Flashback Friday: When spanking meets the green-eyed monster

This is the last Flashback Friday, as I have plucked the best of my past writings of 2009-2010 from the archives. Originally posted on Sept 27th, 2010. My plans are to continue posting the Victorian novel, The Bumhampton Chronicles, in 100-word drabbles on Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sun. Every Monday, a new non-fiction essay of 500-1,000 words about D/s, based on various prompts I find in the vanilla world. On Tuesdays, I will be starting a new serial novel called, Kismet of Submission, with 1,000 word episodes. The first two have already been posted for past Wicked Wednesday prompts, but I will be reposting them before moving on to new episodes. Lastly of course, there is the weekly Wicked Wednesday. Still in progress is my follow up Sir Fang novel, The Case of The Scarlet Paddle. Speaking of beta readers, if you are interested in helping me by reading drafts of current fiction, please don’t hesitate to drop me a line via email, either to Lurv Spanking, or Byron Cane.

If you would like to read my spanking newsletters at my other blog, Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction, the June, 2017 newsletter #2 is now posted at this link.

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.

Flashback Friday: “Over the Top”

This week’s Flashback Friday, was originally posted April 11th, 2010. This will be the next to last Flashback Friday, as I have plucked the best of my past writings of 2009-2010 from the archives. After next week’s final posting, I will be changing the posting schedule. My plans are to continue posting the Victorian novel, The Bumhampton Chronicles, in 100-word drabbles on Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sun. Every Monday, a new non-fiction essay of 500-1,000 words about D/s, based on various prompts I find in the vanilla world. On Tuesdays, I will be starting a new serial novel called, Kismet of Submission, with 1,000 word episodes. The first two have already been posted for past Wicked Wednesday prompts, but I will be reposting them before moving on to new episodes. Lastly of course, there is the weekly Wicked Wednesday. Still in progress is my follow up Sir Fang novel, The Case of The Scarlet Paddle. Speaking of beta readers, if you are interested in helping me by reading drafts of current fiction, please don’t hesitate to drop me a line via email, either to Lurv Spanking, or Byron Cane.

The blue spruces shuddered violently. Lightning danced rapidly from menacing flannel clouds approaching the homestead. Heather Parks wrung her hands thinking of her husband Josh driving home in this terrifying weather. He’d been gone a week this time on business and despite nightly calls she constantly worried about his health. Her concern was a constant source of friction. Josh hated being ‘babied’ and Heather had fled in tears after many an argument. If only he would see what she needed, what she craved: he was oblivious to her! As the storm grew harsher so did Heather’s thoughts until the crashing thunder shook dust from the rafters.

“Mom! Where’s my yellow shirt?”

“It’s in the wash! I’m trying to write, have Daddy help you!” Corrine Campos grimaced hearing the horde descending upon her unsuspecting husband. Carmelo was warm and loving, except when it came to women’s work. Old-fashioned to the extreme he would never even consider lifting a finger to help around the house. He supported Corrine and their three children by running his own consulting business and that was enough for him and his mother. She’d found his masculinity overwhelming when they were dating but after ten years of marriage the resentments were reaching the breaking point. When her phone rang; well, Corrine snapped out without checking ID.

“What!”
“My, my, Corrine. Testy today?”
“Sorry, Roxy. Bad day.”
“I understand. Hate to rain on your parade but ‘Over the top’ needs work, lots of work.”
“I know, I know, I know. I’m editing now, Roxy, please give me a little more time.”
“I’m sorry, Corrine, but the deadline is Wednesday and if you don’t have a publishable draft by tomorrow the magazine is going to cancel. There’s nothing more I can do. Give me something to sell and I’ll go to the mat for you.”
“Okay, Roxy. Tomorrow, I promise. Gotta go, hubby is pounding on the door.”

“What are you doing? Your children are driving me crazy!”
“I’m sorry, Carmelo. I was talking to a friend. I’ll be right there.”

Corrine put her computer to sleep and wasted two hours caring for her children before foisting them off on her sister for the rest of the day. Carmelo had left, to go and do who knew what, but Corrine was quite happy to see his BMW squealing out of the gate. Finally: Peace and quiet.

