tears. When she stopped, her escorted her home, back to the safe place she’d violated with her longing for spanking.
Her longing was finally fulfilled that night. Bent over her husband’s knees, she discovered by trying too hard, she’d earned a punishment she’d remember forever. Next time she vowed, she’d send a snail mail instead. He was too sneaky! But, at least he had a hard hand to go along with his hard head. Funny, crying was supposed to make you feel better. Someone forget to tell her bottom.
Fear of pain
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
She tensed, winced, squirmed. His hand was so hard and her bottom so tender. She wanted a spanking, asked for a spanking, needed a spanking, but the pain was unexpected. She almost told him to stop… then… the pain became confusing. It hurt, it stung, his hand battered her cheeks and turned her insides to mush. Without thought, her hips rose, legs spread, aching for the ache to continue, to intensify. When he slowed, she whimpered, when he went faster, she moaned, when he hit her hard on her sit spot she screamed. A lap dance in reverse, her motions were fluid and random, seeking an elusive peak. When the paddle replaced his hand, she held her breath in shock. The pain was scary – scary good – and she never wanted him to stop beating her ass. The fear of pain made the high exquisitely beautiful. A floating, soaring, diving pain: roiling her blood and wetting his pants. Her loss of control extended her discipline beyond her perceived limits. Crashing through the barrier of fear, she found her soul deep within the safety of his strong hand punishing her hard.
Anticipation makes her wetter
FFF#11 at The Daily Toast is based on this picture here and should be a drabble of exactly 100 words.
He’d unclipped the leash but kept the blindfold. She strained to hear, then felt his hand caressing her hot bottom. He drew a lone finger along the welts left by the cane: she squirmed, not away, but a mute plea for more. She didn’t deserve his cock in her, but he stroked his hard length, watching her beautiful mouth. In his other hand, a small paddle struck in steady rhythm. Her gasps, his quickening breaths and squishy rubbing: ragged smacks, all noises of passion. Twisted on her side, red lips pursed slowly open and closed eagerly awaiting his tasty sperm.
Spanking holiday
Due to the slow economy donations to many charitable organizations have been greatly reduced. In order to spur more contributions the first Monday in December is now an official Spanking Day. On this day, those who choose to participate will gather at a designated location and display the pledge cards they have filled out. Volunteers from various local charities will be on hand to administer the spankings and collect the money. All money raised will be tax-deductible and as a bonus, all spankees will be given a $2,000 tax credit for the following year as a thank you. Please consider requesting a pledge card and get out there to sign up as many donors as possible. The number of spanks received will be based on a sliding scale with 100 the maximum number of strokes. This holiday season, bend over for charity and remember, ’tis the color red we love the most.
How do you write a fantasy about someone you don’t know?
Microfantasy Monday is the creation of Sweltering Celt. In honor of the one year anniversary of her prompt, she asks the following:
I want you to write a microfantasy involving me this week. Sure, you don’t have to follow the theme if you don’t want, but those of you that DO follow the theme and post your microfantasy by Wednesday (hey, if I can’t post on time I can’t expect anyone else to every week!) will be entered into a little celebratory contest. The winner of the contest will have come up with the most creative, exciting, and makes-me-want-to-try-it microfantasy. (let’s say less than 500 words)
Here’s my problem. This is only the second time I’ve participated and how do I involve her when I know nothing about her?
———————————————————-
“Picking up a stranger”
Her green/blue eyes drew my attention, but her full-figure made my mouth water. She was with a group, it appeared to be two couples, but I was puzzled as to who belonged to whom. They all seemed ‘together’ in a way that bespoke of long years of intimacy and trust. She glanced up and caught my interest in the bar mirror. She smiled and winked, so quickly I almost missed the flirty look. I gulped, it was one thing to admire discretely, quite another to be confronted. She leaned over to the man next to her and murmured in his ear. Placing her napkin on the table, she gracefully rose and made her way to the rear of the restaurant.
I casually followed, lingering in the hall, waiting for her to emerge from the facilities. When she did, she studied me carefully before leaning against the wall, arms folded and head questioning. I swallowed, nervously moistening my mouth. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I was wondering if you are single.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“But I am available, for the right fantasy. Care to take a chance?”
My eyes must have bulged because she smirked and started to move past me. Reflexively I reached out and barred her path. When she opened her mouth, to speak, to scream, I quickly covered her with my hand, her tongue slick in my palm. She struggled, not very convincingly, so I pinned one arm behind her back and pressed her against the wall. “Is this a good start?” I asked.
Her eyes widened, not with fear, but with interest. I felt her head nod under my hand, so I took that chance, and removed my fingers from her mouth. She gasped for breath, but said nothing, only writhed around my body. “Shall we return? I think your companions are probably worried.”
Returning to her table with me in tow, I was met with three pairs of interested eyes, several fairly hostile. She briefly spoke of her challenge and the eyes quickly turned amused at my expression. One of the men asked me, “So what do you plan?”
I glanced around the restaurant; it contained scattered couples and singles. “Does she often behave this badly in public with complete strangers?” When I received affirmative gestures I said, “Well then. Since she is naughty in public, she should be punished in public.”
The green-eyed vixen protested but all three of her ‘friends’ enthusiastically agreed with my suggestion. Rather than helping however, they sat back, quite relaxed and eager for the show.
I chose an unused table close by, clearing off all the settings. I pulled the stiff woman to the table, bending her over the edge and binding her hands with a napkin. Pulling her jeans down to mid-thigh, I grabbed a bread tray off a counter and prepared to punish the naughty girl. The restaurant was completely silent for the next twenty minutes: expect for the steady popping noise of wood on flesh and the plaintive cries of suffering.
The perfect costume
An adult story about spanking, sex and very bad words. read with caution
[This is my longest story at 2,000 words and a stroke story.]
It was the first adult- themed party for them both and they were nervous. He had changed his mind about his costume over and over again until settling on a uniformed officer of the law. Mirrored sunglasses, sharp cap, crisp shirt torn at the bulging biceps, tight trousers, thick leather and studded belt topped off with calf height polished black boots. Completing the look were leather cuffs, Pyrex ‘nightstick’, badge and rubber gloves with lubricant tucked in his back pockets.
