My Journey: Virtual Deviance

Although I avoided typical sexual exploration during my teen years, I explored another avenue: online. Of course, at the time I did not connect my spanking interest with my sexuality, so this exploration was perhaps not what you might expect.

When I was fifteen, my parents bought me a laptop and ran a phone line into my bedroom to provide an internet connection. I'm old enough that this was both highly unusual and well before the public was aware of the danger minors could find online. My older siblings had sold my parents on the wonders of email communication, so we had an internet connection at home before my school had a connection.

I started with all the searches I had been unable to complete on the family computer. This quickly led me to A.S.S. and later S.S.S - boards full of spanking stories. From there, I found several sites that collected or published stories. And, of course, I found Shadowlane and began to dream about attending a spanking party.

But I also spend hours playing on a MUSH (multi-user shared hallucination), a text-based roleplaying game similar to a MUD (multi-user dungeon). I was active on several different vanilla MUSHes, based on my favorite fantasy books at the time. Of course, in these flexible environments, I found a few people interested in roleplaying other types of interactions.

I developed a "relationship" with one of those people. He described himself as a boy near my age, perhaps a bit older. He would roleplay spanking me. In exchange, we would also roleplay scenes in which he would nurse from me. I couldn't imagine why he wanted to do this, but I also hadn't met anyone who had my reaction to spanking, so I went along with it. I still didn't think of this as sexual. The spanking roleplays we enacted were just fun, exciting stories I told with another person.

I wanted to meet him, eventually. But to do that, I had to explain to my mother where I had met this person. She put the kabosh on that idea right quick. She may not have had a clue about internet safety, but my mother had a healthy dose of common sense. This discussion was also the second step in outing myself to my mother - I allowed her to read some of the exchanges. She was disturbed by the spanking scenes we had written, but not the nursing scenes. This was memorable, but I refuse to think any further about it.

During my senior year, I found Adult Friend Finder. There, I found someone interested primarily in spanking. We talked for a long time. During the summer after my senior year, I decided I would meet him in person. I asked my oldest sister to act as my safe call. Unfortunately, she changed her mind and I decided not to meet him at that time.

Three months later, I met him without the safety of a safe call. While I certainly wouldn't recommend that method to anyone, it worked out fine for me. I had my first spanking. We've gotten together several times over the years. He's still one of my dearest friends.

My Journey: Delayed Sexuality

As my classmates navigated the rough waters of puberty, my journey was delayed. Through junior high and even high school, my interest in sex remained somewhere between a child's "ew gross, they are kissing" and a spectator's detached disinterest. I attribute this primarily to two things. First, my physical maturity lagged behind the norm. I was the last girl in my class to start her period, by over a year, and I was among the older kids in my class. My hormones were markedly delayed. And I believe my sexual interest was delayed as a result. But equally important, I have three significantly older siblings. I had watched their teenage drama, up close and frequently theatrical, through a child's bemused eyes. I watched my classmates date and wrestle with sex the same way, as a disinterested observer. By the time my classmates were dating, my siblings had settled into their adult lives. When I became interested, I wanted to skip the angst for a mature relationship. That isn't to say I was particularly happy in my detachment; I wasn't. I wanted very much to be "normal." But I didn't see my interest in spanking as a sexual interest, so I began to wonder if I even had an interest in sex. I certainly was not interested in the cautious fumblings of my first post-puberty boyfriend. When that relationship imploded (there is simply no other description when your high school boyfriend impregnates the girl who had been offering your little brother blow-jobs on the school bus), I found myself more interested in another girl. Our sexual exploration was far more satisfying, but that relationship was equally doomed. Her interest in me, unfortunately, went only so far as the boys were willing to pay for our affectionate displays with alcohol and other mind-altering substances. I graduated high school a virgin.

My Journey: Early Explorations in Poly

I'm a little late posting this week. I had a wonderful, but exhausting, experience at BOLD this weekend. Craig and I will be writing about the conference on our joint blog, and I'm sure BOLD will feature in my later entries about my journey into the lifestyle. But now, I'm back to the beginning.

