Nina’s five minutes are up

Last week for Wicked Wednesday, I wrote a short story about Nina and Ike. The last paragraph, the last sentence, sparked interest in wanting to know what happened after five minutes.

“I love you, Nina, no matter what, because I only want to do what is best for you. Whether I spank you or not, our marriage will be strong. Five minutes, Nina, but no more second thoughts.”

This week for Wicked Wednesday, here is one possible version of what happened next.

After Ike went up to their bedroom, Nina couldn’t sit back down, but paced as the minute hand swept inexorably towards the deadline. She felt like a daisy, petals plucked while chanting, ‘spank me, spank me not’. One foot after the other, hand on the railing, Nina drifted up the risers, carpet deadening her steps. The world narrowed to a tightly focused point that led to the end of the hall.

“Four minutes and fifty seconds. You are cutting it close.”

Nina opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She shivered and gripped her elbows tight to her chest, even though the room was comfortably warm. She stared down at the patterned throw rug, her open-toed sandal crumpling the weave into peaks and troughs. When she felt Ike place his hands on her shoulders and squeeze, a heavy throb began to beat between her thighs.

“I’m going to sit on the side of the bed, Nina. You will remove your leggings, and your top, but leave your bra and panties on… for now. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

The beat picked up speed. A cold wash tingled all over her body and her head shook as her muscles contracted. She watched impassively as her fingers wrapped the edge of her shirt and drew the garment up and over her torso. Long hair caught the neck-hole, a quick flick and she dropped her top. Thumbs nestled under hipbones and rolled the spandex band down. Her waist dipped, right knee came up, sandal kicked off, each leg pulled clear past heel one at a time.

“Over my lap, Nina, bottom up.”

Time slowed. She fancied she could see each second pass by as Ike’s voice deepened and drew out into elongated syllables. She climbed on the bed and crawled over his denim covered thighs. She started as his right hand touched her nape.

“Relax, Nina, I’m going to rub your back first.”

Oh so familiar hands kneaded tense shoulders and stroked in sweeping motions down to her waist. Her racing pulse eased and her breath steadied. Nina even purred when Ike undid her bra strap, then fondled each breast by cupping underneath to tweak the nipples. She finally settled down and relaxed when his hand ran from ankles to apex. She sighed when his fingers straightened her panties and his palm smoothed out the creases.

Right then, a strange feeling came over her as his broad hand rested on her upturned crowns. She felt safe and cherished.

“Five minutes, Nina.”

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Flashback Friday: “Is Spanking Sex?”

This week’s Flashback Friday was originally posted Sept. 30th, 2009. It’s one on my favorite stories.

Dear Paul,
I realize after fifteen years of marriage, this will come as a great surprise to you, but I have a favor to ask. When you get home from work today, please go upstairs to our bedroom. I’ll be waiting.

Paul found the note when he opened his case at the office. He almost rang her up, but then the day got hectic and although he didn’t actually forget the cryptic message, he fantasized about what favor she would request. Paul thought their sex life was adequate and they’d tried nearly everything at least once. Amanda had never voiced any complaints and seemed content. The drive home seemed shorter than usual and Paul fairly bounced up to the master suite. To find, a very ‘great surprise’.

Picture a husband opening the bedroom door expecting to see his wife in say… slinky lingerie, maybe one of his button-down shirts, a mask, a lacy thong, anything within the ordinary. What Paul saw was Amanda, a nude Amanda bent face down over the footboard whilst kneeling on bolsters, thus placing her wide bottom uppermost. Her torso supported by pillows allowing her breasts to brush the bedspread with her hard nipples. Legs were lightly spread open at the calves, just enough to trap a pair of bright red panties. Resting in the small of his wife’s back was a medium size paddle – appeared to be leather – and underneath the paddle, another note.

Dear Paul,
As you may have guessed – you are a very smart man – your wife needs a favor. I want you to spank me. With your hand, this leather paddle I bought online and anything else you may decide to utilize. Before you say anything to me, please, as your loving partner of fifteen years, I ask you spank me once with your hand for each of those wonderful years. After that, I will answer the burning questions I know you have.

Paul smiled wryly and stood to the left of his kneeling wife. He raised his hand and gave a tentative smack. There was no reaction from Amanda, so he spanked her again and again. Moving from cheek to cheek it was only a matter of some seconds to spank her fifteen times. So light were his spanks her bottom was unmarked.
“So, Amanda, what brought this on?”

Amanda remained in her prone position and answered her husband’s question without turning her head to see his expression. “I’ve been reading about spanking recently and more specifically about spanking in marriages.”
“And you decided it was something to try?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fair enough. But you do understand my trepidation?”
“Yes, sir. I do. I know it must seem very strange to you to spank me, a woman who deals with domestic violence on a daily basis at the shelter. It’s very hard to explain my feelings Paul, but bending over like this, knowing you can see everything and can take me in whichever hole you choose, is very, very arousing to me.”
“Interesting. So spanking is… foreplay?”
“I think so. Certainly the knowledge you’d be home tonight and see me like this has had me on edge for weeks. I thought about how it would feel and rather than spank myself, I wanted to give you the first whack so to speak.”
“So how many whacks and how hard and what exactly do you expect from me?”
“Can we take it slow? Maybe spank me for a minute and then see how it feels?”

Paul took her at her word and spanked her for a minute. Amanda’s bottom was now the faintest hint of pink, but she was frustrated at how tender Paul was being with his blows.

“Paul? You can spank me much harder. I promise I won’t be upset with you. Please?”

Paul hesitated for a moment. This was the woman who adamantly refused to ‘obey’ in the wedding vows. Who kept her name and had separate bank accounts. The woman who marched in every protest: who worked for Hillary Clinton in the campaign. He was having a hard time reconciling that woman with the one draped over the king size bed.

“OK, honey. Here’s another minute spanking you harder.”

This time the sound clearly echoed off the walls as Paul laid into his wife’s quivering bottom with gusto. He figured if he spanked her hard enough, she’d change her mind and they could get on with sex. The last twenty seconds were a barrage of spanks as hard and as fast as he could make them.

When he stopped, he rubbed his hand over her blushing cheeks, the redness now brighter and he was surprised to feel how warm the flesh had become. Amanda crooned as his hand explored her bottom and she arched even higher, waggling her hips to entice his hand lower. When Paul dipped into her crevice and underneath, he was shocked to find her dripping wet. A simple touch to her open slit had her groaning and Paul was all set to strip down and plunge in deep from behind.

“Please wait, sir. I need more. The paddle, use the paddle.”

The pleading tone in Amanda’s voice was something he’d not heard in years and picking up the paddle and rubbing it across her bottom had Amanda moaning in anticipation. Paul raised the paddle and bounced it off one cheek.


Another blow to the other cheek followed.


Paul continued, sometimes fast and sometimes, long pauses between blows. He watched utterly fascinated as Amanda’s hips gyrated in wide circles. She thrust her hips up so high he could clearly see the dampness on her upper thighs and the pulsing of her anus. She urged him on to paddle her harder with pleas and sighs until her bottom was a bright, even red.

She whimpered when he stopped, complaining until he rammed his rock hard cock all the way to her cervix. His pelvis slapped her sore bottom and she screamed out her first orgasm. He grabbed her waist pulling her back and forth violently using her sopping cunt to fuck his cock. As they fucked, the redness on her bottom was a beacon and Paul, seized by the moment, suddenly pulled out and began spanking Amanda again with his hand. She squealed and raised herself up on her arms, moving her bottom back to meet the blows.

“Use the paddle again, Paul. Use it between my cheeks. Please!!!!”

She collapsed on her face, reaching back to spread her hot bottom as wide as she could. There was just enough room between her fingers for Paul to use the handle on her crack. He carefully smacked her and she screamed.