She was even more indecisive. The usual naughty ______ did not thrill her at all. Hooker? No. Buttoned-down executive with micro miniskirt? Sigh. What she really wanted to wear was so out of character their was no way she could ever get enough courage to pull it off. What changed her mind though was seeing her husband in his costume, posing in the mirror, steadily smacking the glass nightstick in his calloused palm. Her cunt gushed and her knees buckled. It was now or never.
When she appeared – late for the party – he was growing very impatient. He growled when he saw her costume. A floor-length raincoat tightly closed at the neck. Before he snapped at her though he noticed she was pale and trembling. After a quick hug, they drove to the party. Neither talked on the way, her because she was terrified, he because he was puzzled.
‘Welcome to our Decedent Halloween Bash!’ cried their hosts. ‘Can I take your coat dear?’
She closed her eyes summoning her courage to speak. ‘This officer took me into custody this evening. Rather than taking me downtown to file charges, he suggested I serve off my crime at this party instead.’
‘Oooooh, sounds kinky. What did you do?’
‘Suspicion of prostitution and theft.’ She opened her eyes and said to her husband/officer, ‘I’m ready to serve at your pleasure sir.’
Disbelieving he silently asked her for her consent. When she gave it, he reached out and unzipped her coat, letting it fall to the floor. The previously raucous party went silent at her appearance. She was dressed – undressed – in a black lace and red leather corset thrusting her bare breasts out and molding her equally exposed bottom. Her legs encased in silk stockings gripping her thighs, clearly wet with her cunt cream. Four-inch heels thrust her bottom out perfectly and dangling from a leather harness at the base of her corset were leather and wood paddles.
He gazed at his wife/criminal with an expression of raw hunger. She stared back with lust tinged with fear and that look made his cock grow hard. He grabbed her long hair in his fist and unceremoniously dragged her into the large central room. Cleared of furniture for a dance floor, he threw her to the floor and ordered her to get on all fours and present. Humiliated she complied, her breath coming in short pants. When she spread her legs at his command, the light glistened off her soaking cunt and twitching asshole.
He glanced around seeking a suitable place to continue and his host pushed a barstool into the center of the floor. Quickly arranging the overhead track lighting, there was now a brightly illuminated place for her to perform. He made her get up, barking at her with harsh threats, first sitting her down on the stool so he could conduct a cavity search. Starting with her hair, he slowly massaged and relaxed his ‘prisoner’. Opening her mouth, he stuck three fingers in, gently at first and then rougher and deeper until she started gagging. He scolded her and informed her coldly she’d better get over her gag reflex, because her throat was going to be fucked repeatedly.
He seized her breasts, both rigid nipples clamped between his thumbs and forefingers. Squeezing until she moaned, he pulled and twisted causing her back to arch trying to escape the pain. He continued punishing her nipples alternating with sharp slaps to her quivering tits. They turned red under his harsh blows, but she said nothing but gasps of pain. He paused in his torture to choose a volunteer a woman dressed as a sexy nurse and beckoned her forward. He whispered to her what he needed and she agreed to help.
He pushed his wife backwards into the nurse’s waiting embrace, balanced on the crest of her bottom, he asked for two more volunteers, male volunteers. A pirate and a pimp stepped forward. They each took on of the ‘prisoner’s’ legs and bent them back and out until she was suspended in air, only the smallest portion of her bare bottom still touching the stool. While she was being prepared, he snapped on a pair of latex gloves, lubed them and then approached his spread and crying wife. Without any preamble he thrust two fingers deep into her sloppy cunt as it convulsed. Rapidly sawing his hand in and out, he drove her to a hard orgasm.
When her spasms eased, he asked the pirate and pimp to reach in and spread the whore’s cunt lips as far as they good. ‘Get a good grip’ he told them, ‘she’s leakier than a waterfall’. Pinching firmly, her exposed cunt was red with suffused blood, clit engorged and throbbing. He reentered her slowly this time searching and probing all the way back to her cervix. First one finger, then two, three, four and finally, he drove his fist between her splayed labia and ruthlessly fucked her as she screamed. Her legs, tightly bound as they were, still thrashed. Her head dropped and the sexy nurse took advantage by lifting her skirt and thrusting her own sopping pussy over the ‘prisoner’s’ face.
She’d never tasted another woman before, but combined with the thick fist stretching her, the double set of strangers fingers pinching her cunt lips, any reservations fled with the musky fluid flowing into her panting mouth. She was disappointed when they finally stopped tormenting her leaving her on the brink of another orgasm. She would have fallen off the stool, so weak were her limbs, but her husband/officer scooped her up, cuddling her close whispering for only her to hear. ‘Do you want to continue?’
‘Yeeeeeesssssss.’ He smiled in love and awe for his wife’s newfound sexuality. He kissed her hard, the taste of the nurse filling his nostrils. Savagely they tangled tongues, she writhing in his ripped arms begging to be taken. He asked for a cushion, placed it on the stool and draped his wife over the top on her stomach. ‘Thank you,’ as ropes appeared. At a loss, he accepted ‘professional’ help and listened avidly as a guest securely bound his wife’s hands and ankles to the bar stool. The last touch was a thick strap wrapped around her waist so she was unable to move. As a safety measure, the guest hovered close in case the stool became unstable during the next procedure.
‘I am now going to resume the cavity search of the prisoner. What do you suggest next?’ The loud roar echoed off the walls drowning out the music. ‘HER ASS!’ ‘I agree completely.’ He put on a new pair of gloves, placing the used pair in the prisoner’s mouth for safekeeping. There was a cruel laugh from the audience as she blushed furiously at this refinement. He decided against using lube this time, enough fluids had coated her anus to slid a finger in effortlessly all the way through her rectum. He only used one finger though, twirling and stretching the walls of her rectum. Anal was something they rarely did, so he planned to take full advantage of her helpless position. When he pulled out his finger, he announced, ‘She’s clean.’