My first relationship was a long one - nearly eight years with my elementary school sweetheart. But looking back, it was a very non-traditional relationship. My mother, an elementary school teacher by training and a very perceptive and amazing woman, informed my teacher at kindergarden roundup that I "got along better with boys than with girls." At the time, I only knew this was noteworthy because my mother made a point of preparing my teacher. Now, I understand that I was of an age where one typically enjoys the company of one's own gender. For now, I won't look into that any further than to say that I was a tom-boy.

My class had desks that seated two students, with a shared section between. My teacher seated me with a boy I will call Cody. In our small class of 16 students, we were the only gender mixed pair sharing a desk. My mother's instruction, it seemed, had been taken seriously by my teacher. We were fast friends. And sooner than I would like to admit, we were kissing in the coatroom.

But the remarkable thing about this relationship was not our matching, flame-red hair, or the speed of our friendship, or even the length of our childhood bond. No, the interesting thing about this pairing was the fact that we developed a poly relationship without any knowledge that such a thing existed.

You see, I grew up in a very small town with ultra conservative values. Even such ordinary things like divorce and remarriage were things that "other people did" (maybe, in extreme circumstances). But Cody and I faced a situation uncommon in childhood relationships and we addressed it with the openminded flexibility of problem-solvers.

Neither Cody nor I would ever get an award for perfect school attendance. We were both sickly children, in our own ways. I was plagued by ear infections and respiratory issues. Cody had several open-heart surgeries while we were in elementary school. All told, we probably missed more days of school than we attended. Faced with the untenable possibility of a school day without our significant other, we arranged to have "backup boyfriend/girlfriend(s)".

I overcame my inability to make friends with other girls, establishing two best girlfriends in elementary school. One of those girls was dating Cody's good friend. Looking back on the five of us, I see a fledgling leather family. With three girls and two boys, I always had someone to hold hands with, to hug, to play with, and to kiss - and yes, we explored the limits of our childhood relationships fairly openly among the group.

At the time, I thought of this as a convenience among good friends. Even when Cody and I "broke up" so that he could focus on a single relationship, I believed this was because he wished to go beyond my limits. (I was a late-bloomer, in terms of sexual/physical maturity, but more on that later.) It's only looking back that I see it was probably my unconventional definition of dating that caused his discomfort.

I left that relationship to try, unsuccessfully, to date a pair of fraternal twins. Yes, at the same time, openly. That didn't last, but it was fun.

The only thing I wonder, looking back at these early stories, is why it took me so long to realize I was poly!

Friday Fiction: Little Miss Matched

"Your socks don't match," he said when he walked into the bedroom.

She looked up from her iPhone at him, tapping something to pause her game before she responded: "No, they don't."

"Come here," he ordered.

She stood up, looking bemused. He simply glared at her socks as she made her way across the room.

"You bought them for me," she offered, "At that store at Disney, remember? Little Miss Matched?"

"Certainly not! Why would I buy socks that don't match?"

"But," she shook her head, stomping one stockinged foot on the ground, "You did buy them!"

"Young lady," he growled. Without further discussion, he grabbed her arm and pulled her over to the bed. He bent her over the side and flipped her skirt up over her back. He gave her bottom several hard smacks.

She stood still, more confused by this assault than concerned. Finally, she said, "You're spanking me because my socks don't match?"

"No," he said, continuing to smack her bottom, "I'm spanking you because I want to spank you. Your socks are a convenient excuse."

My Journey: BOLD 2014

This jumps ahead a bit in the story of my journey in the lifestyle, but I'm going to share something I wrote about the upcoming event, BOLD 2014. This is cross-posted (with a few edits) from FetLife.

I’ve run the gamut in my exploration of lifestyle and kink – I’ve attended local and national spanking parties, I’ve explored swinging parties and visited swinger’s resorts, I enjoy my local dungeon and I’ve tried leather events like Thunder in the Mountains.

