Hey guys,
Ok ok. I've been gone for some time... Actually I am working on two stories and neither are coming alive too fast. :) Sorry about that.
However, I have this little treat for you, thanks to someone called MovieSpank. :)
Enjoy!
Why hello there happy folks!
Yes, I know I have been gone for about 3 months... which was not my fault. I am not saying that because I am a brat and because, generally speaking, nothing is my fault; it's not my fault because the fucked up cable company was unable, during all this time, to give me the Internet service I signed the contract for. So I am on wireless, still waiting for the mother fuckers to do something about my connection.
Anyway, as you can imagine, I cannot write from work. Even if I could, I wouldn't.
Also, this week I will be more than busy with work and then I will go on vacation. And by the time I am back things should be fine.
I am writing something - as a matter of fact, I started that story some good time ago and I lost interest in finishing it, but even so, I will. And then I will focus on something else.
Thanks to everyone who commented on my stories - and not only. And I apologies for not getting back to them. :) But I will see you around.
:)
~Kay
Hello again... tonight.
I don't usually post two stories in a row, but I've been thinking about this one lately. It was written more than seven years ago for A.S.S. It's not my best, but it gives me a feeling which no other story of mine does. Maybe because it was based on real events, which have happened to me and Jack. Maybe because back then I cared less about style and more about mood. Maybe because, being about us, it is more personal to me. And most probably because I love the thrills I still get when I read it.
It focuses on anticipation - still my favorite part of a story. I have editted it - just a bit, but here it is. You can still find the txt format in which in was originally written. Hope you enjoy it.
Here is another M/F story for you. And an Alex (M/m) story is in the 'setting the plot' stage right now.
Morgan and Adam:
EL NINO
Copyright: Kayley Blue
Shivering with cold and fear, Morgan had walked two blocks from El Nino, only to realize that she could not find a safe ride home at 3 in the morning. She didn’t dare look behind to see if anybody was following her, but with each step she took her fear grew bigger and bigger, transforming into panic. Following the main avenue to be safe from muggers was not a solution, as she had thought; There were gangs piling up at the corners of the buildings, gangs that whistled after her and proposed nasty things to her, just because she was a woman.
The only smart answer to her troubles, answer which she had arrogantly dismissed five minutes ago, was to call Adam. But exposing a Nokia N96 edition in this neighborhood was as close to getting mugged as one could get. Yet she had no choice. So she prayed and she dialed.
And Adam picked up at the first ring.
“Where the heck are you? I called you five times already.” Pissed and worried he sounded and he had every right to be.
“Forget that now,” she said. “I need you to get me out of here.” She stopped under the yellow light of a street lamp, surveying the road for any suspicious behavior. She was so tensed, she run over and over in her mind a self-defense move in case someone would suddenly materialize with a knife behind her.
She heard Adam suddenly stand up from his couch, and she imagined him already picking out his jeans and trying to put them on with only one free hand.
“Where are you?” – he asked, his voice coming cut as he performed an accelerated ritual of getting dressed.
“I don’t know.”
The commotion at the other end of the line ceased.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? From where am I supposed to pick you up then?”
“I don’t know! I was in El Nino and I started walking home because I was scared to take a cab. I figured I could get out of the neighborhood fast. I can’t.”
“Where is Amanda?”
“They left around one.”
“No police car around to help you get somewhere safe?”
“Haven’t seen any, no. I don’t know what to do…”
“For how long have you been walking?”
“Five minutes…”
“Turn around and go wait for me in front of the club. Is your cell phone charged? You have enough battery to talk until you get there?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t hang up. Talk to me. If anything suspicious happens, run. But run towards the club and wait for me there, around people. You got that?”
“Yes.”
She heard him grab the keys of the car then the entrance door was slammed shut. She began walking back, her eyes inspecting each hidden corner in her path.
“Adam, I am so scared.”
“It’s gonna be fine. I’m in the car now. I’ll put you on hands-free.” There was a small interruption then his voice came through the microphone, mixed with the purr of the car’s engine. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Maybe I should run. I’m really scared.”
“Then run.”
Adam had warned her other times: she had no business being in this place. She knew that. Cigarette in her hand and sitting on the curb of the sidewalk, she looked like she had no worry in this world. There were still groups of young people in front of the club, getting ready to leave. But they had come by cars – like Amanda, Jen, and her. The difference was that she was left without a ride. And when had Adam called, she didn’t answer, so he wouldn’t offer to come pick her up; so he wouldn’t know she had lied to him. And look at the irony of things: now she needed him. She inhaled another doze of smoke. The alcohol was still in her veins, but mostly in her head.
“Let’s go,” a voice startled her and she saw Adam standing tall besides her, car keys in his hand.
“I didn’t see you coming,” she said, slowly picking herself up and taking a last puff from her cigarette. She felt Adam’s eyes examining her face.
“You’re drunk.”
“Dizzy,” she corrected. “I sobered up after this experience.”
He didn’t reply, just began walking back to the car. She slid in the Ford next to him, without a word, and fastened her seat belt. The headlights were on, then the engine started, and in the familiar tangerine scent of the air sanitizer, Morgan began to relax.
Adam rolled up his shirt’s sleeves – the one he wore at work today and gave her a tired look. His ruffled hair ran into his dark eyes. “What the heck was all this about?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, playing with her tongue the ring piercing her lower lip. “I didn’t know it would be dangerous.”
“If I hadn’t told you a million times…”
“But I didn’t know!”
“The idea was that you weren’t supposed to find out. You were supposed to trust me when I told you it wasn’t safe.”
Morgan shrugged. “Now I know.”
