Paradox Play (part 2)

Rated X:  This story goes beyond a simple spanking story.  If you're easily squicked, skip this one!  Otherwise, enjoy and remember that it is fantasy, not a script or a suggestion.

This story is dedicated to [the man my husband calls] my "boyfriend"..."the object of my limerence"...or whatever we're calling it this week, love.  Thank you for all your encouragement and support.

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"I'm doing all the work here, Beautiful. You turn, I think." He set the cane aside and knelt beside her on the bed. His nails scraped against the fresh welts on her thighs, causing her to squirm. He froze and glared at her until she stilled. His fingers wandered to her hips, tracing the lines, he closed his eyes for a moment. But he pulled one hand and away and thrust first one finger, then two, deep inside her.

"Squeeze me," he commanded.

"But...the ginger."

"Did you think I'd forgotten?" his thumb tapped the base of the ginger still in place. "Do as you are told or I'll replace it with something you really won't like. "

Her eyes flicked immediately to the enormous glass plug he left out after showing her earlier. Double bulbed, it was larger than anything she had tried before. She forced herself to obey him.

"That's right. Again. "

With his free hand, he retrieved his wartenberg wheel and traced designs on her flat stomach. Her breathing grew ragged as she forced herself to squeeze his fingers while her senses were teased by the rolling wheel. When she approached the brink of orgasm, he withdrew his fingers and slapped her pussy hard.

"Not yet, little one. " He leaned over and licked one clamped nipple, then blew on it, giving her a cold sensation. She whimpered in response and he did then same to the other side.

He stood up, gathered a few things, and returned to her side, not allowing her to see what he had brought.  He attached weights to the clamps and urged her to turn over. He arranged her on all fours, her legs spread wide, and forced her head down to the mattress. Once she was positioned, he reached around to check that the weights hung freely, pulling the clamped flesh.

With his hand in a plastic bag, he removed the ginger, deftly rolling the bag around it for disposal. Gloved fingers spread lubricant on a metal plug. He set the tip of it against her.

"No!" her head flew up and she turned partway around to look at him.

He glared at her, setting the plug down out of her line of sight. He stepped to her side, removing the glove. A bare hand cradled her face, "What did you say?"

"I..." her mouth worked silently, "I'm sorry?"

His other hand slapped her cheek, "Try again."

"I didn't mean it!"

"Hmmm," he stroked her cheek thoughtfully. "I think I've something to keep you from saying things you don't mean," he started to stand.

"Please, I...". A second slap silenced her. And the simple gag he tied in place maintained that silence.

"And did I say you could look?" Despite her frantic head shake, he secured a blindfold over her eyes before pushing her head back down. With a new glove, he resumed his task. She followed his quiet commands, spreading her legs further still and accepting the plug with only a moan.

He took up the cane again, starting on her spread thighs, working up her bottom and back to her shoulders. She gave herself over to the sensation, moaning and whimpering at the strikes. He worked his way back down, pausing to position himself to carefully lay welts down between her spread cheeks. Moving back behind her, he tapped the cane between her thighs, working up and down with varying intensity until she was panting and arching her back.

With a moan, he set the cane aside and took her bottom in his hands, squeezing hard. He pulled away, leaving one hand resting on her back as he reached for his heavy leather paddle. Returning to her, he knelt beside her on the bed, wrapping one arm around her waist and reaching to cup her wet pussy in his hand. Then he began paddling, hard even strokes. She ground against his hand, melding the pleasure with the pain until it wasn't clear where one ended and the other began.

Party Play

After a weekend at Thunder in the Mountains, I'm returning to a simple spanking story while I process things.  This fantasy was written for a spanking-party setting.  Names have been changed to protect the guilty...you'll notice my name isn't changed, because we all know how innocent I am!

The gentle hand on my shoulder was little warning for the whispered, "I thought we discussed this, Lizzie." Instantly, my attention transferred from the group I stood with to the man who stood just behind me.

"What? Luke...I...what?" With no reason coming to mind, I could not even frame a defense.

Luke tapped the side of the wineglass in my hand and gave me a significant look.

"But it's my first glass..."

"Don't compound your trouble by lying to me, young lady."

Caught, I pouted hopefully at him, "But it's Friday night."

"Hush," he set a gentle finger against my lips, "You should learn to stop while you're ahead."