But if I had to limit myself to only one conference this year, that one would be BOLD.

Because, I identify as MDHL. No – I’m not male, I’m not dominant, and I’m not, even primarily, heterosexual.

But MDHL is my primary relationship. MDHL defines my family-of-choice. (MDH describes my family of blood, in all positive ways, for whatever that’s worth.) MDHL is my lifestyle. And some version of poly / MDHL is my fantasy for the future.

And at BOLD, I found an acceptance of all of those things that is absent in the other places I’ve looked. You can read about last year here . At BOLD, I found new friends struggling with the very issues that bother me the most. I learned new strategies for problems I hadn’t recognized yet. I discovered an energy and an acceptance I hadn’t found anyplace else.

And that’s why I am looking forward to BOLD this year.

If you'd like more information about BOLD, you can find BOLD on Facebook or the BOLD website.

Flash Fiction: Happy Valentine's Day

"Happy Valentine's," he began as he walked into the bathroom. The sight of her naked in the tub stopped him cold.

Upon seeing him, she sat up so quickly that water splashed in every direction. He took two steps to the side of the tub. He further unsettled the splashing water, grabbing her by the ear and pulling her to her feet.

"You are supposed to be ready to go," he growled.

Her eyes flicked nervously to the clock, "Um, well. You've still got to change, right?"

He stared at her for a long moment without saying a word. His gaze traveled from her hair, pinned untidily to the top of her head for her bath, down her body, still dripping with water.

"Turn around. Put your hands on the wall," he ordered as he walked into his closet. He grabbed the cane that hung just inside the door, always ready for just this sort of occasion.

He struck without a word, the cane leaving a bright red welt across her bottom. He continued, the silence broken only by the quiet moans that escaped her lips and the whip of the cane through the air. When he finished, he set the cane aside and picked up the towel she had folded on the side of the tub. He wrapped the towel around her and helped her out of the tub into a hug.

"Are we gonna be late?" she asked quietly, looking up at him carefully.

He kissed her forehead and gave her bottom a squeeze, "I allowed extra time. I know you. Now get ready!"

My Journey: Elementary School Years

I've decided to start by telling, or re-telling, my journey into the world of kink. This will be a series of posts.

I don't remember a time when I wasn't fascinated by spanking. My parents didn't spank. I grew up in a very rural area, so I was never exposed to neighborhood children being spanked. By the time I was a child, the politically correct movement had removed spanking from the television shows, movies, and most books I was exposed to. But I was a insatiable reader and I managed to find references to spanking in a number of children's books.

There are two spanking scenes in the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. The first of these - Laura's strapping after a fight with her sister over chores - is my most vivid childhood memory of spanking. Not because of the scene, mind you. I've looked back at it; I had a vivid imagination to go with my literary appetite. No. At some point in elementary school, we had to memorize and recite a poem in class. Having done that, I wondered what else I could memorize and recite. My first attempt consisted of two pages from Little House in the Big Woods, including that scene. (I found the text of the book online. The passage I memorized is about 1,200 words long.)

Thrilled with my new-found ability, I handed the book to my mother and recited two pages word perfect. I'll never forget the look on her face. My mother was an elementary school teacher turned stay-at-home mom with five children. She supported our reading addictions and demanded our academic success. She had a Masters Degree in English. And she had absolutely no idea what to say when her youngest daughter recited a lengthy "spanking scene" from a children's book.

Having gotten the hint that something was unusual about my interest, I turned to more circumspect investigations. I remember looking up every synonym of spanking in the big dictionary on a stand in the school library. And I fell in love with historical fiction, for that possibility that a spanking might be included or even just suggested.

But there was never enough to satisfy my fascination. I would imagine spanking scenes for bratty children in the books I read. I played out those scenes with my dolls. I even bribed my little brother into spanking me (he barely tapped me) and into letting me spank him (neither of us enjoyed that). As I got older, I would write spanking stories and those missing spanking scenes. Quite often, I would write a story that included a spanking without writing the spanking, terrified someone might find out my secret. But it would be years until anyone did - in a series of unusual ways.

