Rather than repeating all 12 verses, I’m only posting the last one.
On the twelfth day of Ouchmas
my true love sent to me:
12 Bums for Whipping
11 Thighs for striping
10 Boards a Whacking
9 Schoolgirl spankings
8 Blades a Cutting
7 Dawns for Flogging
6 Nieces Sobbing
5 Vicious Swings
4 Naughty Nerds
3 Bad Gwens
2 Studded Gloves
and a Red Bottom for my Knee
[Bums refers to buttocks]
The neighborhood had changed, not gradually, but cataclysmically. Lauren had had to leave. Abandoning her husband, running from the birthday party for her best friend: driving aimlessly, yet urgently she fled. Her cell chirped and vibrated frantically. Lauren had withstood the temptation to fling it out the driver’s window. She was in shock, intellectually she understood her flight was problematic, yet, the primitive woman roared and snarled, demanding satisfaction. Yes it had been Ashleigh’s party, her twenty-fifth birthday. Yes the alcohol had flowed. Yes Lauren knew Ashleigh liked kinky sex. Yes Ashleigh had bent over, her ‘spank me’ panties flashing the guests. OK, Lauren admitted, she’d swatted her best friend more times than she could remember. It was a birthday party, they were all adults and clothes had stayed on. But, stumbling down the hall seeking the bathroom, hearing the smacks, opening the door to see her husband spanking the very naked Ashleigh, other guests patiently waiting their turn at the scarlet ass of her best friend: it was an earthquake. Somehow, she’d left, driving drunk, streets empty and dark, now, out of gas, out of range, red and blue lights quickly bathed her ashen face in pulsing color. When the officer tapped on the glass, Lauren was numb. Following her instructions, Lauren surrendered her identification, her cell and her dignity. At the station, Lauren was booked on charges of DUI and held upon payment of bail and arrival of her husband.
Waking in the morning to the frantic urgings of her bladder, the smell of stale urine and vomit caused Lauren to add her contribution to the detox cell. Dirty, tired and more miserable than she’d ever been in her life, when the matron called her name, Lauren shuffled to the door and was brought to a private room. Cuffed and seated on a steel chair bolted to the floor, Lauren stared at her chipped nails and dirty fingers. Tears fell unhindered. Images flashed untethered. When, finally, her husband and his lawyer arrived, the silence was thunderous. Lauren heard her husband dismiss the lawyer with details of her release, the clang of the heavy lock made her flinch. Unwilling to meet his eyes, she instead stared at his waist. The thick black leather belt, the holster, the chrome handcuffs; how often had they played bad cop and hard hooker. Lauren was terrified. She saw his legs move around the table, his arms yanking her to her feet then throwing her body across the hard surface. Restrained wrists dangling, Lauren murmured a feeble protest. He ignored her, pulling the jail issued pants down, followed by her soiled panties, he made a noise of utter disgust. That sound was quickly eclipsed by the harsh snap of leather meeting flesh. This was between her and him. Some of his brothers and sisters in blue may not have agreed with the actual punishment, but neither did they watch with cameras or eyes. By the time he was done strapping Lauren, her bottom was verging on purple and her throat hoarse from screaming.
Lying on her stomach, in her own bed, the jail lingering no matter the hour spent scrubbing under the hot shower, Lauren cried when she moved, cried when she remembered the silence after the spanking was done, cried when her apologies were ignored, cried and cried and cried until she fell asleep. Slowly waking to calloused hands gently rubbing her deep bruises, Lauren started violently, but a ‘shhhhh, let me take care of you’ allowed her to relax. His thick fingers kneaded, probed and tormented her until the events of the last twenty-four hours burst and Lauren commenced deep, guilty sobs. Heedless of her aching bottom, she squirmed over and fairly leapt into her husband’s embrace. He kissed her softly, but as her hands fumbled with his belt, he stood, quickly shedding his work uniform and entered her in one slamming thrust. Jealously had torn them apart, but thanks to their commitment to discipline, they could find the way back.
[* Your man not ‘A’ man. Asking a stranger** for a spanking is a really bad idea.]