I could only catch my breath. I would push until I was over someone's knee and even then I would be hard pressed to stop. Of those few things that brought my mind to a complete stop, Luke had employed one of the less obvious ones - the gentle caress of a hand on my face. Cupping a hand on my cheek or directing my gaze by grasping my chin has a similar effect of narrowing my focus to a single person. It was less dramatic than my response to some other things, but this could be employed much more casually. It is the very casual touches that have the power to undo me. I may allow many people to raise my skirt and spank me...because I enjoy it. But with those I trust, a simple touch can be powerful.

But now another touch, his hand encircling my arm, puts all the control in his hands.

"Excuse us. Lizzie and I have something to discuss."

From the laughter and teasing remarks of my friends, it is obvious that none of them expect us to have a verbal discussion. Time and space collapse, the next thing I am aware of is his hotel room. I've lost my wine glass in the transition, but my attitude has returned.

"It's not like I'm drunk and disorderly, you know. Or driving!"

"That's hardly the point."

"So what is?" I challenge, only to find the challenge ignored as he pulls me over his knee. He lays a few swats on my skirt and I giggle.

"You're wearing Ms. Blue, aren't you?" His remark is rhetorical as he flips up my skirt to look for himself.

"I knew you only wanted to see what I've got on under there."

"And can you blame me?" His hand trances intricate designs on my girdle-covered bottom.

"I suppose not," I admit. "After all, I wore it hoping you would...ow. Don't hurt your hand."

"Get me the Kent brush, then." He laughs as he helps me off his lap.

I pout at him, "You don't have to be mean!"

"If I have to get it myself, the hairbrush isn't the only thing I'm getting."

Even with that threat, I wait until he starts to get up before I scamper over and grab the brush. He settles himself back into the chair, pulling me easily across his lap.

"Don't think you've gotten away with anything. I've set aside plenty of time tonight."

Relationships Required

I've been posting a number of fiction and fantasy pieces lately.  I love getting feedback - leave me comments, send me an email, or message me on FetLife.  Whether  you love it or hate it, I want to hear your opinions.  I want to know what works, what turns you on/off, what you especially liked, what you would like to read more of.

<rant>

But if you think I've written a script I'd like to play out with an anonymous person...full stop.  I am non-monogamous, but intense play requires a relationship and a great deal of trust.  My version of non-monogamy is not random encounters; it is relationship based.  In fact, I've discovered that the best thing about the scene is the relationships that develop.

A relationship does not begin with "I'd like to play out the deepest, most intense scene you've written about on your blog."

</rant>

Paradox Play

This fantasy goes a bit beyond simple spanking play - consensual play between adults with sexual themes.  If this isn't your thing...go away!  (I'm horny and unapologetic tonight.)


"Paradox play, huh?" his question was more of a statement as he considered her, "I'll start with something you know you like, and perhaps we'll try some other things.  First, though, strip."

She stepped out of her shorts and smoothly pulled her shirt over her head.  In that quick motion, she stood naked before him.

"Your bra and panties were supposed to send me a message," he considered the lack of both, "What message are you sending me?"

"I'm hiding nothing from you."

"Nice.  Very nice."  His hands rand lightly over her breasts and down her sides, tracing the lines of her hips, "But I'm still going to beat you."

"I'd be rather disappointed if you didn't."

"Pile pillows on the bed and make yourself comfortable."

She followed his direction.  The snap of rubber gloves and the sharp scent of fresh ginger left no doubt as to how the scene would begin.  The ginger slid in with the help of cool water and he made a few changes to her position before beginning with the cane.  A variety of strokes woke her skin - thudding taps across her back and shoulders, stinging cuts across thighs and calves, the ringing of perfectly laid lines across her lower bottom.

"It's hard, isn't it?" he asked as he focused a series of stripes across the base of her bottom, "You want to clench because it hurts, but if you clench, it hurts."

"Mmmmm...yeah," was all she managed to say, struggling with the paradox he described.

Watching her, reading the changes in her breathing and the tension in her skin, he finally set the cane aside, exchanging it for the sensation of his fingernails.  His nails swept from her shoulder to her ankle before switching sides.  He drug his fingernails up her body to the other shoulder, fine white lines marking her pink flesh.  Reaching her neck, he squeezed for a moment before tangling his finger into her hair and pulling her head back.  Her eyes were glazed and her smile one of pure delight.