A New Plan

I haven't forgotten this blog - but I've been rather fully distracted of late. Moving to California has been an enormous adjustment, but I feel like things are starting to settle down a bit (maybe, fingers crossed). Craig and I post weekly on Black & Blue, and I've decided a schedule here would help. So I've come up with a new plan.

I'm going to make it a priority to post twice weekly. On Monday, an essay about a spanking topic. On Friday, a spanking story from a picture in Craig's collection. It isn't a New Year's Resolution, but it is a goal.

I'm going to update my blog list as well. I hope to have enough time to find a few new blogs as well.

Pilates "Scene"

I've fallen in love with Pilates recently. I enjoy it even more than yoga - it's more active, more difficult, and provides more of a challenge. But my last class took that to a new level.

Midway through class, we settled on the floor to do a "side-series" - this is usually a series of leg lifts that leave the class pretty well exhausted. But for this class, the teacher had even more devilish plans.

She announced that we were doing "hundreds" - sets of one hundred small movements. All I could think of was Craig's favored "hundreds scene"...and as we worked through the first series, I knew the experience was going to be similar. When Craig does a hundreds scene, the first hundred is always the most difficult. Because as the pain really builds up in the first spot he's smacking, I know it's going to start again on the other side. Just the same, the first hundred circles with the right leg had me dreading the next hundred circles with the left leg.

When we finally finished the awful "hundreds," the teacher said we were going to do a different sort of leg lift. We laid on our sides with our knees bent. First we did a normal leg lift, with the knee still bent. With the leg in the air, we rotated our leg so the foot was higher than the knee. Maintaining this position, we did another set of leg lifts. There is a muscle down the side of the buttock...oh my goodness. But to make this even better, another girl in my class started smacking her own butt as we did this (if you've ever seen runners smack their legs, I can only imagine she was trying to do something similar). Whatever the reason, though, this girl was giving herself a spanking in my Pilates class.

After stretching that leg (because this was a seriously painful move for everyone in the class), we rolled over to the other side. As the teacher was directing us into position again, a man in my class shouted, "You really are a masochist, aren't you!?!"

Yes, my teacher is a masochist. I think that's why I love her class so much.

It's Love Our Lurkers day! Started by Bonnie seven years ago, this is a day dedicated to the lurkers on our blogs. I may not post on my blog as regularly as I'd like (I'm trying to do better...), yet you keep coming back to read my kinky fiction, view my pictures, and read my scene stories. So for that, those of you who don't comment (and those who do), thank you! Today kinky bloggers acknowledge the readership and traffic of our lurkers.

If you've read my blog and enjoyed it, I encourage you to post a comment. Join the discussion. Take this opportunity to meet other readers. One of the greatest things I found in the scene is the friendship and understanding of other kinksters. Even if our kinks don't align perfectly, the companionship and discussion with fellow kinksters is unmatched in the vanilla community.

As Erica says, it need not be an epic posting. It can be a simple hello; a post dictated by your comfort level. I hope you'll find here, as I have, a number of new friends.

Our new blog is live!

Craig and I have a new, joint blog called Black and Blue. We will present two perspectives in each post, in a unique, side-by-side format.

I'm pleased to announce that the new blog is now live. (After days of playing with HTML and CSS, I'm marginally happy with results.)  I hope you'll check it out!

Story

This story ventures into BDSM and sex. If that's not your thing, skip it. (I think I need a better intro to this type of story, if you have ideas, leave them in the comments or email me.)


His hands wrapped around my wrists, squeezing tight. I felt the tension slip away; my thoughts and worries drifted off, leaving only his hands on me. He watched, holding me motionless.

"Strip," he said, releasing me suddenly.

I slipped out of my jacket, dropping it on the floor. I crossed my wrists in front of me to grab the bottom of my shirt and tug it over my head. I reached behind my back, unfastening my bra and dropping it on the growing pile of clothing. I toed off my shoes, unbuttoned my jeans and shimmied out of them. My panties and socks followed.

