tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-224022392024-03-13T03:15:24.138+02:00RAGING BRAT<b><br><center>(former BRAT UNDER CONTROL)</center><br>
<br>Did you get your spanking today? Oh, you didn't? <br>Then stop wasting your time here and go do something naughty!</b>
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*Parental Advisory - Potential Explicit Content*Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.comBlogger191125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-51589640798571679262009-09-28T00:08:00.003+02:002009-09-28T00:19:03.850+02:00Thank you!.. and some ramblingsThank you to all my readers. Thank you to everyone who ever commented on my stories. I have been gone for so long (one year, come to think of it) but I've missed writing. And most probably I wouldn't have missed it this much had I not received any comments from you, folks. <br /><br />Apologies for not being able to comment back - as I usually do when I'm online.<br /><br />Anyway, I was re-reading "The Ride" from my stories because I was curious what the story was about - I had completely forgotten. Then I found a link to my story, from <a href="http://prettyperversions.blogspot.com/2008/06/its-been-really-busy-since-school.html">Pretty Perversions</a>, belonging to Dirty Little Angel. :) And the subject in my story plus Angel's post really got me thinking again about pain and how far we would go to release it.<br /><br />I'll be back on this subject soon enough: I haven't finished what I had to say about it. My life lately brought me to the point where I see no point in falling anymore. I reached a point where I am not scared about my future or about what I believe in or what I like. I don't care anymore about what people say. I feel bold and at peace with myself.<br /><br />So I am ready to open the Pandora's box and let out all those scary ideas - all those thoughts that some people are scared to admit they have. I am not scared of admitting anything. Ignoring does not make anything go away. And hiding does not make you a better person. We are all sick in a way or another and we all have our little dirty secrets we hide from the rest of the world. What annoys me most is the faces some people pull when they meet others who openly admit their 'sick' ideas. As if they were perfect. Their attitude makes me wanna puke. :)Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com116tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-85109494829022556662009-09-27T19:57:00.005+02:002009-09-27T20:05:34.175+02:00Megan: Rewind... Now Fast Forward (M/F)<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cabc%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="time"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 200%;"><o:p>I was still hoping to polish it. However, I have to be honest with you and myself: I might not be doing this for quite some time. So I'll share it with you as it is. :)</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 200%;">
<br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 200%;"><o:p>~~~~
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<br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 200%; font-weight: bold;"><o:p>Rewind... Now Fast Forward</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 200%;"><o:p>(Megan, M/F)</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 200%;"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Eyes half closed, Greg inhaled the thick smoke of his Camel cigarette. By no means was he tired of waiting; He was just eager to know the things which had happened behind the closed doors of the second bedroom.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>The living room of the three-room apartment he and his friends had rented in Paris was a mish-mash of old and new: the narrow yet high windows, the classic sill, the squeaking parquet-covered floor, the high ceiling and the flamboyant looking chandelier were all from the mid-30s. But the air was filled with the smell of new furniture. He could have seen the pitch-black sky, if only the drapes had been pulled aside. Yet the windows were shut. He wanted them shut, in a futile attempt to muffle out the honks or the cars outside, the cacophony of the night traffic. From the corner of the room, a tall lamp’s obscure light was melting softly in the darkness of the living room. From the other corner, the 42 inch screen Sony was pouring a rainbow of mixed strong colors over the walls and the furniture, over his face, into his tired eyes. He could pick up bits and ends of conversation from the variety of noises the TV was broadcasting.
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<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He didn’t hear the creak of the door opening, but with the corner of his eye he saw Ryan stepping in. Ryan was not the strongly built kind of guy, but something in his attitude, in the way he moved and talked and looked at people, made him more imposing than a 6 feet tall American football player. He slid inside like a cat, stepping on his tiptoes, and went straight for his pack of Parliament Lights on the table. His tensed shoulders relaxed.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“How is she?” – Greg questioned, pushing the lighter and the ashtray in Ryan’s direction.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“She fell asleep.” The lighter’s flame flickered as he tilted his head to light the cigarette. “Why didn’t you go out with the rest?” </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I wasn’t in the mood really…”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ryan sat down and exhaled the smoke towards the floor. The thin grey line lost its contour, spreading in the air. With two bony fingers, Ryan massaged his forehead up and down. He felt the beginning of a headache building between his eyes. His neck cracked and he stretched it from side to side. “So what the fuck happened?” – Ryan asked in a low tired voice.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Sorry we let them get out of hand,” Greg said, rotating constantly his glass of Sprite on the table. He felt somewhat guilty for not overseeing the outcome. “When you were in the shower Alice and Meg had a fight again – the crap with who is stronger from the two of them. More like teasing, really. They were playfully chasing each other with their belts… And we let them, because it seemed like they were having fun, you know? Yeah, I know I’m guilty: I know Meg well enough to realize she wasn’t actually playing. You know how her eyes sparkle. And you know the face she makes when she pretends to be fine but she isn’t. And you know that all she wants is to get back at you but she doesn’t know how to do it. I mean you’ve seen it before, right?…”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ryan nodded. Of course he knew. He was teasing her about that.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Well, <st1:city><st1:place>Alice</st1:place></st1:city> kind of slipped a stronger stroke on Meg’s legs and even though <st1:city><st1:place>Alice</st1:place></st1:city> apologized Meg was seeing red so she hit back. And the next second they were at each other’s throats, legs and kicks flying, and on the floor, punching one another like two mad cats. No bites or scratches like you would expect from girls, you know? That was shocking… Just fists. And Neil and I couldn’t separate them. I mean Meg went so berserk that I couldn’t take her off <st1:city><st1:place>Alice</st1:place></st1:city>. So I had to call you.” He stopped to play with his cigarette. “Sorry…”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ryan pulled a face. “Fuck, you’re dumb… All of you. I am somewhat blaming <i style="">you</i> because you know her and you shouldn’t have let this stupid game go so far. You know her!”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I know, man… But we couldn’t control her. And lately I don’t even know what to do or what to say anymore… She’s overstressed with the job and the exams and her family and money and all that. You can’t even make a joke anymore without her getting mad. She takes things personal. She’s never been this bad before.” As much as he wanted to make it sound like he was pointing out a fact, he still sounded as if he was complaining.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ryan nodded. “We are her friends and we are supposed to help her. She’ll be ok if we help her.”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Of course I would help her. But I felt powerless… like that time I called you to come pick her up from the club. If she has a drink or something, you can’t reason with her anymore. She’s gone wild. And the only person she listens to and fears is you. And even if she says she doesn’t care what you think or say, she does. Man… I just hope you are aware of it.”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ryan nodded. He was aware of it. He’s been aware of it for a few months now. As aware of it as he was of his own feelings for her.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“It’s late. I think I’ll go to bed. Is she gonna be ok tomorrow?” Greg asked, slowly standing up.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ryan smiled. “In which way?”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“You tell me…”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Well, emotionally she will be fine by <st1:time hour="12" minute="0">noon</st1:time>. Physically, she won’t be able to sit down without remembering tonight for about a week. At least.”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Greg couldn’t suppress his own smile. “You two are mad.”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ryan laughed. “I know. But we’ve never claimed to be normal, either of us. Just tell the others not to make any comments about it tomorrow. I don’t want her pouting for the rest of the week, ok?”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Of course. Ok man, I’m off to bed. Night.”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ryan reached for the pack and lit another cigarette. He felt the need of cool fresh air. He sat and smoked his cigarette in the open window, gazing from the fourth floor of the apartment to the live city below. He thought of tonight and he smiled. Something clicked in his brain. It clicked in a wrong sort of way, but he didn’t mind. He felt his erection yet he couldn’t and wouldn’t stop it. Not this time. Not again.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rewind…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Water dripping from his wet hair on his damp t-shirt, bare feet, jeans pulled on without having had time to dry himself – Ryan was knocked into reality by the speed of the events: a second ago he was taking his hot shower, then Greg was violently knocking on the bathroom door and now – now, he was staring at Meg’s figure sitting on Alice and trying to free one of her hands from Alice’s clutched hands. Rage was radiating from both sides but on Meg’s side blind anger eased out from every pore. He could picture her hammering a fist in <st1:city><st1:place>Alice</st1:place></st1:city>’s mouth without thinking twice. It was a deja-vu from his high school days when such weekly sights were the boys’ delight. But he’s never seen girls at it.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Neil and Greg were trying to separate them with the attitude of two pussies running around and screaming. Ryan didn’t think; he acted. It took him two seconds to evaluate the situation and half a second to bend over Meg’s back, reach from the sides and seize both her wrists. He twisted them. “Let go,” he ordered. His calm order relaxed <st1:city><st1:place>Alice</st1:place></st1:city>. Neil got in between them taking hold of <st1:city><st1:place>Alice</st1:place></st1:city>’s hands, making sure there would be no kicks once the hold was broken.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Let go of her hands, I said,” Ryan lowered his voice even more, to an almost threatening level. Louder than a whisper, he spoke right into Meg’s right ear, bending even more on top of her.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Her chest was rising and falling fast, as if she couldn’t breath. Ignoring the pain of her skin crippling under his hold, she was twisting her hands trying to free herself. As one of her hands slid out of his lock, the hand turned into a fist, and the elbow violently hit back into Ryan’s stomach. The boy tensed his muscles too late and he felt the acute pain of not being able to breathe for a few silent seconds. The same seconds in which his own vision was covered in red and his jaw tightened. He lost his mood for negotiating or trying to be gentle, not to hurt her. He seized her hands with all his power and caught them in one hand. Two fingers grabbed her ear.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“If you hit me again, I’ll punch your teeth out, got it?” He said, recovering his breath.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Go fuck yourself. Let go! Let go I said! Fuck… off…!” She tried to escape but the burn in her earlobe restrained her movement. She found herself forced to stand up, while her prey, <st1:city><st1:place>Alice</st1:place></st1:city>, was walking away safely, wiping a drip of blood from her broken lip. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Meg’s leg went up and hit Ryan’s hard. Ryan’s eyes closed in pain but no sound came out. Teeth gritted, he turned to the rest of the party: “You guys wanted to go out. I suggest you do now. Greg, stay if you want. Neil, please take <st1:city><st1:place>Alice</st1:place></st1:city> out. Sorry about this.” Another hit caught his muscle hard enough to numb his whole leg. He prayed he could stop his anger before he would kill her. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He didn’t remember if or when the others left the room. He had one focus only: Meg. Still keeping her hands locked he dragged her toward the bedroom. He couldn’t tell how many punches, hits, and bites he got before he dragged her past the bedroom door: his own anger made him immune to them all.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“You are so fucking dead,” he informed her, with one hand turning the key inside the key lock and isolating themselves from the rest. His fingers entangled in her hair. He brought her face close to his. “Look at me.” She shut her eyes, pouting. “Look at me, I said.” He pulled harder on her hair. She whined, trying to hit back. He put more pressure on her wrists causing her to try to twist in pain. He didn’t allow her. “You fucking look at me when I’m talking to you.” She opened her eyes. Pain was written all over them. She was on the verge of crying but she tried to control herself. He locked her gaze. His words were as dark and threatening as his look: “You try to hit me one more time, I’ll snap your wrists. Got it?” She swallowed hard but didn’t answer. “Did you get it, I asked? And you fucking answer my questions when I ask you something. Or else, it’s bad for you. Really bad. Did you get it?”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Yes,” she retorted, anger in her voice. It was almost a shout.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He pulled more on her hair. She cried.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I don’t like your tone. Let’s try again. Yes or no?”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Yessss,” she whined trying to escape the pain.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Fine.” – he said. “You want to rebel? Fine by me.” He pushed her towards the bed and began unbuckling his black belt. “Then you should be able to face the consequences accordingly.”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>She stepped back until she was three steps away from him, her back resting on the wall.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I don’t have to face any fucking consequences.”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“With me, you have. Get your ass here,” he pointed with the belt toward the spot in front of him. The tone was like ice: too calm to be soothing; it raised goose bumps on her arms. She shook her head no. “Why?” – she asked.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Because I’m gonna tan your ass blue, that’s why. Get your ass here.”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>She shook her head no again. Her limbs felt like jelly.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Bring you fucking ass here, Megan. If you make me come there to get you, it will be really bad for you, trust me. So start unbuttoning those jeans already and come here.”</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Her eyes shut and tears gathered in their corners. She allowed her body to slide down along the wall, until she was a crouched figure on the floor, knees clasped to her chest. Ryan walked to her without additional words, seized her ear again, dragging her up. She cried in pain and grabbed his hand, squeezing hard, hoping this would convince him to let go. He didn’t. He threw the belt on the bed and with one hand proceeded to unbutton her jeans. Her hands moved their attention to the buttons. The grip on her ear burnt even more. She sobbed. The hand pulled the jeans to her knees; he threw her small body face down on the bed. She turned around and tried to crawl away. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her back, until she laid face down on the bed, head in the pillow, aligned on the side of the bed. He had to fight her again to bring both her wrists to the small of her back, then pin her down in that position. Her body arched back as she felt him reaching for the belt uncoiled at her feet.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>It was hell. The pain was hell. Her inability to escape was hell. Her crying in front of him was hell. And she hated that she had reached the point to beg him to stop. By the time Ryan had finished his job she had probably apologized even for the fact that she was born. And nothing had made any difference. He had freed her hands in the end. She didn’t bother to cover her burning ass anymore, but crossed them in front of her and buried her face in the sleeves of her polo so she could muffle her cries.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>When it was over she didn’t move. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He threw the belt back on the bed and simply sat there watching her sobbing. She had no intention of standing up.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Lift up,” he said softly reaching for the top of her jeans. She raised her hips and he pulled her jeans completely down, slowly, lifting one leg at a time.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He opened her backpack and groped for the wet napkins. It took him a full minute to find them, buried under make-up items, lens cases, keys, and god-knows what else. He took one out and handed it to her. She took it gingerly without looking at him. He waited patiently for her to blow her nose and clean her tear-stained cheeks and eyes.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Do you want me to cover you? Are you cold?” – he whispered.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>She shook her head and turned her head on the pillow towards him. He sat himself on the floor next to the bed. Her hand reached out from under the pillow, looking for his. When he took it, she squeezed it hard.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fast Forward…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>It wouldn’t have happened, if it weren’t for her move. Unknowingly, she opened the Pandora box when her warm hand had reached under the blanket looking for the comfort of his hold.