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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.”

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?

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.

Slaves in bondage

FFF#5 at The Daily Toast is based on this picture here and should be a drabble of exactly 100 words.

Some scars didn’t show. Posed for profit, exposed flesh winced with each new prop. Slowly stripped of her clothes, her dignity and her identity, her life was taken away. For Natasha, not what she expected when answering the advert for ‘Servers wanted in clubs throughout Western Europe’ only to find herself trafficked into sex slavery. The police captain pulled back the sheet and compared the girl’s features to the photograph he held. The face was identical: the dead eyes holding the whip were now dead for real. He replaced the sheet and left the morgue: just another whore after all.

So unfair! I did nothing wrong!

An adult story about spanking, read with caution.

FFF#4 at The Daily Toast is based on this picture here and should be a drabble of exactly 100 words.

No words could express her mortification. Face down her pain was acute. Sore eyes lingering on the now denuded ring finger, Marguerite’s tormented mind whipped back, earlier that evening, when, on a foolish whim, wore a sexy costume for her fiancé, the Duke of LaMont. Brutal and swift was his response. ‘No duchess of mine shall behave as a wanton trollop. Such childish behavior shall not go unpunished.’

Fresh tears welled in Marguerite’s sore eyes. She murmured plaintively, ‘It is his birthday, all I requested was that he unwrap me as his gift, spank me soundly and take my virginity.”

R.I.P 9/11/2001

An adult story about spanking, read with caution.

This is a response to the Flash Fiction Friday #3 at The Daily Toast based on this picture.

The long nights before the first anniversary of 9/11 were the worst for Corrine. That picture, the one of him laughing, shirtless, sweaty, his helmet tipped back and his rippled chest still sent tingles to her pussy. But sex wasn’t what she missed the most. Every time she cleaned his gravestone and left fresh flowers, she cried with remembered pain and pleasure. She was lost without his steady guidance, devoted love and strong will bending her firmly over his knee. Terrified of the hard hairbrush at first, now, Corrine would give anything for one more scorching whipping with his belt: anything.

Salty tang

An adult story about spanking, read with caution.

This is a response to the Flash Fiction Friday #3 at The Daily Toast based on this picture.

“All the good ones”

“My panties are soaking.”
“Why?”
“That construction stud.”
“He’s probably gay.”
“Really?”
“He’s probably gay. Any guy who looks that good smiling is gay.”
“Are you sure?”
“No… but it’s been my sad experience with men; gay or taken.”
“Look at those arms though and chest!”
“Yeah, strong muscular arms. Hard lean hands. Thick firm thighs.”
“Sounds like you’d like to get naughty with him.”
“A hard spanking from him? No problem.”
“Pam!”
“What?”
“All that prime meat and you want a spanking?”
“Skirt up, bent over, bare and screaming.”
“I never knew you were so kinky.”
“Try it sometime.”