"Always a mess," he growled, as he took my wrists again. He held them just a moment this time, before his hands moved to hold my face. One soft caress of my cheek and then he slapped my face, hard.

"On your knees," he ordered. I sunk to my knees as he unbuttoned his jeans and withdrew his cock. I leaned forward eagerly. His hands tangled through my hair, forcing me to take him even deeper into my mouth.

He used me, his hands controlling me. He fucked my mouth, taking his pleasure from my submission. One of his hands eventually slid down to my breast. I shifted to give him better access.

He pulled away without a word. The hand on my breast tightened around my nipple, urging me to my feet. I stood and he took both nipples in his hands - squeezing them, pinching them, twisting them, torturing them. I took a deep breath, thrusting my breasts out to him - offering myself to him.

"Little pain slut, aren't you?"

I nodded.

He released on of my nipples to slap my face, "Answer me when I'm talking to you!"

"Yes," I stammered, uncertain.

"Tell me."

"I'm your little pain slut."

"I bet you're wet already, aren't you?"

I whimpered. He smacked me again and I managed a quiet, "Yes."

Unsatisfied with this answer, his hand dove between my legs. His fingers thrust roughly into my cunt. My body responded to him, lubricating his seeking fingers. He pushed two fingers into me, then three, spreading me wide, then he forced four fingers into my wet cunt.

I writhed on his hand, my breasts thrust out to him, seeking contact with him. He finger fucked me hard, pushing me to orgasm.

"Did you have my permission?" he growled, leaning in close to me.

My naked body pressed against the rough texture of his clothing. I sunk into the contrast for a moment, loving the vulnerability: I stood naked while he was fully clothed; I was flushed with an orgasm he had forced upon me; I was scattered while he remained in control.

"What happens when you come without permission, little one?"

"You punish me," I whispered. A fresh rush of moisture between my legs - he would punish me in the most delicious ways.

"Mmmm," he said, pushing me to the bed. He grabbed his crop and shoved me onto my back. He ordered me to spread my legs with sharp strikes to my thighs. Then he settled in, giving my pussy a solid pounding with his crop.

I lost all sense of time. His crop stung my cunt and my thighs. His sharp orders rang through the air, pushing me to spread myself further, to present, to stay in position, always something. And always, the crop striking me. Tears were running down my cheeks before he stopped. When he paused and took a step back, I asked him to hand me a tissue.

"You think we're through?" he demanded.

I swallowed hard and sniffled, but didn't answer. He threw a tissue at me.

"We've only just begun, pet. Get up and bend over the end of the bed."

I wiped my eyes quickly and blew my nose. Then I was up, bending over the bed. I heard him moving around behind me, collecting things. Then I heard the swish of his belt through his belt loops. I flinched, then arched my back, presenting for him.

Instead of the snap of leather, I felt cool lubricated glass pressing against my asshole. I took a deep breath as he pushed the plug into me, moaning and writhing a bit as he pushed it in and out.

Once the plug was settled deep in my ass, he ordered me to spread my legs. His belt snapped between my legs, striking my already tender pussy. I whimpered and cried and begged him to stop. He ignored me, except for the occasional demand that I get back into position.

His fingers roughly explored my throbbing and swollen pussy. He pinched my pussy lips, pulling them apart and spreading me. Finally, he ran his hard cock between my lips, teasing me. I shifted my hips, pushing, trying to get his cock inside of me. Now I was begging him to fuck me.

His cock slid into me. I accepted it with a moan of satisfaction. My hips pressed back to meet his. He fucked me hard, pushing me close to orgasm but denying me.

"Not yet," he ordered, "Don't you fucking dare come yet."

He withdrew, quickly pulling the plug from my ass as well. Just as quickly, he replaced the plug with his cock. With his huge cock in my ass and his balls slapping against my swollen pussy as he thrust into me, I could hold back no longer. I came hard, my ass clenching around him.