Boos and hisses filled the area but he held up a hand for silence. ‘She may be clean, but she still needs to be punished for her illegal actions. Luckily, she brought these handy paddles. How many people are here tonight? About seventy-five?’ He thought for a minute then knelt next his wife’s face. ‘Are you sure you want this? I can try to control the amount of spanks, but you’re going to get at least a couple hundred smacks. After… I don’t know what will happen, I would rather you not have sex with anybody except for oral. I want your cunt and ass for myself.’ She turned her head, kissing her husband. ‘Do whatever you want to do to be. I belong to you. I am truly your prisoner and have no right to refuse your demands.’
He stood up and announced the ‘prisoner’ was now ready for punishment. ‘Everyone here is eligible to give her two spanks with either paddle, but only two spanks. I will drop out of character here to explain we’ve never done anything like this before. My wife has never been spanked, never been with a woman and has only had a handful of prior sexual partners. This is not an orgy and she is not to be abused. However, after the spanking, I will be fucking my wife and her mouth will be available to be used by all present. Make sure you treat her well or you’ll be facing the consequences of my law.’
His speech put a damper on the excitement, but only briefly. Orderly lining up, no mean feat considering the amount of alcohol consumed, each partygoer struck her white, pink, red and finally purple bottom until everyone had popped her good. She was howling and crying by the end, but didn’t ever safe out of the scene. Before he spanked his wife himself, he asked for another two stools and cushions. It was only a short time to arrange the sobbing ‘prisoner’ face-down over three stools, legs still bound, but arms now cuffed behind her back, pulled her head up so her chin rested on the edge of the seat, open mouth waist high and ready. After he whacked her with both paddles a total of ten more times, he motioned the crowd to begin fucking his bound wife. As the first man entered her mouth, her husband dropped his pants and stroking his weeping cock to maximum hardness, buried himself in her ass with one harsh thrust.
Her muffled scream around the stranger’s cock nearly made him shoot his load, but he held off as long as he could which was through six men and four women before sperming her rectum. The continued use of his wife’s mouth kept him hard and he resumed fucking her ass shortly. He drew out momentarily to grab the glass nightstick. Working it deep into her cunt, he then shoved back through her anus. The feeling of the glass sliding against the thin rectal walls was amazing and given he’d just cum, he took his time fucking her this time. She was so deep into her role now, there was no pain anywhere, only an upward spiral of lust broken only by occasional orgasms. By the time the last few men were waiting to blow in her mouth, the earlier hard-ons were back and getting a workout in every willing pussy.
The sounds and smells of sex were overpowering and feeling her husband cumming for the third time in her sore ass pushed her over the edge. The biggest cock of the night rammed down her throat as the glass nightstick withdrew from her cunt and slid into her slick gaping ass. Someone’s vibrator attached to her clit and as she fought to breathe around the thick flesh buried in her throat, the world contracted into a single pinpoint of light and faint noise. Her orgasm lifted the stools briefly off the floor with her powerful spasm. She remembered nothing more.
It was morning when she woke. Groaning in pain from everywhere, the only thing she noticed was the scent of lavender and a callused palm smoothing lotion all over her aching body. She croaked through a very sore throat, ‘When can we do that again?’
Things that go *WHAP* *SMACK* in the night
FFF#10 at The Daily Toast is based on this picture here and should be a drabble of exactly 100 words.
Hearing heels clicking sharply on polished oak floors, she cautiously opened the door to the empty study to find: nothing. Being alone in the new house – an old Victorian – was making her jumpy. She walked to the window, fingering the horrid blinds. Suddenly, an ice-cold draft: the door slammed shut. Pointed teeth grasped her neck, she screamed as sharp pain repeatedly laced her flesh, strong arms pressing her helplessly against the smooth glass. She frantically thought, ‘they don’t exist! It’s a myth!’ But they did and she was turned that afternoon, forever corrupted, by a paddle wielding Spanko!
Getting past the hurt
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
The sounds had faded, so had the bright red marks. Looking back in the mirror, she cupped her sore cheeks, pulling and twisting for the best view. She avoided her eyes, the shame was still there. That was more painful than a hundred strokes of the cane. Why couldn’t she get past the hurt?
‘Honey, you’ve spent long enough hiding in there. Come out before I put you back over my knee!’
Couples spanking therapy Part #2
Part #1 is here at this link.
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
Dr Discipline had a unique practice. He was a certified Spankologist specializing in couples therapy with an emphasis on D/D and D/s marriages. He could consult with non-married partners, but the bonds of matrimony were vital where spanking was concerned. His latest patients were a married couple in their early forties. Seventeen years together, two children, both worked and both were deeply unhappy. Not uncommon in marriages lacking discipline.
Doctor Discipline: After I sent you home to review last session’s tape, did you talk about what transpired?
Wife: Yes, but I don’t understand why you stopped him from spanking me.
D: Your thoughts?
Husband: I think it’s because I was angry?
D: Correct. Spanking your wife when you are angry is not recommended. Not that you should be calm and distant, but anger, disgust and other strong emotions can cause you to spank her far beyond a reasonable punishment.
W: But I want to be punished! I’m stressed all the time and I do reckless things to get his attention.
H: I don’t mind punishing you, but I’d rather you stop acting out and try talking to me instead. Beating you doesn’t appeal to me. I want your happiness back, not this sulking brat you’ve turned into.
W: I don’t sulk!
H: Bullshit. Every time I ask what’s wrong, you sigh and say ‘nothing’ and then flounce off when I say OK.
W: That’s because you’re supposed to engage me in conversation. I can’t just say what’s wrong, that’s against the female code of ethics.
D: So by treating him with contempt, you are trying to goad him into violence against you?
W: Well… not violence exactly. I need him to be firm, firmer with me. I need him to put me back in my place when I act bratty.
D: Because you’re feeling insecure.
W: Yes. Yes I am. I don’t think I’m worthy of his love anymore.
H: Now that makes me angry. How can you be so dismissive of my love?