“Oh that stings!”
“Do you want another?”
“Yes, sir! Right on my naughty butt-hole!”

Paul raised an eyebrow but spanked her sharply on her naughty butt-hole. He wondered if his wife would treat him to some anal next and he was quite happy when after ten stinging blows to Amanda’s anus, she wanted more.

“Oh, Paul. My butt-hole is numb and feels so tender. Fuck it. Fuck my ass! Punish that naughty ass for being a slutty girl.”

Paul fucked her pussy first for some lubrication and when he tried in insert a wet finger or two, Amanda stopped him.

“Just ram your cock into my ass, Paul. Make it hurt!”

Her rectum was so tight and hot it was impossible to ram in, but steady pressure with a single thrust had Paul buried to his balls in Amanda’s ass. The tightness, her crying with the pain, the heat of her spanked bottom all combined to have Paul unloading within minutes.

Amanda’s fingers were a blur as she rubbed her clit and came after Paul was softening in her sore ass.

Later when they had cleaned up and had dinner, Amanda and Paul talked late into the night. Amanda made it very clear that for her, spanking was a sexual act and she had no desire to have a disciplined marriage. If you are ever in the mood, Paul, put me over your knee, pull down my panties and spank my bottom until I demand to deep throat your cock.

“You mean like this?”

Once more the echoes of spanks and a pleasured woman filled the bedroom.

Summer at the lake

Do places retain a physic imprint? If you returned to a spot where your life had changed, was the memory still tangible?

For Jesimine Powell, the summer of ’85, at Lake Archibald, in Cabin Twelve was one such place. A place of firsts: first love, first kiss, first orgasm from another, first acceptance of self-identity. Twenty years later, she was returning to fulfill a promise.

There were families swimming off the artificial beach. Red canoes and white sailboats projected excited shrieks over the forty-acre lake. The resort still exuded rustic charm, but the owners had bowed to the times and added phones and televisions in every cabin. The trees were taller, the rocks seemed smaller, but the private dock in front of their cabin was still as weather-beaten and warped as she remembered.

“I remember the first time I saw you. I was sitting right here, at the end of the dock. You swam over from number 11 and said ‘Hi, my name’s Emily’. You popped out of the water like a sprite, your turquoise bikini set off your white skin and freckles. I remember when you wrung out your hair, the beads of water made little rainbows in the air. You wanted to know if I could get a tan. Do you remember, Em, how I looked at you, my mouth wide open and pressed my forearm to yours? I said, ‘Girl, does this look like a tan to you? Cause to me, it appears to be dark chocolate’. That’s when you gave me a shit-eating grin and said, ‘Gotcha!’ I was too shy to tell you then, but when my skin touched yours, the spark caused my heart to be lost in a moment.”

Jesimine drew her knees to her chest. The curled pine boards of the dock pinched her bottom through her shorts. She looked to her left and smiled softly.

“Remember that, Em? How our parents were all stiff and formal at first until our dads found out they were both firefighters? They’d be swapping stories and our moms would escape to the kitchen to swap recipes, while we slipped out the back to have one last swim before dinner. You remember when you dared me to go skinny-dipping? I swallowed water I was laughing so hard when you complained my skin gave me an unfair advantage in the dark. ‘I ain’t never had no white girl ever be envious over my black color before’. You got annoyed and rather than splash water like you usually did, you shut me up by kissing me and then swam away as if mutant alligators had migrated to the Adirondacks.”

The calls of ‘suppertime’ echoed around the lake. Boys and girls hauled out, smoke rose from fireplaces and outdoor pits. The smell of roasted meat wafted lazily over the water.

“That night, Em. You remember. Our folks wanted something fancier than burgers and dogs. We stayed in my cabin, number 12, and you got angry with me for overcooking the trout fillets. You called me ‘stupid’, I yelled back I was ‘gonna whup your skinny white girl ass if you didn’t shut your mouth’. You were shaking like a leaf, I thought it was cause you were scared. I remember us both apologizing and you begging not to be spanked in that breathy voice that always pushed my buttons. I did the bravest thing I’d ever done in my life up till then. You said ‘Yes, ma’am’, after I scolded ‘Are you gonna behave, little girl?’ I sat down on the couch and told you, ‘Get over my lap, Emily’. You remember what you said, Em? ‘I’ll let you spank me bare bottomed, Jesimine, if you tell me the truth’.”

“I told you the truth that night, Em, and every night since. I love you. I love your cries as I slowly turn your bottom bright red. I love that cute squeak you make when I fuck you. I love the cotton candy taste deep inside your pink. I love your talented tongue. But most of all, I’ll always love you, Emily.”

Large tears splashed on the gray wood, the saline fluid staining random dark circles.

“Remember, Em, how you always joked you could see our cabin twelve from your office window on the 109th floor of the North Tower? I’m sorry I missed your call. I’m sorry they never found you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I hope you can see our cabin from heaven.”

The last rays of the setting sun sparkled off the bright floral wreath as it spun out over the calm surface of Lake Archibald in front of Cabin Twelve.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Flashback Friday: “All-American Football Star”

Something a bit different today. Originally published Sept. 23rd, 2009.

JayCee couldn’t wait to surprise her husband Terrence. He didn’t expect her until this evening, but she’d caught an earlier flight. Letting herself in the gate and the front door, the mansion was silent. She set her bags down and went searching for him. He wasn’t in the game room or the media center and since she wanted to sneak up on him quietly, she didn’t yell out or call his cell. She finally heard faint moaning from behind the master bedroom and her blood ran cold when she heard him groan. “Yeah, just that like, baby. Take it deeper, that feels soooo good.”

JayCee slowly opened the doors in a trance expecting the worst. What she saw was so incomprehensible she shrieked. Her 6’5″, 265 ripped pounds of stud wide receiver, All-American, Pro-Bowler and Super Bowl star was face down on their king size bed, naked and writhing with – as far as she could tell – her pink vibrator shoved up his ass!

“JayCee! You’re home!”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I can explain, baby, I can explain!”
“No! Leave it in and tell me what the hell you are doing with my Rabbit plunged up your chocolate starfish!”
“Baby, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I… I don’t know, baby. I missed you and I saw your toy… I was…”
“Gay? Are you queer? Is this some fucking locker room thing?”
“No, baby. I ain’t no fag.”
“What would your mama say if she saw you like this? I know she didn’t raise her man to be no sissy boy. I’ll bet she’d whip your ass from one side of the house to the other.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Why didn’t you just jerk off? I don’t get it! What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing, baby, nothing’s wrong with you. Please believe me. I love you and you’re so hot.”
“Humph. I’ll bet you say that to all the groupies. Hoes and sluts probably line up and bend over in formation for you.”
“I’ve never cheated on you, baby. Never!”
“You don’t call this cheating?”
“No, of course not.”
“You did start without me.”
“Stay there, don’t move and don’t you dare take that vibrator outta your fine ass.”

JayCee raced down to the trophy room and lifted Terrence’s fraternity paddle off the wall. “This is going to be so much fun,” she chortled as she hurried back to his side.

“Listen to me, sissy boy, and listen good. You wanna get back into my good graces, I’m going blister your ass until I feel you’ve learned your lesson! Now put your tight end nice and high in the air and let me knock some sense into you.”

JayCee drooled seeing the sight of those chiseled thighs, the meaty calves and the tight buttocks, parted in the middle with a shocking pink vibrator sticking out. Even better was his flaccid cock and loose balls dangling straight down. Ten inches of man-meat awaited her attention after she spanked the hell outta his naughty ass. She swung the paddle hard and popped his flesh repeatedly, his squeals and groans sending a flood of heat to her twat. She didn’t want to stop, but feeling the raging heat on his skin turned her into an animal. She shoved him sideways and then on his back. She dove on his cock, semi-hard now and sucked and sucked until it was at full length. She grabbed the end of the vibrator and begin moving it in and out.