“And you lied to me.”
“I had to. You wouldn’t let me go if you knew where I was going.”
“Of course I wouldn’t! I’ve been trying to reach you on the cell phone since twelve. You didn’t even bother to answer.”
Morgan sighed and sunk into her seat.
“I already said I was sorry. I was having a good time, right?”
“And I was dead worried at home.”
“You didn’t have to be.”
“It seems like I had my reasons to be. Obviously you cannot be trusted.”
“That’s crap.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow morning, Morgan, when you’re awake, don’t worry.”
The line seemed to cut her nagging mood. She stared stubbornly at the silent neighborhood as they stopped at the red light. They had reached
“What do you mean,” she asked, without turning to look at him.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Maybe I don’t…” – she mumbled quietly.
It had started to rain. Big heavy drops splashed on the wind screen. Adam operated the wipers. She followed their hypnotic move as they gathered rivulets of rain in small ponds at the bottom of the windscreen.
Adam turned on the mp3 player and the car was filled with the heavy Japanese rock of the CD she had played in the car two days ago, on her way to work. The light turned green again, and he accelerated again into the dark.
“I mean you’re gonna get the spanking of your life for this,” he said suddenly, bringing the car into the fourth gear.
“That’s crap,” and as she said that she wondered why she hadn’t kept quiet.
The car suddenly halted. She tried to vanish in her seat. He wasn’t supposed to react like that – after all, she had only fed him a conversational line. It wasn’t a big deal. Adam’s raised eyebrows and his stern serious eyes fixed on her profile were telling though a different story.
“Care to repeat that, please?” – he invited.
She shook her head “no”.
“Do you think that after tonight I would have any trouble pulling you out of the car and spanking you? You think that just because you are in the middle of the street and not at home, you are invulnerable?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ll probably be sorry sooner than you can imagine. Since you’re already up and with an attitude, we might as well stay up till morning and deal with it when we get home.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but he shushed her. “I don’t want to hear another word. I’ve heard enough already,” he said, turning back to his driving.
The narrow street they were speeding on opened to an avenue again. The red McDonalds drive-in sign met her eyes - a spot of color between the dark buildings - a reminder that her lips were dry and she was thirsty. She sighed. If only they could stop by for a double cheeseburger and an extra large bag of potato wedges and a monstrous Cola Light. A quick look in his direction told her that bringing up the subject was a dangerous idea. Besides, they were almost home, and Adam seemed to get more determined and more awake as they got closer. She knew the whole story was eating him inside and that silence was her enemy. But saying something wrong might tick him off more.
“Such recklessness,” he finally said, unable to cope with the silence around him and the mad voices in his head. “You do many stupid things but this beats them all.”
“It was Amanda’s fault. She said it wasn’t dangerous.”
“Is she responsible for you or am I responsible for you, Morgan?”
“I am responsible for me.”
“No, you are not. You are reckless, just like I said. I don’t know in which reality you have moved lately, but I’ll bring you back to earth. And that’s a promise I intend to keep.”
“Adam…”
“Get out of the car,” he said, as he parked the Ford Focus in front of their house.
She knew that tone. She felt sick.
“Please… I already said I was sorry…”
“Out of the car, Morgan. Now.”
She hid deeper in her seat. He got out, went around the car, and opened her door. He leaned over her and unfastened her seat belt.
“Adam, this is not fair …”
His fingers wrapped around her arm and pulled her out. His right hand landed noisily on her Levi’s.
“Don’t, please…”
“You don’t argue with me, you hear me? You do as you’re told. I had enough of this attitude.” He planted a few more meaningful swats on her butt and sent her towards the door with an extra one, to get her thinking.
As she waited for him in front of the locked door, watching him lock the car and search for the house keys, millions of excuses run through her head. And she pushed them away, one by one, as none would help her tonight. Only God could, and God didn’t care if her butt would be purple by morning.
Pushing the door open, he nudged her in. Unlike other times, she bent down to unlace her sneakers, to steal some time. Behind her, Adam kicked off his own shoes, threw the car keys on the glass coffee table, and went upstairs, taking two stairs at a time.
Morgan watched him until his silhouette disappeared behind the corner upstairs, then, thirst being stronger than the creepy paralyzing feeling in her legs, she went for a bottle of water from the fridge. She couldn’t think straight. And all she wanted right now was to collapse on the bed, couch, or even floor, and sleep. She could sleep till tomorrow evening without budging in her sleep – she knew she could.
The bubbly water refreshed her mouth and senses.
She heard Adam’s giant footsteps, fast, furious, covering the distance from upstairs to the living room in less than three seconds. Then, again, he was behind her, and his iron grip was on her arm as he twisted her around. Gracefully, he took the empty bottle from her hand, placed it on the counter, and forced her torso onto the white kitchen table.
She caught the glimpse of the wooden hairbrush and her voice cracked.
“Not the hairbrush. I hate the hairbrush… Pleaseee…”
His hands reached in front of her, unbuttoned her low-cut jeans and pulled them to her knees, with an artful move. The underwear joined them.
She tried to move, but his palm, firmly pressed on her back, glued her cheek to the table.
“Keep your hands flat on the table, Morgan,” he warned, when she tried to reach back to cover her butt.
“Adam-“
“This is the last time you lie to me,” he said. The hairbrush landed noisily. The pain was abrupt, concentrated in one spot. Then it began spreading, helped by another hard swat on the other cheek.
“El Nino?” Three cracks; three howls of pain. He stopped to lecture, watching a multitude of expressions dance on her face. “You ignore my warnings and go to the most dangerous neighborhood. You refuse the ride home when Amanda leaves and you don’t answer my calls. Are you trying to kill yourself?”