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>His mind had been silenced. He felt the heat radiating from her small tired body. The smell of her skin, of Brazilian coconut mixed with her flesh’s natural scent. His finger touched her nape, stroking her skin. She let out a sigh, as if in a dream, and turned her head towards him. His lips got closer, as if testing. He could have kissed her forehead, like you’d do to a sister, but her quick breathing in his neck caused the synapses of the neurons to shut down. His lips touched hers just once. Yet it wasn’t enough. She pushed closer for his touch. Her lips parted. His tongue slid in madly, in hunger.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>His hand clasped her neck, the thumb running up and down her jugular. A primitive instinct to cause her pain, to punish her, and to love her mixed together. His other hand grabbed her round bottom, squeezing the flesh. He was aching to fuck her; he could see nothing before and beyond the moment. “Turn around,” he whispered in her ear. It was a harsh whisper, almost a groan. Almost an order. She obeyed and he helped her roll on her tummy. She twisted her head to one side, so their tongues could meet again.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He threw away his boxers and slid on top of her, locking her neck with his arm. Softly biting on his forearm, she hid her deep moans. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He mouthed again the words in her ear: “Open your legs.” He was hurting to fuck her. He realized he’d been like this for longer than he could remember but he had always tried to hide it. He had always tried to ignore the feeling.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He pressed himself against her moisture. As he slid inside of her for the first time she tightened her grip on his forearm. For how long she hasn’t been fucked, he wondered. She was tight. But wet like hell too. He rocked inside of her slowly first, listening to her small noises. Then he pounded harder and deeper, each thrust pushing her small body in the bed. His hand hurt from her bite as she tried to keep silent. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He pulled out and went for her ass. “Relax. And open a bit more,” he said again. She obeyed. And he forced his hard cock in her tight asshole. It was her first time. She almost screamed, as pain took over her. She contracted her muscles instead of relaxing. He was hurting himself now. She tried to stand up. He pinned her down instead and pushed again and again, slowly. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>She felt tears gathering in her eyes from the intense pain. “No, no, please… Please take it out. Take it out.” Her hands tried to push him away but he seized them and locked her in the small of her back. “Shhh… Relax, don’t tense. It will pass in a second.” He wiped her tears. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>He paused for almost a full minute then pushed again. “Does it still hurt?” She shook her head “no”. He fucked her ass hard, taking small slow breaks not to ruin the fun before any of them would want to. His fingers went front, to her clit. She had raised her ass higher in delight. She came violently twice. She shook in his arms and he went on fucking her until he saw her exhausted and felt himself hurting. His sperm filled her up. He left himself fall on her, breathing hard. She turned her head around again and he kissed her. He had no idea what the heck was going to happen to the two of them from now on.</p> Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-60054753503279473102008-09-14T19:17:00.004+02:002008-09-14T19:21:26.314+02:00Spanking in the MoviesHey guys,<br /><br />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.<br /><br />However, I have this little treat for you, thanks to someone called MovieSpank. :)<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_jJQAMj756s&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_jJQAMj756s&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Enjoy!Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-87465858610966918382008-08-22T22:30:00.042+02:002008-09-14T23:27:28.631+02:00Megan: Not Sick (M/F)<div style="text-align: center;">Not Sick<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">(M/F)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Copyright: KayleyBlue, 2008<br /></div><br /><br />Hidden in her chair, shaking with fever, watched by three pairs of eyes - she absolutely hated the situation. If there had ever been a time when she had to keep it cool, this had to be it. She was this close to shouting and swirling something in the girls' direction. She would, but she couldn't; If she moved too much she was going to faint. Or even worse - shake, as if determined to cause an earthquake.<br /><br />"Meg, please let us take you to a doctor. You're burning."<br />She shifted her look towards the curly red haired. "I don't need any fucking doctor. Don't you all get it? I'm fine. I caught a cold. Big deal. I'll be all dandy tomorrow."<br />"No, you're not. Look at how you're shaking." That was Rachel. Meg didn't bother to answer.<br />"Look, Rachel will drive you..." - The red haired said again, feeling Meg's forehead with the back of her palm. "You have at least 38. I swear."<br />"Will you stop it already?" Or else she would start shouting and a shouting Meg was as bad as the Katrina.<br />"You were sick when you came and then you didn't want to put the jacket on last night." It was Jackie's turn. Jackie was her friend. Not her best friend, but a good friend. But Meg had a few ideas of where Jackie could shove her frienship.<br /><br />And this is when Jackie decided it was time to take control of the situation and went to get help - as if anybody had ever asked for fucking help. Help materialized - as expected - in the form of another very good friend, Ryan. That was Jackie for you: too concerned about others but not enough about herself.<br /><br />Perfect.<br /><br />Ryan stared at Megan. She didn't look back, even though his eyes could pierce through her skull. And she avoided him not because she was scared of fainting or shaking too much - she avoided him because you don't fuck around with Ryan. It was a basic rule. Ryan would always be there if she needed him, but Ryan would take none of her nonsense. Besides, she had a clear feeling that this time Ryan would take the girls' side, only because they were three against one. It was not because she was wrong. Being wrong meant that she was sick indeed, which she couldn't be; Her body would not let her down.<br /><br />"What happened to you?" He stood next to her crouched figure. She could see his black converse sneackers.<br />"Nothing happened to me. What the fuck happened to all of *you*?" It was a mumble.<br />"Cut the crap. You're as sick as a dog. And red like hell."<br />"I am tired. I caught a bit too much sun. Now will you all leave me alone?"<br /><br />"See what I mean?" - Jackie snapped on her high pitched exasperated tone. "She doesn't want to go to a doctor."<br />"Jackie, go pack her bags please. I'll take her home. This trip is over for her right now."<br />"Jackie, you pack my bags and you are dead meat." She took it out on an easier target.<br />The girl stopped, looking back at Ryan.<br />"Are you listening to her or to me? Do as I said and <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span>'ll take care of her. I'll come in a second to pack mine."<br />"You're not coming back?" - the red haired one asked, as surprised as always.<br />Ryan watched Jackie run back to the house. She stopped for a few seconds on the terrace, where the rest of the group was gathered playing cards and drinking, and soon he felt all the eyes turn towards him and Megan.<br />"Nope. 'Fraid not. " - he said, ignoring the general stare.<br />"Ok. Then take the brat home and make sure she doesn't do more stupid stuff. Oh... and she had a few tequilla shots earlier today... be careful with the pills for her."<br />"I have experience, don't worry. Why did you let her drink?"<br />"Hello, I am still here!" - Meg finally raised her eyes, but not to Ryan - to Eliza. "Stop talking as if I was going anywhere..."<br /><br />"Here she starts again," Eliza sighed, raising her hands in the air. "Woman, are you out of your minds? Of course you are going."<br />"No, I am not. End of discussion."<br /><br />Jackie planted two backpacks next to Ryan's car. "Both ready," she announced, big smile on her face.<br />"She doesn't want to go," Rachel felt the need to keep Jackie updated.<br />Still not looking at Ryan, Megan exploded: "Fuck off all of you already! What the fuck? It's my life, my body, I know how I feel. I am not sick!"<br /><br />There were a few seconds of silence, which at the moment - and given the continous chit-chat - seemed to be measured in light years.<br />"Can you leave us two alone for a few seconds," Ryan asked, hands in his pockets.<br />"Yeah, as if you could convince her," Eliza mumbled.<br />"You have no idea," he smiled.<br /><br />Meg fought to hide her disconfort, yet she was sure the embarassement was written all over her red face. She wasn't sure why, but she just knew this was not good. She caught a glimpse of Ryan's knee as he sat down, crouched, in front of her.<br /><br />"Megan, look at me," he said.<br />"What do you want?" She kept staring at her own sneakers, pulling at the long green blades of grass around her feet.<br />"Look at me," he repeated, and this time it was almost an order.<br />Why was she unable to say 'no'? His eyes caught hers. She couldn't sustain his look.<br />"Has there ever been a time when I didn't keep my promises?"<br />"What the fuck does it have to do with...?"<br />"Answer my question." He was too patient. It made her feel small, like a child being scolded. "Have I ever broken my promises?"<br />"No. So what?"<br />"Then let me promise you this: if I don't see your ass in that car in 3 minutes, you're in deep trouble. Because you've been looking for trouble for some good time now and today you are overdoing it."<br />"I am not looking for any trouble!" It was the most rebellious cry she gave in half a year.<br />The heads turned again towards the two of them.<br />"Yes, you are, and I promise you that you are gonna get it. Badly. And in front of them." He pointed towards the rest of the gang.<br /><br />She smirked and locked his eyes. "You are not serious. You don't have the guts in front of the manager!"<br />He raised his eyebrows. "If you want to find out if I have the guts or not, try me. And by the way" - he said checking his watch - "you still have two minutes." He stood up. "I'm putting the baggage in the car. When I am in the car, I want you in there also. Or else."<br /><br />He stood up, and went to carry out his plan. In less than a minute, her backpack had landed in the trunk of the car, next to his. Oh, how romatic: She will remember to throw up later. Then without even looking at her, he went to sit in the car. Started the engine even.<br /><br />She waited. Thirty seconds later Ryan opened the door of the car without looking at her. Fuck, was the only thing that crossed her mind. He was not kidding. Without hurrying, and as naturally as she could, she began walking towards the BMW. He stopped to watch her, amused smile on his face.<br /><br />Slammed doors was something that he hated so she slammed hers as loudly as she dared to.<br />"You're really needing it, I see... Really really asking for it..."<br />Pouting, she sank in her seat.<br />(Engine still purring in the background.)<br />He stared at her staring stubbornly outside.<br />"If anyone has ever deserved a good spanking, that would be you."<br />She didn't answer. He didn't expect an answer anyway, so he went back to the gears and gas padal.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /></div><br />"You'd better not spit that out, Meg!" He watched her grimace as she nibbled on the broccoli.<br />"I hate it. I hate being forced to eat." The fork landed noisily on the plate. "I want to sleep."<br />"Not before you eat your food and take your medication."<br />"No."<br />"Megan?"<br />It was a threat.<br />She wanted to throw something at him. Possibly the plate. Or the fork.<br />"I am not hungry. Why can't you leave me alone? I am tired. I am not sick! I don't need medicine."<br />"Eat your food, Megan. "<br />He sat next to her on the bed.<br />She pushed the plate aside, lowering herself under the blanket and pulling the pillow over her head. "No" - her voice came mumbled.<br />"I am not your Mom or Dad or your boyfriend to try to be nice to you, you know? I don't even give a shit if you get mad at me. If you don't eat your food and take that damn medicine-- Megan, are you listening?-"<br />"No."<br />"--You'll get a good thrashing. I hope your heard that."<br />"I am not sick." She lifted the pillow to stare at him with what she hoped to be a convincing look.<br />"You're a spoilt brat. And it seems that no one has ever spanked you for that."<br />"Ryaaaan... I want to sleep."<br />His hand reached for her wrist. She pulled back but there was no escape: he grabbed one, then the other.<br />"And this time I am not playing or messing around," he added, bringing together her wrists so he could hold them in one grasp. She opened her mouth to bite, then changed her mind, but not fast enough.<br />"You want to bite?" - he chuckled. "Here. Bite. See if it helps. Because I'm telling you for sure it won't." He stood up, pulling her unwilling body out of bed.<br />"Let go! Ryan!" Any attempt to free her hands was futile.<br />The other hand grabbed her nape. "Don't you know you can't run once I get my hands on you?"<br />"Ryan, I'm sick..."<br />"Oh, I thought you weren't?" He laughed, but put his force into making her stand up, then forced her to bend over. He freed her hands only to reach for his buckle, while the other hand kept a firm grip of the back of her neck. She tried to stand up only to realize again that yes, it was impossible to escape. And Ryan was not her boyfriend, to kick him in the balls and make a run for it.<br />"Ryaaan... it hurts..."<br />"You have no idea how it will hurt! And say thank you you get to keep your Pjs on."<br />"I'm not thanking you for anything! Hey, my phone is ringing. I need to answer!"<br />He laughed at her attempt. "You will call back. So, baby sister, is that all you can come up with to get out of this? I thought you were smarter than that!"<br />She heard the clink of the buckle as the belt was coming out of the loops. It took Ryan a bit of extra effort to fold it with one hand but the mission was accomplished. Meg's hand reached back to grab it. Something clicked in her mind; this was not one of their stupid fighting games - this was real. And Ryan had every intention to make her understand that.<br /><br />"So," he said tapping the belt against his jeans and keeping his firm grip on her nape, "I reckon this is the first ever spanking in your life. Correct me if I am wrong, but I remember you saying you never got spanked?"<div>"Leave me alone! Ryan, let go. I am fucking serious."</div><div>"Me too. I suggest you keep your hands on the bed and your voice down. You will make better use of your lungs when we are finished."</div><div>"Ryaaan! If you touch me I kill you. I swear."</div><div>"Promises, promises... But you never keep your word." He chuckled again, raised the belt and brought it down. It wasn't hard but it caused her to jump in protest.</div><div>"Ryan!"</div><div>He ignored her protests. As the belt went up, the smirk on his face was gone. His eyebrows wrinkled. And the belt came down with the purpose of leaving a lasting impression in her mind. She wanted to shoot up. His hand stopped her. And before she got the chance to let any sound out, the belt fell again.</div><br /><br />"This is not funny. Stop it."<br />"I didn't say it would be funny. If there is no one in this world to give you a good spanking when you need one, then I have to volunteer. And unluckily for you, I care for you and I also take my job seriously." He didn't have to count the strokes to know, from previous experience, that by now her butt would be already turning pink, and to also know that the pain was bearable.<br /><br />He went up a notch: raised his arm higher, brought the belt down harder. She fought back, mostly trying to stand up. The pain had reached her brain. Shouting at him was an effort.<br /><br />"Ok ok... For fuck's sake! I'll take my medicine."<br />"When we're done you will, yes," he agreed, not stopping the assault on her behind.<br />"Fuck, man! Ryan, stop it! Ryaaaan!"<br />He didn't answer.<br />"I'm not done yet. And for your info," he added, letting the belt fall hard again," I am <span style="font-style: italic;">far</span> from being done."<br />She cursed under her breath and grasped at the bedspread. Her fists clenched and her forehead lowered until it rested on the bed. Each stroke made her jump but she stopped fighting back, too preoccupied with the pain. Besides, it was pointless - she was aware of it. The only comforting thought was that there was no one there to witness her downfall; she prayed that Ryan would not tell Jackie.<br /><br />"Imagine this over your panties, Meg. Or on your bare. I am sure you don't want to feel that. Do you?"<br />"No," she choked.<br />"And I am not giving you the fullest, trust me," he went on, raising the belt again and again. "I am only introducing you to a demo, if you like."<br />"Fuck your demo," she dutifully replied.<br />He chuckled.<br /><br />"Oweeee!"<br />"Half through..."<br />"This is not funny!" She tried to stand up. He grabbed her nape again in an instant and brought her head down. The echoes of the belt hitting her clothed behind overlapped.<br /><br />And here is where the real pain starts, he mused. And he was right: the pain was throbbing all over her button, going down her legs, to her knees.<br />"Ryan..." - the sound was chocked. It was on the verge of a plea.<br />He ignored it.<br /><br />And then there was silence; the kind of silence that hides the cries that do not want to come out.<br /><br />He went on until he heard a few sobs. He unrolled the belt and began sliding it back into the loops, keeping an eye on her crouched figure.<br /><br />"So, now you know what a spanking is and what you will get from now when you act the way you did today. Actually, you've been after it since I know you..." He sat next to her."You're ok?"<br /><br />She nodded but refused to look up. She didn't want anybody to see her crying.<br /><br />"Ok... Go wash your face and get in bed then. You gotta eat your food and take your pills and then you can sleep for a few hours."<br /><br />She nodded. Turning her head to the opposite direction, she stood up gingerly. Her palms itched to rub her bottom but she refused to show him that the spanking actually hurt her. In the doorway, she paused for a second, back towards him still:<br />"You're not going to tell anybody that I got spanked, are you?" She was pleading.<br />"Why not?" - he teased. "Are you ashamed of it?"<br />"Please don't..."<br />"I bet Jackie can't wait to freak out when she hears this."<br />"Ryaaaan..."<br />"No, I won't tell them. But maybe we should prepare them just in case one day you find yourself over my lap in front of them." He chuckled.<br />"Not funny."<br />She walked toward the bathroom, hiding her own smile.Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-27583858946564776192008-08-09T22:41:00.003+02:002008-08-09T22:50:38.526+02:00Back after 3 MonthsWhy hello there happy folks!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Anyway, as you can imagine, I cannot write from work. Even if I could, I wouldn't.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />:)<br /><br />~KayKayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-63454856453882890762008-05-27T22:49:00.005+02:002008-05-27T23:27:32.914+02:00Older Spanking Story: The Way I Want it to Happen (RL, M/F)Hello again... tonight.