“Does this feel like I’m fucking your ass? Don’t you wish I had a real cock right now to sodomize you hard and deep like you do to me? Make you scream like I do when you plunge fast to the hilt?”

She resumed her blowjob determined to milk his sperm. When he finally blew his load, she took it all over her face and rubbed her fingers in the sticky mess, licking and preening like a panther. He winced when she yanked the vibrator out. “I’m gonna take this ass just as soon as I can order me a strap-on. You wanna be my sissy boy and get fucked by your wife?”
“Yeah, baby, I do. Go deep, go long and hit me when I’m open.”
“She scores!!!!!!!!!!”

Purchase Lust in Lace on Amazon Kindle. Click picture to go to Amazon.

A friendly reminder, the Lust in Lace anthology, is still 99 cents on Kindle ereader until the end of January. If you like werewolves and frost giants, ghosts and goddesses, or steampunk vampires, then for Valentine’s Day treat yourself or your loved one(s) to a sexy collection of erotic novellas. As Byron Cane, my submission is called Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine.

Flashback Friday: “You may now spank the bride”

Originally published Sept, 19th 2009. This post, “You may now spank the bride”, has the dubious distinction of being my most ‘popular’ post. It’s been viewed 2,600 times. Not dare I say it for artistic merit, but because more people search for variations of ‘bride spanking’, than anything else. Kinda explains the divorce rate.

In the year of our Lord 1273, marriage was for the nobility. The serfs, peasants and general workers who comprised the majority of the population were left to their own devices even if a priest was available. Various rituals existed in many cultures to bond two young people together for the sake of the children usually already on the way. In the tiny hamlet of Whipping-Hollow-On-Butterbum-Reach however, there was a very different ritual performed on the rare occasion of Holy Matrimony betwixt and blushing maiden and an untried boy. Here in this place the bride was given away by the groom’s parents; the groom by the bride’s parents. [*If unavailable due to plague, war, malnutrition or general misfortune then appropriate substitutes would be arranged.]

Perhaps thrashed away would be a better term. The morning of the wedding, the respective parents* would arrive at the hovels of the soon-to-be-in-laws and request permission to enter. This was done simultaneously and the bride/groom would politely bade their new parents* to enter the dwelling. Once inside, what the parents* found would be a nude groom/bride standing next to wedding finery. This was done, the nudity, to ensure there were no malformations in the bodies of the engaged. For the bride, she was also subjected to a physical exam to insure an intact hymen [unless a certificate of prior breakage was notarized and signed by thirteen male witnesses] and proper function of mouth, nipples and anus. If satisfied, the bride’s new in-laws would then bathe her thoroughly but lovingly as a new daughter and dress her in preparation to join their household.

The groom was also inspected and his new mother-in-law would ensure he possessed a proper and suitable cock stand for their daughter being given away in the hovel down the lane. The foreskin was carefully washed and then the groom’s father-in-law would direct the groom in the proper manner to use a woman’s mouth and throat. After spending his large load in his mother-in-law’s mouth [he had abstained from solitary vice for a month] she would then solemnly reveal her vagina and anus to her son-in-law and give general instructions on the proper usage of both holes. He would be ordered to rigorously use all three orifices of their daughter that afternoon and into the early morning hours. Both were told to be ready to offer proofs the following day. The groom was then also bathed and clothed and the respective parties then left the hovels and made their way through the hamlet to the center green for the ceremony.

The procession wended its way past each dwelling and stopped in turn. For in the tiny hamlet of Whipping-Hollow-On-Butterbum-Reach, the bride and groom were fully clothed, except for the opening in the back that framed the entire surface of the bare bottom. This bare bottom was given a single stroke with a willow cane at every hovel by the respective parents*. Thus by the time the moist-eyed bride and groom reached the green, they each sported thirty red stripes on formally pristine bottom cheeks. Once at the green, the bride and groom knelt side-by-side and leaned forward, thus prettily presenting themselves for further spanking.

The priest would begin the ceremony and when he asked who it was who gave away the bride, this was the cue for her new in-laws to strike her bottom hard with a thick leather strap created for this day. She received as many strokes as her age – thus providing a reason for parents to delay a daughter’s marriage – and after each one, she thanked God for her humbling chastisement. The groom received exactly the same, except his blows were delivered with a paddle also made special for the day. When the vows were exchanged, the parents* switched sides and implements and delivered ten spanks to their own children for the last time as single individuals. After the ring and the pronouncement by the priest of, “You may now spank the bride”, there was one last test for the painfully suffering and newly minted crying wife. Over her new husband’s knee she willingly went, he sitting on his sore bottom and with loving scrupulousness he used both the strap and paddle – gifts to the newlyweds – until he was completely satisfied the meaning of ‘Honor and Obey!’ had been imprinted on her swollen buttocks.

There of course was still the deflowering to occur and most couples at this point decided it was too far and too painful to walk to their new home and thus consummated their marriage right then on the green in front of the rapt inhabitants of the tiny hamlet of Whipping-Hollow-On-Butterbum-Reach. She would bend over her scarlet ass reaching for the clouds and he with his rampant prick plunging hard into virgin womb, that pain unnoticed in the scorching flames as her husband’s torso spanked her over and over again until he flooded her no longer virgin vagina with his impregnating sperm for the first of many times in succession.

The Lust in Lace anthology is now available with my novella. In Byron Cane’s Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine, MacRath is a centuries-old vampire returning home after decades of absence. It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Her Majesty has appointed MacRath Her Chastiser of Loose Morals. Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but quite a handful. Despite discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. MacRath will ensure she is well punished and dominated in all ways as befits his naughty Valentine.

Purchase Lust in Lace on Amazon Kindle. Click picture to go to Amazon.

There is comfort in anticipation

A little over six months ago, I started writing again after a 5 and 1/2 year break. Since that time I have written around 200,000 words. That includes all the new posts here, plus the second half of a novel, the first quarter of another novel, and three novellas.

Almost two months ago, I was invited to join the Paranormal Erotic Romance writers co-op, by my good friend, Ina Morata, who writes wonderfully inventive erotica on her website and in published works. The editor and publisher of the anthologies, Devi Ansevi, who also writes erotica, has taught me much about editing. I am in a state of nervous anticipation for my first published spanking erotica this January, 11th 2017.

If you are a constant reader here, then you know that my style of writing is very eclectic. I write in all points-of-view and tenses, and even dialogue without quotation marks. My fiction for publication – hopeful publication – is more literary and intense than my flash fiction I post here. In anticipation of the Lust in Lace anthology, I would like to offer you something in the style of my long fiction. This story is new, not an excerpt, and serves as an illustration of my focus when writing a novella or novel.

I will be posting another post with all the links, information and an excerpt after the Lust in Lace anthology goes live for purchase. There will be more details and information then about the next novella to be published for Lust in Spring, on March 20th, 2017.

Active Submission

A cool downdraft catches the burgundy-wine curtains. The sudden snap of cotton makes me jump. Through the open window of our bedroom, I can see lightning arcing in the dark sky. Too far still for thunder, the sound I hear is my heart pounding in anticipation.

Crack-snap, the fabric billows as the humid air rushes westwards: sucked into the storm’s base and thrust upwards with ferocious velocity, only to succumb to gravity’s embrace and return as gentle rain or harsh hail. Crack-snap. The steady whipping reminds me of why I am here, in the corner, like a naughty girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Soon, I will hear his heavy tread on the staircase, the scent of his cologne will send tingles to my pussy and his hot breath on the back of my neck will weaken my knees. Crack-snap. Crack-snap. The pace intensifies, my bottom clenches and relaxes in harmony with the noise. It soothes me. It awakes my passion.