W: If you loved me, you’d spank me!
At this point I interjected and suggested they adjourn to the annex and try spanking again. I cautioned them to listen to each other rather than hearing only the inner voice. I watched as he tried to coerce her over his knees, but she resisted. Again, she was pushing his anger button attempting to create a strong reaction. To his credit, he didn’t lose control as previously, but grabbed his wife and threw her over his lap. For the next twenty minutes she squirmed and he wrestled her into submission. He spanked her several hundred times at least, but couldn’t manage to bare her bottom. In the aftermath, I again sent them home with the tape and told them to practice before the next session. I also told the husband to study his wife’s behavior and get to the bottom of her struggles.
Dry mouth and hot bottom
The Sweltering Celt runs Microfantasy Monday and this week for #51 her prompt is fear.
Breath rasped, muffled scrapes, her questing hands tugging at the blindfold. Rapid blinks, dim candlelight, she was surrounded by hard bodies and cruel eyes. He nodded, she obeyed, raised trembling wrists for the shackles. Dry mouth, pounding pulse, the sharp snap of leather woke her senses. Fear always the fear, which is why she begged her Master for this afternoon’s whipping.
Spanking as stress relief
An adult story about spanking and bad words, read with caution
“Sometimes talking isn’t enough”
Tracy hated her job. She hated her boss, her co-workers and especially the customers! Four years of college down the drain with the recession along with her former boyfriend. He of the ‘I’ll love you forever’ turned into ‘You cashed out your 401k?’ on the way out her front door. Turns out he was only in love with her six-figure salary. The fucker! I’d downsize his cock if it wasn’t so puny already.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes!”
“Having a bad day?”
Tracy took a good look at the client. Armani suit, Italian loafers, Liberty tie, Hermes shirt with gold cufflinks: salt-and-pepper hair, fuck!
“How can I help you?”
“Well. You can put away your novel, sit up straight and pay attention when I speak.”
“Err…”
“You do work here? In customer service?”
“Yes… unfortunately.”
“Laid-off?”
“Yes. The pricks.”
“Language.”
“Sorry. I tend to have a potty mouth at ‘inappropriate times’. So my ex always said.”
“And what did your ex do about your proclivity to use inappropriate language?”
“Nothing. Why would he?”
The handsome man nodded thoughtfully as he gazed at her. “Are you happy here?”
“FUCK no! Oops.”
“Are you single?”
Now Tracy became wary. “Why?”
“Because I have a proposition.”
“OK…”
“I find myself in need of a wife. Rather urgently actually. I’m flying to Hong Kong this evening and, it’s rather complicated, I need to be accompanied by my wife. Having never been married, it presents difficulties.”
“And you want me… to pretend to be your wife? We just met two minutes ago and you want me to up and leave everything to fly to Hong Kong tonight?”
“Yes, in five hours to be precise. Minus the time to get married.”
“Can we do that? I mean, just get married?”
“I have some pull I plan on using. So, is that a yes?”
“Hmmm. I didn’t actually get a proposal.”
“I see. Dear… what is your name? Ah, dear Tracy, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“For real?”
“Yes, for real. I do, however, feel compelled to warn you, I have zero tolerance for cursing from partners, among other things. As my wife, you will be expected to behave with proper decorum at all times, whether in public or private. I will compensate you for the trip, say, a million dollars and a divorce upon our return in a month.”
“Behave! You want me to behave? You’ve got some nerve! What will you do to me? Scold me and send me to bed without supper?”
“No Tracy. For acting the brat, you will be treated like a brat. Hard bare bottom spankings delivered as needed. Other discipline as well, I run a tight ship and demand compliance.”
“Or else?”
“Or else you’ll be sleeping on your stomach often.”
“Well, since you put your proposal so fucking elegantly, yes… what’s your name? Yes Arthur, I will become your dutiful fucking wife and obey your every fucking whim and cock sucking demands.”
“In that case Tracy, before we leave your former place of employment, bend over your desk, drop your slacks and knickers and accept your punishment for cursing.”
“Yes sir! About fucking time!”
Twisted knickers
FFF#9 at The Daily Toast is based on this picture here and should be a drabble of exactly 100 words.
She writhed and purred on the gray blanket, tempting him to put down the camera. He didn’t, although hard, it was his job. He never played with models, no matter how erotic the photo shot became. The more she pouted, the more he resisted: until her pink lace boy shorts were twisted round her pointed feet. He finally put the camera down. He unbuckled his belt, drawing it sharply through the loops. Her eyes opened in panic at the snap of leather striking the bed. He smiled and drew back his arm, swinging hard at her exposed bottom. Lesson learned.
Spanks Ahoy!
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
Noise travels at night. Even more so over water. It was very distracting for the other yacht owners to hear the steady smacking noise and howls coming from the distant boat. Riff-raff they snorted, probably dropped out of high school.
A few though, mostly women, were intrigued by the noises and vowed to casually swim over to the boat in the morning. It was being neighborly after all, and if the boat’s crew was disturbed: well, it sounded like there was a stiff penalty to pay for curiosity.
A few spouses got lucky that night. They thought it was because their wives were feeling frisky. True, but not for them. The smacking sounds drew them on to multiple orgasms. Sunrise couldn’t come too soon.
Why can’t a woman get a hard spanking?
An adult story about spanking, sex and bad words read with caution
Alison was fed up with feeling sorry for her self. The more blogs she read, the more chat rooms she entered, the angrier she became. What was the matter with those assholes?
‘ALL I WANT IS A HARD SPANKING. NO FRILLS, NO SEX AND NO FUCKING BLOWJOBS! GET OVER YOUR SORRY ASSES AND GET A FUCKING LIFE!’
Creeps and perverts, creeps and perverts: that’s all I get. Where are all the good men?
*POOF*
“Hi dearie, you called me?”
“Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here? I’m warning you, I have a black belt.”
“Oh I know Allie, your belt collection is kicking! Sorry, I’m your Fairy Spanking Queen and I’m here for your makeover!”
“Makeover? Damn, I knew I should’ve snorted less blow.”