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />The Way I Want it to Happen</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">Copyright: SK (now KayleyBlue), April 2001<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">M/F, anticipation</span><br /></div><br /> <br /> The plane landed. Rushing to the 'passport control', I can't<br />take you out of my mind. I waited for almost 4 months to see you<br />again and now that I am here, I just can't believe it. The call last<br />night was short due to the high phone bills we always get, but you told me<br />you already emptied a shelf in your closet for me. Yes, soon I will<br />be outside, I will see you... I will kiss you. You have no clue how<br />much I missed you.<br /> <br /> The flight was crap, but I'm getting used to them. Those 3<br />hours spent in 'transit' were the worst 3 hours of my life. It always<br />gets worse: the anticipation, the boredom when you are all alone and<br />have to entertain yourself. I spent the last night at home<br />cleaning my computer. It took me some time - 'Favorites' folder,<br />'My Pictures', 'My Documents', the trojans I'm keeping, the cookies,<br />the 'History' folder, the 'Temporary Internet Files'. When you are hiding<br />something from your parents or friends (like my kink) then you gotta<br />make sure no trace is left. Then in the morning, calling for the cab<br />and waiting for it to come... smoking all the time... worrying about the<br />weather up there... Not being able to eat just drink water and coffees.<br />Your mouth dry, your pulse racing... Trying lots of clothes until you<br />KNOW you look the best today. All that, you know? It's really enough to<br />build stress and a huge blood pressure. And then finally in the<br />airport, counting the hours: I will see you in less than 5.<br />Then 4; then 3, and so on. And when you check-in for your last plane,<br />then it really goes crazy: reading magazines but not being able<br />to focus on them. But this is always better than the leaving point which<br />involves too many tears.<br /><br /> So here I am, in the line. I can claim my baggage in 10<br />minutes. The New York or Vienna flight is always landing before mine. <br />I just hope they haven't lost my luggage this time!<br /><br /> "Hello..." I smile, giving my passport to the guy in front<br />of me. I could say it in (language specified) now but I don't want to show them that I speak too<br />much of it so I can avoid the crappy questions.<br /><br /> "Coming from?..."<br /> Why do you always ask that? Can't you see the stamps in my<br />passport?<br /><br /> "...Cape Town..." The guy nods, checks my picture, my face.<br />I smile sweetly. Then he smiles back and I have a new 'stamp'.<br /><br /> "Thank you..." I murmur and, grabbing my hand baggage,I<br />head out.<br /><br /> It didn't take long for my blue baggage to come. I'm happy<br />I bought one with wheels because if not, I think I would go crazy<br />carrying it. Always 20 kilos. Not even once less or more... But<br />also 3 months of staying outside of your country requires lots of<br />clothes.<br /><br /> Heading for the sliding door, I get to look outside. I can't<br />see your face but I know you are there, somewhere among all those<br />people. The terminal is kind of small comparing to the one in *location deleted*<br />but I like it better this way. I read the signs "<span style="font-style: italic;">Declare</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Nothing</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">to Declare</span>. I don't have anything worthy with me except for my cell<br />phone, which isn't much anyway. The guys don't ask anything. I look<br />too innocent to carry bad things with me.<br /> <br /> Finally outside! Where are you?... And while I turn my head<br />around in all directions, I realize you are standing right in front<br />of me, smiling... Oh, you are so cute! I get to hear yor voice next<br />to me again, the sexiest voice in the world.<br /><br /> "Babyyyyyyyy!!!" - I jump kissing you.<br /> "Hey little baby," you welcome me in your arms. One kiss... Two<br />kisses... You want to take my luggage and get out of that crowd but I<br />won't let you. "More more more!..." - I ask, not getting enough of your<br />lips. You chuckle and give me some more soft kisses. "Ok, let's go,"<br />you whisper in my ear. "Cab or bus," I ask, knowing that a taxi would<br />be my favorite right now. "Cab," you grin. I'm already playful,<br />jumping around you. <br /><br /> The taxi driver is indeed waiting for us: some young guy who<br />doesn't understand English hopefully. I'm getting inside the car, waiting for you<br />to place my luggage in the trunk. I'm smiling at myself. Finally here,<br />finally seeing the city again. I do love this place! I'm always happy here.<br /><br /> Turning my head I see you getting on. Then the doors close and<br />here we go. Home sweet home! Bet your room is clean, isn't it, baby?<br />Lucky for me to come and make it a mess again! The image outside this cab<br />doesn't interest me. Only you can have my full attention now. Hands in<br />hands - you smile at me and carress my face. I kiss your palm.<br /><br /> "How was the flight?" - you ask - always the first question<br />when we meet. I answer by rolling my eyes. Laughing, you drag me closer<br />so I'm almost lying down now. Then - "how are your parents, how is your<br />cousin, how was Cape Town when you left, are you SURE you are done with<br />your exams, have you been sick lately?". I give half-hearted answers to these<br />questions: they are not my main concern right now. Your<br />fingers run through my hair and suddenly I feel you tightening the grip.<br />This means only one thing - we won't unpack tonight, I guess!<br /><br /> "So have you been a good girl?" Hiding my face in your chest and<br />blushing furiously, I nod.<br /> "Uhmmmm..." I can't say much. The driver is intimidating me...<br />and I know from previous experience that you won't miss the occasion to<br />turn me on right there, knowing how embarassing it is for me. As a matter<br />of fact, it's always a question of who is faster in turning the other one<br />on. If you weren't the first one to try and do it, then I would be the<br />one starting it. Who's controlling who in this cab? This time it is your<br />turn.<br /><br /> You're pushing my chin up with your forefinger forcing me to look<br />into your eyes.<br /><br /> "Are you sure?" Oops! I missed a heart beat! Boom boom boom - my<br />heart against the ribs. Your eyebrows raised, your eyes into my eyes, your<br />little incredulous smile, the whole attitude makes my face flush again. I<br />open my mouth but no sound comesg out. Mind racing, I turn my eyes on<br />the landscape outside, knowing full well that your gaze won't help me give<br />the right answer.<br /><br /> "Ummm...", I try, "I... I mean... I was MOSTLY a good girl.. you<br />know."<br /> <br /> "Mhm..." You don't fall for it. "Well... " I come back<br />trying to convince you, "Well, I was good 99% of the time..." Your face<br />shows me that you still don't believe me...<br /><br /> "Maybe 90 per cent of the time?" I grin a bit amused.<br /> "Try again," you suggest, hand pulling my hair a bit harder.<br /> "Ok ok... " I give up. "I was good... less than 90%. 89??"<br />I can't help myself and I start chuckling. You're just watching me.<br /> "I hope you won't lose your humor when we get home," you pass it to<br />me sweetly, big smile on your face. As suddenly as I started laughing, I stop.<br />Puzzled by your remark I look at you: "Ummm... why?"<br /><br /> Three loving taps on my thigh give me the answer:<br /> "You will see why, baby... You will see!"<br /><br /> OK. You are cooking something it seems. The back seat is not<br />comfortable anymore. I wriggle a bit and get closer to you.<br /><br /> "I've been a good girl... Really... "<br /> "Well... What do I know? Except for the skipped classes and<br />the huge phone bill?..." I catch you grinning. "Or the teasing on the<br />phone when I was on guard... knowing full well that I can't get you<br />back... " I suddenly frown and pout. "Pretty impressive list, huh?"<br /><br /> I raise my head and look at you; you turn your face towards me,<br />still smiling. I'm trying to understand if you are serious or if this is<br />just teasing.<br /> "Rings a bell?" - you query.<br /> "More or less..." - I sigh in reply.<br /> 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.<br /><br /> "I heard this promise before. I hear it each time your phone<br />bill comes and then, after you pay it, you call again or stay online all<br />day long... And then you call me very upset - <span style="font-style: italic;">"oh, baaaaabyyyyy... my bill </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">came... what am i gonna dooo? fucking bill and fucking phone and fuck </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">this and fuck that"</span>..."<br /> I whine and slap you softly. I couldn't help myself. I just<br />hate it when you immitate me. I hate it. And you know that. "There!" -<br />I declare on such a tone as if I won the big war.<br /><br /> Your eyes widen, then your face darkens.<br /> "Bad girl! You'll get your punishment for this when you get<br />home, don't worry! Brat!" Sulking and protesting, I hide my face in<br />your lap.<br /> <br /> "Are you gonna be a good girl and obey me, little one?"<br /> "No!"<br /> "Well then," you go on, "I will put you over my lap and spank your<br />ass until you will." I groan.<br /><br /> My face burns with shame, and I pray to all Gods that the driver<br />doesn't understand English. "Ok ok.. I will!" - I give in, very scared that<br />you might actually go on explaining everything in front of him.<br /><br /> "And are you gonna be a very good little girl, young lady?"<br /><br /> Murmuring and trying to hide lower - if only I could get under<br />the back seat! - I reply in a very soft voice: "Yes..."<br /><br /> "Yes WHAT?" The game started, I think for myself and my mind<br />starts racing, looking for a way out, trying to demonstrate that I can<br />be good. Scared like never before, anticipation killing me, I close<br />my eyes.<br /> "Yes, Sir", the soft answer comes. I'm nervous.<br /><br /> "I couldn't hear that... " - you tease, pushing me to face the same<br />shame again.<br /> Trembling, I grab your t-shirt in my fist. You feel my arousal,<br />my embarassment, and I think this turns you on. You have total control<br />over me, over my mind or my body. I finally manage to speak up:<br /> "Yes, Sir!"<br /> I'm sure I missed a smile there...<br /><br /> "That's my good girl! I won't have to spank you for this at least,<br />little one. But we have some unfinished business to take care of... Your nice bottom and I will have a little conversation."<br /> <br /> The car is driving fast. I finally sit up and look to check<br />where we are. 10 minutes left. There are more knots in my stomach now.<br />Twisting on my seat, I stare at you. Your demeanour should give me clues<br />about your next plans. Do you still want to punish me? Rubbing my hands, I<br />realize how wet they got. The closer we get to the house, the stronger my<br />fear grows. I smirk. You smile, carressing my face with your fingers.<br /><br /> "What... what if I will be very good? Very VERY good? Are you still<br />gonna spank me?"<br /><br /> You nod. I panic even more. I need to find the way out NOW, before<br />we get home!<br /><br /> "What... what if... ummm... I promise never to do anything bad<br />again? I mean it! I can promise that! I will be very good!"<br /><br /> I feel the eyes of the driver fixing me. He's probably puzzled by<br />my whines, by the tone of my voice, by my mimic.<br /><br /> "I don't think that a promise will help you now, baby..." You tap<br />my hand comforting me. Anyway, there's nothing else I could promise.<br />The only thing I can do is beg. And I do. Then I switch to impressing you<br />with my miserable face. I fail. I finally resume to being silent.<br /><br /> "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.<br />I'll put you nicely on my lap, lower your panties and spank you with my<br />hand until I make sure you are going to obey."<br /><br /> I smirk one more time... Corners of my mouth are coming down, tears<br />are gathering into my eyes. "Please, you don't have to spank me for thaaaat...<br />I will be goooood!"<br /> "We will see!... And you'd<br />better behave. If you hesitate for one second, I'll spank you again with<br />my belt! If you misbehave or back talk... or if you smirk, you will<br />get a double dose with the strap. And when I am done with you, you will<br />never think about talking for hours on the phone or using the net or<br />skipping school or teasing me again... Is that clear, little girl?" With<br />my eyes cast down and a huge knot in my throat I finally manage to mutter:<br /> <br /> "Yes, Sir..." - I choke.<br /><br /> You stroke my hair and kiss my palm, my lips and my forehead.<br /> "We're home," you announce, while I dive deeper into my seat.Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-81255490795924610152008-05-27T20:22:00.003+02:002008-05-27T21:53:33.275+02:00Spanking Story: Morgan and Adam: El Nino (M/F)<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">Here is another M/F story for you. And an Alex (M/m) story is in the 'setting the plot' stage right now.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Morgan and Adam:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">EL NINO</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span> Copyright: Kayley Blue<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">And Adam picked up at the first ring.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Where the heck are you? I called you five times already.” Pissed and worried he sounded and he had every right to be.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Where are you?” – he asked, his voice coming cut as he performed an accelerated ritual of getting dressed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">The commotion at the other end of the line ceased.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“What do you mean, you don’t know? From where am I supposed to pick you up then?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Where is Amanda?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“They left around one.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“No police car around to help you get somewhere safe?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Haven’t seen any, no. I don’t know what to do…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“For how long have you been walking?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Five minutes…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Yes.”<br /><span style=""> </span>“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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Adam, I am so scared.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Yes. Maybe I should run. I’m really scared.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Then run.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Let’s go,” a voice startled her and she saw Adam standing tall besides her, car keys in his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“You’re drunk.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Dizzy,” she corrected. “I sobered up after this experience.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I’m sorry,” she said, playing with her tongue the ring piercing her lower lip. “I didn’t know it would be dangerous.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“If I hadn’t told you a million times…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“But I didn’t know!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">Morgan shrugged. “Now I know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“And you lied to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I had to. You wouldn’t let me go if you knew where I was going.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">Morgan sighed and sunk into her seat.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I already said I was sorry. I was having a good time, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“And I was dead worried at home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“You didn’t have to be.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“It seems like I had my reasons to be. Obviously you cannot be trusted.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“That’s crap.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“We’ll talk about it tomorrow morning, Morgan, when you’re awake, don’t worry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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 </span><st1:street><st1:address><span style="">James Carter Avenue</span></st1:address></st1:street><span style=""> and she could recognize the grand architecture of the buildings, even though she hadn’t seen this place before. She mused over his words.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“What do you mean,” she asked, without turning to look at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“You know exactly what I mean.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Maybe I don’t…” – she mumbled quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I mean you’re gonna get the spanking of your life for this,” he said suddenly, bringing the car into the fourth gear.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“That’s crap,” and as she said that she wondered why she hadn’t kept quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Care to repeat that, please?” – he invited.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">She shook her head “no”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“It was Amanda’s fault. She said it wasn’t dangerous.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Is she responsible for you or am I responsible for you, Morgan?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I am responsible for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Adam…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Get out of the car,” he said, as he parked the Ford Focus in front of their house.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">She knew that tone. She felt sick.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Please… I already said I was sorry…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Out of the car, Morgan. Now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Adam, this is not fair …”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">His fingers wrapped around her arm and pulled her out. His right hand landed noisily on her Levi’s.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Don’t, please…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">The bubbly water refreshed her mouth and senses.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">She caught the glimpse of the wooden hairbrush and her voice cracked.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Not the hairbrush. I hate the hairbrush… Pleaseee…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">She tried to move, but his palm, firmly pressed on her back, glued her cheek to the table.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Keep your hands flat on the table, Morgan,” he warned, when she tried to reach back to cover her butt.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Adam-“<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">The hairbrush came down again, turning her white skin to red.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I just want to know what the heck goes through your mind when you act like this?