"Turn over for me, beautiful."  He pulled pillows out of the way as he helped her over.  His hands ran down her arms and he pulled her hands to her head, "Hands behind your head."  Her eyes focused on him, following him as he moved down the side of the bed.

"Knees apart, feet together."  She positioned herself and he reached between her legs to settle the ginger more deeply.  She moaned and wiggled against him.

"No, beautiful.  Stay sill for me now.  Can you do that?"

"Yeah," her voice was quiet, as though it traveled some distance from subspace to him.

Vampire gloves made her skin shudder, but she managed to stay mostly still for him.  He rolled down her arms, one finger at a time, beginning at her wrists and tapping his way down across her chest.  Reaching her breasts he took them in his hands and squeezed.  At that, she jerked a bit and he pulled back.

"Stay still, got it?"

"Yeah," her breath quickened as he made his way down her stomach and down her inner thighs.  He worked his way back upwards, ignoring her moan as he skipped the area between her legs.

"Later, beautiful.  I've plans for that later.  Hold very still for me now."  His hands returned to her breasts.

He squeezed again.  This time, she held still for him.  She took a deep breath when he squeezed harder and another when he abruptly released her.  Slipping the gloves off, he took up the cane again.  Light aiming taps against her breasts brought her eyes back to him.  Instead of taking the threatened swing, he took a nipple between his fingers and squeezed, pulling upwards.  Moaning, she arched her back.

"Did I give you permission to move?"

"No..."

"Down."  His eyes locked with hers as she forced herself flat.  His fingers tightened and cruelly twisted as her body pulled away.  Her breath came in fast, hard gulps by the time she resumed her original position.  He lined up the cane with her extended breast.

"Hold.

"Still.

"Now."

Three red welts raised on the underside of her breast, a stroke following each word, but she held perfectly still.  She whimpered when he took the other nipple and pulled.  Her body trembled with the effort of remaining still.

"That's,

"My,

"Girl."

Matching stripes appeared on the other side, one following each word.  He set the cane aside and took her breasts in his hands, lowering his moth to one sensitive nipple.

"Awww," she complained when he pulled away.

"You like that, did you?"

"Yeah," she admitted.

"I should do it again?" he offered, tracing the red lines with a finger while reaching for the cane.

"No...no.  I'm good."

"Hmmm," he fingered the welts a bit more, "Yes, I've other things to do.  But this," he pinched a nipple, "I can keep this up."

Nipple clamps affixed, he moved his attention south.  Her inner thighs got the most of the cane's attention, but a few swings reddened more sensitive spots.  As though they were one, their breathing grew ragged, harsh gasps punctuated by the sound of the cane landing.

(To be continued...)

Changing the Rules

A fantasy that combines the recent discussions of nonmonogomy and my serious need for whacking...

The smell of work followed Sara home - smoke thick in her hair, spilled beer on her clothes.  Her makeup was heavy, she hadn't taken the time to remove it before heading home from the club.  But her heart was heavier, the pain there outweighing all other concerns.

"Hey baby," Melanie called from the couch, her voice quickly changing with concern, "What's the matter?"

"I don't wanna have an open relationship anymore," Sara said the words quickly, as if she had rehearsed them in her head.

Melanie's heart skipped a beat, then settled.  Sara was inclined to bold gestures, a discussion usually resolved the problem with a much milder change.  Melanie held out her arms and Sara settled into her lap, Sara's head against Mel's shoulder.  Mel wrapped her arms around Sara before saying, "Just tell me what's the matter, baby."

The story spilled out in broken bits and pieces.  As Melanie had expected, it wasn't their relationship that was the problem.  The problem was external pressure; the situations Sara got into working as a stripper.  Sara's inability to say no when she had no rules to guide her.

"What if I had to approve your external relationships?  Would that help?  Then you wouldn't have to say no yourself."  Melanie offered after a moment of contemplation.

"Like you do at parties?  I say I have to ask you for permission so you can tell them no?"

"Exactly like that, precious."

Sara snuggled in closer, "Yeah, I think that would work.  But you're not gonna make me approve yours, right?"

Melanie chuckled, she couldn't imagine anything that would put Sara further out of her comfort zone.  Their version of nonmonogomy had never been identical on both sides, but it served their needs.  "Of course not.  You still have a veto, but you don't have to approve them."

"Play with me?" Sara whispered.

"Not tonight, love.  We're both tired and you need a shower.  We'll do a scene tomorrow, when we've got the whole day.  Come on, let me take a shower with you."