The blue spruces shuddered violently as if in the throes of orgasm. Lightning danced rapidly from the menacing flannel clouds approaching the homestead intent on rape. Heather Parks wrung her hands thinking of her horny husband Josh driving home in this terrifying weather. He’d been gone a week this time on business and despite nightly calls she constantly worried about the health of his penis. Her concern was a constant source of friction. Josh hated being ‘babied’ and Heather had fled in tears after many a blowjob. If only he would see what she needed, what she craved: he was oblivious to her! As the storm grew harsher so did Heather’s thoughts until the crashing thunder shook dust from the rafters. What if she never got a chance to suck on his hard cock ever again?

Josh pulled into the garage amidst hail as large as fists and rain so thick the wipers failed to keep up. He was trembling with fatigue and looked forward to a long, hot soapy shower – by himself. Heather was so needy lately! What was her problem? He was less than pleased to open the door and find Heather on her knees, warm mouth open and blue eyes pleading for his cock. He finally snapped. Grabbing her long blond hair in his calloused fingers he dragged her into the living room and threw her over the back of the couch. Whipping out his belt he proceeded to beat his wife on her rounded quivering bottom while she cried and begged the entire time. When her ass was covered with weals he threw down the belt, stalked to her head, yanked up her head and shoved his cock down her throat.

Heather was in shock. Where was the loving gentle man she’d married? Why was he doing this? Her ass was on fire and while it hurt, the pain was nothing compared to her broken heart. When he pulled out of her mouth she protested again but then he began to pound her pussy each thrust slapping her sore bottom. Heather felt her climax building, the storm continuing unabated, neither one noticing the lights failing or glass shattering. Rain driven by violent winds soaked them as Josh fucked Heather as hard as he could: not caring a whit for her needs. She screamed again, pain was creating pleasure and her soaking wet cunt flooded the cushions. She moaned and writhed until she felt Josh shooting his spunk deep inside.

“What the fuck? What the hell are you doing?”
“Carmelo! Stop that! You have no right! This is private!”
“The hell it is! No wife of mine is going to read this filth!”
“It’s not filth, Carmelo! I wrote this for publication, for money!”
“You wrote this perverted trash for money? Money? You whore!”
Corrine slapped her angry husband. “How dare you call me a whore? I am the mother of your children and if I’m a whore then you’re a pimp!”
“You’ve gone too far this time, Corrine. I’m the man in this house and I decide what my wife does.”
“Bullshit! I don’t have to take this crap from you! Let me go! I’ll call the police.”
“Fine, Corrine, call, but first, I’m going to teach you some long overdue manners!”

Corrine felt herself rapidly thrown over her furious husband’s knees, dress tossed over her head and panties thrown on the floor. Carmelo’s large hand descended in rapid-fire order on her naked bottom punctuated by his stern lecture on proper behavior. Corrine squealed and bucked but her husband had little problems keeping her in her place. “I should have done this on our wedding night! You will obey me, Corrine, or I’ll spank you every day, twice a day for the rest of your life! Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Corrine choked out.

After more than half an hour of spanking, Carmelo threw his weeping wife on their bed and stalked out slamming the door behind him. Corrine reached back and gasped as she felt the heat pouring off her battered ass. Gingerly rolling over she swayed to the bathroom to observe the damage.

“Roxy? It’s, Corrine. Don’t bother with ‘Over the top’. I’ve got a new story to write: ‘Disobedient and beaten wife’. Yeah, it’s personal, very personal.”

Flashback Friday: “Sometimes I doubt my sanity”

This week’s Flashback Friday was originally posted, March 23rd, 2010.

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?

Flashback Friday: “Perhaps a spanking wouldn’t be the worst thing…”

This week’s Flashback Friday, originally posted Jan 15th, 2010.

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.

Flashback Friday: “The hand does not make you down”*

This week’s Flashback Friday, was originally posted Nov 29th, 2009.

*An American 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 counter tops: 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 fake fear when he called.

“Yes, Master. I’m coming.” Tsao winked in the mirror and softly clapped her hands in thanks to her ancestors.

Flashback Friday: “Spanking a willing woman”

This week’s Flashback Friday, originally posted Nov 24th, 2009.

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. They 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 of 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.

Flashback Friday: “Fear of pain”

The week’s Flashback Friday, was originally posted Nov 11th, 2009.

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.

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