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“What do you do from now on when I tell you <i style="">not</i> to go somewhere, Morgan?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I don’t go,” the prompt answer came from behind gritted teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Damn straight you don’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">He went on assaulting her cheeks until she dissolved into tears and her apologies lost coherence.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I’m sorry. I swear it won’t happen again. I don’t know what I was thinking.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">He kissed her forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“Let’s get you washed and let’s go to bed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">She stepped back, allowing him to pull up her panties and jeans.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I was so scared,” she went on sobbing hard, unable to stop herself.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">“I know, sweety. But it’s ok now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">He stood up again, and hugged her head to his chest. “You’re safe now. It’s ok.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.45pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="">The daylights were already breaking outside when she could finally stop her sobbing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-3332555310968857662008-05-25T10:42:00.008+02:002008-05-25T12:13:20.269+02:00Vanillas and Their Innocent Spanking-Free WorldI was reading, on Haron's and Abel's blog, about "<a href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/2008/05/21/electric-paddles/">Electric Paddles</a>". After quoting from a vanilla blog, Haron says "by Naomi, to whom I don’t link to avoid freaking her out".<br /><br />And she is right. I can't stop giggling at how sick we spankos are.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://jujubees1.livejournal.com/">Juju</a> - like many other spankos - are still tormented by feelings of anger and frustration when recalling childhood spankings, the vanillas barely remember them. <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-6989206652465387612008-05-20T19:45:00.004+02:002008-05-20T19:48:33.268+02:00Poll: VoteRight 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Thanks for your help!<br /><br />For a more detailed feedback, you can send me an email.Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-38846586612719798042008-05-19T21:46:00.005+02:002008-05-19T21:57:41.957+02:00Morgan and Adam: The Ride (M/F)<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 150%;" align="center"><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE RIDE</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 150%;" align="center"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 150%; font-weight: bold;" align="center">Tonight</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She began wrapping the sterile compresses in a bag. The bag landed in the trash bin. The job was done.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 150%; font-weight: bold;" align="center">Friday Evening</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Do you want to go swimming tomorrow morning?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>On the couch, Adam had gathered her in his arms, while they were watching “Brainiac” on Discovery.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She shook her head. “I’m really tired. I’m not in the mood.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“But you like swimming.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Usually. Not now though.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>He kissed her forehead and she smiled. His fingers began rubbing her tensed shoulders.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>His eyes questioned her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“What’s wrong?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“You’re a bit unfair.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She shrugged.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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...</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Let’s take a shower then. It will help you relax.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I’m not in the mood.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>He sighed, but gave up the subject.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 150%; font-weight: bold;" align="center">Saturday Afternoon</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>On the opposite chair, “The Last Continent” on his knees, Adam fixed her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Feeling better? Cold has passed?” – he asked, his eyes all of a sudden serious.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>Lost between two foggy worlds, she nodded her head, but couldn’t suppress the feeling that something was wrong.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Great,” he said, not a muscle contracting on his face. “Because you have some explaining to do.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>In her stomach, a ball of pain was growing again. She looked back at him, puzzled by this unexpected remark.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Get up,” he added, placing the book on the coffee table. He stood up, pulling the quilt off her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She sat up gingerly. Her mouth was dry, her tongue was dry, her throat was drying.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Up, Morgan, up!” Adam waited next to her. She could see his bare feet sinking into the red carpet. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she mumbled.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, allowing her to stand up. “Lift your arms,” he ordered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Adam, it’s just a scratch…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>He paused only to glare at her. His look made her scowl. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Care to explain?” – he looked up at her and stood up slowly, crossing his arms over his chest.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>Her tongue played the ring on her pierced lip.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I fell.” She swallowed the knot which wouldn’t go away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>He twisted her and smacked her thigh once. The fingerprints flushed red on her fair skin.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Yes, Morgan? I’m listening.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“It was… umm… I fell from a motorcycle.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Motorcycle?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Yeah, Spencer got one and allowed us to ride it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“You rode a motorcycle? Without protection? Without knowing how to?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Well, he explained –“</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Morgan! You got on a motorcycle and rode it on your own?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I was just doing what everyone else did. And it’s not hard.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“How dangerous can it be?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>His finger rose to point to the distant corner.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Now, Morgan. Put your nose into that corner. When you have calmed down, you can come out.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I am calm. You might need some calming down, however.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>The next moment she was bent under Adam’s arm, getting to taste a few licks of the belt. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She cried. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>He stopped.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry,” she whined again, with more feeling.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“That’s enough. Come here.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>In her chest, the heart began thumping. She felt it even in her stomach. She stopped in front of him, inspecting the carpet. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Let me see your arms.” It didn’t feel like an order, but she knew better than to say ‘no’.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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. <i style="">Please tell me that I’m not seeing this</i>, his face seemed to say. But once the shock wiped out his face, he looked up at her slowly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“What are these?” – he asked, his patience hiding the storm. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Morgan, these are cuts.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>There was silence.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“When and why?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>His eyes were not comforting.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“What’s wrong with cutting yourself?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Why would you cut yourself?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She raised her shoulders. <i style="">Not in the mood to explain, it’s enough embarrassment for one day</i>, she seemed to say.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I was angry. I needed to calm down.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“It looks like it was more than a 10 seconds punch in the wall…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“You mean to tell me that you needed a spanking but instead of coming to ask for it you went for cutting yourself?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Is there a difference between you giving me what I need and me, taking it myself? From a psychological point of view?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>Adam shook his head, almost amused.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“It serves the same cause.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>He fixed her eyes and she met his gaze without blinking.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I’ll show you the difference between the two right now, don’t worry.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“You need to talk about something, you talk. Is that clear for you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Yes Sir.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Is the difference between self-mutilation and spanking obvious to you now?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>The nod was not what Adam wanted and he marked his unhappiness with sharper slaps on her thighs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Yes. Yes. It’s clear.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“What happens next time you feel angry, frustrated, or in need for a punishment?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I ask for it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Exactly. That is exactly what you will do, or else, when I get my hands on you, you won’t know what hit you.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>Her breathe quickened, and he felt the sobs shaking her back under his hand.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She didn’t answer. She opened her eyes to stare at the while wall.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I could have taken you for a walk to have a talk, if only you had told me.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I didn’t want you to know. I can handle things myself.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Hell, I can see that!” He didn’t care about hiding the sarcasm. She didn’t comment on it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“No Sir.” – she whispered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Better not. Or else, this ass,” he added, clasping a hand on her red behind, “will be sorer than it’s ever been.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Come here, please,” he called.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>He sat down on the floor, cuddling her, until her crying stopped.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“You’re just stressed. We’ll get over it together.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She nodded.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I’m tired,” she whispered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“We can nap on the couch if you want,” he indulged her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>She smiled at him, her teary eyes shining happily. She loved afternoon naps, with him, on the couch.</p>Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-50935759338956270082008-05-17T21:05:00.004+02:002008-05-17T21:19:45.637+02:00I Broke a RecordI 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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Peace!Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-82595126611197922222008-04-26T23:29:00.004+02:002008-04-26T23:51:02.476+02:00PrivacyYou 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!)<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Anyway... I might be in the mood for a spanking again. But then when ain't I? heheKayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-66718832772425821672008-04-21T20:12:00.004+02:002008-04-22T20:33:16.619+02:00Spanking Story: Alex 8: The Sling (F/f, M/m)<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Sling</span><br /></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Ashley, come here, Missy,” she called. “I know you’re there.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>The figure moved, peeking from behind the banister's vase-shaped supports.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Did you or didn’t you throw rocks at the cars?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ashley considered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“It was very wrong what you did. I’m sure you know that.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Mommy, noo…” The child knew.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Now, young lady.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>The small foot steps echoed as Ashley ran to her room.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span><i style="">And it was supposed to be a vacation</i>, 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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Alex throwing rocks at passing cars was easy to picture. It was impossible to create such an image for Ashley, though.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Don’t spank me, Mommy,” she pleaded. Big teary eyes were fixing Clara.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry, Sweety, but you can’t just start throwing rocks at cars and people and not get punished for it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Just ground me like you did other times…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I’m afraid I can’t. This is far too serious.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Common, Ashley, quit stalling. Do you want your Dad to take care of this?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Don’t bring your hands back...”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>The child nodded again, rubbing her red eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Clara? Kids?” – Jack’s voice called from downstairs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Alex and Josh were also doing it. And it was fun.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“That’s not a reason, Ashley, honey…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Jack remained rooted to the ground, in the doorway, surprised at the scene. The smile had turned into an anxious look.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Everything all right?” The worried tone surfaced even when he tried to hide it. “Are you two ok?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Fine, honey,” Clara said, wiping her eyes. “Ashley has something to confess.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Jack raised his eyebrows to his daughter. “Let’s hear it, then.” His crossed arms were not a good sign.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>The girl shifted nervously on her mother’s lap.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Common, honey, tell Daddy what you did.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>The small fingers played nervously with her Buggs Bunny imprinted t-shirt.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Alex and I slang rocks at passing cars this morning…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Jack’s eyes widened.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“And Alex hit a car’s tail lights. By mistake” – she added fast, hoping this would diminish the guilt of telling on her brother.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Jack suppressed the “Did what?” cry, hanging in his throat.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“You’re in trouble,” was what came out instead.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“But Mommy spanked me already!” – Ashley cried fast, the small voice becoming high-pitched and desperate.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Clara nodded.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>There were no protests on Ashley’s side. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>When they were alone, Jack asked the question which was twisting his brain. “You spanked her?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I did. And it wasn’t easy.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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-”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“It’s easier with Alex. I know.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Where is he, anyway?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Jack stood up, thought for a moment, looking blank. “He might be at Adam’s house, playing with Josh. Did you call?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Nope.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">***</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“That’s all you’ve been doing today?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I guess so.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“You guess so?” – Jack asked again, arms crossed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Ashley, go help your Mom in the kitchen, Sweety,” Jack turned to his daughter.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Yes, Daddy.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>“I’m hungry,” he whined again, rubbing his eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I didn’t do anything,” he began.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Stop whining and go wash.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>As Alex slid past his Dad, Jack swatted his bottom hard. “Fast!” – Jack added, watching the boy rubbing his bottom and his tired eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“But he’s hungry, Jack. He didn’t have anything to eat today.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I doubt he would be able to swallow anything right now. When we’re done he will be more relaxed. Trust me.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>She sighed. “If you say so… I hope you know what you’re saying.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Do you have anything to say to me, Alex?” – Jack questioned.