Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Older Spanking Story: The Way I Want it to Happen (RL, M/F)

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.

The Way I Want it to Happen

Copyright: SK (now KayleyBlue), April 2001
M/F, anticipation

The plane landed. Rushing to the 'passport control', I can't
take you out of my mind. I waited for almost 4 months to see you
again and now that I am here, I just can't believe it. The call last
night was short due to the high phone bills we always get, but you told me
you already emptied a shelf in your closet for me. Yes, soon I will
be outside, I will see you... I will kiss you. You have no clue how
much I missed you.

The flight was crap, but I'm getting used to them. Those 3
hours spent in 'transit' were the worst 3 hours of my life. It always
gets worse: the anticipation, the boredom when you are all alone and
have to entertain yourself. I spent the last night at home
cleaning my computer. It took me some time - 'Favorites' folder,
'My Pictures', 'My Documents', the trojans I'm keeping, the cookies,
the 'History' folder, the 'Temporary Internet Files'. When you are hiding
something from your parents or friends (like my kink) then you gotta
make sure no trace is left. Then in the morning, calling for the cab
and waiting for it to come... smoking all the time... worrying about the
weather up there... Not being able to eat just drink water and coffees.
Your mouth dry, your pulse racing... Trying lots of clothes until you
KNOW you look the best today. All that, you know? It's really enough to
build stress and a huge blood pressure. And then finally in the
airport, counting the hours: I will see you in less than 5.
Then 4; then 3, and so on. And when you check-in for your last plane,
then it really goes crazy: reading magazines but not being able
to focus on them. But this is always better than the leaving point which
involves too many tears.

So here I am, in the line. I can claim my baggage in 10
minutes. The New York or Vienna flight is always landing before mine.
I just hope they haven't lost my luggage this time!

"Hello..." I smile, giving my passport to the guy in front
of me. I could say it in (language specified) now but I don't want to show them that I speak too
much of it so I can avoid the crappy questions.

"Coming from?..."
Why do you always ask that? Can't you see the stamps in my

"...Cape Town..." The guy nods, checks my picture, my face.
I smile sweetly. Then he smiles back and I have a new 'stamp'.

"Thank you..." I murmur and, grabbing my hand baggage,I
head out.

It didn't take long for my blue baggage to come. I'm happy
I bought one with wheels because if not, I think I would go crazy
carrying it. Always 20 kilos. Not even once less or more... But
also 3 months of staying outside of your country requires lots of

Heading for the sliding door, I get to look outside. I can't
see your face but I know you are there, somewhere among all those
people. The terminal is kind of small comparing to the one in *location deleted*
but I like it better this way. I read the signs "Declare and Nothing
to Declare. I don't have anything worthy with me except for my cell
phone, which isn't much anyway. The guys don't ask anything. I look
too innocent to carry bad things with me.

Finally outside! Where are you?... And while I turn my head
around in all directions, I realize you are standing right in front
of me, smiling... Oh, you are so cute! I get to hear yor voice next
to me again, the sexiest voice in the world.

"Babyyyyyyyy!!!" - I jump kissing you.
"Hey little baby," you welcome me in your arms. One kiss... Two
kisses... You want to take my luggage and get out of that crowd but I
won't let you. "More more more!..." - I ask, not getting enough of your
lips. You chuckle and give me some more soft kisses. "Ok, let's go,"
you whisper in my ear. "Cab or bus," I ask, knowing that a taxi would
be my favorite right now. "Cab," you grin. I'm already playful,
jumping around you.

The taxi driver is indeed waiting for us: some young guy who
doesn't understand English hopefully. I'm getting inside the car, waiting for you
to place my luggage in the trunk. I'm smiling at myself. Finally here,
finally seeing the city again. I do love this place! I'm always happy here.

Turning my head I see you getting on. Then the doors close and
here we go. Home sweet home! Bet your room is clean, isn't it, baby?
Lucky for me to come and make it a mess again! The image outside this cab
doesn't interest me. Only you can have my full attention now. Hands in
hands - you smile at me and carress my face. I kiss your palm.

"How was the flight?" - you ask - always the first question
when we meet. I answer by rolling my eyes. Laughing, you drag me closer
so I'm almost lying down now. Then - "how are your parents, how is your
cousin, how was Cape Town when you left, are you SURE you are done with
your exams, have you been sick lately?". I give half-hearted answers to these
questions: they are not my main concern right now. Your
fingers run through my hair and suddenly I feel you tightening the grip.
This means only one thing - we won't unpack tonight, I guess!

"So have you been a good girl?" Hiding my face in your chest and
blushing furiously, I nod.
"Uhmmmm..." I can't say much. The driver is intimidating me...
and I know from previous experience that you won't miss the occasion to
turn me on right there, knowing how embarassing it is for me. As a matter
of fact, it's always a question of who is faster in turning the other one
on. If you weren't the first one to try and do it, then I would be the
one starting it. Who's controlling who in this cab? This time it is your

You're pushing my chin up with your forefinger forcing me to look
into your eyes.

"Are you sure?" Oops! I missed a heart beat! Boom boom boom - my
heart against the ribs. Your eyebrows raised, your eyes into my eyes, your
little incredulous smile, the whole attitude makes my face flush again. I
open my mouth but no sound comesg out. Mind racing, I turn my eyes on
the landscape outside, knowing full well that your gaze won't help me give
the right answer.

"Ummm...", I try, "I... I mean... I was MOSTLY a good girl.. you

"Mhm..." You don't fall for it. "Well... " I come back
trying to convince you, "Well, I was good 99% of the time..." Your face
shows me that you still don't believe me...