“No.”
The hairbrush came down again, turning her white skin to red.
“I just want to know what the heck goes through your mind when you act like this?”
More hard swats and no chance to articulate words, only vocalize pain. Her knuckles turned as white as the edge of the table when she gripped it.
“What do you do from now on when I tell you not to go somewhere, Morgan?”
“I don’t go,” the prompt answer came from behind gritted teeth.
“Damn straight you don’t.”
He went on assaulting her cheeks until she dissolved into tears and her apologies lost coherence.
“Stand up,” he said, removing his hand from her back. She pushed herself up gingerly, legs frozen from the uncomfortable position, butt burning with searing pain.
“Do I have to do this again, Morgan? Because if I have to, this will seem like a walk in the park compared to next time.”
She choked a “no”, and reached out for him. She had gotten over the shock of pain and was acknowledging the aftershock of the panic attack she’d experienced tonight. He wrapped his arms around her.
“Don’t do this to me again, you hear me? Ever. Do you know how scared I was? How would you feel if it was I the one doing this to you?”
“I’m sorry. I swear it won’t happen again. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Let’s get you washed and let’s go to bed.”
She stepped back, allowing him to pull up her panties and jeans.
“I was so scared,” she went on sobbing hard, unable to stop herself.
“I know, sweety. But it’s ok now.”
He stood up again, and hugged her head to his chest. “You’re safe now. It’s ok.”
The daylights were already breaking outside when she could finally stop her sobbing.
I was reading, on Haron's and Abel's blog, about "Electric Paddles". After quoting from a vanilla blog, Haron says "by Naomi, to whom I don’t link to avoid freaking her out".
And she is right. I can't stop giggling at how sick we spankos are.
Sometimes, I get tired of reading spankings told from a spanko perspective and I search the blogs for vanilla stories. It's interesting to note that while Juju - like many other spankos - are still tormented by feelings of anger and frustration when recalling childhood spankings, the vanillas barely remember them. I even remember an occasional swat and feel embarassed by it! Does it have to do with our spanko minds? It has to. In all the occasional conversations I had with vanillas about spankings received while they were kids I've never seen a glimpse of remorse or hard feelings. The other day, one of my friends was telling us that he was getting spanked probably once every 24 hours for being naughty. And he could laugh about it. And when he said that, the whole group joined in telling stories of their spankings - except for me. I'm not vanilla.
I also remember, in my childhood, that one of my cousins was getting it regularly and good. He had no trouble speaking of it and even giving me details. I was freaked out.
I am beginning to believe that spanking is a great deal to us, adults, who have some kind of spanking fetish. The rest of people - they don't give a shit anymore and everything looks normal and forgotten.
Right now I can listen to feedback and ideas - as in, I might be in the mood to think of something, and maybe start writing in 2-3 weeks or so.
I added a poll on the right side of this window and I invite you to vote. Let me know what you want to see next. If you haven't read any of my stories, then there is no point in voting, really.
Thanks for your help!
For a more detailed feedback, you can send me an email.
THE RIDE
Tonight
Morgan hated hot evenings in May. For some reason she could never understand why her body reacted so treacherously to the unexpected heat. The stomach ache had gotten her t-shirt smelly and perspired in less than thirty minutes. Maybe she was trying to hard to hide from Adam her biggest secret – but even so, in winter, for example, she rarely had stomach aches.
She locked the bathroom door, ran the cold tap water. Avoiding her own accusing gaze in the mirror, she began soaping her hands frantically, like a surgeon getting ready for an operation. What she had done was not stupid, but Adam wouldn’t agree - one solid reason why he should not find out. She paused to peek through her cut jeans at the wound on her knee: The blood had stopped flowing but the scratch was huge. So were the other scratches, but maybe, if she took two pills of vitamin C each morning and rubbed in that cream she had purchased, they would heal in a week. Careful not to injure herself further or cause more blood to surge, she peeled off her jeans, all the way to her ankles, stepped out of them and threw them in the pile of dirty clothes.
The scent of cologne dissolved into the air, sharpening her mind. She rubbed furiously the alcohol on her wounded knee, embracing the pain, watching mesmerized as the scratch marks reopened, allowing light colored blood to emerge again.
“If it hurts, it means it kills the microbes”, she repeated aloud the mantra. Hard, she pressed the compress against her leg, allowing the burn to numb the feeling in her knee. The wave of pain would wash away her anxiousness. With trembling hands, hooked on her pain and disinfecting obsession, she spilled more alcohol onto the other wounds. Pain was something she needed. It wasn’t a complete cure, but it was as good as any over-the-counter pill was for her wrecked nerves. It was soothing.
“Now, whatever you do this week, do not let him see the wounds. Do not let him see the wounds or else, girlie, you are in such big shit…” She stared at her own face in the mirror. “You are such an idiot,” she added, sighing.
She began wrapping the sterile compresses in a bag. The bag landed in the trash bin. The job was done.
Sitting on the toilet lid, her shaky fingers reached for the cigarette pack. The smoke poured into her lungs and the nicotine straight to her nerves, intoxicating. She could definitely hide this. Adam will never find out.
Friday Evening
“Do you want to go swimming tomorrow morning?”
On the couch, Adam had gathered her in his arms, while they were watching “Brainiac” on Discovery.
She shook her head. “I’m really tired. I’m not in the mood.”
“But you like swimming.”
“Usually. Not now though.”
He kissed her forehead and she smiled. His fingers began rubbing her tensed shoulders.