[** Stranger as in a random guy rather than someone in the scene***]
[*** Scene includes but not limited to clubs, gatherings, films etc.]
The following is fiction. I do not receive letters from women seeking advice.
They could.
Ask for advice.
But they don’t.
Because…
Well, this blog is a way for me to be creative and more importantly, force myself to keep writing.
Although if anyone does want to contact me they could.
I don’t have any contact on this blog however other than leaving a comment.
Dear Lurvspanking,
I hope it’s all right to leave this comment. I read all your posts and I wanted to ask you a question. How do I ask my husband to spank me? In your stories all the women are confident and the men all immediately understand the need for a good spanking. But I read many blogs written by married women and they all confide their husbands don’t understand them. There seems to be constant conflict over being submissive in today’s modern culture. What I want is what all the other women want: to be treated as someone precious and fragile while acknowledging our intelligence and passion. Is that too much to expect from a spanking?
Thanks
Confused wannabe sub in Middle America
Dear Wannbe,
Thank you for your comment and yes, it is all right to ask me for my advice. Let’s start with spanking shall we? You don’t mention how long you’ve been married or if you have children, but I’ll assume you have two kids and have been married for ten years. Is spanking something you want to spice up your sex life? Is it for punishment? Control? What are your expectations?
LS
Dear LS,
Thanks for replying. We have only one child and we’ve been together for fifteen years all told. I am very submissive, always have been, but with working full-time and my husband having his own interests, I’ve had to be independent. More independent than I’m comfortable being on a daily basis. I want my husband to spank me because I’m unhappy with me, with everything. I’m too fat, too tired, too lazy and have completely lost my way. Sex? What’s that? Maybe if he wanted to go out once in a while instead on lying on the couch watching sports. Sorry. Didn’t mean to vent.
Wannabe
Dear Wannabe,
You really do need a hard spanking! Such an attitude! Men are simple. When a woman is needy, they pull away. But, the one redeeming quality – besides a big cock – is that men love a problem to fix. Instead of coming right out and asking for a spanking, ask your husband for his advice. Be demure, not clingy and dress nice. Glance down as if shy and touch him gently. Tell him you’ve been thinking about stuff and he’s the only one who can solve your problems. He’ll puff right up and get all interested. Take it slow. Start with your weight. He’ll say right away you’re perfect and you’ll pout because he’s not taking you seriously. STOP! Stop right there. In his eyes you are perfect otherwise he wouldn’t be with you! Men are simple. Men need a good woman to take care of them. Stop resenting his needs and start anticipating how you can better serve him. That’s part of being submissive. Not a doormat, submissive. Ask him how you should go about losing some weight. Be prepared for graphs and flowcharts detailing calorie burn and watts/hour. Squeal and gush at his macho display, men love when their woman get all gooey when they flex their muscles. Repeat for all the issues you have. To show your gratitude, unzip his fly.
LS
Dear LS,
Wow! I never thought about any of that! Except the unzipping the fly, I can handle that part. But what about the spanking? I want a spanking!!!!!!!
Wannabe
Wannabe,
Don’t make me come over there! Be patient, you’ve waited fifteen years already what’s a few more weeks? Try to follow his schedule. Report to him every other day on your progress. Get him used to being in charge of you and your body. When you crash and burn, and you will, he will be hurt. Men do that when their women don’t follow their magnificent plan of action. Make it up to him. Bring a hairbrush/paddle/belt with you. Kneel at his feet. Tell him how sorry you are. Tell him you want to follow his wonderful plan, but you are too weak, you need his masculinity in order to stay on track. Tell him you’ve earned punishment, but not the cold shoulder, not his disgust. Tell him you’ve earned a spanking. Don’t let him have time to think. Raise your skirt and lay over his lap. Ask him to start with his hand and then use the hairbrush/paddle/belt on your naughty bottom until he’s satisfied you’ve been punished enough. No matter how little or how much he spanks you, do not COMPLAIN, but simple accept his dominance. There will be plenty of time later to discuss what happened. He’ll be guilty, trust me, especially if he bruises you, but thank him in both words and sex. The next day, discuss in a calm and rational conversation how you need regular spankings in order to maintain his plan. Do not accept any lessening of his plan. Men are simple. As long as he thinks he’s simply helping you follow his advice he’ll keep spanking you. Of course, at some point, you’ll be motivated to succeed instead of fail and then, spanking takes on a completely different tone. Let me know how it turns out.