Several generations ago, the scene would have been cornstalks to beyond the vanishing point, our 1850’s farmhouse surrounded by arable land instead of by cookie cutter subdivisions filled with unhappy wives and distant husbands. My husband, Bradley, had recognized in me, what the farmer knew instinctively to expect from his little woman. Obedience and respect in return for protection and support.

Crack-snap. Our bedroom is a masculine statement of dominance, creamy oak four-post king size bed, original pine floors, the walls, maple wainscoting with forest green and silver paper above. The covers are a cool cotton to match the drapes. Pillows and bolsters in rich jewel tones will be tossed aside to sleep. When I am bent over the bed with a sham under my hips, my toes barely graze the throw rug.

Each time, every time I am spanked, it only reinforces our bond, and reassures me I’ve made the correct decision. I shiver, the cooling breeze caresses me, strokes my heated pussy, teases my puckered nipples; I wiggle, trying to catch the proper angle.

Crack-snap. Crack-snap. Crack-snap.

How I wish the noise was the result of the flogger instead of the drapes. He is diabolical in the way he pushes my buttons through words and deeds. I have done nothing to deserve this, and yet, have done everything.

A typical evening, home from work, catching up with social media, when he speaks. A low, husky drawl, filled with meaning and purpose: his voice slips through my barriers as if they were gossamer. I have no defense against his wiles: my feminine wariness of the male predator purrs instead of snarls. He is mine, she says every time, and rolls over in submission.

When he says, go upstairs and prepare, my mouth foolishly asks why. A raised eyebrow speaks volumes. I stand on shaky legs. He reminds me once more of my choice, discipline is his alone to decide time and place.

In my corner, arms behind my back, nude but for my collar, I am the freest I have ever been. My submission is a gift, not to him, but to me. I crave the anticipation of knowing that the pain he will give me, helps to shatter the paralysis in my soul. Each paddle blow heals, each swipe of the cane removes another layer of deadened emotions, each leather strand that scourers my back, tears away the sticks and stones of childhood misery.

When he whips me: crack-snap, I find my happy place is that much closer to becoming permanent.

The thunder is nearly constant now. The searing strobes of atmospheric electrical discharges flashes in the darkened room. In between beats, his steps come closer, I hear the knob turn, the door thumps against the stopper. My breath seizes with love and longing.

He runs his forefinger down my spine. I shudder out an exhale.

He kisses my nape. Tears spring to my eyes.

And when he firmly grips my buttocks and asks who owns you, I sigh, and reply, you do, sir.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Flashback Friday: Looking but not touching

A new feature I am going to highlight is Flashback Friday. This happens to be the very first post on Lurv Spanking from Sept. 6th, 2009. It’s about power exchange and the modern office. It stops before the actual spanking begins.

“An Office Thrashing”

One of curious characteristics of a spanko is the slow and somewhat creepy way the desire becomes an obsession. For Miles Franklin that desire used to be the usual blowjob under the desk by a hot secretary giving dictation but lately, that fantasy had added a dark twist. Whenever Sarah or Madison or Tiffenee or any other of the very hot, very under dressed and very married women on the 27th floor strode purposely past his corner office, the urge to leap out and grab her by the hair, drag her kicking and squealing face down on his desk and proceed to spank her until she moaned for more: his cock was rigid thinking about the designer wool skirt hiked up around her waist and the silk thong corded around squirming thighs. Sometimes the blowjob came first; sometimes afterwards, sometimes… it went right to fucking.
He sighed. That’s why the last untold numbers of relationships had foundered. No matter how adventurous the modern girl was in bed – very adventurous in fact – they all freaked out when he’d oh so politely broached the subject of spanking. Disgust, anger and threats of lawyers were the various responses. No girl, excuse me, no woman in her right mind ever wanted to be spanked. ‘Beaten? What are you? Some kind of pervert? What’s next? Schoolgirl outfit and whips? I am out of here… Jerk!’
“Mr. Franklin?”
“Yes, Joan?”
“A Mr. Stanmore to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment but he states it is very urgent.”
“Alright, send him in.”
Miles adjusted himself: one good thing about briefs, a hard cock could be shoved and bent easier than with boxers… or commando. A business smile graced his rather ordinary features and hands rested quietly on the leather blotter.
“Mr. Stanmore, sir.”
“Thank you, Joan. Pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat, Mr. Stanmore.”
“Please, call me George. I apologize for barging in on you unexpectedly, but I have some rather disturbing news for you.”
Miles raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “In what matter?”
George took a deep breath. “You know my wife… Ellen, she works here in Accounting.”
“Ellen Stanmore? I don’t recollect ever meeting her.”
“I’m sorry. I should have said Ellen McCrannock, she kept her family name when we got married three years ago. She’s rather headstrong that way… and… in other things.” George trailed off uncertainly.
“I’m puzzled now, George. I have no oversight over Accounting and have only seen your wife at company functions. As far as I know, we’ve never spoken beyond casual greetings. How is this my business?”
“Sir, I realize you are very busy but this can’t wait. Would you mind having your receptionist call Ellen and ask her come down to your office?”
Miles sat back in his chair, clearly confused, but George looked desperate and even a little scared, so he did as requested and the two men waited for ten minutes in awkward silence until Ellen knocked quietly on Miles’ door. They both rose and George went to greet his very surprised wife and escort her to his vacated chair. As she sat down and swiveled to look at her husband, he drew the blinds closed on all the windows and discreetly locked the door. Returning to his wife’s side, he said, “You might want to hold your calls.”
“What’s going on, George? Why am I here? I’ve never had anything to do with Mr. Franklin. I have work to do!”
“Ellen. Be quiet!” George pressed both hands firmly on his wife’s shoulders, pinning her in the chair. “I asked Mr. Franklin to meet you because of what we discussed last weekend.”
Ellen gasped in horror. “No! You can’t possibly mean that! I’ll never…”
The sound of a slap echoed in the room as George smacked his angry wife’s face. “I said, be quiet. You know what you did, you know the penalty and you know that I, not you, have the final say in the punishment. Not… one… more… word, or it will be doubled. Is that clear?”
Tears welled up in Ellen’s green eyes and her lips quivered as she gazed helplessly up at her stern husband. He shook her slightly and she broke out into open sobs of despair.
“Pftttt. You’d think she’d never been punished before the way she’s carrying on!” He glanced at Miles, “May I call you Miles? Thank you. Here’s the deal. Ellen broke the rules, her rules, not mine and due to… well, let’s just say ‘past indiscretions’ and leave it at that, she agreed that I would decide how, when and where she would be punished.”
Miles put his hands up and leaned away. “You can’t mean…”
“Yes, right here, right now.”
“Fine George… and Ellen… I’ll just leave and let you, er, get on with the punishment then.”
“No, Miles. I’d like you, no, I demand you punish my naughty wife.”
A simultaneous intake of outrage, fear and a good deal of excitement from Miles and Ellen. She shook her head and avoided any eye contact. Miles shook his head and felt his mouth hanging open in shock. “Bluh… bluh…”
“Let me explain Miles. Ellen and I have a D/D marriage that includes other people and other… things. Strictly consensual on both our parts of course and the reason I chose you is because Ellen wanted to be spanked by you.” She hunched over in mortification and hid behind her trembling hands. George gently stroked her brunette curls and continued. “She asked around the office and all the girls said emphatically that you’d never touched them or treated them with anything less than professional courtesy. Even when they sashayed past your office in tight miniskirts you never said anything, just undressed them with hungry eyes. There are quite a few spankos on this floor, but none of them have understanding husbands. You see Miles, nothing gets me hotter than watching another man – or woman – using and abusing my lovely wife. And she: she sheds her stuffy accountant attitude faster than her clothes when a tough guy yanks her chain.” He grabbed the back of her head and twisted Ellen’s face so she was staring at Miles. “Isn’t that right, slut?”
Miles saw the varied expressions flit across Ellen’s damp cheeks and the handprint George had left. Hunger and desire were the most prominent. He stood up, walked around the corner of his desk, then perched his buttocks on the edge in front of Ellen. George rolled her back slightly, still holding her firmly at the nape. Her eyes went straight to the bulge of Miles’ slacks. George hissed, “You like what you see?”
Ellen moaned deeply.
George opened his mouth to speak again but Miles cut him off sharply. “I’ll take care of this naughty girl George, you go have a seat on the couch. I think it’s time someone taught this tease it’s not nice to arouse a hard man.”