*     *     *

"Not punishment," Melanie said after breakfast, "Because you haven't broken our rules.  But affirmation, this is the right change to protect my baby.  And nobody gets to hurt my baby, even her."

Sara nodded, "But I need it to hurt."

"I know," Melanie whispered, pressing her lips to Sara's forehead before taking her to the bedroom.

Melanie took out a tawse first, she wanted to put Sara into a submissive headspace quickly.  Taking Sara's hands, she arranged them one atop the other.  Then she lined up the tawse, taking one light stroke for aim.

"You've been using these hands for naughty things, haven't you?"

Sara nodded, eyes on the tawse.  Her eyes shut tightly when Melanie brought the impliment down full force on her palm.

"Give me the other.  You'll think about what you're doing in the future, won't you?"

Sara nodded again and they fell into a rhythm.  Sara changed hands automatically as Melanie's lecture rolled over her.

Melanie inspected Sara's reddened palms, "Enough.  Take down your pants."

Sara's pajama pants dropped to the floor.  Automatically, she picked them up and folded them before setting them aside.

"On the corner of the bed, I want your legs spread wide and your hands behind your head."  Melanie directed as she exchanged the tawse for a bathbrush.  She considered Sara's position with narrowed eyes, "You've opened your legs for how many meaningless guys?  Open them wider for me."

Sara moaned but followed the directions.

Melanie traced Sara's inner thighs with her fingernails, "Now, how many guys that you regret, precious?"

Sara eyed the bathbrush and bit her lip.  "Six?"

"Is that an answer or a question?"

"An answer.  Six."

Melanie patted Sara's thigh, then scrapped it with her fingernails again, "What was the first one's name?"

"Mark."  The moment the name crossed Sara's lips, Melanie struck Sara's inner thigh with the bathbrush, raising a red oval.  Sara drew in a sharp breath.

"The next one?" Melanie tapped the brush against a matching spot on Sara's other leg.

"Matt," Sara closed her eyes as she said the name.  A matching red oval appeard on her other thigh.

"Greg," another red oval joined the first.

"Cody," a fourth red mark made matching pairs.

"Keep your legs well apart," Melanie instructed, running the bristles of the brush up Sara's tender thighs, "Who was the next one?"

Sara gave Melanie a pained look, "I don't know his name."

Melanie turned the brush, tapping the wooden side against Sara's private bits.  "You shared this with someone whose name you don't even know?"

Sara bit her lip nervously, before she whispered, "Yeah."

Melanie shook her head, "Someone really needs to protect you from yourself, love."  Even knowing that person was her, Melanie smacked the brush against Sara's most sensitive spot - once, twice, a third time.  She watched Sara's muscles tighten against the pain, then relax into it.  A fourth time elicited a wordless cry, but the fifth and sixth were simply sharp intakes of breath.

"For the nameless one," Melanie said, adding a fifth red oval to the inside of Sara's thighs.  "And the sixth one," the final oval appeared on the other thigh.

(To be continued...)

An early roleplay

The Labor Day Shadowlane party was my third party.  I hadn't had much success with roleplay before that, but I was fascinated by the idea.  This is my recounting of my first "successful" roleplay scene, written shortly after the scene.

I was introduced to Mike at the Florida Moonshine Beach Party by a dear friend who thought the two of us might have a complimentary play style.  My first impression of Mike was that he was intelligent and quiet.  We weren't able to connect at FMS for a number of reasons, any of which would make an independent story.  We did exchange email addresses and when we found we would both be attending Shadowlane, we began to make plans.

Our initial discussions led us to "funishment" - a play style that is somewhere between punishment and pure fun.  As I define it, funishment looks like a punishment spanking but the reason for the spanking is spurious, fictitious, or just silly.  This happens to be one of my favorite styles of play.  Though I tend more towards the fun angle of funishment, Mike expressed a preference for something based on real life.  I described a number of crazy incidents during my high schools years and the buildup began.

First, a bit of background on "jumping" railroad tracks.  In the area where I grew up, railroad tracks often cross gravel roads on raised railroad beds.  On these unlit rural roads, a reckless teenage driver can shut off the car's headlights as they approach the tracks.  The darkness, in theory, allows the driver to see an approaching train or car from a greater distance.  The driver can then race down the road at a high enough speeds that the car will lift off the ground as it "jumps" the railroad tracks.  As you might imagine, this isn't the safest of activities.  It is also very hard on the vehicle.  I had admitted to Mike that this type of driving required early replacement of the shocks and struts on the car I drove in high school.