LS
There was something so soothing about being cradled in a man’s arms, especially after a nice session of loving. Ellen blushed, even though Franklin had been her husband for eleven months, she still felt constrained by her morals. The lights had to be off. She had to be wearing a nightgown. And she’d never done anything other than simply lying down and letting Franklin enter her with his thing. He was patient with her shyness though. He understood the fractured upbringing she suffered. By taking her away and beginning a new life together Ellen was realizing there was more to a marriage than drinking and yelling.
“Franklin?”
“Hum.”
“Do I please you?”
“In what way?”
“You know… in bed… when you love me.”
“Of course you do darling. You’re a wonderful partner and I love you very much. Now get some sleep.”
Ellen laid silently listening to her husband’s breathing and occasional snoring. She couldn’t sleep. Naïve as she was, the friends she’d made in this town all seemed happier and more satisfied with their marriages when it came to loving. Ellen blushed in the dark even thinking the word ‘sex’. To hear her friends gossip there were many things they did and had done to them that Ellen couldn’t even bring herself to acknowledge ever trying. Yet, in the quiet hours of the early morning, if she was honest with herself, she felt unfulfilled with the physical parts of her marriage. If only Franklin was…
After making breakfast for her husband and seeing him off to work, Ellen busied herself with domestic chores. She took pride in a clean house and good cooking. She’d asked Franklin after they were engaged if she would be required to continue her career. He’d firmly stated then it was his responsibility to support her and their children and her responsibility to keep house and be a mother. The mother part had yet to materialize but the doctor had assured Ellen she was normal ‘down there’. She’d been mortified by the exam, her first, but the doctor had been caring if a bit stern. Even Franklin had never seen her so intimately; Ellen frowned at the notion, it seemed wrong some how to deny her husband. The rest of the day passed in a blur until at a quarter to six Franklin returned home. It was Thursday, meatloaf and potato night. Serving him, refilling his glass and listening intently while he vented, Ellen felt very content.
In his den later Franklin was engrossed in reports when there was a timid knock on the door. Ellen entered his sanctum and stood without speaking in front of his desk. “Yes?”
“Franklin? I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone. It’s nothing.”
“Nonsense Ellen. Whatever is bothering you I would appreciate knowing. I am your husband.”
“I know. You deserve better from a wife.”
“What claptrap are you spouting Ellen? I am quite pleased with your efforts as my wife. You provide a pleasant home and good food, what more could a man want?”
“Maybe… I know you’re a man Franklin… you have needs… I’m not very good at, you know, sex.”
Franklin was stunned. His demure Ellen was apologizing for her lack of skills in the bedroom? It was true he had certain ‘needs’, however, demanding his wife provide them was… gauche. He was a gentleman, and gentlemen never took, only coaxed. The stories of fantastic and exotic sex were just that, stories and fables written by men too timid to seek out a real woman.
“I think you’re doing fine Ellen. I am quite satisfied by your efforts to please me. We’ll not discuss this further.”
“But…”
“Enough Ellen.”
She was clearly being dismissed and she obeyed, at first; then determinedly made up her mind. “No Franklin, it is not enough. I am not enough for you. If I am truly to be your wife then my body must also belong to you to use as you see fit. You need more. I want more. There has to more to sex than what we’ve had for the past eleven months. There has to be more Franklin.”
“Are you disobeying me Ellen? I said I was satisfied.”
“What if I am Franklin? I think you’re lying. I think you want to do all sorts of nasty things to me.”
“And how do you know about ‘nasty’ things Ellen? What have you been reading behind my back?”
“Nothing Franklin! My friends talk about their husbands all the time! I can’t help but overhear.”
“Overhear what precisely?”