Home Spanking Party

“There is nothing quite as artistically pleasing as a bare bottom over a knee.”
“Don’t you mean aesthetically pleasing?” replied the wife from her upside down position.
There were nervous titters from the audience.
The husband said, “Either way my dear, this was your idea.”
“I know,” she sighed.
Her BFF called out, hand cupped to her mouth, “Come on baby! Give it to her! We want a show!”
There were ten other females in attendance who whooped and hollered in agreement while carefully holding their wine glasses.
The wife shot back, “Don’t get too cocky girls! You spill, you get spanked!” She’d hosted cosmetic parties, cookware, recipes, numerous crafting shows but it was during the sex toy party for Valentine’s Day when she’d let slip that her husband enjoyed spanking her. After a few… okay, three margaritas, she confessed she was the one who initially begged to be spanked. The girls… the drunk tipsy girls, all wanted to spank her for lying but somehow instead, she’d agreed to host another toy party for Christmas, this one all about spanking with implements. Thus she was currently cold sober, dressed… undressed in a black lace camisole and about to receive her husband’s hand across her defenseless bare posterior.
“If I may have your attention ladies,” her husband intoned in his best announcers voice. “Welcome to the Home Spanking Party. I am your humble host and this lovely young woman over my knees is my assistant for this demonstration. Please feel free to get up close and personal as I utilize the many items shown in the catalogue. Cash, checks and credit cards are accepted, however, there are stiff penalties for lack of funds.”
Again there were giggles and toasted glasses clinking. The room quieted as he raised his hand high.
The watchers all leaned forward in fascination as their friend’s bottom slowly took on a light pink tinge. The husband kept up a running commentary.
“Ladies, when spanking by hand, the goal is usually to warm the skin enough to allow heavier blows with an implement. Several minutes is normally sufficient at a rate of one per second alternating cheeks. Concentrate on the crests first and work down as you finish.” He paused to rub his wife’s skin. “Why don’t each of you come up and touch her bottom in order to judge the temperature.”
Her BFF jumped off the couch and was the first to stroke the warm skin. “Come on girls,” she warned, “everybody has to touch or you’re next in line for a spanking!” The rest of the women obeyed, some reluctantly, some eagerly.
The husband thanked them all. “Now, if you are only spanking by hand for punishment, then you should spank twice as fast and twice as hard. Ready dear?”
“I guess so,” his wife whined.
After a minute of hard hand spanking, the ladies could see a noticeable difference in the color. When they rubbed this time, the heat was very pleasing to the touch.
“Next up is the paddle,” her husband said and reached over his wife’s back to pick up three different styles. “The traditional paddle is wood, it can be hand sized for over-the-knee or longer for full swings in the bent over position. Leather is preferred by many spankos because it is more forgiving and less prone to bruising. Acrylic should be reserved for punishment sessions. I’ll start with ten with the wood, then fifteen with the leather and five with the acrylic. Then we’ll move on to the brushes.”
There was an awed silence as they watched her be firmly pummeled. By now they were all standing in a half circle around the couple. Some blushed at the rear view as the wife’s legs kicked and parted under each loud CRACK! Others were mesmerized by the many facial expressions offered. Most also felt a throb between their legs. After each type of paddle, the ladies stroked the bright red bottom of their friend. The bolder ones slipped fingers into the crease and pulled wider for a better look.
“The last implement is the hairbrush. I like to use this below her sit spots into the thigh crease. There are countless varieties, for the sake of brevity, I will use only one.”
“Thank you!” cried out his wife as she wiggled on his lap. “I hope y’all are having fun at my expense girls! Remember, payback’s a bitch!”
“No cursing dear or it’s corner time for you.”
“You put her in the corner?” yelled out several ladies.
“Yes dammit! He fucking does!”
“Alright naughty girl, after twenty with the hairbrush you’re going to spend some quality time with your nose in the corner!”
“Thus concludes the first portion of the show ladies,” her husband said as he finished her off with two very hard slaps of the brush.
There was loud applause and wolf whistles as the red bottomed wife was placed nose first into the corner. She sniffled and suffered while her friends fondled and pinched her sore cheeks. Her BFF whispered, “I had no idea spanking was so much fun! I think we should do this in private next time, just the two of us.”
Her husband then draped her over the back of the couch, her face in the cushions as he thoroughly demonstrated the larger paddles and long-handled brushes. With her legs spread shoulder width apart, she knew all her friends were getting a personal peep show of her wetness. The catcalls were constant as they egged her husband to add a little more color to her backside and when he brandished the cane as the pièce de résistance, the crowd went wild.
“Cane! Cane! Cane!” they chanted, most on their third glass of wine and more than a little wet themselves.
“Would you like to see some stripes on the solids?” her husband asked, his face a picture of innocence.
“YEEEEEEEEEEESSS!” they all screamed and jostled for a closer view.
“You heard them dear,” her husband said apologetically. “They want some nice welts to rub.”
He whipped the cane down with a hiss and a snap as it impacted. He waited as his wife shook her bottom to the delight of her audience who, caught up in the moment, threw dollar bills on her back and yelled, “Work it girl! Show us what you got!”
Five more times the cane hissed and snapped until six red welts showed against the dark brick bottom. After each lady had rubbed and pinched the cane lines, her husband ended the party by saying, “Ladies, I hope you have enjoyed the inaugural Home Spanking Party. The catalogue is available for ordering and if you don’t mind, I’m going to take my wife into the bedroom for some aftercare.”
There were many hoots and ribald suggestions. Her BFF laughed and said, “Make sure you use the wand! She loves that!”
All in all, it was a very pleasing party and all agreed it was worth repeating with a different model next time. Later that night, more than a few husbands were surprised by randy wives who demanded a good old-fashioned spanking for being naughty.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Spanking by mail order

Originally posted in 2009 here on Lurv Spanking, deleted and rewritten for Fantasy Friday at New Beginnings cross-posted on 8/19/2016. Thanks PK.

Lucretia Sinclair was an old maid. At two and thirty, she was a confirmed spinster. Tired of her family’s cruel rejoinders, she’d gone west seeking her manifest destiny. She found instead, the loss of her maidenhead and the serenity of over the knee.

She alighted from the 3:45 from Denver. Stark landscape, muted pastels and strong earth shades all pummeled by the soaring turquoise sky. Waiting for her was Mrs. Parker, widowed some twenty years, swathed in black silk befitting her station as matriarch of Juniper Falls. Lucretia had responded to an advert by post seeking ‘never married woman of quality desired for bride to wealthy gentleman’. The correspondence escalated rapidly, more so when the telegraph link was completed to Juniper Falls. Mrs. Parker set a stern example through her terse missives. Lucretia could hear the sniff in her words, the distaste of East Coast debutantes living off stolen largesse and western gold. Still, she came. Dressed in muted poplin, traveling days by train across the breadth of a dazzling country, Lucretia left her unexciting past behind.