His eyes questioned her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why does anything have to be wrong? I’m just not in the mood and I know you are. Or else you wouldn’t rub.”
“You’re a bit unfair.”
She shrugged.
Hell, she was in the mood, but giving in now meant getting naked, and since two plus two make four, this would lead to her getting a spanking for those scratches. And probably not only for that...
“Let’s take a shower then. It will help you relax.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
He sighed, but gave up the subject.
Saturday Afternoon
Morgan glanced up. It is weird to wake up from your afternoon nap on the living room couch because you feel watched. The room had been all too quiet.
On the opposite chair, “The Last Continent” on his knees, Adam fixed her.
“Feeling better? Cold has passed?” – he asked, his eyes all of a sudden serious.
Lost between two foggy worlds, she nodded her head, but couldn’t suppress the feeling that something was wrong.
“Great,” he said, not a muscle contracting on his face. “Because you have some explaining to do.”
In her stomach, a ball of pain was growing again. She looked back at him, puzzled by this unexpected remark.
“Get up,” he added, placing the book on the coffee table. He stood up, pulling the quilt off her.
A glance down was enough for her to discover her stupidly exposed knee. She had managed to twist enough in her sleep to roll up her PJ’s until they had uncovered the bruised knee. Her look shifted uncontrolled to the forearm; she had performed the act of exposing the injuries twice.
She sat up gingerly. Her mouth was dry, her tongue was dry, her throat was drying.
“Up, Morgan, up!” Adam waited next to her. She could see his bare feet sinking into the red carpet.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she mumbled.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, allowing her to stand up. “Lift your arms,” he ordered.
“Adam, it’s just a scratch…”
He paused only to glare at her. His look made her scowl.
She lifted her arms and he pulled the sweatshirt over her head, revealing a couple of red and purple bruises on her arms and on her hip. She looked at them too, hoping - praying - that unexpected magic would have made them vanish.
Without a word, he grabbed the sides of her pajamas bottoms and pulled them to her ankles. The nastiest scratch was still there, on her knee. The blood crust has just formed, but her itchy fingers had already been at it, peeling it off.
“Care to explain?” – he looked up at her and stood up slowly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Her tongue played the ring on her pierced lip.
“I fell.” She swallowed the knot which wouldn’t go away.
He twisted her and smacked her thigh once. The fingerprints flushed red on her fair skin.
“Try again,” he invited, hands reaching for his buckle. She watched, shivers running down her spine and rooting her to the ground. Adam’s hands began sliding the belt out of the loops.
“Yes, Morgan? I’m listening.”
“It was… umm… I fell from a motorcycle.”
He could have expected anything, as in ‘anything bad’ - because if Morgan wants to hide something, it cannot be good. But the word ‘motorcycle’ managed to get his full attention.
“Motorcycle?”
“Yeah, Spencer got one and allowed us to ride it.”
“You rode a motorcycle? Without protection? Without knowing how to?”
“Well, he explained –“
“Morgan! You got on a motorcycle and rode it on your own?”
“I was just doing what everyone else did. And it’s not hard.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”
“How dangerous can it be?”
Confronting Adam and playing dumb had never been a smart move, unless you hoped to win a trip over his knee and get your ass spanked thoroughly. He stared at her, aware of her bluff.
His finger rose to point to the distant corner.
“Now, Morgan. Put your nose into that corner. When you have calmed down, you can come out.”
“I am calm. You might need some calming down, however.”
The next moment she was bent under Adam’s arm, getting to taste a few licks of the belt.
She cried.
He stopped.
“You might want to rephrase your last statement,” he suggested, not releasing his grip on her. He looked back at the mass of hair running down over her face.
“I’m sorry,” she offered with the tone of someone ready to say anything that was expected without wanting to lose face. So Adam took the words for what they were – a stubborn refusal to accept the guilt and to display remorse.
“And this is not even the spanking for your joyride,” Adam mused, continuing to smack her bottom hard. Her frantic legs managed to kick away the pajamas bottoms.
“I’m sorry,” she whined again, with more feeling.
Not fully convinced, he released her waist, placing her in front of him. If she was to look straight at him she would stare at his neck. She had to look up to see his eyes. He raised his eyebrows at her, expectantly: she walked towards the corner, as dignified as she could, given her situation.
Her senses opened. She closed her eyes, diving into darkness, listening intensely to all the small sounds she was no other time aware of. The furniture creaked, and she heard the sound of the belt being placed on the table. The next sound was of Adam picking up the book and sitting back into his chair. And then nothing, only her breathing, her own hard swallowing, or the engine of a distant car passing on the road. A few pages turned. And his voice, corrupting the silence, startled her:
“That’s enough. Come here.”
In her chest, the heart began thumping. She felt it even in her stomach. She stopped in front of him, inspecting the carpet.
“Let me see your arms.” It didn’t feel like an order, but she knew better than to say ‘no’.
She extended them sideways, in an attempt to hide a bigger crime. There was a slim chance that he would not see them, for the lighting was not that sharp in the room and the sun had already crossed the sky towards the western windows.
She only looked up because if he was to notice something, she wanted to witness the instant change on his features. Adam’s brows wrinkled and he stared at her forearm long enough to make her nervous; then, as if realization dawned on him, he grabbed her other forearm. Please tell me that I’m not seeing this, his face seemed to say. But once the shock wiped out his face, he looked up at her slowly.
“What are these?” – he asked, his patience hiding the storm.
She was on the edge. She took a safe dive. “Scratches from when I fell.” Such a good lie it could have fooled even herself. But evidence is evidence:
“Morgan, these are cuts.”
There was silence.