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>There was no answer. The clink of dishes and cutlery being moved around in the kitchen had also ceased.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“What were you doing this afternoon on the road, Alex? With Josh and Ashley?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Alex shook his head “no”. He rubbed his eyes again and his lip began trembling on its own will.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“This did not happen by accident. You can’t tell me that you were shooting rocks at cars by accident?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“But I didn’t mean to hit them…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“No, you mean to tell me that you were shooting at them to miss them, right?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“We were playing…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Playing is not hitting cars with rocks. Not to mention that you are not allowed to play on the main street.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“But there are hardly any cars passing on that street, Dad!...”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“But how come Josh can be on the main street and I can’t?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“But there are no cars on the street!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Young man, you do not argue with me.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I’m sorreee…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>More sharp slaps landed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“And you certainly do not stomp and pout!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Jack walked an unwilling Alex to the couch. The kid tried to resist but another smack got him moving and whining.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I won’t do it again. Daddy, I promise....”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I’ll show you throwing rocks at cars and being late home.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Why am I spanking you, Alex?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“I threw rocks at cars… But I won’t do it again, Dad. I promise. I swear.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“And I want that sling you've been using tonight, understood?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“Yes, Dad.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Ashley was already in bed. But Clara, in the kitchen, was still warming some chicken soup with noodles. She kissed his hot forehead.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“You stupid little boy, you,” she whispered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Jack watched silently, shaking his head, speaking to no one in particular:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>“What am I gonna do with you when you grow up, Alex?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>The kid looked up from his plate, innocent look in his eyes: “But I’ll be good, Dad.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=""> </span>Jack only laughed. Fuck - he was in trouble.</p>Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-54583004019414014542008-03-31T20:33:00.006+02:002008-03-31T20:54:42.537+02:00Question about WritingI have to know this. It's, of course, a matter of preference, but just indulge me: when writing or imagining a spanking scene, what's your favorite moment:<br /><br /><ul><li>the set-up of the scene, with the 'chat' before the spanking and the ritual of getting undressed, etc;</li><li>the spanking itself;</li><li>the aftermath, with its mixed feelings - the wrap-up, in other words.</li></ul>I usually see first the big picture, the emotion, the reaction of the characters in this scene. I know how the dialog will go (and anyone reading any of my stories knows that I am a dialog freak) and I see the emotions playing on the characters' faces.<br /><br />Then I might see a bit of the spanking scene - which tells me the implement, the location, and the way the characters will react during the spanking.<br /><br />When I am pleased with the two things above, I look for what might have caused the incident. Sometimes I see the incident before I see any of the above, but usually I start with the moment the person gets caught get handed.<br /><br />The ending plays itself naturally while I write and many times I change my mind as I write along. Sometimes - like the next day - I remember I wanted to add extra dialog or an extra scene somewhere and I go back to it. But that happens rarely since I usually write and post the story the same day.<br /><br />And while I'm writing, I am constatly seeing the next scene. I write for what will follow. And my energy is extremely high until I reach the spanking itself. This is where I pause for a long time. Writing the spanking is not coming that naturally to me. In my eyes, there isn't much place for playing here. It kills the fun. In how many ways can you describe the way the belt falls, the pain, the tears, the cries? A scene describing a spanking is of no interest to me even when I read a spanking story - I need the dialog. I need to see the spanking, hear it, smell it even. I guess I am the visual generation. It has to do with the setting too - I like stories which are set in modern families; I am not attracted in the slightest to the Victorian times, etc.<br /><br />I also like writing the ending. But by the time I reach this point I am exhausted.<br /><br />Sometimes I look for words to describe what I see and what I feel; sometimes I find them, sometimes I don't. To make the connection between your brain and your words work you need a lot of reading and writing and then more reading and more writing. If I don't read (a book, I mean) for two weeks, I already feel that something is seriously wrong with my writing. Even so, I go on until I finish the story.<br /><br />Then there are those states of mind when everything unwrappes smoothly and each piece finds its place in the puzzle of the story. If I am tired, I can't reach this state.<br /><br />And I write best when I am not tired, obviously, either early in the morning, or late at night.<br /><br />What about you?Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-64117314208215308582008-03-31T20:22:00.004+02:002008-03-31T20:29:30.037+02:00Spanking StoriesHey folks,<br /><br />I've just posted another Alex spanking story. Last night I was going to start an M/F one, but then I realized that I had started this M/m about a month ago and never got to finish it. I was in the mood last night, so I worked on it. I was still trapped in its spirit - which is what you want when you decide to write or rewrite.<br /><br />Anyway, I will start working on the other one probably tomorrow, since today I am exhausted from work. And I have one more in my head - another Alex story, but placed at a time when Alex was about nine years old. I doubt I will get much audience for it but as you know, sometimes I don't care about audience - I only care about writing. Besides, I *know* for a fact that the rare audience searching for M/m spanking stories is not very priviledged given that the net doesn't provide many of these kind of stories. So, someone, sometime, will be happy to run into mine. ;)<br /><br />Peace!Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-92166374151817339342008-03-31T20:17:00.002+02:002008-04-19T22:34:20.921+02:00Spanking Story: Alex 7: When the Cat is Not Home… (M/m)<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;" align="center">When the Cat is Not Home…</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">The real world had dissolved for Alex a few good hours before, when he started playing online with Josh <i style="">WWE Smackdown! VS Raw 2008</i> for PS2. His Dad was attending a conference on ‘who-the-fuck-cares’ in <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:city> and only with his Mom around life was pink. Last night he went to bed at <st1:time hour="4" minute="0">4 A.M.</st1:time> He woke up at <st1:time hour="7" minute="0">7 A.M.</st1:time> to continue the game. This time, victory shall be theirs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Tag me, Josh. Fucking crawl and tag me, man!” His bloodshot eyes could only see the screen.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Alex,” the woman called on an irritated tone. “How many times do I have to call--“ </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">She walked in Alex’s room, slightly aware that her son couldn’t care less about her shouting. She stared in disbelief at the pile of clothes on the floor, on the chair, on the bed; at the magazines lying all over the desk. Drawing pencils were scattered on the floor, and the crumpled papers buried the trash bin.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“For God’s sake, Alex, you were supposed to clean up this mess already! Martha will be here in an hour. How can she clean your room?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Josh, tag me you idiot!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Alex! I’m talking to you.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Mom, I’m busy, I’ll talk to you later, ok?” He stared at the screen where a very groggy Shawn Michaels was slumbering on the ring and an angry Undertaker was viciously attacking the referee with a chair. “Get out of there, you moron!” – Alex shouted in his mic.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Alex Pierce, I am talking to you!” Without Jack around to knock some sense into Alex, Clara could only waste her energy on shouting. The fury was mounting though.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Who’s that,” Josh asked in the headphones.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Just my Mom. I’ll get rid of her in a second.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Excuse me?” It was the flipping out moment for Clara. “Turn it off right now or I’ll call your father.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex rolled his eyes. “Josh, can you give me a second, man? I’ll be back in five. Don’t get yourself killed, ok?” He pressed the mute button and turned to his Mom. “Dad’s in a conference,” he explained patiently as if he was reasoning with a toddler who wanted a candy before lunch. “I’ll finish the game and then I’ll clean the room. What’s the big deal?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“What’s the big deal?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes, that’s what I’ve said because I don’t see what the big deal is.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Give me the phone!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Mom, I am playing, remember? I can’t hang up. Use the one downstairs, it won’t make a difference. Dad’s still in a conference.” She wouldn’t tell on him. She never did. But he had to play a bit less dangerously because one never knows with women and their PM syndrome.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">He wished he had that brilliant thought before his last sentence. He watched as Clara’s eyes bulged in her head and she attacked Alex’s Play Station, pulling out the plug.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Forget about playing safely - He shot up, standing, black screen of the TV staring back at him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“What the fuck?... Mom!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“You are not playing anymore. You are tiding up this room this instant, young man, you hear me? Now!” She fumbled with the cables and the joysticks, picking them up. If he had the tantrum she was having now with his Dad he would be get the spanking of his life. And she hadn’t even reached her peak – but Alex’s overcooked brain could only work one way – the game, the precious game he had tried to win for the past few days. He and Josh had to win it. “What the hell are you doing?” He wanted to snatch them back so badly he had to grit his teeth to refrain himself.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“God help you when your Dad gets home. I won’t be there to save your ass this time, trust me on that!” The cables writhed dangerously around the floor, as Clara bent down to tug at them, unplug them, throw them all around. Looking up at him, she finally took the cable-free console away. “Clean you room.” She turned around leaving Alex in a shock. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">He followed her closely. “What are you doing with my Play Station? Have you lost your mind? Mom!” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">She stopped to confront him, - “I’ll show you lost my mind. If you don’t understand when I you are told nicely, maybe you understand like this,” – then continued her march, with Alex behind her, like a famished dog tracking down a juicy sausage.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“If you don’t give me back my game, I swear I won’t clean up the room. I swear!” They made eye contact, as Clara pushed the Play Station into one of the drawers in the master bedroom. Alex’s fists tightened and he seemed to grow by five inches in her eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Go to you room!” – she ordered, straightening her back. But he didn’t move. “Are you defying me? How dare you?” She slapped him hard across his face and he stared at her again, not even bothering to sooth the hot pain in his left cheek.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I just want to finish my game. Then I’ll do whatever you want.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I said NO.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I’ll take it from the drawer when you leave anyway…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Clara gave up her fight. There were other ways. She fished for her cell phone in her pocket. She didn’t care about any of her husband’s conferences; she only cared about settling this down with Alex. Alex dropped his hands in his pockets, taunting her. But she could see the confidence fading away from her son’s eyes as she dialed the number. Still sure his Mom would get the ‘leave a message’ reply, he stubbornly refused to leave the room. The ring surprised her as much as her first words to Jack surprised Alex.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">He started for the corridor, his fury melting into a pond of fear.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Alex,” Clara called before he got past the door. She extended the phone to him. As he took it gingerly, like you’d manipulate a fragile porcelain that could blast the moment you touched it, she crossed her arms across her chest, watching. He glared at her with the incredulous look of someone who had been set up. He was good at exploiting her; he was even better at manipulating her feelings. This time he had failed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Dad, I was just trying to finish my game…” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“What did I tell you when I left the house three days ago, Alex? About sassing your mother?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I was just playing and she came fuming in and unplugged my game, Dad! I’ve been playing all night to get to this point-“</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“You what?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Not all night. It’s just a figure of speech…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Pointless to add this was not going the way he had expected. Well, the phone call wasn’t part of the plan in the first place, to be honest.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“This is so unfair,” he mumbled. “She is just ticked off because it’s cleaning day. You know how she gets when Martha has to come.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Watch it, mister…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“That’s the truth, Dad.” He stared at his Mom defiantly. He thought he saw her eyes getting watery and maybe for an instant he felt ashamed with himself; the feeling was gone when the trumpets of victory – victory over her will power - began playing in his mind.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“You listen to me, young man,” Jack hardened his voice and Alex’s brain felt trapped in the man’s words. “You are going to clean the room right now. Do you hear me?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Are you walking to your room right now? I don’t hear you moving…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex sighed, turned around, and left his Mom’s bedroom behind. He dragged his feet towards his own room. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“You are going to tidy up that room spotless, you hear me? Spotless, Alex. And when you’re done, you will call me to tell me that you’re done. If I have to check on you the way I did when you were in kindergarten, I will. You’d better not bother your mother again. And I will be home for dinner, and then we, as in you and I, are gonna have a small discussion about this. Is that clear enough for you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex paused frowning. He was kicking the foot of the bed hard enough for the whole house to hear it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I am talking to you, mister.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yeah yeah I heard,” he mumbled.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Jack paused enough to recover from the shock himself. “You’re in deep trouble and I hope you know that,” he added. “You know what? Martha is not touching your room. You are going to clean and scrub it, got that?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“As if I care…” – it was barely a whisper but Jack heard it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I’m home at seven. And by eight your ass will be so tanned you will sleep on your stomach for a week, mark my words, Alex. Start cleaning that room.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">He hung up. Alex threw the phone against the bed, paused, unsure of the anger still bubbling inside his veins, then picked up the phone again and smashed it against the wall. He threw himself face down on the bed. How dared his mother call his Dad? How dared she? She had ruined his game. He and Josh had been working on the strategy of that match forever. Now all his work had been for nothing and he had to start all over again. He turned around on his back, staring at the ceiling, both arms supporting his head, like a pillow. Rushing to his parents’ bedroom and getting back his console crossed his mind and he even indulged himself with the look on his mother’s face if he went for it. He almost pushed himself to defy them even more, but in the back of his mind one small worry was building other small worries and they all created panic as realization of what he’d done dawned onto him. He stared at the shattered phone pieces. Oh fuck! Oh fuck! He grabbed his cell phone in a desperate attempt to call his dad but this time, when he did want his Dad to answer, the “leave a message” reply greeted him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">By <st1:time minute="0" hour="16">4 P.M.