"Maybe 90 per cent of the time?" I grin a bit amused.
"Try again," you suggest, hand pulling my hair a bit harder.
"Ok ok... " I give up. "I was good... less than 90%. 89??"
I can't help myself and I start chuckling. You're just watching me.
"I hope you won't lose your humor when we get home," you pass it to
me sweetly, big smile on your face. As suddenly as I started laughing, I stop.
Puzzled by your remark I look at you: "Ummm... why?"

Three loving taps on my thigh give me the answer:
"You will see why, baby... You will see!"

OK. You are cooking something it seems. The back seat is not
comfortable anymore. I wriggle a bit and get closer to you.

"I've been a good girl... Really... "
"Well... What do I know? Except for the skipped classes and
the huge phone bill?..." I catch you grinning. "Or the teasing on the
phone when I was on guard... knowing full well that I can't get you
back... " I suddenly frown and pout. "Pretty impressive list, huh?"

I raise my head and look at you; you turn your face towards me,
still smiling. I'm trying to understand if you are serious or if this is
just teasing.
"Rings a bell?" - you query.
"More or less..." - I sigh in reply.
With the corner of my eye I'm looking outside again, pondering the next idea that popped into my mind. "Umm," I start, while you play gently on my cheeks. "What iiiiiiiiiif...What'f I promise never to do it again?" I'm crossing my fingers behind my back. I see you shaking your head and laughing, as if this was my best joke ever.

"I heard this promise before. I hear it each time your phone
bill comes and then, after you pay it, you call again or stay online all
day long... And then you call me very upset - "oh, baaaaabyyyyy... my bill
came... what am i gonna dooo? fucking bill and fucking phone and fuck
this and fuck that"..."
I whine and slap you softly. I couldn't help myself. I just
hate it when you immitate me. I hate it. And you know that. "There!" -
I declare on such a tone as if I won the big war.

Your eyes widen, then your face darkens.
"Bad girl! You'll get your punishment for this when you get
home, don't worry! Brat!" Sulking and protesting, I hide my face in
your lap.

"Are you gonna be a good girl and obey me, little one?"
"Well then," you go on, "I will put you over my lap and spank your
ass until you will." I groan.

My face burns with shame, and I pray to all Gods that the driver
doesn't understand English. "Ok ok.. I will!" - I give in, very scared that
you might actually go on explaining everything in front of him.

"And are you gonna be a very good little girl, young lady?"

Murmuring and trying to hide lower - if only I could get under
the back seat! - I reply in a very soft voice: "Yes..."

"Yes WHAT?" The game started, I think for myself and my mind
starts racing, looking for a way out, trying to demonstrate that I can
be good. Scared like never before, anticipation killing me, I close
my eyes.
"Yes, Sir", the soft answer comes. I'm nervous.

"I couldn't hear that... " - you tease, pushing me to face the same
shame again.
Trembling, I grab your t-shirt in my fist. You feel my arousal,
my embarassment, and I think this turns you on. You have total control
over me, over my mind or my body. I finally manage to speak up:
"Yes, Sir!"
I'm sure I missed a smile there...

"That's my good girl! I won't have to spank you for this at least,
little one. But we have some unfinished business to take care of... Your nice bottom and I will have a little conversation."

The car is driving fast. I finally sit up and look to check
where we are. 10 minutes left. There are more knots in my stomach now.
Twisting on my seat, I stare at you. Your demeanour should give me clues
about your next plans. Do you still want to punish me? Rubbing my hands, I
realize how wet they got. The closer we get to the house, the stronger my
fear grows. I smirk. You smile, carressing my face with your fingers.

"What... what if I will be very good? Very VERY good? Are you still
gonna spank me?"

You nod. I panic even more. I need to find the way out NOW, before
we get home!

"What... what if... ummm... I promise never to do anything bad
again? I mean it! I can promise that! I will be very good!"

I feel the eyes of the driver fixing me. He's probably puzzled by
my whines, by the tone of my voice, by my mimic.

"I don't think that a promise will help you now, baby..." You tap
my hand comforting me. Anyway, there's nothing else I could promise.
The only thing I can do is beg. And I do. Then I switch to impressing you
with my miserable face. I fail. I finally resume to being silent.

"First I'm gonna bathe you and wash you very nicely..." - you start. "Then, I'll put your baby pijamas on and take you to the room.
I'll put you nicely on my lap, lower your panties and spank you with my
hand until I make sure you are going to obey."

I smirk one more time... Corners of my mouth are coming down, tears
are gathering into my eyes. "Please, you don't have to spank me for thaaaat...
I will be goooood!"
"We will see!... And you'd
better behave. If you hesitate for one second, I'll spank you again with
my belt! If you misbehave or back talk... or if you smirk, you will
get a double dose with the strap. And when I am done with you, you will
never think about talking for hours on the phone or using the net or
skipping school or teasing me again... Is that clear, little girl?" With
my eyes cast down and a huge knot in my throat I finally manage to mutter:

"Yes, Sir..." - I choke.

You stroke my hair and kiss my palm, my lips and my forehead.
"We're home," you announce, while I dive deeper into my seat.

Spanking Story: Morgan and Adam: El Nino (M/F)

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:


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?”

“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?”


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 James Carter Avenue and she could recognize the grand architecture of the buildings, even though she hadn’t seen this place before. She mused over his words.

“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.”


“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.


“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?”


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.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Vanillas and Their Innocent Spanking-Free World

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.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Poll: Vote

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.

Monday, May 19, 2008

Morgan and Adam: The Ride (M/F)



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.


“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.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

I Broke a Record

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.