“They are?” Such a stupid reply. The right answer would have been - in a normal situation and with a clear head – ‘are you stupid, what do you mean cuts, you might want to have your eye-sight checked by a professional’. The question ‘They are’ might have been pronounced like a straight-out confession – it didn’t make a difference.
“When and why?”
“What do you mean?” Yes, this was more like it. Playing dumb might still save her butt. And save her the shame of confessing to what she has done.
“If you make me repeat one more time a question, Morgan, you will be in tears before I start spanking you for the motorcycle issue and for these,” he said, pointing at them. “Look at me.”
His eyes were not comforting.
“When did you do this and why? Does it have anything to do with your drastic change in appearance? I can tolerate that. But I will never allow you to hurt yourself.”
“What’s wrong with cutting yourself?”
“Why would you cut yourself?”
She raised her shoulders. Not in the mood to explain, it’s enough embarrassment for one day, she seemed to say.
“I was angry. I needed to calm down.”
“It looks like it was more than a 10 seconds punch in the wall…”
“Calming down took longer than that. I was so focused on the pain and not cutting too deep that it made me relax.” And then tending on her cuts. The burn of the alcohol. The view of the cuts turning from a white dash, to a red one. The swelling.
“You mean to tell me that you needed a spanking but instead of coming to ask for it you went for cutting yourself?”
“Is there a difference between you giving me what I need and me, taking it myself? From a psychological point of view?”
Adam shook his head, almost amused.
“Yes. On a deeper level it definitely is. If you want to talk psychology here, we will, and you know you would lose the battle because reason is on my side. Spanking keeps you organized and focused and is not done with a sharp… whatever this was.”
“It serves the same cause.”
He fixed her eyes and she met his gaze without blinking.
“I’ll show you the difference between the two right now, don’t worry.”
She couldn’t understand how he could move so fast from standing up, to having her over his knee, on the couch. The boy shorts she was wearing slid down, stopping the move of her legs.
“Next time you need a spanking,” he announced, his hand coming down rhythmically, “you ask for a spanking. You do not cut yourself or do other dumb stuff. You come and you ask, you hear me?”
She nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat.
“You need to talk about something, you talk. Is that clear for you?”
“Yes Sir.”
The spanking proceeded without further comments. Morgan stiffened her body, trying to control the pain. She wriggled, hoping that this one single time Adam would miss the sore spots. But instead, the smacks were piling up on her sit spot. The attempt to cover her butt failed when both her hands were brought to the small of her back; she was left with nothing to bite onto, nothing to put her face into to muffle her cries.
“Is the difference between self-mutilation and spanking obvious to you now?”
The nod was not what Adam wanted and he marked his unhappiness with sharper slaps on her thighs.
“Yes. Yes. It’s clear.”
“What happens next time you feel angry, frustrated, or in need for a punishment?”
“I ask for it.”
“Exactly. That is exactly what you will do, or else, when I get my hands on you, you won’t know what hit you.”
Her breathe quickened, and he felt the sobs shaking her back under his hand.
“Stand up,” he ordered, without giving her time to quiet down. “And get your ass back into the corner. Think about the difference between cutting yourself and spanking. And you can also think about the one hundred lines you will write for me tonight. Don’t look at me; look at the wall. Right.”
She couldn’t think about the difference now. She wouldn’t. If it had been the right choice she wouldn’t have wanted to hide it from Adam. The sobs became sparser. The sniffling went on, until Adam came to her with a paper towel, inviting her to blow her nose.
“I should have been more open to the signs you were giving. I should have spanked you in the first place, when you shouted at me last week. How many times have you done this before, without telling me?”
She didn’t answer. She opened her eyes to stare at the while wall.
“I haven’t done it in years. But remember that time we had your parents over and I got really mad? That’s when I started. I needed to relax.”
“I could have taken you for a walk to have a talk, if only you had told me.”
“I didn’t want you to know. I can handle things myself.”
“Hell, I can see that!” He didn’t care about hiding the sarcasm. She didn’t comment on it.
He moved slowly behind her, close enough for his mouth to sharpen the words in her ear: “Do I have to check you arms from now on, Morgan?”
“No Sir.” – she whispered.
“Better not. Or else, this ass,” he added, clasping a hand on her red behind, “will be sorer than it’s ever been.”
The footsteps echoed as he strode to the kitchen. When the drawer opened, she already knew what he was looking for. She wished she could cry. But squeezing her eyes tight together didn’t help. Her fear was the attention grabber for her senses. She could smell it.
“Come here, please,” he called.
The legs of a chair scratched noisily the parquet. She followed the voice and found him sitting on that darn chair, wooden spoon in his hand. He extended his left hand. It wasn’t an invitation to dance. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her small body over his knees.
“Riding motorcycles is a “no”. You knew it when you entered this relationship. Not a ‘maybe’: a ‘no’. And riding by yourself – that is a crime. If you want adrenaline, here is your dose.”
Any wooden implement hurts. But for Morgan the wooden spoon seemed to hurt more than anything she has ever felt. One solid smack did not mean one pain, but a thousand of small and vicious stings, spreading all over her bottom, and hanging in there, waiting for more pain to pile up on top of them. And there was no break allowing the pain to subdue. Her hands grasped his pants and the chair legs. The high-pitched cries dried her throat. She didn’t plead not even once, only wailed and voiced her agony in an attempt to sooth the pain. But nothing could stop the pain, expect for Adam. And Adam was not finished with her. The spoon worked its way towards her thighs. This was not only about the motorcycle. It was more and she knew it. It was about her own rage, caused by god-knows-what; it was about her new piercing and her new haircut and her new attitude. About sassing him.