“Thanks Allie, but I only let men blow me. I am a Queen.”
“I noticed. Why are you here? Wait: don’t tell me… my makeover. I’ll bite”
“Oooh you are kinky Allie. We’re gonna get along famously! As your Fairy Spanking Queen, it’s my task to turn you into a Dom magnet. All those strong, ripped, hard men will be panting to get your panties down and blister your butt. Is it hot in here or is it just me? Does this dress make me look fat? I’ve never liked ruffles, but, union dress code and all that.”
“This is too bizarre. How exactly are you going to make me over into a Dom magnet? Haven’t all the good ones already got their hands full?”
“Sadly Allie, you are correct. They do have their hands and whips and paddles full dealing with all the bratty girls. That’s why, we are making you over into a power woman.”
“A power woman? Padded shoulders and pouffy hair? No thanks.”
“No silly Allie. A power woman! A woman who can stride up to the chosen Dom, tell him you need a long hard spanking: then turn and walk away. Any Dom worth the title will follow you anywhere.”
“And then…”
“And then, thanks to your makeover, pour moi cherie, you lead him back here, perform a strip tease, ending with being bent over this chair. Implements readily at hand.”
“No sex?”
“No sex Allie, but lots of swats. My guarantee.”
“Where do I sign up?”
Do spankings improve your complexion?
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
Such strange thoughts chase through your mind when bent over waiting for the first blow. No matter how many times your butt has been blistered, every spanking is different. Whether a good girl, maintenance, discipline, punishment, role-play, therapy or any other type of spanking, the mental aspect determines the effectiveness. Sure it’s your bottom bearing the swats, but it’s your Dom toying with your mind that makes the scene fly. [I mean scene as in personal scene not professional scene.]
Thus the questions in a submissive mind long before the spanking actually begins. Sure a spanking hurts, most of the time very badly, but the mental torture lovingly applied by a cruel Master is so delicious. It makes the nerves jangle, the adrenaline pump and when the bottom is bared to the implement of correction, the mind has become numb, except for those pesky questions.
Do spankings improve your complexion?
How often do birds eat?
If we had roast last night, how many sandwiches can I make?
How long to teach that damned pig to fly?
OUCH!
The links need oiling
FFF#8 at The Daily Toast is based on this picture here and should be a drabble of exactly 100 words.
Cold steel lay heavy across her back. The links from her collar fell through the crease of her puckered bottom. She hold been instructed to keep the dense weight at the end off the ground as long as possible. When, not if, she faltered, her whipping would begin. Twenty people had paid handsomely to spank her bottom, all of them strangers. She shivered in the chill night air, the low murmur of voices placing bets on her submission to the inevitable. Although blindfolded, she sensed when her Master drew near. He whispered in her ear, “Make me proud Little Filly.”
Spanking is a national pastime
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
And it’s one,
two
three strikes
you’re sore
on your
ole’
bottom!
If there is in fact a ‘National Pastime” I am convinced it is spanking.
‘Welcome everyone to this beautiful Saturday afternoon at Memorial Park. Today we have a monumental clash between the Swat Masters and the Scarlet Tanagers. Both are currently undefeated in the ASL, [American Spanking League] and the Swat Masters are defending champions. We expect an epic battle today going down to the very last spank.”
“I agree Kurt 100%. This titanic tilt today is the premier paddling possible in this short spanking season. The athletes are warmed-up and are eager to swing the lumber for the fences.”
“A good crowd on hand today, I estimate about 30,000 jammed into this stadium. There’s a ballot initiative forthcoming asking for public funds to construct a new venue. I’m not sure the community wants to pay higher taxes.”
“I think given the quality of the home-standing side, the overflowing crowds and the media coverage, building a larger arena is a no-brainer, a homerun, a humdinger of a great idea.”
“Thanks Stewart. The introductions are over and the players are assuming the positions. A brief explanation if you are tuning in to the ASL for the first time. Each team has nine players; one at a time bends over home plate and the opposing pitcher delivers strikes and balls. In this case, he/she doesn’t throw from the windup, he/she stands behind the behind of the batter and whacks them with a wooden paddle.”
“That’s correct Kurt. As with baseball three strikes and the batter is out. A strike is when the batter lets go of the ankles. A ball is when the paddle blow fails to make the batter unclasp. So a total of three paddles up to seven will be given per batter.”
“And after three outs, the teams switch sides. As you can imagine, playing a full nine innings is plenty painful for these athletes. Being in the nude certainly doesn’t help.”
“Of course all teams can field no more than four men at a time, I hear there’s a long waiting list to join the ASL.”
“For men?”
“No Kurt, for women! They can’t wait to get drafted in the fantasy leagues.”
Couples Spanking therapy Part 1
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
Dr Discipline had a unique practice. He was a certified Spankologist specializing in couples therapy with an emphasis on D/D and D/s marriages. He could consult with non-married partners, but the bonds of matrimony were vital where spanking was concerned. His latest patients were a married couple in their early forties. Seventeen years together, two children, both worked and both were deeply unhappy. Not uncommon in marriages lacking discipline.
Husband: I don’t understand my wife’s obsession with spanking!
Wife: It’s not an obsession and if you cared about me you’d listen instead of judging!
Husband: It’s sick wanting to be hit.
Doctor: Why do you believe it is sick to hit your wife?
H: I’m not an abuser. Men who batter their partners should be locked up for life.
W: I’m not asking to be beaten. All I want is to be spanked once in awhile.
D: Is that really true?
H & W: No.
D: What is your desire then?
W: I want to submit to my husband. I want him to be in charge. I want him to discipline with spankings instead of treating me with contempt and cold silence.
H: Well if you didn’t keep doing such stupid things I wouldn’t be so angry with you!
W: I’m trying to get your attention moron! If you weren’t such a wimp, you’d have whipped my ass a long time ago!
H: I hate when you put me down, I’m your husband bitch, not some pansy on TV.
W: Then prove it… wuss.
D: Do you believe by goading your husband into striking you, it will solve your communication problems?