</st1:time> he was so famished he could have eaten one pound of green beans without feeling the taste and so tired that he remained down on the floor, with his back resting against the leg of the desk. The attempt to reach his Dad failed again and for a long time he sat there, phone in his hand, eyes at the ceiling. He used to be a good kid – well behaved in front of his parents and certainly more careful. During the past two or three years he had become a dick-head and he was well aware of it. Controlling himself was not an option anymore; controlling himself had become almost as hard as not having a joint in the weekends. Joints were not addictive; he knew that for a fact. But how he wished he could have had one now. He gathered his energy and will to stand up and crawl towards the bed, like a drunk, throwing himself face down. He rummaged for the pillow under the blanket, scooped it out and doubling it over he tossed it under his head. He lost track of his thoughts the moment his eyes closed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">He moved a few times in his sleep, breaking free from one dream and falling back into another. When he finally budged again, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. The room was dark and silent. An orange streak of light squeezed in the room through the ajar-left door. The TV was on downstairs; he could hear the soothing gurgle of voices but the words remained a mystery to his ears. A few kids were playing outside, calling each other and laughing. They were probably ten, maybe eleven years old. And he envied them. He was growing up too fast. If he closed his eyes again, he could almost ignore his age and relive any other day of his childhood, especially those afternoons when he would be put to bed and he would wake up in the laughter of his friends playing outside.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“You feeling ok?” The voice of his Dad didn’t startle him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex nodded in the dark. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Do you want to talk?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex shrugged. “I tried to call you,” he said, one hand under his head, the other playing with a rebel streak of hair running into his eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I know. What happened today, Alex? You went too far.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“She’s exaggerating. She burst into my room and started screaming. I was in the middle of a game.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“She asked you to tidy up your room on Monday. I was there so you can’t deny it. And she comes in today and finds a room which is still a mess and you, playing your game, having no intention of cleaning it up. And you sass her.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I was pissed off.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“That kind of behavior is not accepted in this house, Alex. You know it. And for your own sake you don’t want me to remember the way you spoke to me on the phone.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">A cold chill ran down his spine. He went silent, staring at the ceiling.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“And you smashed the phone too.” The voice was calm, merely pointing out a fact.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I was angry. And frustrated…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“We could have talked about it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">The boy shrugged. “I know. But I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I want to solve my problems alone.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Anything going wrong between you and Alexis?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“We broke up.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">In the dark, Jack nodded. He was still holding in his hand the main piece of the broken phone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over anyway. Besides, I need to focus on my stupid classes and grades. I really don’t want to talk about it.” He bit his nail nervously and Jack allowed him this moment to recompose himself. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“You gonna spank me?” – the boy finally asked, and as much as he tried to look indifferent, his edgy tone gave him away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">With his chin in his chest he managed an “I knew it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I care about your problems and I care about your feelings but you don’t talk the way you did and you don’t act like you just did.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“It’s still unfair.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I am not going to discuss the fairness aspect because by now you should now what is fair and what is not. And before you opened your mouth to say the things you said you were aware of the costs. So I have no sympathy for the way you acted. Get up, go brush your teeth, wash your face and come back in here.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex must have accomplished each one of the tasks while his mind has been wondering ‘what next?’ because the next thing he acknowledged as happening right now, in that reality, was stepping back into his room and blinking away the invading dirty light of his lamp. As usual, only the TV voices came bouncing through the walls from downstairs. He realized he was still groggy from his dreams when Jack unleashed the belt from the loops of his pants and pointed to the bed – Alex hesitated, as if not understanding the obvious. Jack’s fixed look upon him determined Alex to start unbuttoning his jeans. His sigh might have moved anybody who would have taken the picture out of the context.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I tolerate many things, Alex, but such disrespect and disobedience – those are things that don’t get unnoticed and unpunished in this house.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex kicked away his jeans, towards his desk. He paused, thumbs hooked in the elastic of his boxers. “I wasn’t thinking though… I’m sorry…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“You’re still not getting away with it. Next time think twice before acting the way you did. Yes, Alex, those boxers come off too. Not down. Off. You won’t be needing them when I’m done with you. You’ll only be needing your pajamas because you are going straight to bed.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“But I slept already.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Then you will sleep some more. Or I can get you tired by putting you in the corner for the next thirty minutes.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">The boxers joined the jeans, on the floor. Jack shook his head disapprovingly at the pile of clothes under the desk, but didn’t say anything. Again, he pointed to the bed. “Face down, please.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex moved, but gazed one last time at his Dad, as if hoping for a last-minute miracle to happen. But miracles are called miracles because they are impossible to happen. He was actually milking some sympathy. There was none.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I’m sorry I wasn’t home today to straighten things out before they got out of hand,” Jack said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex wrapped his forearms on top of each other and hid his face in them. “For back talking, for being that sassy, and for your attitude towards your mother and myself, I’m gonna tan you really good.” He pulled on the side of the doubled-over belt, snapping it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I wasn’t thinking…” – Alex played his excuse again. His voice was small, barely audible. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I swear.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Believe me it won’t.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">The first one was hard but he could take it reasonably well. So was the second one. And the third. But the fourth one was already overlapping the previous lick of the belt and his body stiffened at the pain.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Dad, please, I really swear it won’t happen again. I promise.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">He closed his eye, fighting back the tears. The screams were piling up in his throat after each blow. He stopped breathing, scared that the mere act of breathing out would let out a cry. Jack knew him well. So when the first whispered “owe” came out he knew that Alex’s roller-coaster had reach its peak, and from there to the end it was only a constant and accelerated fall. Another soft “owe” came, followed by a frantic move on Alex’s side to shift the position of his butt, trying to avoid the belt falling on some already sore spots. Jack increased the pace. Alex’s hand moved to his side with the intention of covering his burning ass, but without actually daring to do so.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Both hands in front of you, Alex. I don’t want to see them anywhere around your butt, you hear me?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">The boy whimpered but brought his arm back, holding it down under the blanket.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">What followed was a cascade of stingy licks across his butt, reaching down to the upper part of his legs. He screamed and kicked his feet, but his hands never came back to cover his butt again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“You will never ever, in my presence or not, talk to your mother like that again.” – Jack marked his words with sharper strokes. “Do I make myself clear?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yessss…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“And when I talk to you, you don’t raise your tone. The answer ‘whatever’ and ‘as if I care’ will vanish from your vocabulary.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I’m sorrreee…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Jack paused. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex’s body trembled with sobs. He knew he could have expected this the moment his mother had dialed that number; but if things had stopped right there and if he had been talking to his father in a civilized manner, he might have gotten away with a lecture and with being grounded. Sassing his mother was a wrong move; sassing his father was suicide. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t there when it happened, because sooner or later he would be. And his Dad would occasionally forget about or ignore smaller crimes, but on his list, disrespect was a major crime.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“I swear it won’t happen again.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“No, it won’t.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">The last strokes got the boy begging. He shouted anything that went through his head that could make the spanking stop. The pillow had become a pond of tears, similar to the sleeves of his shirt. His feet were rubbing against each other and he had managed to move himself a foot higher on the bed, with the bed sheets gathered in front of him, in his fists.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Do I need to repeat any of things I’ve just said again? Ever again?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex shook his head ‘no’ desperately. “I’m sorry…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">The belt unfolded and started sliding back in the loops of Jack’s pants.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex recovered slowly. He pushed himself up, without looking at his Dad, more preoccupied with wiping his nose and eyes. He nodded a ‘thank you’ when Jack offered him the paper towels.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">“Now,” Jack said, still staring at his son’s crumbled figure on the bed, “I want you to put on your pajamas bottoms, wash you face and brush your teeth, and go down to your mother and apologize for what you did. Then you come back in here and you put your nose in that corner for twenty minutes. And when you’re done you will be getting to bed. I’ll be here to make sure about that. And tomorrow, if you want to talk about it, we will. Clear?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt; line-height: 150%;">Alex nodded. He fished for his PJ’s in the drawer and, head hung down, started for the bathroom.</p>Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-60412915041883857492008-03-01T00:01:00.003+02:002008-03-01T00:06:43.988+02:00New Blog in TownSince I'm damn busy, I'm just posting this short notice to draw your attention to a new blog in the spanking world: "<a href="http://spankingblahg.blogspot.com/">Eric's Spanking Blahg</a>". It's going to be, for sure, a 99% M/F blog. ;)<br /><br />Oh, you might want to know that the guy is a damn good writer - in my personal, but very objective view. hehe<br /><br />So go say "hi" - you won't regret it. ;)<br /><br />Peace (!) and welcome fully online, Eric! Nice to see your two cents put in, mate! :)Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-28315728458400417832008-02-24T19:46:00.002+02:002008-02-24T19:56:56.310+02:00Another Entry...So, I haven't been around lately - kind of have been busy IRL. Good changes are happening here so I have to be around to witness them. ;)<br /><br />Anyway... <span style="font-style: italic;">Got a call from an old friend </span>today, as Bily Joel says, which got me moving. It's unbelievable how fast a good story can get your wheels spinning again. And it's also unbelievable how fast I can switch - once more - from M/m to M/F. Honestly, after everything I've been reading lately, I was positive that there is no way anything original could bring me back to M/F. M/F was already cliche; M/m was the novelty allowing my brain to fully exploit the spanking kink. I was wrong, but I am quite thrilled that I was happy about another aspect. *weg*<br /><br />I am honestly hoping that this talented guy will have the guts to share with the rest of us, spankos hungry for quality fiction, his story. It is original in its approach and the style is refreshing. I certainly hope you will also be lucky enough to find out what I am talking about.<br /><br />For the moment, my mind is... blank. A bit of a writer's block, really - more because I am not in the mood for spanking, not because I am not in the mood to write. I am on the roll with reading, though, which has to be a part of writing. So, all good here, folks. Hope it goes the same for you. :")Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-89136079234624479712008-02-07T17:51:00.000+02:002008-02-07T18:46:07.635+02:00Spanking Story: Alex 6: Dear Diary (Implied M/m)<div><div>Here is something that has been running through my mind for awhile. I loved writing it. It's an entry in Ashley's diary from when she was ten and a half or something.<br /></div><center>Dear Diary</center><br /><center>Copyright: KayleyBlue, 2008</center><br /><div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mgWBXW7pbMc/R6s1NNjfJ4I/AAAAAAAAAFY/v4urhm5WbvQ/s1600-h/s2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164279898803480450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mgWBXW7pbMc/R6s1NNjfJ4I/AAAAAAAAAFY/v4urhm5WbvQ/s200/s2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>July 29, 2006<br /><br />Dear Diary,<br /><br />Today we got back from visiting Grandma in Boston. We came back two days earlier than planned because Dad was called back to work. It’s really too bad because I had a lot of fun – best part was that my stupid brother, Alex, was not with us. I met a very pretty guy there. His name is Mark and he has beautiful green eyes and blond hair and he is older than me. He’s 12.I can’t wait to call Cynthia and tell her about him! </em><em><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mgWBXW7pbMc/R6s0qNjfJ2I/AAAAAAAAAFI/dL_oKF9RVas/s1600-h/b.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164279297508058978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mgWBXW7pbMc/R6s0qNjfJ2I/AAAAAAAAAFI/dL_oKF9RVas/s200/b.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Hold on. My stupid brother is calling me. </div><div><br />Yeah, I’m back. He wanted to know where I’ve put his MP3 player which I haven’t even touched. His room is so messy! There’s no wonder he can’t find anything there. And he has the guts to blame me if things are disappearing! He’s a real asshole, you know? And he gets even worse for a whole week if Dad spanks him. Oh, joy to the world cuz he got spanked today by Dad! I can’t say I was happy – honestly, I wasn’t – but right now I am thrilled Dad blistered his butt. He really deserved it. </div><div><br />He didn’t know we were coming home today, you know? So when I get in the house today I see my brother, in his jeans and T-shirt, sleeping on the couch in the living room, with the TV on. The house was a MESS. It seems he partied with his friends while we were in Boston. I even saw cans of beer and there was a stain on the couch and the house stank of cigarette smoke. But my Dad said it smelled like joints. Of course Alex denied everything but I mean how dumb can you be, having a party and not cleaning up, you know? He wanted to call the maid in the afternoon, he said. Guess he was late! :)~ </div><div><br />One sec.<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164279787134330738" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mgWBXW7pbMc/R6s1GtjfJ3I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/8i_65Hl7M7s/s200/s1.jpg" border="0" /><br />Yeah, it was Alex again bothering the shit out of me. He wanted to know if I could lend him *my* MP3 player for an hour. I did it only because I’m not a bitch like he is.<br /><div><br />So anyway… He didn’t wake up when I came in but then Mom came in and she flipped out. I mean REALLY! She was screaming in no time and Alex sassed her – he is so dumb, isn’t he? – and then my Mom called my Dad who was still unloading our truck and that was it. I mean my stupid brother had no idea Dad would also be home because he thought only we came – which is quite stupid, don’t you think? – and when he saw Dad he freaked out big time. And my Dad was really furious because of the mess, and then the party, and because Mom was crying because Alex had sassed her so he really slapped him.<br /><br />You should see how Alex changes when he knows he’s in trouble! I mean I can’t ever do that! He comes out with the most incredible stories sometimes and he is so serious about them! He would do anything to avoid a spanking – two weeks ago he gave me one of his games for free only not to tell Mom and Dad that he took Mom’s car joyriding in the weekend. So this time he couldn’t invent anything because Dad didn’t want to listen so he started begging and stuff. Which didn’t work because Dad was still in the living room with us when he took off his belt and took Alex to his office. </div><div><br />And Mom called Martha – who is our cleaning woman – to come help her clean the mess. You wouldn’t believe how the house looked! </div><div><br />Alex really got it this time. I mean usually there is silence for awhile – I mean you don’t hear from the living room what they are talking about or what my Dad is saying. But that usually happens when Dad is calm. Today *I* was scared and I was in the living room. I swear! Alex is almost always as silent as he can be. And I’m saying he really got it because today he was begging my Dad not to spank him and started crying right after my Dad began spanking him. I covered my ears at some point. I felt like crying. And Mom just walked outside, to the garden.<br />And when it was over I couldn’t hear Alex’s voice anymore. I heard my Dad was saying something and then he cracked the door open and he told my brother he was to go wash his face, take a shower and get his ass downstairs to ‘scrub clean every inch of the house’, as he put it. And then Dad looked at me and asked me if I have unpacked and I said ‘not yet’ and he said that I should get moving also then. Which sucks – because when Alex does something bad everyone is in a bad mood. I went up to my room and then I saw Alex going to his room and he was still crying and stuff. I asked him if he was ok and if I could help and he told me to ‘fuck off’. Go figure the idiot that he is! As if it’s my fault that he got spanked. </div><div><br />Anyway, Mom was calling for dinner a minute ago so I better get moving cuz Dad is still pissed off because of Alex and I don’t want to get in trouble because of him.