Her body collapsed, giving up the fight. And Adam stopped, allowing her to roll off his lap, on her knees. He cupped her head and planted a kiss on her forehead and her arms reached for his neck.
He sat down on the floor, cuddling her, until her crying stopped.
“You’re just stressed. We’ll get over it together.”
She nodded.
“I’m tired,” she whispered.
“We can nap on the couch if you want,” he indulged her.
She smiled at him, her teary eyes shining happily. She loved afternoon naps, with him, on the couch.
I wouldn't be posting now if I didn't get spanked this morning. I haven't been much into spanking lately - let's just say that my moods vary wildly and I have some other fascinating things happening in my life right now who use my brain even at night. But not being into a spanking mood does not mean that your kink has died. Hell, no!
Out of blue sky, Jack decided today that a spanking would be a good idea - to calm himself down and calm me down. Hand is what we mostly do and today was no different. Except that a particular sharp slap landed on the inside of my leg, a few times. It burnt. You feel the prickles on those sensitive areas - most of you know that. You feel the meat burning, swelling. It's nice.
All through the spanking I kept my sense of humor. And I was very talkative - with small funny interruptions when the pain stopped my brain from articulating thoughts and words. I am a very fast speaker - in any language you want, I speak fast. So today I broke the record of finishing a sentence in over one minute. ;) Hell, I don't see that happening again - unless spanked again, of course.
Peace!
You don't miss it much until you lose it for a few weeks. That is my case and Jack's. My parents have been around for like two-three weeks, helping us (a LOT) with the re-construction work in our appartment. We desperately need a bit of privacy.
The previous story I wrote went out worse than expected - it's not a disaster but not the total success I had in mind, either. While I explained to Eric in an email (even though he knew better than I) what went wrong, now I have the feeling that that was not all. I think the main explanation is that writing a spanking story with people constantly asking you questions and talking around you and passing behind you turns creation into a struggle. It showed.
Last night I began another story, M/F this time, and almost finished it. I had again the feeling that I couldn't dive into the world I was creating for the same reason: inability to focus because of too many people moving around. (*grumbling* And It happens again right now!)
Honestly, I was planning on finishing my story tonight but after a six-hour drive I am pretty tired. And my eyes are closing. And having 6 people around, not 3, makes it even worse.
Anyway, today I got into this funny cuddling mood in the morning. I was desperate for some attention. And therefore, I was hyper. Jack and I finally caught about 40 minutes alone, if not less, and I wanted to cuddle. It seems that my definition of cuddle also comprises biting, kissing, and doing all sorts of weird things which Jack understood as a sign that I needed the other special kind of attention. So I got a good hand-spanking, enough to make my butt red. He couldn't go further because we were expecting my Dad to get back home (we were preparing for the 6 hours drive). It helped. A red butt helps your mind clear. This morning I could have taken a lot, honestly.
I will spare you the details of what followed because, for some reason, I don't like writing about what can happen (and almost always happens) after a spanking but we were in the middle of it when we heard the door and my Dad came in. I had time to pull up my pants and Jack had time to calm himself down - if you know what I mean. *eg* But we continued and finished our work in the bathroom. Probably we were both too loaded to just drop it. It was a very akward moment for us but we do hope that my Dad hasn't got a clue what the fuck was going on.
Anyway... I might be in the mood for a spanking again. But then when ain't I? hehe
Sheriff Norton nodded, saluted her briefly, and walked away. Clara’s thin profile remained in the frame of the door, still playing his words in her head.
“The lady will not press any charges, but she wanted to make sure that the parents found out,” the sheriff had said. “I may be wrong, but when I was driving my car today, I saw your son and your daughter, with their friend, taking a walk on the main street and gathering rocks. And the lady's description of their clothing was correct… Besides,” he had added, extending his left hand towards the dusty road, “it also happened right there, on the main road“. Sheriff Morris had avoided her eyes. Bringing the news was hard and Clara knew why – Dr. Pierce, her husband, had always been a call away when any of the sheriff’s family members had been sick. Jack Pierce had also operated on the sheriff’s sick mother.
Slowing closing the door, Clara gathered her thoughts. With the corner of her eye, she could see the tiny silhouette hiding on the stairs, behind the white balusters.
“Ashley, come here, Missy,” she called. “I know you’re there.”
The figure moved, peeking from behind the banister's vase-shaped supports.
“Mommy, it wasn’t me. It was Alex,” – the girl said. No denying: thank you, Lord; She was confessing everything, without much questioning. Unlike Alex. And Clara relaxed knowing that Ashley would tell on her brother without blinking an eye. As for Alex, she could never get him to talk. Only Jack could.
“Did you or didn’t you throw rocks at the cars?”
Ashley considered.
“I didn’t hit any, though…” She said in the smallest and softest voice she had. “I’m sorry, Mommy.” Her eyes searched the floor and the blond hair ran into her face, covering her tears.
“It was very wrong what you did. I’m sure you know that.”
The girl nodded. You know such things when you are 7, but you do them anyway. In the same way in which Alex knew, at 11, but couldn’t care less.
Clara unleashed her long blond hair from the pony tail, brushed it off her face, and gathered it again to the back of her head. How would Jack handle this? He would talk to Ashley, spank her, ground her. She couldn’t bring herself to do that. She looked at a contrite Ashley – so small and innocent – standing on the stairs. The child was close to tears.
“Go wait for me in your room,” she said. Clearing her mind and acting like an adult was a priority. And she couldn’t do it with her daughter watching.
“Mommy, noo…” The child knew.
“Now, young lady.”
The small foot steps echoed as Ashley ran to her room.