Erect carriage, she stared into the distant future as Mrs. Parker perused her as carefully as any prized range horse. More so, because a horse could be put down, a woman of loose morals was more destructive than any ravening locust horde. Passing inspection, Lucretia lifted her satchel, porter behind with the rest of her worldly goods and followed in the tremendous wake of Mrs. Parker. Hats tipped, heads bowed, she parted the dusty and dung smeared street as if brandishing a cannon. Determined not to be cowed, Lucretia was nonetheless impressed by the display of personal power rivaling any Astor. Juniper Falls may have been small by eastern standards, but it was run not by the drunk sheriff or corrupt mine owners, but by a woman of a certain age with unsmiling countenance. In her letter home that night to her younger sister, Lucretia was hard pressed to explain the atmosphere in the town. The best she could say was:

‘It, the town sweet Margaret, seems placid and serene. Not bustling as New York, yet, an air of smugness all emanating from a short female form. No gentle sex I fear from Mrs. Parker. She wields a stern hand I am told, perhaps, dare I say, even harder than dear Papa. In closing my beloved, I have chosen to stay and face the future unafraid of my place, though it may be over a knee. You may write me at this address. Mrs. Parker is providing room and board in her mansion until I marry. Nothing on 5th Avenue I’m afraid, but passable. I am to meet the gentleman on the morrow so must now retire. Yours, Lucretia’

With the sun, the house too rose. Lucretia was prompt for breakfast. The food was welcome after the long journey: the company marginally less so. Not for Mrs. Parker a mixed table. Only the finest ladies were ensconced in her home. The oldest was a dowager visiting from San Francisco with the youngest being her niece barely out of finishing school. A blue stocking would have felt right at home except… there was a sense of mystery, of hidden vices lurking behind the facade of propriety. Lucretia was polite when spoken to and kept her replies and curiosity firmly in check. Finishing her meal, requesting to be excused, she retired above stairs to complete her toilette and met Mrs. Parker in the parlor precisely at eight. She refrained from flinching when the taskmaster ran a clothes sweeper over her plain dress. Satisfied at last, she sallied forth, Lucretia bobbing dutifully one step behind.

High collar, purple cravat, and diamond stickpin did not catch her attention so much as the wide leather belt wrapped round his trim waist in deference to Western ideals. Mrs. Parker introduced them, until now, Lucretia had not known the name of her suitor. She curtsied to Mr. Mallory and he curtly bowed his head in response. The conversation was brief and fairly one-sided as, watched keenly by their chaperone, he dictated Sunday’s schedule at the Methodist church three days hence, Lucretia limiting her responses to ‘yes sir’ and thank you’. As she rose to take her leave with Mrs. Parker, he courteously gestured for Lucretia to open an oak tallboy. Inside the door were a variety of straps and paddles hanging from gleaming brass hooks. As she fondled the heavy oiled and polished objects de correction, she barely heard his admonishment that her behavior would be monitored closely and subjected to regular discipline should she fail to meet his expectations. She blushed and demurely replied, as sudden heat arose in her nether regions, she’d do her best to please him. He roughly cleared his throat, the cravat suddenly as tight as his trousers as he gruffly instructed her to select a tool for her exclusive use. It was, he explained, her bridal gift and likely to see daily rigorous use. She was instructed to have it modified with an engraved silver plaque, her name in copperplate script, to be exchanged at the altar for his ring.

He raised her hand to his lips saying he had high standards for a wife and woe betide she who fell short. Far from being cowed, Lucretia boldly met his dark eyes as she curtsied deeply, tipping her bosom forward stating she was not some Eastern shrinking violet who shirked at hard work and harder discipline. Well read, less so in the amorous arts, Lucretia was not completely naive, yet no man had ever so dominated her emotions and mind as Mr. Mallory. She’d been informed in stark terms the fate of the late Mrs. Mallory and whatever gossip existed in Juniper Falls was yet to be revealed to her tender ears. Under Mrs. Parker’s stern visage, Lucretia calmly passed the thick leather strap to the hulking blacksmith. As they watched, he pressed copper rivets through a rectangular silver plate across the breadth of the implement. Receiving it back with strict decorum, she cradled the strap tenderly as an infant and stately followed in Mrs. Parker’s formidable wake to the jeweler, where the leather was reverently delivered for engraving.

Lucretia ignored the many curious stares and by evening Juniper Falls was buzzing with the news that a new Mrs. Mallory was to be married that Sunday after services. Many pitied her, had she known, Lucretia would have laughed until her stomach hurt. As the house settled for the evening, windows opened to the rapidly cooling dessert air she could hear steady slapping and Mrs. Parker’s scolding tones as she sternly chastised her pleading niece. Lucretia expanded her lungs deeply, her white night wrap billowing in the freshening breeze and gave grateful thanks for her deliverance from a spinster’s fate. Juniper Springs was truly a magical place and Sunday couldn’t come soon enough.



Up up and away spanking

Monthly prompt for Friday Flash #7 ‘Wonder Wheel’ based on this picture for writing flash fiction.

“Let me rub your tummy.”

“It hurts!”

“Didn’t Daddy tell you not to eat that corn dog?”

“But it looked so good!”

“I’m sure it did, but after the cotton candy and fried dough and tempura veggies you know my little girl gets a rumbly tumbly.”

Caroline pouted and stomped her foot. “I wanted to ride the Wonder Wheel!”

Jim sighed at his thirty-five year old wife’s childish antics. Every time they went to the fair Caroline reverted to a petulant brat stuffing her face and then whining the rest of the night. Luckily for him, not so much for her, their DD/lg marriage was tailor made for situations like this.

If, strolling the Midway with your main squeeze during that sultry summer night, you cast your gaze up, up and away, you might have caught a glimpse of a distraught crying face in the window of the uppermost car. And maybe, over the raucous organ music and excited shrieking, you might have heard a rhythmic slapping of a hard hand on a bare bottom and abject sobbing as Daddy taught Little Caroline a valuable dietary lesson one spank at a time.



Whipping my Spanking Novel into shape

Well, here goes nothing!

I’m not very good at socializing or trusting, so this is a very big step for me to ask for assistance and throw my hopes and dreams out into the world.

Some background first.

Back in 2009 I started Lurv Spanking as an anonymous outlet to write stories and commentary about spanking, specifically the psychology ‘behind’ the reasons so many people like spanking. I mentioned spanking on my real-name blog that I started in 2006 from time to time and discovered many, if not a majority, of my readers were fellow spankos. None of the other six blogs I was curating in 2009 fit the precise requirements so Lurv Spanking was born.

In late 2006 I wrote a short story and emailed it to a blogging friend. She read it and immediately wrote back saying I had to turn the story into a full-length novel. I posted that first chapter on my real-name blog, then several more until all my readers told me to take it down and write the novel. I did so, mostly at work, and in 2007 self-published my novel under my real name. Back then, it was called vanity publishing and the many epublishers and media platforms did not yet exist. It didn’t sell because I didn’t bother promoting it except on my blogs and I had given a free copy to all my most loyal readers. Then in Sept. 2009, I wrote a short story here on Lurv Spanking and again the same thing happened. Readers told me to take it down and write a novel. So I did, pecking away at it for a year and writing 60,000 words.

Then, the hard drive crashed… twice and we had to buy a replacement computer. I had neglected to back up the Word doc and it was gone. Luckily… I was in the habit of printing out each page as it was finished, so I had a hard copy at least. By 2012 I was done with blogging. My main blog was getting up to 200 spam comments a day and I was tired of writing. I walked away from all seven blogs and didn’t come back until the month of July, 2016. My manuscript was dusty and the thickness was intimidating. But I remembered in the forward to The Lord of The Rings, J.R.R Tolkien describing how it took 13 years to finish the manuscript and then having to type and re-type it all over again when it was done. I’m not in his class of writer – few are – but I can type if I have the time and inclination.