W: It’d be a start at least. Prove he’s a man.
H: If I spanked you now, the way I feel, I don’t think I’d stop. I want to hurt you so bad.
W: I’m not afraid of pain.
D: Then what makes you afraid?
W: Losing him. I’ve already lost his respect, his friendship. I’m terrified he doesn’t love me anymore.
H: Don’t cry. I haven’t stopped loving you. I just… I can’t understand how spanking you, is going to improve our marriage.
D: Would you both be willing to try? Here, under my professional supervision?
W: Yes. That’s why I insisted we see you.
H: As long as she’s clothed.
W: It has to be bare bottom. We talked about this. He’s a doctor.
H: Fine.
At this point in the procedure the patients sign the spanking waiver while I set up the annex for the discipline session. It is a small room, large enough for table, armless padded chair and loveseat. I also provide all the implements, tissues, lotion etc. The walls are cushioned and soundproof. At one end is a one-way mirror behind which I monitor and record the session for the patients to take home and study. This particular couple had much anger and required multiple sessions before they could finish spanking for more than a few minutes. He spanked her too soft at this first session and she responded by accusing him of sabotaging the therapy. When he snatched up a hairbrush and walloped her rapidly, I was forced to call a halt to the session. Both of them were very upset, not at each other, but at me. I explained why I’d stopped and sent them home to review the tape. Their next session went better.
Butt that’s so gross!
An adult story about analingus, please read with caution
For Slave sephani and her post with funny cartoon.
He was an unabashed ass-man. Face was fine, breasts ho-hum but give him a plump, round ass, and he’d feast all day. Women though who tolerated his fetish, let alone wanted to be ass eaten were very hard to find. ‘That’s gross! I shit there!’ were the outraged responses from every female he ever dated. Never mind that most of them loved his face in their wet snatches, try and slide his lips down an inch and all hell would break loose.
Then along came the Texas Pistol. Petite, caramel skin, dirty mouth with a mind to match. She loved everything ass, from hard anal to even harder spanking. But most of all, she loved his tongue in her ass. That first swipe was always a surprise, no matter how often he licked her anus, it felt so taboo. The thought of shitting and having him clean her up sent her right over the edge every time.
For him, her scent was intoxicating. Sharp, sweet and bitter at the same time, the odor was overwhelmingly her own. Intimacy in the most primitive form. Face down or legs to her shoulders, when he settled in at her anal opening, he drooled at the sight of the wrinkled folds waiting to be washed by his mouth. The rubbery feel, almost like chewing gum, the slick natural secretions and the pinching tightness, combined with the taste: Pure ambrosia. But the best part came after a good ass fucking when she could suck his cock, and he could lave her gape. That was a real 69.
Exchanging spanking vows
This week’s Spanko Brunch #195 at Bonnie’s blog, she asks a general question about acceptance.
What do think the future holds for spanking and spanking enthusiasts? Can we gain anything approaching mainstream acceptance? Or will we be repressed by waves of political correctness or moral righteousness? Can vanilla society, or at least a majority of the people in it, come to understand that we are sensible, caring, productive citizens? Do you think media might play a role in delivering this message? Can bloggers help? Or will our community be better served by looking inward and supporting our own?
This is my response.
Angelique waited for her new husband to whisk her away from the reception. It had been a traditional wedding, complete with vows, although without the ‘obey’. Angelique fully intended to obey Henri in all things, but her modern friends did not understand her need to willingly submit to her Master. She’d tried, but been ridiculed and mocked when she revealed her love of discipline. The Story of ‘A’ she’d been dubbed and most of her now former friends were long gone from her life.
It was a very special place, an isolated wind swept bluff overlooking the river far below. The land had been in Henri’s family for centuries. Here, over a convenient stump, Angelique received her very first spanking from Henri and had fallen in love with his commanding ways. Now they returned to exchange a second set of vows, vows meaning so much more to them both.
I, Henri Montague, do take Angelique Montague née Molyneux to be my cherished submissive. I promise to love her, to guide her, to support her dreams and to provide discipline whenever needed. She is mine and I will use her freely as I see fit. I promise to listen and to understand her special needs. I will honor her parents and kin. I will respect her body as a temple of Eros and strive to make her sexually satisfied. As Angelique’s Master it is my solemn duty to protect, shield her from harm and spank her firmly when she errs. I swear before God I will keep her heart safe and her soul warm.
I, Angelique Montague née Molyneux, do accept Henri Montague as my cherished Master. I promise to obey him, to love him, to support his dreams and submit to his stern discipline. I am his and I will freely submit to his every desire. I promise to listen and understand his special needs. I will honor his parents and kin. I will respect his body as a shrine of Eros and use all my orifices to keep him sexually satisfied. As Henri’s submissive it is my solemn duty to anticipate, shield him from worry and accept punishment when I err. I swear before God I will keep his heart safe and his soul warm.
Why do brats get all the spanks?
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
Madison Sutton was a brat. Every male who crossed her path melted at her sweet innocent charm. Bad grades? No problem, a flutter of eyelashes was all it took. No car? Even easier, a cuddle on daddy’s lap and the keys were hers. No date? Hello! Short skirt, drop purse, bend way over and thrust. Cha-ching!
Now in her mid-twenties Madison was finally hitting her stride. No need for a job, a rotation of wealthy suitors kept her well in the black. As she got older the stakes got higher and the gifts more extravagant until none of her boy toys remained dangling on her string. Looking in the mirror, Madison saw an old woman where once a vivacious child had played.
Her new plan meant a job? Horrors! She quickly discovered her many talents were useless in the real world which demanded productivity and results. She pawned jewels and furs, her car was repossessed and the landlord wanted the back rent. Before Madison got so desperate as to apply for retail – ugh – she gave her wily ways one last frantic try.
The club was downscale, the clientele more so, but the stiff cover charge was merely a ploy. Her last one hundred dollars went to the bouncer and he sneered as she slid past. She flirted, she pouted, she flashed; she teased all to no avail. The other girls were all prettier, better dressed or younger: mostly all three. Tipsy and depressed she barely stirred when the shadow loomed over her drooping head.