<br />Talk to you tomorrow…</div><div> </div><div>P.S. Do you like my new stickers?</em></div></div></div>Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-46380559718448569942008-02-07T14:17:00.000+02:002008-02-07T14:40:55.298+02:00Story: Coming to Senses, part 2This was the hardest thing to write. Almost ever. It reminded me of other days when I was writing other stuff and spending hours to squeeze out the story. I know where it was going but I simply was not in the mood to put it on paper. Something came out - the first half a little better than the second - the only reason being that I was so bored my imagination was gone. Anyway, I hope it is not obvious. If I were to keep it two more days and then redraft it and polish it, I would be a little more pleased with it. But then I delayed it long enough. I will polosh it later, for other readers. :) Sorry about that. It's not professional, but hey! It's me, remember?<br /><br />Actually this suddent lack of interest also happened because I am already writing something else in my mind and I am itching to write that one. :)<br /><br /><center>Coming to Senses, M/F, Part 2b</center><br /><br /><center>Copyright: KayleyBlue, 2008</center><br /><br /><br />He had been right; Her mood swung from rebellious to apprehensive. He had to stop along the road a few times, though, to plant a smack on her bottom, to adjust her attitude and to stop her stomping. She walked fast in front of him, as if trying to lose him behind, but she got slower as the house grew bigger in the distance.<br /><br />“Are you having second thoughts,” he teased, aware that he was rubbing it in.<br />“Second thoughts, my ass,” she replied, but sped up in front of him to be out of his reach.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mgWBXW7pbMc/R6r8LtjfJ1I/AAAAAAAAAFA/cKCsuVCPUMU/s1600-h/h1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mgWBXW7pbMc/R6r8LtjfJ1I/AAAAAAAAAFA/cKCsuVCPUMU/s200/h1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164217200870893394" /></a>Jack paused for a few moments then smiled. “Well, enjoy your moment. Enjoy it while you can.” On the front steps of the house, he emphasized his statement; he seized her arm and dragged her along, in the same way in which you would march an enraged child to his room.<br />“Stop it! I can walk by myself. You don’t need to drag me like a dog, thank you. Hey! Stop it, I said.”<br />“Get your sorry ass inside.” Jack’s tone rose enough to get her legs to melt under her. It had become the tone she knew and feared.<br /><br />Frowning, he stood aside and watched her get inside.<br />She dropped her things at the entrance, eyes fixed on the stick.<br />“It’s my arrow that one,” was the last resistance she opposed, pointing to the stick in Jack’s fist.<br /><br />He locked the door. The next moment he stood so close to her that she could feel his breath on her forehead. Dominating her with his gaze and his stature, he grabbed her ear.<br />“Now, do you want to repeat your last sentence? Maybe all the ones you’ve said so far?”<br />No matter how many times this would happen, she’d always feel small and helpless. The pull on her ear jerked her up on her tiptoes. She shrieked, her hand reaching instinctively for her burning ear.<br />“Don’t touch,” Jack warned, watching her reactions like a hawk. Her hand withdrew instantly. She closed her eyes.<br />“Please reproduce for my poor memory all the things you’ve said while we were out,” he invited again.<br />Meekly, she offered: “I wasn’t thinking.”<br />“Hell, you were thinking, all right, and you’ll get your share for that too.”<br />“Okok, just let go… It hurts.”<br />He ignored her pleas and walked her to the exact same room in which he had blistered her ass the previous night. Another door closed behind them.<br /><br />As he sat himself in a chair, he replaced the grip on her ear with a grip on her arm, pulling her unwilling body between his knees. With a jerking motion he unbuttoned her jeans.<br /><br />“Jack, I was only joking. It wasn’t for real. I swear!”<br />“Can’t you see how amused I am?” He snatched at her jeans, bringing them to her knees. - “I’ve been laughing my ass off since morning.” - Her Tommy Hilfiger navy boy shorts followed. He took both her small hands into his and looked her in the eyes. “You have a wonderful sense of humor, hon. Now let me show you mine.”<br />She tumbled over his knee, forehead almost colliding with the floor, feet kicking the air. He placed his right leg over hers, trapping her, adjusting her rear to a perfect target-like position.<br /><br />“Let’s see if you laugh,” Jack smiled and swatted hard. Her hand flew back the same moment.<br />“Kind of soon for that, don’t you think?” He seized it in his own and went on. “Ten minutes over my knee and a few licks with your arrow might finally teach you that I don’t appreciate this kind of humor.” He laughed and went on, watching her squirm on is lap.<br /><br />She took as much she could the best she could. She wriggled as much as she dared to. It wasn’t going to save her but writhing caused the spanking to hurt less. The hand on the floor groped for support but found none that could relieve the pain from her tensed muscles. Her torso collapsed down on one elbow.<br /><br />Jack went at the spanking job with all his energy. He admired how from pink, the color of her cheeks was shifting to a burning red. “You never learn, do you? You don’t want to learn. But that’s fine by me - I can do this each … fucking … day.”<br />He let the color change again to a darker red. Her cries had turned into screams. It didn’t bother him one bit. He was still smiling.<br /><br />“You know this is the spanking for running away and speaking to me the way you did, right? I don’t want you to be surprised by round two, which is for last night.”<br /><br />She didn’t answer. Most probably because she had bit her tongue chocking on a curse.<br /><br />“But let’s not talk about round two until we are finished with round one.”<br /><br />He wanted to set a new record about how long his hand would hurt after the spanking. He flexed his arm, clasped the air with his hand, soothing the burning feeling of the swellings in his palm. Kay wasn’t crying yet but soon she would be; He could promise her that.<br /><br />“Stand up,” he said eventually. She slid down by his side, on her knees, unsure if to rub her eyes first, or her aching bottom. She went for the second choice.<br /><br />Dammit, his hand hurt.<br /><br />He picked up the arrow from the floor, where he had dropped in before taking her over his knee. He slid it through his palm, checking for knots that could bruise her. He found none. She had done a pretty good job, even better than if he would have asked for it. “All right,” he said, tapping it against his palm and looking down at Kay, “let’s see if this arrow is multifunctional, ey?”<br />“I think I had enough,” she said. “You’ve made your point.”<br />“Judging by your behavior I very much doubt it, Sunshine. So stop delaying, stand up, and bend over the chair. Unlike you, who’s been playing around in mud and pretending to fish, I had a rough day and I wanna get it over with. If you don’t wanna earn interest, I suggest you do as you’re told. I’m losing my patience here.”<br />She obeyed because she had no choice. Jack wrapped an arm around her waist and began planting some solid whacks on her behind. “Your arrow is multifunctional, all right,” he taunted her.<br /><br />Her discomfort rose until her knees began to buckle; if it hadn’t been for his arm to keep her standing she would have been on her knees already.<br /><br />Now she was sorry.<br /><br />The welts overlapped. They built a solid welted mass – pretty much what you would get from the blow of a birch with 100 sticks inside.<br /><br />The sobbing continued even after he had stopped whipping her. He sat next to her, waiting for her to calm down. He put an arm around Kay, pulling her to his chest. First, she resisted then she sobbed in his shoulder, while he rocked her gently.<br />There were no words. When she managed to catch her breath, she was still there, mute, chin on his shoulder, watching some sparrows hopping on a branch outside.Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-15151329143621005002008-02-07T01:24:00.000+02:002008-02-07T01:29:28.783+02:00Unavailable Due to 'Technical' ReasonsI had a little accident this morning - with my eye, an accident with my baby male cat while I was sleeping so I reached ER around 1pm. I came back home around 5pm from work and hospital with a bandaged eye so... didn't have time to work on the story.<br /><br />If everything is fine tomorrow, after another morning check at the doctor, I will write. I feel extremely bored not being allowed to strain my eyes or smoke (risk of infection growing) and shit like that. I did sleep for something like 4 hours, woke up, did some remote work from home on my computer at work (like four hours hehe) and smoked a pack of ciggies, and I can't wait to go back to work on Monday. hehe<br /><br />Time to go to bed, I guess...Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-48211405834016816892008-02-05T23:25:00.000+02:002008-02-06T00:08:41.138+02:00Story: Coming to Senses, part 2I will give you tonight the first mini-chapter of what I wrote last night. It seems that no matter how much I want to write and focus, I can't. Tomorrow I will finish all of it and add the continuation in this same post, to avoid archiving issues later.<br /><br /><center>Coming to Senses</center><br /><center>(Part 1 A)</center><br /><center>Copyright: KayleyBlue, 2008</center><br /><br /> Jack woke up around seven. He had a busy day ahead, with important guests coming for tea and coffee, and then lunch, around one. Everyone else had been up since five and the house had become a busy nest where cooks holding hot pots and dangerous weapons ran wild in the kitchen and maids with less vicious tools scrubbed the floors and tidied the rooms downstairs; yes, everyone had been up and working except for his beloved spoilt wife, Kayley.<br /><br /> Spanking her was his top priority for the day. People could knock themselves out running around inside; it held no importance. After all, what was the shed for, he mused.<br /><br /> Most probably she was still fighting her bad hangover at that early hour. He could imagine her coming down the stairs, with puffy big eyes and the innocent look of a five year old, in her pink PJs and with her fluffy pink bunny slippers. He had married a kid, not a woman; at least he’d always been aware of that. So he decided to let her indulge herself that morning, by oversleeping until ten. He lived to regret it, however.<br /><br /> When the beeping alarm of his watch grabbed his attention at ten, the princess was still fast asleep. He went up to their bedroom to see how she was - maybe even pat her sore behind a little to get her moving to the bathroom faster. But the room he found was deserted and the window wide open. Only the clothes piled up all around the floor and on the upturned blankets on the bed were strong indicators that she had once inhabited that room. It was another cry for attention on her side; she had run away.<br /><br /> He should have panicked. And that was his first instinct. Yet the logic took over and built his anger. Running away had always been a poor choice. On a day when guests were expected, it was blatant disobedience, lack of respect, and mostly, a screaming proof that she was still too spoilt. Or maybe drunk, whichever the difference could be in her case.<br /><br /> He couldn’t be at Julie’s house because that’s where she’d been the last time, when she got caught, and she got whipped thoroughly. She wasn’t doing the same mistake twice. But he had no time to run around looking for her; not before lunch, at least.<br /><br />***<br /><br /> The evening shadows were elongating and he’d been calling her name and searching the surroundings for three hours, to no avail. At last, the panic found a small corner in his fertile mind from where to start growing. He wondered if she wasn’t hiding from him – most probably his cries were scaring her off, in the same way in which the shot of the hunter’s gun would scare a rabbit. So, flashlight in his hand, all alone, he began climbing the hill on the west side of the house. He swam through wild bushes and high grass, choosing the shortcut, not the path, to the other side of the woods, to the river. This time, just like a predator, he could sense her whereabouts. He knew he would find her there in the same way in which he knew that the moment he’d see her he’d turn her small behind crimson - To match the drapes she had chosen for the guest room, the ones she had fussed about for four months; for a room she hardly even saw. And she still wasn’t satisfied. She still wanted the drapes down again, to replace them with checkered blue ones, “For a country feeling,” she had explained. “Country feeling, my ass,” – he mumbled to himself. “I’ll give her a country hiding instead.”<br /><br /> Right enough – as soon as he reached the main path again, down in the clearing, he noticed her small frame bent over a fish net, busying herself with what looked like fishing to her, but feeding the fish, to him. To translate - not to hurt the poor creatures, she had devised a net which she had set in the flow of the stream, with some bait attached to the bottom of it, in which she caught the fish only to release them a few minutes later. She was disgusted with herself for liking real fishing. So she did everything possible to make peace with herself on the issue of not hurting the fish, on one hand, and, on the other, satisfying her sick need to feel the rod of the fishing pole (in her case, the net) tremble as she picked the fishes out.<br /><br /> “I’m happy to see that you’re alive,” he said behind her. The voice startled Kayley enough to make her scream and crash on her butt in a muddy puddle. The net dropped to the ground. What seemed to her like a second between getting over the initial shock of seeing this lugubrious apparition and the urge to run for her life was actually long enough for Jack to understand her intention and seize her flight.<br /> “Not so fast, Sunshine,” he said, laughing.<br /><br /> Her big dark eyes doubled and the look on her face was priceless. She had mud all over her hands, all over her new Calvin Klein outfit, and on her shoes. She even had a dirt spot on her cheek. She had pulled her hair together under a blue Quicksilver cap.<br /><br /> “Leave me alone,” she tried to snatch her arm free. The lips formed a pout.<br /> “You’re the angry one?” – He laughed. Laughter was what kept him calm. “Hey, what’s this?” From a pile of neatly cut sticks he picked one.<br /> “That’s an arrow! You wouldn’t know one if it went right through your head.”<br /> “But I would know a perfect stick if I saw one for my beloved wife’s behind…” He turned her around as easily as you would spin a child and whipped her bottom hard with it. She voiced her protests loud and clear, punctuated by a few curses.<br /> “You’re brave now because we’re not home yet,” he said, loosening his grip on her. “I’ll see how brave you’ll be taking this over your bare bottom in our living room at home.” She shook her head ‘no’. Probably the act of doing it would make the scene less probable to happen.<br /><br /> “Pack your things,” he said, and his attitude took another tone. Calmness aside, he stopped playing the game. It was not a game. Catching her might have been, but this wasn’t one anymore.<br /> “Pack’em, unless you want your pants down right now, and a good spanking coming your way.”<br /> She looked at him to make sure he wasn’t kidding. He raised his eyebrows. Still amused.<br /><br /> She picked up her things while throwing a tantrum (could also have been interpreted as ‘she threw a tantrum while picking up her things’) then faced him, her eyes fixing his.<br /> “That’s my arrow, by the way, and I want it back.” It sounded like an order.<br /> Jack would have chuckled; she was too small to be giving orders to anybody, except to herself maybe. And even those should be considered advice. But she stood straight in front of him, determined, confident. His eyes opened surprised: “Care to repeat that, please?”<br /> “I want my stick back. It’s mine. I made it.”<br /> “Good news, Sunshine, because that means you don’t have to cut another rod tonight.” He slapped her ass hard and she yelped. “Move it. I had enough games for one day.”Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-46995027179104193872008-02-05T22:48:00.000+02:002008-02-05T23:05:15.232+02:00Fucked up EveningMy Mom came over and she manages to piss the shit out of me each time she comes. She is the nagging queen. Each sentence coming out of her mouth is on the negative side. I am so fucking tired of it I don't have words to explain it.<br /><br />This is why I don't visit anymore and this is why I don't miss them when they are gone. Maybe I am just a cold person and a lonely one too, but I had enough bullshit in my life and I don't want anymore. I moved 350km away from home for University not to be in that house anymore, and in another country to be even further.<br /><br />These are the moments when I wish I could live across the ocean. I wouldn't mind. I don't care why she does it anymore. I have my own life and I plan on living it. Why the fuck does she have to always come and start cooking and to nag me about my house and my habits and everything? She has a problem with my father who keeps drinking? Then keep it there and keep me out of the picture. I am sick and tired of being the one to whom everyone runs when they have a problem. I have problems too and I don't bother people with them - and the fact that I write this down is not to get comments from anybody, but to get it out of my system. I would actually appreciate it if you didn't comment, because my pissed off mood is dangerous. And no matter what I say about my parents I become very protective when others say it.<br /><br />I have two or three things in mind on how I could calm down and you don't want to hear them and I don't want to share them. But I might do them nevertheless.<br /><br />Yeah, keep throwing things around. That's gonna help for sure. What the fuck is her problem anyway? Fuck, I am sooo tired of their shit.<br /><br />You know, each time I have something to celebrate or be happy about, I call home, and I get to hear that he's drunk again and she's in a bad mood. Jack got employed in the position he wanted - 'well done' with the background of fighting; same goes for both of us getting maximum grades in our Masters degree and being happy about it; same goes for the day before my wedding; same goes for every fucking Xmas and new year and Easter; for Jack's promotion. For my own. I have started to avoid their phone calls , simply because I don't want to be down and worry all day about them fighting again. I dread the moment they would call in the evening.<br /><br />I am even sick with myself for sharing all this, but who gives a shit? And I used to wonder how come I ended up so screwed up, being the masochist that I am? Actually, I wonder how I ended up always smiling at work and being optimistic, instead of locking myself in a cage and nagging everyone like she does, or drinking every days countless glasses or bottles of booze and being down.<br /><br />Just put a gun to my head and shoot me guys.<br /><br />You know what? I am fucking gonna write! If I don't lose contact with this fucking reality I might just get out of the house in the middle of the might and wander on the streets for a few hours.Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-89158251404243588922008-02-04T23:37:00.000+02:002008-02-04T23:45:22.560+02:00M/F Story on the WayGood news for those who enjoy the M/F genre - I've started writing the second part of "<a href="http://bratundercontrol.blogspot.com/2006/09/story-coming-to-senses-mf-nc-birch.html">Coming to Senses</a>". More good news is that I enjoy doing that.<br /><br />It took me about two hours to convince myself that I can switch my mind from M/m to M/F successfully. I think I did it, but you will be the judges of that. :) Writing M/F gives me a good feeling if I get a good vibe of my plot. I was kind of stuck, not knowing how to go with the second part (especially since I wrote the first part in the fall of 2006). I totally hate bland plots that feature only a spanking and nothing else. I want the story mostly. So I came up with something as playful as always (or so I like to believe) to motivate me to write. :)<br /><br />Hope you'll enjoy it. It has to be ready by tomorrow. And no, I cannot post the first part without having the whole story in hand - it's like telling what you're gonna write before you do: for me, the whole magic goes and I can't write a word anymore. For me, writing is all about being spontaneous, discovering my characters along the road. I take that away and I am left with nothing. :)<br /><br />Cheers! :)Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22402239.post-85709541667614817422008-02-04T20:44:00.000+02:002008-02-05T22:33:56.499+02:00Story: Alex 5: Rivalries (M/m)First, I want to thank all of you who have supported my writing over the past two years. I had my moments of being active and then disappearing, but feedback kept me going. So thanks a lot, guys, for your comments and support. I always appreciate your comments, even the criticism (even though I defend myself against it first), because it helps me grow; it helps me get better at what I am doing. :) So thanks again.<br /><br /><br />This story is somehow linked to what has been going on in Alexis's life, on <a href="http://jujubees1.livejournal.com/">Juju's blog</a>. Reading <a href="http://jujubees1.livejournal.com/tag/alexis+stories#jujubees1116525">Alexis: Chapter 14</a> on her blog might help you understand better the context. So would the Alex-Alexis story to which you can find links on my blog.<br /><br />All disclaimers apply. Over 18.<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><strong>An Alex Spanking Story: Rivalries (M/m)</strong></center><br /><br /><center><strong>Copyright: KayleyBlue, 2008</strong></center><br /><br />After classes, Alex had been waiting for ten minutes on the second floor corridor when he saw Lizzie appear. She came without Alexis and it wasn't a suprise to him.<br /><br />He watched her wave goodbye to the two girls she’d been chatting with. She hadn’t seen him yet. As she opened her locker to get her things, he approached her. He needed to know a few things about Alexis. And who was the person who knew Alexis best? Lizzie, her old time friend. He had always disliked her for a reason which was not quite clear to him and which, at this time, held no importance in his view.<br /><br />“Why lookie lookie who’s here,” he said, resting his left shoulder on a locker.<br />Lizzie sized him from head to toes.<br />“Whacha want?”<br />Alex smiled, not to be courteous, but because he was quite amused.<br />“Where is Alexis,” he asked, drawling the words.<br />“What’s it to you?”<br />He slammed the locker door in her face, almost catching her fingers.<br />“What the fuck is your problem?” – She cried , but her anger was on the edge of panic.<br />He felt she was somewhat scared. And that is exactly what he was after.<br />“Where is Alexis?”<br />“How the fuck should I know?” – she screamed. “Let me get my things.” It was a plea.<br />“Alright, then,” – Alex smiled. “Maybe you know something about that kid, Joey? What’s he after?”<br /><br />Lizzie grinned. “Oh, I see. You are jealous, aren’t you?”<br />“Not your problem.”<br />“Joey is hardly a threat. But if I were you,” – and the smile she gave Alex was the evilest she could manage – “as the song goes, I’d be careful about the new boy in town.”<br /><br />Alex watched her bemused.<br /><br />“Oh, the boyfriend doesn’t know, does he?” She pushed him away from her locker, opened it, and grabbed her things. “Maybe if you were less full of yourself you would notice…” She turned her back on him and walked away like a winner.<br /><br />Alex watched her go. Yes, he was jealous. Maybe because the vibe he had been getting lately was good. The news was more of a shock than something else.<br /><br />Josh and Mike appeared by his side, schoolbags on their shoulders.<br />“So?” – Josh asked watching Lizzie disappear on the stairs.<br />“Who is new in school?” – Alex asked, speaking to none of them in particular.<br />“Just a new kid came a few weeks ago. A transfer. Why?”<br /><br />Alex’s fists tightened.<br />“I wanna know everything about this guy, you hear me? He’s dead meat. There is no messing around with my girlfriend. I want to know where he lives, what bus he takes when he goes home. Everything.”<br />“He’s after Alexis?”<br />“If he was, he won’t be anymore. Not after tonight.” He turned to face them. He was smiling. “So guys, we haven’t beaten up anybody for way too long, right? It was getting a little boring, really… Time to spice things up. Let’s have some fun tonight.”<br />The other two also smiled.<br /><br /><div align="justify">***<br /><br />His name was Ben, Alex found out from Mike. He was riding in the same school bus with Alexis. He was living a couple of blocks away from her. He was too new to have his own gang at school, but he was growing one in his own neighborhood. He was sixteen and good looking.<br /><br />He was also a tough ass.<br /><br />Alex learnt that the hard way, when the Ben’s fist caught Alex’s jaw. He felt his lip go numb and swell instantly. Blind anger rose to his brain; he punched the new kid in the mouth, then in the stomach. Ben fell on his back, with Alex on top of him.<br /><br />“That’s enough,” Josh cried. “Fuck, man, that’s enough. You made your point. Let’s go.” It took both Josh's and Mike's strength to pull Alex back.<br />“You don’t fucking mess with my girl, you hear me, you piece of shit?” He fought to escape both his friends’ grip.<br /><br />From the corner of the building, two massive shadows appeared. Sharp steal was flashing in their hands. Ben watched them approach and dared to stand up, slowly, wiping drips of bloody saliva off his chin.<br />“Over here,” he called, and the strangers began running in his direction.<br /><br />First, the three friends froze. Then Josh turned around and hit the road. “Run, you idiots,” he called back. Mike followed his lead. Except for Alex, who took his time to punch Ben in the mouth twice.<br /><br />Later that evening he thought he was lucky, although back then he only felt angry; a motorcycle’s breaks screeched to a halt next to him.<br />“Get on,” the man said.<br />Alex’s eyes widened.<br />“Get fucking on, I said. Now!”<br />He did, quite puzzled. The motorcycle’s wheels screeched again while it accelerated into the distance. He looked back at the guys with the knives. They had stopped running. They were simple watchers now.<br /><br />As they rode on dark streets, no one said anything; now and then the dim yellow light of a functional street lamp cast deep shadows into the dingy alleys of the neighborhood. Then Alex began recognizing the surroundings; they had reached the east extremity of his own neighborhood.<br /><br />“Are you ok,” the man asked. They weren’t running anymore.<br />“Yes. Thanks.”<br />It was Drew. It had taken Alex about one minute to realize it. He mostly recognized the voice and the motorcycle.<br />“I’ll take you home,” Drew said.<br />They were quiet again. The adrenaline, which had kept him going until then, began subsiding. His muscles felt weak. Realization dawned onto him – home, to his Dad. He was in trouble.<br /></div><center>***</center><br /><br />Jack listened calmly to Drew’s story. Alex watched the conversation take place in the kitchen through the glass sliding doors. He didn’t hear a word, as they were almost whispering, but he could see his Dad’s reaction. The face of the man had hardened and when he turned to look at Alex, Alex didn’t see anything good in those dark eyes.<br /><br />His lip burnt. It had swelled. Blood had stopped pouring, but he started now and then when his mother attended to it. She wasn’t talking. And she didn’t say much either.<br /><br />Drew came out of the kitchen, accompanied by his father.<br />“You should come for dinner, one evening.” - Jack was saying. “How about this Saturday?”<br />Clara stood up and went next to her husband. “We would very much like it if you could come, Drew.”<br />“I’ll see what I can do. We’ve been quite busy lately and we two didn’t have time to catch up on old times. I guess we could come...”<br />“Bring Michelle too, if you feel like it,” Jack said.<br />“We’ll see.” There was something strange in his tone. “We’ll talk about it.”<br />“Just give me a call when you know for sure and we’ll arrange it. We can play Dungeons and Dragons…” - Jack teased.<br />Drew laughed. “That’s a good one, doc. Well… it might be a healthy change for the kids. I’ll see what I can do. Ok. Gotta go,” he said turning towards Alex. “You take care. And I’d better not see you in my neighborhood again unless you’re visiting. Or else I’ll tan your ass myself.”<br />Alex nodded. He tried to smile but he couldn’t. “Thank you,” he said. He was too preoccupied to observe his Dad’s mood to care about the future.<br /><br />Drew waved again and went out, followed by Jack. He saw the two men exchanging a handshake and Drew patting his friend on the shoulder. Then Jack came back inside. He paused in front of the front door, looking at Alex.<br />“I can explain,” the boy said fast, standing up from the couch.<br />“No explaining will get you out of this one, Alex,” Jack concluded.<br />“You could have gotten killed,” his mother also said. “Do you realize what you’ve done? What if Drew wasn’t there to save you? Oh, God, I don’t even want to think about it!” She sighed and collapsed in a chair. “Look at you! You have stains of blood everywhere on you. You have a broken lip. Your eye is swollen. How are you going to go to school like this?” She paused and turned to her husband. “Jack?”<br />“If you think that I'm gonna write a medical note for him to get him out of trouble, you are wrong,” he said.<br />“But he cannot go to school on Monday with a black eye and a puffy lip!”<br />“Are you blaming me for what's happened to him?” His jaw tightened.<br />She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant and you well know it.” She turned to her son. “Go wash your face, take a shower and go to bed.”<br />“No,” Jack said, and Alex’s heart leaped out of his chest. “Go up and bring me the cane from your room.”<br /><br />“Jack!” – Clara’s eyes opened wide, but not as wide as Alex’s. Alex waited, looking expectedly to his mother. He hoped she could save him. But the chances were dim. Then his eyes turned to Jack, pleading.<br />“Oh, no, mister, you can give me that look all you want. Both of you can stare all you want,” he said shaking his head and smiling. “It’s not gonna work. Has it ever worked, Alex?”<br />For what Alex could remember, no, it hadn’t. But he had the right to hope.<br /><br />“He has a puffy lip, Jack,” Clara insisted.<br />“Does he have a broken butt? No. Alex , go get the cane. Quit stalling.”<br /><br />Alex threw one last desperate look to his mother, who was now rubbing her hands furiously. Then he saw his Dad’s gaze upon him and he stood up, walking slowly, head down, to the stairs. As he reached his room, he heard the muffled conversation taking place downstairs – his mom, pleading; his dad, explaining calmly.<br /><br />He felt the urge to call Alexis. He listened to his parents, who were still bickering. He picked up the phone in his room and dialed her number. He was lucky: it was she who picked up the phone.<br />“Hey,” he said. He wasn’t sure what he was going to tell her. He wasn't sure why he had called in the first place.<br />“Heeeey! What’s up?”<br />He heard himself laugh dryly. “Did your Dad get home?”<br />“No. Why?”<br />He studied the cane in his hand. He paused. “Never mind.” He couldn’t tell her himself. Let Drew do that for him.<br />Jack’s call resounded from downstairs.<br />“I gotta go,” he said suddenly, all senses alert. “I just wanted to say that I’ve missed you, pretty face.”<br />“Me too.” Her voice was soft.<br /><br />He hung up, smiled to himself, and rushed downstairs. His mother was no longer there; either they did have an argument, or they agreed but she didn’t want to watch the scene – it was all the same to Alex. He placed the cane into his Dad’s extended hand. Alex thought that Jack had hesitated there for a second; unfortunately, it was only a second, because the next moment Jack showed his son to the coffee table.<br /><br />“Take off your shirt,” Jack said. “I don’t want it falling over your butt every second.”<br />Alex began working on the buttons. He undid the first three and pulled it over his head, like a sweater.<br />“Don’t you want to know why I did it?” – Alex asked.<br />“I will know after we’re finished with this,” Jack said. He sighed. His voice became mellow. “Alex, listen carefully: no reason, and I mean absolutely no reason, is good enough to get yourself in that situation. Do I make myself clear? Not even if someone did something to you or to Ashley, you don’t bring yourself to the situation to be killed. Things are not supposed to be handled through fights, and especially not by a seventeen year-old, with a gang, in another neighborhood. Do you understand that?”<br />Alex nodded. He was confused by this way of reasoning.<br /><br />“He was after Alexis,” Alex finally confessed.<br />“I imagined. And that makes the situation even worse. Let the girl choose. I don’t think she would approve of your behavior either. This is gang behavior. This is not how men act and solve their problems. What you did was unbelievably reckless and stupid. Take your jeans and boxers down, please. And bend over, hands on the table.”<br /><br />Alex hesitated. He wanted to say something or negotiate but Jack’s stern eyes convinced him that resistance was futile. Besides, he knew it from experience. He had learnt it the hard way, from when he was only eight.<br /><br />His dirty jeans fell to his ankles followed by his boxers. The hair rose on his arms as he bent forward, grabbing tight onto the edges of the coffee table. It was all too familiar to him. Only the swishing sound and the horrible bite were new. He stopped breathing, letting his mind adjust to the pain.<br /><br />Jack gave him time to breathe in and out. He also gave him time to anticipate, which made the situation even more unbearable to Alex. The kid’s mind could grab only the concept of ‘how much until the next one’.<br /><br />He looked with the corner of his eye as the cane came down again, his teeth gritted before the stroke even landed. Pain exploded again. No, he couldn’t take it. He definitely couldn’t. He made a move, ready to stand up, but the cane bit again, higher on his butt. He screeched. Small beads of sweat were shining on the small of his back.<br /><br />“Please,” he begged, panting as if he’d run a hundred miles. “I’ll take the belt,” he offered.<br />“No. You are taking the cane, Alex.”<br />The fourth one made him bend his knees. The house resounded with his cry. He stood up again, slowly, carefully, scared that the simple act of getting back into position will cause another blow. Which did happen.<br /><br />He gave up counting when he reached seven. He had hoped for six. Anything past that number meant that there was no set number. And just as he had expected, at some point the cane started coming down so fast that he had no time to move or breathe. He dissolved into cries of pain. His hands had moved so much forward that he was almost lying flat on the table.<br />Jack stopped.<br /><br />“Will this happen again, Alex,” he questioned.<br />The boy shook his head no. Speaking coherently was as possible as avoiding the next stroke.<br />“You will not get yourself killed by acting the way you just did. Is that clear?”<br />“Yes.”<br />Two more strokes hit his upper legs and the most terrifying one, the third, landed in the middle of his bottom. Alex remained in place, weeping hard.<br />“Ok, that’s it.” Jack watched his son stand up gingerly. His face was screwed. His eyes had become as puffy as his lip. He let him fumble with his boxers at his ankles. Pulling them up was torture. The boy decided against putting on his jeans and simply kicked them off, grabbed them in his hand.<br /><br />Jack handed him the shirt.<br />“Does your lip still hurt?” – He asked, raising the boy’s chin slowly, for a better view of the injury.<br />“In comparison to my ass, no,” Alex said.<br />Jack smiled, wiped his kid’s forehead with his palm. Even his hair was wet with sweat.<br />“Are your teeth ok?” – He asked again while checking his son’s lip.<br />“Yeah…”<br />“No loose tooth, no nothing, right?”<br />“No.”<br />He checked the swollen eye and the eyebrow. Alex flinched.<br />“Stay still.” He felt the lump. “Well, the bone is not broken, at least,” Jack said. He smiled again, sighed, and kissed his son’s forehead. “You are such a stupid kid, I swear… Go to bed. I’ll see what I can do about your school until the swelling passes… And Drew will make sure nothing happens to you because of what you did tonight to that kid.”<br /><br /><center>***</center><br />“You stupid idiot! Fucking bastard! What the fuck were you thinking?”<br />Alex didn’t have time to avoid the rain of fists and slaps landing on his chest and face. She had caught him with the tips of her fingers over his eyebrow. It hurt almost as bad as if she would have poked her finger into his eye.<br /><br />It was Saturday morning, and Alexis had appeared out of blue sky on his doorsteps, in his garden, where he had been relaxing with a manga magazine. She was fuming, although Alex hadn’t had the chance to figure out the exact reason.<br /><br />“What the fuck were you thinking?” – She yelled.<br />He wrestled her to catch her hands, which were damaging him almost as much as that new kid’s fist had. She pushed him away, making him fall down in his chaise long. He screamed in pain and jerked up from the seat, as if he had been sat on a wasp nest.<br /><br />“What’s wrong with you?” – Alex whined, rubbing his ass with one hand.<br />The incident seemed to calm her down.<br />“He gave it to you, didn’t he?” She was a teaser. Her eyes laughed in her head playfully. She pushed him again, but this time Alex didn’t fall.<br />“He did not.”<br />“Did too.”<br /><br />The scene reminding Alex of his bragging to his friends, as a kid, about how cool he was and how many things he could do without being caught.<br /><br />“Did not. Mind your own business.”<br />“Those are very big words coming from someone like you,” she smiled. “He spanked you. Just admit it.”<br />“You’re delusional, woman.”<br />“Haha! You reeaaally got it, didn’t you? Let me see!” She attacked him playfully, jerking down on his pants.<br />“What gotten into you? Hey! Alexis, stop it! That hurts!” He seized her hands in his, but the girl was stronger than he could have imagined. She gave up for an instant, and went on plan B. “C’mon, Alex… It’s me, remember? Just let me see.”<br />“Why are you so curious?”<br />“’Cause I am?”<br />“What? Me getting spanked turns you on now?”<br />“You have no idea,” she giggled, slapping his butt and running away. Alex chased her upstairs, all the way to his room.<br /><br />The slap he got from her stunned him.<br />“That’s for trying to control my life,” she said. Then she planted a wet kiss on his mouth. “And that’s because you care about me.”Kayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05934614277122345382noreply@blogger.com8