Starting over.

So on June 29, 2016 I wrote a completely new prologue to my spanking novel and then started, page by page to reenter every word I’d written over six years ago. [I wasn’t able to scan with OCR software – I tried several – because our computer OS is too old] I finished July 29, 2016 with a total of 70,000 words adding 10,000 new words and changing the entire novel from 1st person past and present, to 3rd person past and 1st person present. As of now, I have to write at least another 40,000 words to complete the novel, all new plots and scenarios. This time I have a copy here on this blog, a Word doc on my computer, a hard copy and a flash drive backup. The characters are still mulling over how they want the novel to end. They have a fairly detailed outline blocked out but nothing is solid yet. That’s the problem sometimes when you want to write one way and the character(s) come back and say ‘Spanking without any sex? Ever? I don’t think so. This is what you’re going to write.’

Below is a trial synopsis for a potential back cover – presuming of course it ever is printed – based on the arc of the story lines. I had not intended to write an erotic spanking novel at all, only spanking but as above the characters wanted to have sex and who was I to say no. My style of writing is to slowly introduce characters one by one by using mostly dialog rather than internal monologue. In fact, in the prologue no names are used and Kitten’s name is not revealed until chapter two, the title character’s name until midway of chapter two and the third female character until chapter four. I also switch back and forth between past and present as DJ is relating the story to his wife. One of the interesting things about observation is that no two people remember the same event the same way. I’ve tried to capture this by having all the characters knowing something about everybody, but nobody knowing everything about anybody and mostly what they think they know is incorrect. The only one who knows everything is the reader but even then, there are many secrets not revealed until the very end.

Still writing and hope to be done by the end of the month.

This however is not a typical story. Here on this blog I try to write happy spanking stories where all the characters are having fun and being silly at times. My novels explore the darkness and are painful for me to write. They touch on all sorts of triggers for both me and my readers. Sometimes I get so angry at what my characters are going through I want to punch the screen. Other times my eyes are so filled with tears of joy I can’t see. I’ve been denying myself for years the fact that I have to write. I sit at the keyboard and they start narrating their lives to me. My characters want to live. They want to be remembered and celebrated. They want you to know that when you read their story, you will cry, laugh, scream, be aroused and be sad but will never be comfortable.

DJ used to be a college bad boy running with a pack of affluenza hellions reveling in a hedonistic lifestyle of sex, spanking and bondage with willing victims. After earning a Master’s degree he meets the love of his life and is happily married in a burgeoning D/s relationship and Dominant to Kitten when it all starts to fall apart. Very curious to know more about his past submissive conquests as she’s still trying to decide how much dominance she desires, Kitten awakens the monster DJ thought he had suppressed for good. As he takes her submission deeper and deeper into the lifestyle of BDSM the punishments and explicit sexual training become more severe as devastating secrets are revealed from his past. The narrative unfolds simultaneously five years apart with DJ as the protagonist in both timelines and then the past and present collide when he comes face-to-face with the women he thought he’d ruined and lost forever. Will they forgive him or have they come seeking revenge? Will Kitten continue to roll over and submit or will her claws come out? Starring three strong women and one sadistic man, Breaking Grace is a lyrical and powerful erotic novel exploring many aspects of BDSM and LGBT while acknowledging both the devastation of past abuse and the power of faith and redemption within a D/s relationship between survivors. The reader’s beliefs and expectations will be challenged at every turn of the page.

So having written all this, I would like some advice from my current readership. Number one is I am seeking a beta reader(s) who would be willing to proofread the manuscript in several ways. I do not have anyone in real life who I can ask to be a beta reader.

1. Grammar and styling.
2. Continuity.
3. Genuineness of sex and punishment scenes.
4. Story flow in terms of readability.
5. Character development.
6. Overall plot believability.

I would also greatly appreciate feedback from published authors about the platforms they currently use and which ones to avoid although I’ve checked several and they don’t fit with the scope of this novel since this a male narrator and set in present day. Not to mention, the story doesn’t fit any one genre but bounces through many archetypes. On the other hand, I love this novel and am very proud of my efforts. If you would like to offer assistance then please contact me at my email address, and I will get back to you. I can’t offer any compensation except my grateful thanks for your readership and reciprocal beta reading.


The Silent Treatment gets spanked

Cross posted to ‘New Beginnings’ on 7/29/16 Thanks PK so if you’ve already read the post you can wait until the next post. On her blog she filled in the names.

This is a fill in the blank story. The names of the guilty you can select and punish.


Husband #1. “Dude! What’s wrong with your wife?”
Husband #2. “She’s giving me the silent treatment. Who knows.”
Husband #3. “Wouldn’t happen in my house.”
Husband #4. “Why not?”
Husbands #1,#3. “Because our wives would be over our knees for a long hard spanking until they started talking. That’s why!”
Husbands #2,#4. “WTF?”

___ was getting fed up with ___ and her silent treatment. He had no idea what set her off this time only that she hadn’t exchanged more than ‘I’m fine’ and ‘I have a headache’ all weekend. Hanging out with the guys watching sports on Sunday was an ordeal when ___ asked him what was wrong with her? That time of the month was greeted with sighs and snickers. [Not the chocolate bar-men being assholes] ___ overheard their derision and stormed out of the house with mayhem on her mind. She went next door to ___ house and vented over margaritas. ___ noticed ___ was squirming every time she sat down. Are you OK? Not that time of the month is it? [sarcastic tipsy] No, ___ spanked me this morning for back talk. WTF? ___ spanks you? Yes for cursing, speeding, overspending, overeating, being drunk… all sorts of things. Rarely a day goes past without my panties down and my bottom reddened. I can’t believe this! I’m not the only one, ___ and ___ and ___ also get spanked. Don’t you? ___ would never spank me! Is that a good thing? You just told me you’re giving him the silent treatment. In my house, that calls for the paddle and a long blowjob to atone. Doesn’t that make you feel degraded? ___ honey the only thing that makes me feel degraded is when ___ doesn’t spank me for something I did wrong. Being ignored hurts way more than a session with the cane. I don’t know if I could let ___ spank me, it seems so medieval and uncaring. No ___ you’re wrong, being spanked is empowering, it shows me that ___ cares about me as a person and wants me to succeed in my goals. Spanking allows me to be a better wife, a better mother and a better person.

___ went home after dark. ___ had come over to ___ house and the three of them had discussed children, work and spanking husbands. [husbands spanking wives- not spanking husbands- oh never mind] ___ was waiting for her alone, the guys having given him some rather explicit advice. Could he do it? Could he be a superhero to his wife? Spankoman! ___ was tired and confused and brushed past him wanting to take a shower. When she finished, she curled up in bed and cried. ___ tiptoed into the bedroom listening to her venting her frustration. Behind his back he hid the implement. Standing over her back he raised it up and swung down. A soft thunk as the down pillow thudded against her bottom. What are you doing? He swung again hitting her torso with a pop. What does it look like? I’m having a one-sided pillow fight. ___ grabbed a pillow and rose to her knees, her nude body still damp from the shower. She swung her pillow and hit his legs. Back and forth they went until she fell back laughing and gasping for breath. ___ sat down on the bed, leaned over and kissed her. Welcome back, are you going to talk to me now? She apologized for her behavior and he accepted. You’re still dressed and her hands went to his belt buckle. That’s because I’m not finished with you yet. What are you going to do to me? ___ you know I love you but your treatment of me is unacceptable at times. There is only one way for me express my dissatisfaction and that is to put you over my knee and spank you for your silent treatment.