Ellen was blushing profusely but Franklin’s scolding was melting some of her natural reserve. His dominance was making her squirm. “Susan said she loved to suck Tom’s ‘thing’ until he spurted in her mouth.”
“His thing?”
“You know… his manroot.”
“Ah. His penis. Go on.”
“Laura explained how Samuel licks her down there…”
“Down there Ellen?”
“Her pussy Franklin. Laura loves to have her pussy licked. How come you’ve never tried that with me?”
Franklin stood up and walked around the desk: Ellen instinctively backed-up against the closed door. He bent down and kissed his wife – hard – while gripping her firmly round the waist. He forced his tongue into her mouth, she responded with a faint moan. Releasing her lips he asked her, “What else wife did you overhear?”
Ellen shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Most of my friends are…”
“Yes?”
“Are spanked.”
“Spanked?”
“Yes Franklin, spanked; hard and often if their tales are to be believed.”
“By their husbands?”
“Evidentially.”
“Because?”
“I don’t know Franklin. I was too embarrassed to inquire.”
There was a wingless armchair in the corner of the den. Franklin led his unresisting wife and bent her over his seated knees. Raising her dress he was struck by the realization it was the first time he’d ever seen her bottom in daylight. “Down or up?”
“Down please Franklin. I’ve been a bad girl. I’ve neglected you so much. Spank me hard… please?”
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.”
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?
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?
An issue that emerges constantly is the need to be spanked frequently, more often than he actually provides. Is it topping from the bottom when she needs daily whipping in order to function? I don’t believe it is. A submissive woman needs regular physical contact in order to validate her decision to submit to her dominant. Withholding spanking from her is perceived to be true punishment not simply because he’s not in the mood to whip.
If she’s not in the mood to be spanked, then is it abuse if he whips her anyway? That depends. What type of relationship do you want? Do you want to be controlled? To be supported? To be pampered? To run the house? To be a mother? To be tied up, gagged, plugged and whipped on a daily basis? It seems simple, spanking, but it’s not on many different levels. Being in charge is more than giving orders and obeying, it’s doing what is best for the relationship first and individuals second.
Not only is every submissive unique, so is every dominant. That fact seems to be lost in the desire to be spanked. What you need, what you may think you need is not always what a dominant needs or wants. Spanking daily can quickly become a chore: A source of discord between partners. Being submissive is not about being spanked, it’s about caring for your dominant and meeting his needs. If he needs you to be calm, then be calm. If he wants you to be bratty, then be bratty. Your needs are met by him being in the proper frame of mind. He can’t whip you if he thinks you are nagging him.
Why not? Because it’s aggravating to be asked to dominate and then be constantly challenged on every little decision. Either you submit within the context of your relationship and the rules created, or you constantly cheat trying to stay in control. If your dominant is worthy of your trust, then you have to trust he will treat you as you need, even if daily whipping doesn’t always happen. Concentrate on growing yourself within the boundaries you’ve both created and soon he will feel comfortable in providing frequent spanking.
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 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.
It’s the bane of Masters everywhere: A thinking submissive. Not that most Masters want a robot, they don’t, but many subs struggle with letting go.
To be in a D/s et all relationship requires – demands – the submissive truly submit. To give her/his very responses to the Master in return for… everything.
Masters want – demand – submission not because they desire total control [some do of course] over every aspect of the submissive’s life, but in order to help guide growth.
Why do you want to be a submissive in the first place?
To Top from the Bottom? That’s not submission, that’s a power struggle. If you have to think about your actions vis-à-vis His/Her desires then you’ve lost the charm of real submission. Giving up control in return for support goes beyond the norm for many, but for a thinking sub, the very act of submission causes the very worst of behaviors. Until a sub can stop thinking and simply do what needs to be done, they will be very unhappy.
This all presupposes the Master is worthy of your submission. A subject for another post.
*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.
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.
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.
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.’
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.
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.
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.
Perhaps so: or maybe, can a feminist still be called a submissive woman?
Feminism:the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.
Let’s take spanking and all the various offshoots as belonging in the social realm. Is a woman who is spanked truly equal? Does it matter if she’s spanked by a man or by a woman? As I wrote here: Is spanking sex? I point out for many, the sexual/sensual aspects are the main focus.