And it was supposed to be a vacation, Clara thought, rubbing her temples with two shaky fingers. She checked the clock, and it was only 5, and Jack would be back from shopping probably by 6. And where the heck was Alex? She hadn’t seen him since morning; he had skipped lunch even. The weather had been splendid, but she had spent all day in the kitchen, cooking for tomorrow evening’s party. And Jack had been helping around cleaning the house. And the kids… the kids had run wildly. And on Alex one should keep an eye or he would always get himself – and his sister – in trouble. What happened today should teach both her and Jack one or two things about parenting.
Alex throwing rocks at passing cars was easy to picture. It was impossible to create such an image for Ashley, though.
She brought herself to walk upstairs for the discussion with her daughter. She passed by the bathroom, to pick from a mahogany cabinet the wooden hairbrush, and walked in Ashley’s room. She found the child sitting on the bed, crying.
“Don’t spank me, Mommy,” she pleaded. Big teary eyes were fixing Clara.
“I’m sorry, Sweety, but you can’t just start throwing rocks at cars and people and not get punished for it.”
“Just ground me like you did other times…”
“I’m afraid I can’t. This is far too serious.”
Clara came next to her daughter, hairbrush hanging heavy in her hand. “Common,” she said, taking Ashley’s hand and sitting herself on the bed, child in front of her. The girl didn’t need a spanking to get her crying. She was already there.
“Common, Ashley, quit stalling. Do you want your Dad to take care of this?”
The child shook her head and went over Clara’s lap, leaving the mother in an uncomfortable situation. The thin shorts offered little protection and Clara decided against taking them down.
“Don’t bring your hands back...”
The child nodded again, rubbing her red eyes.
The descent was not hard, yet the pace was fast. One sharp stroke of the hairbrush got Ashley’s feet into motion and Clara had to pin Ashley’s restless hands to the small of her back. Spanking Ashley was harder than she had expected. It was not like swatting her butt once or twice – it was a struggle. The brush hit the round spot about ten times and Clara found herself crying as her own daughter hissed and struggled with the pain. She picked the weeping child up, and wrapped her arms around her.
“Clara? Kids?” – Jack’s voice called from downstairs.
“Up here!” – Clara responded, still rocking softly her daughter. “You know that spanking you hurts me,” she whispered. “Why on earth would you do such a stupid thing?”
“Alex and Josh were also doing it. And it was fun.”
“That’s not a reason, Ashley, honey…”
Jack remained rooted to the ground, in the doorway, surprised at the scene. The smile had turned into an anxious look.
“Everything all right?” The worried tone surfaced even when he tried to hide it. “Are you two ok?”
“Fine, honey,” Clara said, wiping her eyes. “Ashley has something to confess.”
Jack raised his eyebrows to his daughter. “Let’s hear it, then.” His crossed arms were not a good sign.
The girl shifted nervously on her mother’s lap.
“Common, honey, tell Daddy what you did.”
The small fingers played nervously with her Buggs Bunny imprinted t-shirt.
“Alex and I slang rocks at passing cars this morning…”
Jack’s eyes widened.
“And Alex hit a car’s tail lights. By mistake” – she added fast, hoping this would diminish the guilt of telling on her brother.
Jack suppressed the “Did what?” cry, hanging in his throat.
“You’re in trouble,” was what came out instead.
“But Mommy spanked me already!” – Ashley cried fast, the small voice becoming high-pitched and desperate.
Clara nodded.
“In which case you are grounded.” – Jack added, matter-of-factly. “Downstairs right now and put your nose into the corner. Now. Don’t look at your mother and don’t try to milk sympathy from me; for something like this you won’t get any. You know better. Downstairs. Now.” His pointed finger seemed to vibrate in the tensed air.
There were no protests on Ashley’s side.
When they were alone, Jack asked the question which was twisting his brain. “You spanked her?”
“I did. And it wasn’t easy.”
“I do it so you don’t have to.” – Jack sighed. “You can’t handle it and you become a mess. At least I try to control my feelings.”
He wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss on her lips. “Thanks, though… I can handle Alex because I know how a boy feels. But with Ashley… It’s unfair to say it-”
“It’s easier with Alex. I know.”
“Where is he, anyway?”
Clara almost shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since morning - you know, when you saw him last… Oh, I forgot to mention: the sheriff came. That’s how I found out.”
Jack stood up, thought for a moment, looking blank. “He might be at Adam’s house, playing with Josh. Did you call?”
“Nope.”
“Ok, let’s go downstairs, see how Ashley’s coping with her situation, and then I’ll try and call Adam to check on Alex.”
***
Alex saw Ashley first, sitting on the floor with a coloring book in front of her and a bunch of crayons lying around. Her puffy red eyes triggered his defense mechanism. The thought that something else might have been the reason for her crying was not strong enough to stick to his mind.
Jack popped in the living room from the kitchen, holding a kitchen towel in his hand. Alex took off his shoes slowly, waiting for any word from his parents that might give away his current situation. He didn’t have to wait long.
“What time is it, Alex?” Jack asked, drying his hands with a kitchen towel. No reply came from his son. Jack disappeared into the kitchen and appeared again in the living room, hands in his pockets. He measured his son from head to toes: his dirty hands, his mud-stained face, the dusty t-shirt and khakis. A small branch was still hanging in his dark hair and he had managed to scratch his arm again. The look in the boy’s green eyes, when he confronted his Dad’s, was guiltless.
“I was fishing but I couldn’t catch anything all day and then we started catching more fish towards evening so I stayed more.” “I’m sorry.” – he added fast, checking closely his Dad’s reaction.