___ looked at ___ with wide eyes and did not resist when he drew her up and over his lap. Her unblemished beautiful bounteous bare bottom beckoned for a beating. This is for not speaking with me as his hand rose and fell. This is for running away and drinking all afternoon as her bottom turned pink. This is for cursing when you don’t think I hear as she begged him to stop. And this is for believing I’m a selfish bastard who doesn’t care enough about your well-being that I wouldn’t spank you as he turned her bottom a lovely shade of red. He rubbed and prodded as she wept out the last of her tension and fears. Still over his knees, ___ used his fingers inside her weeping core and thrummed her aching clit until she came begging him not to stop. So ___ did not stop, but threw ___ on her back and licked deep inside as she convulsed again and again. When ___ opened her eyes, she saw ___ was still dressed. He told her she was not done with her punishment. Kneel. She knelt and unbuckled his belt, lowered the zipper and reached inside pulling out the concealed treasure. It was at that stage of rock hard firmness and throbbing hot as she wrapped her hands around the shaft. Clear sweet liquid oozed from the round tip gleaming in the light. Before ___ could open her mouth and begin her discipline, ___ informed her that spankings would be forthcoming whenever she earned them. Do you agree ___?

___ looked up at her husband. My mother told me it was rude to talk with my mouth full.



Jousting for the Golden Paddle and the hand of the fair Princess

A spanking fairy tale poem. I am the original author written and posted elsewhere 7/31/08

“The Princess and the Paddle”

the banners waved all over town
proclaiming the duel about to go down
dressed in their finest with nary a frown
all shoved and hit to see her fine gown
in truth none really cared
it was the knights who dared
and if they weren’t prepared
to be snared
oh well, they still stared
to see such virile hunks of men
riding by again and again
jousting and prancing
many a matron thought of dancing
comparing her spouse
who frankly was a mouse
in bed
lust in her head
bulging thighs
what splendid guys
soft cries
deep sighs
if only we had what the princess will get
a strong, faithful, fairly tasty bit
ours ain’t worth spit
we’ll admit
but don’t ask and don’t tell
he never makes me yell
just yawn
look at that brawn
mine’s all bluster
my what luster
when he’s done he snores
off to my chores
face it ladies, we married bores
loud cheers there’s a winner
if only we were thinner
look at the prize he’s claiming
that’s something needs taming
a paddle made of gold
to have and to hold
my he’s so cold
a blush to behold
if later from the tower
within her royal bower
from a window not shut
hear loud smacks on bare butt
then a mighty shriek
do not cheat and peek
it’s not what you think
all quivering and pink
for the knights who were bold
had never been told
that the Golden Paddle
and the lap to straddle
was not theirs, no indeed
not to mislead
or allow him to plead
but the Princess had a need
to do the deed
with all due speed
to proceed
and thrash
not bash
or slash
but spank that tight ass
it’s not made of glass
so she’ll make it last
until it’s bright red
and his legs nice and spread
then we’ll be wed
and you may plow me instead
make sure I’m bred
what say you fine knight can you think ahead
down came his britches
my, what riches
off with his shirt
oh my, you I want to hurt
good thing I’m a pervert
naked he stood
this will be good
do you agree
to lay over my knee
and be spanked by your bride
can you give up your pride
the knight gave a bow
said this I do allow
for now
for I vow
although I am brave
and promise to behave
to be your willing slave
I too crave
the crack of the paddle
lying over a saddle
I’ll turn the tables
over in the stables
alone together
scent of leather
bent over my knee
for pleasure you’ll plea
it’s the crop I decree
thus she was gushing
and without rushing
gave the first spanking of many
both received plenty
and they lived happily ever after.

A long overdue birthday spanking

“This is so romantic darling. Just you and I, alone, together, by ourselves, all is quiet…”

“Except for the bug zapper.”

“The stars shining brightly.”

“Washed out by streetlight’s glare.”

“The moon rising over the horizon.”

“That’s the ball field.”

“The gentle songs of nature going to bed.”

“The roar of the highway.”

“What is wrong with you!? I’ve got your favorite wine, the pastries and the fresh fruit. We’re on the porch swing, it’s warm and the kids are at your parents for the weekend. I gave you new lingerie, an iPhone and a gift certificate to the spa. What else can I do?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

The heavy Tennessee air lay on my skin like a lover. July 4th weekend, her birthday and instead of kissing and fondling leading to hot sex, there were salty tears. She’d given me children, passion, meals and she was the center of my heart. I’d given her love, a safe home and security. After fifteen years together I thought I knew everything about her. But these tears, this distress, this, I did not understand.

“Understand what?”

She swiped her eyes and stared blankly out into the night.


I listened. The sounds of the neighborhood: barking dogs, music, car doors slamming, teens splashing pool water, arguments, television and fireworks. All normal sounds barely noticed.

“I don’t hear anything abnormal.”

“There is something missing.”


“It’s my birthday. There is something missing.”

“You want me to sing happy birthday?”


“What’s missing then? I don’t understand.”

She smiled sadly at me and gently touched my face.

“There’s no sounds of spanking my love. There should be sounds of spankings on my birthday.”

My mouth dropped open in shock. My wife, my beautiful wife, mother of our children, school volunteer, part-time bank teller was telling me… she wanted a spanking?

“I’ve never even thought. I mean we have a great sex life. I never even thought…”

“I know.”

“How long?”


“Why didn’t you?”

She put her finger over my lips and gently shook her head.

“I couldn’t… before.”

We sat together quietly in the gathering darkness, fireflies flashing, frogs croaking and never, ever, had I felt so distant. Before? Before what? My thoughts tumbled like puppies. She wanted a spanking. She wanted a birthday spanking!

“Is that what you really want for your birthday?”

I felt her nod against my shoulder.

“All right. Let’s go inside.”

I stared at her ass as she walked up the stairs. The thought of spanking it seemed so surreal. She asked me wait on the bed while she changed. When she returned from the bathroom, she was dressed in my gift, a long red silk gown slit up the side. In her hand, a wooden short-handled bath brush. In her eyes, a plea for understanding and compassion and mercy. I rose to meet her, my lips crushing hers, my hands capturing her rounded bottom and squeezing tightly with passionate possession. This woman, my wife, was mine and having come this far, I refused to disappoint her.

“How do you want me to do this?”

“I thought… bending over the bed… maybe?”

“Not over my knee?”

“Well… that way… after… you can take me. Anyway you want.”

I took the brush. She bent over, raised her gown, and laid down on the duvet. Her bottom, widened with childbirth, was all womanly curves; funny how I’d never thought of spanking before, but now, spread out before me like a pagan sacrifice, I could think of nothing else but the need to punish.

“I know you want this darling, but how hard do y…”

“Hard please. Thirty six hard spanks. Ooohhhh!”

I smacked the bath brush down onto her bare bottom, the impact rippling, the noise shockingly loud. One, two, three… ten, eleven.

“Slower please! Slower. Let me catch my breath.”

I slowly gave her another ten spanks, alternating between cheeks. I stopped to rub the back of the brush across her pink flesh. I was enthralled by the contrast in colors. I wondered if I should spank all over or concentrate in the same area. So I asked.

“Only fifteen left? Then I want the next ten in my sit spots, five per side. Then, give me the last five where my butt meets my thighs. And honey? I want those last five super hard and super fast.”

Methodically I spanked her over and over again, pink getting darker and darker. I paused and asked her to raise her bottom up high for the last five.

“You asked for it.”

I drew my arm back and fired the brush, one, two, three, four, five right at the base of her untouched bottom. It was over before she could even yell. But yell she did and lunged forward onto the bed, her hands flying back to grab her flaming flesh. I lunged forward as well, pants dropped, hands gripped hips, I rammed deep; the need to dominate, to punish, to take her for my pleasure alone, this would definitely not be her last spanking. I spilled convulsively into her clinging depths and slumped over her back. The silk was cool, her bottom was hot and I softly licked her salty neck.

“Happy birthday.”