If a woman believes her body, her sexual responses and her mind all belong to her and is equal to a man, then she has the right to choose any activity she enjoys. If a feminist woman likes to be spanked, then why would it be wrong? Isn’t the whole point of female empowerment to be an open and eager acceptance of blatant sexual response? When spanking, or enemas, or bondage or anything ‘kinky’ turns a woman on, she should feel the freedom to ask her partner to participate in her fantasies.
Being submissive in a relationship is not about a power struggle between unequal partners. In my essay: For couples seeking spanking I wrote that for a woman, it’s most often her who explores the concept of active submission. Not to say a man may want to spank his wife as foreplay, but a woman who feels safe with her husband will push the boundaries. If… if she is a feminist.
A feminist is a woman who knows what she wants and has the ability and passion to reach for her dreams. If those dreams include being submissive to her man and going over his knee on regular occasions, then yes, a submissive woman is still a feminist.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?’
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!
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!’
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.
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.
This is not fiction.
For those that believe a M/s or any D/s relationship grows spontaneously, communication is the key in both directions. Anything else is merely abuse. LS
The hardest thing for a dominate male to understand is the female’s desire to submit. In today’s society, a woman who submits is considered weak and a failure. True submission means allowing the needs to surface without guilt and stress. The worst thing women do is to doubt themselves and become bitter and nasty. Every woman is precious and deserves a man who will nurture her dreams and discipline her when she hates her body, her clothes, her hair, etc. LS
With few exceptions it is always the woman who initiates the topic of spankings in a relationship. Many marriages reach a point after 20-30 years when the wife decides she is unhappy. Not necessarily unhappy with her husband, but unhappy with her life. Something is missing.
Spankings fall into several distinct categories:
A. Pleasure
B. Punishment
C. Discipline
D. Play
There is however no clear-cut reason a wife will suddenly – from the male perspective – desire to be spanked. If a man is worth anything as a husband, a father, a lover, then he will react in only one way.
“You want me to beat you?”
Spanking ≠ Abuse
It can obviously. Spousal abuse, rape, murder is an all too often occurrence in all cultures in all countries and physical beating is part of the equation. So for a loving spouse to be asked to spank his previously strong wife is rather frightening.
If your wife asks to be spanked, you will ask why. She may not be able to answer. At the root of her request is a desire to submit coupled with a desire to relinquish responsibility. She trusts you completely, if she didn’t, she would never have dared asked to be spanked. For a woman, being spanked by her dominant partner engenders a sense of peace, calm acceptance of her place in the marriage.
Not at first.
She will fight back. She will demand to back out of the agreement. She will never submit willingly to being punished. But on occasion, as the man, you will have to punish your wife. It will hurt you both, but it must be done in order to move beyond the deed.
Discipline is different. It can be regular maintenance or specific spankings linked to chores, tasks or body image. Discipline is what most women imagine when being spanked by their husbands. They want to be motivated and held accountable for failing. Many women believe they are failures.
Do not let your wife get away with self-hatred. Spank her hard and often until she accepts your unconditional love.
As the husband it is your duty to nurture your wife, not only with love and respect, but with clearly defined structure and consequences. Spanking should always be the last resort, but if needed, then spank with purpose. She cannot be allowed to slid back into unhappiness and depression. Help her grow by warming her bare bottom whenever you decide it’s warranted.
Cross posted at Erotic Flash Fiction for Sunday Oral Worship Day started by Spanky.
“Honey Dew”
red lips pout
glistening with slick dew
thighs flex
aimlessly she gasps
tongue lapping
inhaling her scent
unique
musky
passionate flows of nectar
coat my taste buds
swallowing her lust
pinned
her arms trapped by my weight
pausing to suck her clit
then
spanking
wet smacks
on wetter folds
red becomes redder
gasps become screams
wet becomes a torrent
I bend my head
to torment her some more
she cries
I smile
she’s mine
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!”
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.
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.
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?”
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!
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.”
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.”
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.
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.
Spank Me Hard! ... Please? 