A calloused hand grasped her chin and gently forced her eyes to meet his. A cotton blend work shirt with a name decal! Polyester pleated pants! Steel-toed stained boots! OMG! It’s the blue-collar freak show! Madison was effortlessly lifted off the stool and held suspended in mid-air by a pair of bulging biceps. Her slack expression and blank stare turned to indignation when rough whiskers and beery lips kissed her hard.
She squealed with outrage and demanded to be put back in her proper place. Right now! He smiled and obeyed her. He returned her to her proper place, he sat on her vacated stool, and she continued to dangle above the floor. This time it was over his bulging lap, bottom up, short skirt raised and thong pulled down to her knees. Not even the thumping bass of the techno dance beat could drown out the sharp smacking noises and the even louder hollers for help.
Help came at last. One by one, her late boy toys came by to pay their respects, beating the brat out of Madison once and for all. Her bare bottom was scarlet by the time the last had left and the blue-collar freak show added some pops with a wooden serving tray for good measure. When he finished blasting Madison’s fiery ass, he stood up, slung her over his right shoulder, and slowly walked out, his handiwork visible to all.
Reaching his car, he deposited the sobbing former brat in the back seat on her stomach, drove home and brought her upstairs to his bedroom. Vitamin-E lotion, an ice pack and pillows awaited Madison on the bed. She whimpered softly and acquiesced to his tender ministrations soon turned to hard penetration deep in her wicked bottom.
When he came, she sighed and said, “Honey, that was the best fantasy you’ve ever given me! How on earth did you round up all my late lovers?”
“They all bring their cars to me for service. I got to talking with each one and we finally figured out the spoiled brat was you.”
“That was a long time ago. I’m glad I could still fit in my school uniform. Do you think I could get another lube job?”
“If you use your suction hose, I’ll see what I can get up.”
I thought he said ‘wine’ cellar
FFF#7 at The Daily Toast is based on this picture here and should be a drabble of exactly 100 words.
When he wanted to show me his special collection downstairs, I didn’t realize he meant a ‘whine’ room designed to inflict pain. The coiled whips and wooden paddles hanging on the wall made me gasp with fright, but somehow he convinced me to try it; being bound, breasts exposed for the leather flogger and my mouth the proper height for vigorous use. I was ready and willing to be taken when he said he forgot something important and would be right back. That was over an hour ago. My wrists and knees hurt. Do you think I should be worried?
When good girls go spanking
An adult story about spanking, sex and bad words read with caution
Kim was horny. The kind of horny when you can gnaw wallpaper in frustration. Her current lamented boyfriend was God knows where and quite frankly, even if he was here instead of there, he was useless in bed. So he had a big dick, so what, he couldn’t use it right, in and out and in and out and in and out. Kim usually did sudoku in her head while giving head and the grocery list while he pounded his head in and out and in and out. The only orgasms she ever got were from her vibrator, ‘Lickin’ Larry’ and the anal probe wand that pulsed.
When the knock came on her door, she was surprised. Looking through the peephole, she was worried. Chain on; open just a crack to ask questions. He was lost – he said – seeking a good girl – he said – living in number 483. Not I – she said – I mean I am a good girl – she said – but this is 383. Oh I’m sorry – he said – I answered an ad from a good girl – he said – looking for a spanking. You can advertise – she said – for a spanking? Yes – he said – that’s what I do – he said – I fulfill good girl’s desires to be spanked.
Well – she said – I am a good girl. Are you in need of a spanking – he said – because I am here and you are there. I am in need – she said – of much more than a spanking. I can meet those needs – he said – after a firm bare bottom spanking is given. How much – she said – do you charge for these services? For a good girl – he said – such as your self – he said – the first spanking is free. That is a very good deal – she said – come on in and sample the goodies. Thank you – he said – I shall and I will. What should I call you – she said – a spanker?
Call me – he said – Good Spanks for Good Girls.
One month of spankings
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
Today is the one month blogaversary of “Spank Me Hard! … Please?” I’ve done 31 posts containing over 9,000 words of short stories with a poem or two. In addition, I’ve written over 27,000 words in my novel for a grand total of 36,000 words in the last 30 days about spanking.
Total visits from spankos have been 6,000 with half coming from My Bottom Smarts so a big paddling thank you goes out to Bonnie. I am very grateful for the positive response to my writings and I’m glad so many of you find pleasure in spanking.
“There’s always a reason for spanking”
“Honey? What’s a word beginning with ‘S’ that’s eight letters?”
“What’s the clue?”
“A repetitive motion that creates heat.”
“Hmmmmm. Perhaps a demonstration would jog your memory.”
“OUCH, OUCH, OUCH, OUCH”
“That’s four letters my dear, try again.”
One day at spanking camp…
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
Brittany read about the Burgundy Bottoms Camp online and asked her best friend Lisa if she wanted to attend. ‘It says here, attend our summer camp with plenty of fun games, activities and social events. At Burgundy Bottoms we pride ourselves in teaching young adults the art and science of a good spanking. Daily and weekly prizes will be issued based on technique, style, color distribution and overall pain thresholds. This camp will help young men and women to recognize fellow spankos and the various methods of incorporating corporal discipline into their lives for fun, pleasure and even monetary rewards. All implements and instructors will be provided, you only need to bring a deserving bottom and an open mind. All campers will rotate being Tops and Bottoms on a weekly basis thereby ensuring total understanding of the spanking experience. Each camper must submit to at least one session with each implement during the course of the summer. Before practicing on fellow attendees each camper must past a written exam and demonstrate proper form on a counselor. Our staff are all certified and licensed members of ISTU – International Spanking Teachers Union – and are past graduates of Burgundy Bottoms. Don’t let another summer go by with a pale bottom, ditch the sunscreen and grab your ankles instead. You’ll be glad you bent over for your inner spanko.’
What is the perfect bottom type?
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
Theresa handed me a flyer and said, “I think you need this Clara.”