I received an email from "Officer Mike Tanner" warning that a police video had filmed me jumping the railroad tracks in my father's car.  He explained that he would have to tell my parents as well as report the incident to my school, as it would have some bearing on my college scholarships.

I wrote back in the most flippant manner I could manage.  I asked him please not to tell my father, because my "Daddy might try to ground me" and I really wanted to go to Gwendolyn's party the following weekend.  I complained that it would take significant work on my part to talk my Daddy out of such nonsense.

He responded brilliantly, incensed that I spoke so casually about the bother of talking my father around so that I could attend a party.  Of course, I could not have said much more clearly that my father's idea of punishment would have no deterrent effect.  In fact, I was confident that it would not even occur; I was just worried about the hassle.  He offered me the perfect alternative - a sound spanking.

I responded with some reluctance.  I was too old.  I would be so embarrassed.  I let myself fall into that headspace.  Without apologizing, I implied that I may have been overconfident; there were serious repercussions to my driving privileges.  It was easy to find the voice of a high school senior with financially-supportive but emotionally absent parents.

His response was reassuring but provocative at the same time.

I opted for jeans and a t-shirt, even though my party attire ordinarily consists of skirts.  I must have hit the mark with the outfit, because I was carded when I went out for lunch before our scene.  Despite being with a group of twenty-plus party-goers, many of whom verified that I was certainly of age, I was forced to return to my hotel room for my ID!

When Mike came to my room, we exchanged only the most basic pleasantries before launching into the scene.  I was initially caught off-guard, responding to something he said with a blank look.  But he simply smiled and said, "I'm Officer Tanner now," and we went on.

He gave a good lecture, reminding me that I could stop the spanking anytime I wanted - I had only to tell him that I would rather he tell my parents what I had done.  I had never needed a safeword, but this was a good scene-appropriate choice.  Throughout our play, when it looked like I was struggling, he would remind me that he could tell my father instead, if I'd rather.  I consistently refused, of course.

The spanking started slowly, but not so slowly that I was provoked into saying anything.  I had told him that my parents had never spanked me, so he gave a fascinating lecture on the benefits of spanking and the wonders it had done for his daughter and niece.  After a bit he said that he'd given me the type of spanking he would give a 12-year old.  The swats got significantly harder as he used "15-year old" strength and finally "18-year old" intensity.

Next, he used a innocuous looking paddle - about the size of a ping-pong paddle, very thin, with beveled holes.  That thing hurt!  When he paused and said that was the "12-year old" version, I seriouslyconsidered the "tell your father" option.  But somehow, I made it through.  During the paddling, he gave an explanation about why most of a spanking should be applied to the sit-spot...as he did just that.  Ouch!

He had me stand up and look at my bottom in the mirror.  It was bright red and hot to the touch.  Then he made me stand with my nose against the wall while he piled pillows on the bed.  Soon enough, I was laying over the pillows for a strapping.  He made me count and promise to be a good girl after each.  At first, I felt ridiculous.  By the time he finished, I almost meant what I was saying.

He showed me my bottom in the mirror again and gave me a hug.  As part of his ongoing lecture, he had mentioned that he was going to ask all my teachers about my school performance.  He planned to ask them at the school's "open house" that evening.  One bad report and I'd be getting the same thing again, only worse on my sore bottom!

After we finished the roleplay, we had a fairly long conversation.  Although this was somewhat the reverse of a typical session, it was nice.  One of the greatest things about the parties is the opportunity to meet some great people.

The Vendor's Fair had a back-to-school theme, so naturally I was in pseudo-uniform.  Whenever I passed Mike, he said I had better hope my teachers were saying good things about me.  Towards the end of the evening, he took my hand and walked over to the Shadowlane table where Brad was working.  When Brad had a free moment, Mike said to him, "You got that email I sent about Lizzie's school performance?"

Brad, great friend that he is, "threw me right under the bus."  He came out with a laundry list of things I had supposedly done - not turned in homework, procrastinated, disrupted his class.  I couldn't decide whether I wanted to sink into the floor or attempt to throttle "Mr. Brad."  I settled for blushing and stammering excuses and denials.

The second scene was just as wonderful as the buildup in person worked as well as the buildup over email.  But that's a story for another day.