“That’s all you’ve been doing today?”
“I guess so.”
Ashley looked up and in her face Alex felt the danger of the upcoming storm. She had started picking up her crayons and gathering her coloring books and papers.
“You guess so?” – Jack asked again, arms crossed.
That was the kind of question his Dad would ask when he knew. Alex looked down. “Dad, I’m hungry,” he whispered. Which he was.
“Ashley, go help your Mom in the kitchen, Sweety,” Jack turned to his daughter.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Alex could tell she was happy to be out of the room. But he was hungry. He didn’t care about how hungry he was; until now. At that very point he felt the hunger as unbearable. He felt the hunger tightening his stomach into a tensed small ball.
“I’m hungry,” he whined again, rubbing his eyes.
“And tired. And whiney.” – Jack added staring at his son who was still at the entrance, not daring to come any closer to his father. “Which is what you get when you stay out all day, running wild and skipping lunches. It’s past your curfew and past our dinner time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Go take a shower and change your clothes, please. The sheriff passed by today and we’re going to have a little talk about it tonight.”
Agony was painted on Alex’s face. The word ‘sheriff’ was enough to startle him; he looked at his Dad, as if questioning the truth of the statement.
“I didn’t do anything,” he began.
“Stop whining and go wash.”
As Alex slid past his Dad, Jack swatted his bottom hard. “Fast!” – Jack added, watching the boy rubbing his bottom and his tired eyes.
Jack turned his gaze to Clara, who had finished emptying the dish washer and was setting the table for Alex. “After I talk to him,” Jack told her.
“But he’s hungry, Jack. He didn’t have anything to eat today.”
“I doubt he would be able to swallow anything right now. When we’re done he will be more relaxed. Trust me.”
She sighed. “If you say so… I hope you know what you’re saying.”
Ten minutes later Alex came downstairs, dressed in his blue pajamas bottoms and in a dark blue t-shirt. His sight had grown accustomed to the floor, as he had been studying it intensely for the past few minutes. From the kitchen table, Jack saw him coming and met him in the doorway. He stared patiently at the slim small figure in front of him.
“Do you have anything to say to me, Alex?” – Jack questioned.
There was no answer. The clink of dishes and cutlery being moved around in the kitchen had also ceased.
“What were you doing this afternoon on the road, Alex? With Josh and Ashley?”
Alex shook his head “no”. He rubbed his eyes again and his lip began trembling on its own will.
“It won’t happen again,” he replied as Jack had paused allowing for the silence between them to grow. “We were just playing and it happened.”
“This did not happen by accident. You can’t tell me that you were shooting rocks at cars by accident?”
“But I didn’t mean to hit them…”
“No, you mean to tell me that you were shooting at them to miss them, right?”
“We were playing…”
“Playing is not hitting cars with rocks. Not to mention that you are not allowed to play on the main street.”
“But there are hardly any cars passing on that street, Dad!...”
“That is not the point. The point is you had no business to be there in the first place. And second, you do not – do NOT – throw rocks at passing cars, animals, people, or whatever else. That is the point. Am I making myself clear?”
“But how come Josh can be on the main street and I can’t?”
“What Josh does is his business and his parents’ business, even though I am quite sure his Dad wouldn’t approve of him playing on the street.”
“But there are no cars on the street!”
Alex stomped his foot and pouted. Jack grabbed his arm before any protest could come out, spun him around and smacked his bottom hard a few times. The kid arched his back in reply and his hand covered his bottom.
“Young man, you do not argue with me.”
“I’m sorreee…”
More sharp slaps landed.
“And you certainly do not stomp and pout!”
“Daddy I swear it won’t happen again please don’t spank me Daddy please!…” Behind the darkness of his closed eyes Alex could feel the distinct sting of his father’s handprints on his behind.
Jack walked an unwilling Alex to the couch. The kid tried to resist but another smack got him moving and whining.
“I won’t do it again. Daddy, I promise....”
“I’ll show you throwing rocks at cars and being late home.”
He removed his belt, doubled it, and sat himself on the couch, dragging Alex in front of him. “Pull your pajamas bottoms down, please,” he added patiently, fixing his son. Alex was crying already so asking him again was no good; it would only raise the frustration. Jack pulled Alex closer and did the work himself. Then took his arm and pulled the boy over his knees.
Silence engulfed the room before the belt landed. Only three licks, and then it stopped; but Alex was crying hard by now, both his hands locked behind his back under his Dad’s firm grip.
“Why am I spanking you, Alex?”
“I threw rocks at cars… But I won’t do it again, Dad. I promise. I swear.”
“And I want that sling you've been using tonight, understood?”
“Yes, Dad.”
The belt landed a couple more times and the butt began turning red. Jack stopped. A knot had formed in his throat. He knew how hard it had been for Clara to spank Ashley. Alex was wailing, unaware that the spanking had stopped. Jack lifted his son up, on his lap, and wiped his eyes. He pulled up slowly the kid’s PJ’s bottoms. In his chest, Alex went on sobbing. He was aware only later on that Jack had taken him to the bathroom, to wash his face, and then carried him again downstairs, to the kitchen. By now he had calmed down but the sting in his butt was still there.
Ashley was already in bed. But Clara, in the kitchen, was still warming some chicken soup with noodles. She kissed his hot forehead.
“You stupid little boy, you,” she whispered.
Jack watched silently, shaking his head, speaking to no one in particular:
“What am I gonna do with you when you grow up, Alex?”
The kid looked up from his plate, innocent look in his eyes: “But I’ll be good, Dad.”
Jack only laughed. Fuck - he was in trouble.