She was my best friend and I’d known here since grade school but we hadn’t seen each other since the wedding two years ago. Now spending the week at our house, I’d thought she was having a great time. I read the flyer in shock.
Domestic Violence Hotline
1-800-xxx-xxxx
“What’s this?”
She patted my back gently and said, “I know you’re in denial Clara. I heard what that brute of your husband did to you last night. I could hear your screaming and begging but he didn’t stop! I was about to call the police but I wanted to talk to you first.”
I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing. Theresa looked hurt and confused when I crumpled up the flyer and tossed it away. “Thanks for the concern, but Kurt doesn’t abuse me. He was only spanking me last night.”
“SPANKING! You’re husband spanks you? That… that is barbaric!”
I spent the next several hours explaining our marriage and the rules I followed with consequences for misbehavior. Theresa grew more agitated with every detail until I was afraid she would pack up and leave. Luckily, Kurt came home unexpectedly early and walked in on her strident denunciation of him. Not even pausing for breath, she laid into my husband calling him ‘wife-beater’ and ‘misogynist asshole’ among the nicest oaths.
“Are you finished Theresa?”
“NO!”
“Well, what my wife and I do in the privacy of our home and marriage in none of your concern. I appreciate your loyalty to my wife and I realize you’ve known her for a long time. But that knowledge should be with the understanding that Clara is a strong woman and would never tolerate abuse from me.”
“It’s barbaric Kurt! How can you even think of spanking your wife?”
Kurt sat down on the couch, patted his lap and I immediately lay across his knees in the very comforting position. Before Theresa could even leave the room, Kurt flipped up my skirt, tugged down my panties and gave me a very firm and very fast hand spanking on my still sore bottom. When he finished – for now – he glanced up at the slack-jawed Theresa and said without a hint of irony, “I spank my wife because she has the perfect bottom type. It’s bare and over my knees.”
Ask me once, ask me twice…
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
This week for Bonnie’s MBS Spanko Brunch #194 she asks this question: Have you or your partner discovered any creative ways to ask for a spanking?
“… and don’t spare the rod”
Anna could have simply asked for a spanking. Leo was, if anything, more than willing to indulge her passion for a sore bottom. But asking was too easy. So was dropping coy hints or licking frosting off a wooden spoon. Printed panties: not very subtle. So what did Anna decide?
Well, each day of the week had a special word. When Anna used that special word, Leo could spank her. To make things interesting, Leo only had thirty minutes to begin the spanking or else he forfeited the chance to spank Anna until the following day.
Anna took advantage of that twist by using the special spanking code word in the most inappropriate places. Having dinner with the in-laws, sitting in church, driving on the interstate just after passing a rest area, Anna was quite creative with her timing.
Leo however rose to the occasion every single time and Anna always had a red sore bottom when returning to the dinner table, the church pew or the passenger seat of the car. The more awkward the timing, the harder Leo would spank. Anna’s ultimate goal was to be spanked in a place she was sure Leo couldn’t carry out the deed.
Turns out the captain of the aircraft was a spanko and when he asked for a vote over the intercom, the majority of the passengers wanted to see and hear Leo do the deed. Anna didn’t know the captain was a college frat buddy of Leo. It was a very long flight for Anna, four hours sitting, minus the thirty-minute spanking observed by all on the plane.
When she used the special code word the next day while sunning at the resort pool, Leo simply rolled her over and ‘touched’ up the parts he’d missed the day before. Her thong bikini matched the color perfectly. ‘Red Bottom Baby’ by Leo.
Thank you to Cultivated Discipline
An adult story about spanking, read with caution
A post called “Ritual and Realities” by Cultivated Discipline. She thanked me for reaching her ‘core’ with my spanking writings and a link to her favorite post of mine ‘I’m gonna whip your ass until I can cook bacon’* explaining that southern style whippings push her many buttons.
“A Yankee Candle in the Delta”
The crik-crik of the rockin’ chair was sweet counterpoint to the tree frogs croakin’ for mates. The summer stars hung low, bright and swollen dipping into oaks festooned with Spanish Moss. Her heels crunched on the gravel, dead giveaway to the lateness past curfew. He was waiting on her, as always, waiting for her to obey. He was going to wait a long, long time for her to knuckle under to his dictates.
“Ye’re late.”
“Sorry.”
“Ya will be.”
“I said I was sorry!”
“Don’t cha sass me girl.”
“I’m not a child!”
“Yup. Ye’re me wife and I expect better from ya.”
“You can’t treat me like this!”
“Ya, I can and I will until ya lurnt yur lesson.”
“To be your slave?”
“No. Be me partner. A willin’ partner stead of a wicked brat.”
“So… I have a choice now?”
“Yup. Ya can strip here or upstairs.”
“Here!”
“It’s miles to town girl, ain’t nobodsies round here.”
“Are you going to ‘tan me arse’ again?”
“Nope.”
“No?”
“Nope. Ya little girl who done claimin’ to be me wife, she be axing me to tan ‘er arse.”
“Never!”
“Den ya can turn round and walk back ta town and not come back.”
“But I love you!”
“But’cha don’t ‘spect me as yur man.”
“I don’t wanna spanking all the time!”
“Den behave girl, dat’s all, behave.”
“Where’s the fun in that ya pervert.”
“Dat’s me girl.”
“I think I want my whupping out here bent over the railing. Maybe I can drown out those fuckin’ tree frogs this time.”
A fettered soul
FFF#6 at The Daily Toast is based on this picture here and should be a drabble of exactly 100 words.
It was a good dream. A dream unfulfilled. A girlhood dream spent in pink tutus and white tights leading to curtain calls and roses. Talent, dedication, desire; all betrayed by genetics. Too tall, too endowed and too much longing for a dream forever out of reach. Even now as she danced alone in her studio listening to the music, the small girl was reflected in the mirrors. Unaware of adolescence and the havoc hormones would cause, the girl moved en pointe, dreamed of the jeté. Times like these were when the woman most felt the shackles on her balletic soul.
Spank Me Hard! ... Please? 