He reached around me to squeeze my nipples, still fucking me hard. When I came a final time, he came with me.

Random Searches

No, I haven't gone so far into my studies that I've decided to bore you with a Fourth Amendment lecture. In fact, as a distraction to all that, I rather randomly decided to look at my blog stats. I stumbled upon the search terms that have brought visitors to my blog.

The most common term this week: [honeymoon blogs] - I can only imagine their surprise! I suppose it's the Brittanic Honeymoon series of stories that brought them here, but I cannot believe they were looking for a spanking blog...

A search I'm considering trying myself: ["his finger slid into her tight"] - I'm curious how many results that would have and if any of the other results are kinky. At least anyone making that search should expect adult content.

Other searchers have very specific tastes.

Take, for example, this one: ["tormenting * breasts" nipples -movies] - I do have several stories that might fit, and there are no movies here.

But for a specific search that fits my blog, this one is pretty good: ["supple leather belt" "her panties"] - there's another search I'd consider doing myself. And it has a higher likelihood that I would find something I'd enjoy.

Trio - part 3 (the end)

The final chapter - again with BDSM and sex.

“My cane,” Franklin requested as he walked over to the restrained girl. Elle retrieved the cane and set it in his waiting palm. He tapped the cane against Layla’s breast. He raised several welts across her breasts before demanding his rubber crop. When Elle supplied the implement, he set into Layla’s inner thighs and wet pussy. It was a harsh punishment, but not a particularly long one.

Franklin turned suddenly to Elle, who was watching breathlessly. He smacked her face to catch her attention. “It’s your fault I had to punish her, you should make her feel better.”

Elle started on Layla’s breasts, kneeling on the side of the bench and pressing her lips against the welts there. She kissed them and licked them, playing with the girl’s nipples as well. Elle’s hands roamed Layla’s body, until the girl was moaning and arching her back for more.

Elle stood up and moved between Layla’s legs. Her hands on the unmarked top of Layla’s thighs, she lowered herself to kiss the welts Franklin had raised on the inside of her thighs. She kissed up one leg and down the other. She returned to the center, kissing Layla’s pussy and sinking down a bit further to slip her tongue between the girl’s pussy lips.

Franklin grabbed Elle by the hair and pulled her away, “Not *that* much better, slut. Get the dildo.” He unfastened Layla’s ankles, letting her put her legs to the floor. He walked around to unfasten her wrists as well, grabbing the box Elle had knelt on to present her breasts earlier and moving it around to support Layla’s feet.

Elle returned with the feeldoe, a double-ended dildo made to be used as a strapless strap-on. Franklin took it from her and pushed the bulbous end into Layla’s pussy. For a few minutes, he fucked her with it, but stopped before she got close to a second orgasm. “Not yet,” he warned, “You don’t get to come again until Elle does.”

He left the dildo in place, the thick cock-like end standing ready, and ordered Elle over. As he offered her a hand up, he growled, “And you don’t get to come without my permission.”

Elle toed off her shoes, smiling shyly at his offer. She took his hand and stepped on the side of the bench, straddling Layla. Her free hand positioned the dildo as she sunk down, still holding Franklin’s hand for balance. She gave his hand a squeeze as the dildo slid into place, her eyes locked on his for a long moment.

Then she leaned forward, reaching her hand over Layla’s head to support her weight as she began to move back and forth on the dildo. She pressed a nipple into the shorter girl’s mouth, insisting the girl tease and suck on her breast. Franklin released her other hand, which found Layla’s breast and did it’s own teasing and pinching.

Franklin took up his cane again, this time striking Elle’s moving ass. She arched her back to present her ass to him, even as she continued moving back and forth on the dildo, grinding her clit into Layla’s clit. Franklin timed his strokes and aimed carefully. Welts rose quickly on Elle’s unmarked skin. She did no more than moan once in protest against the lack of a warm up. Franklin moved to one side, laying welts down one cheek and thigh, before moving to the other side to do the same.

Suddenly he brought the cane down across Layla’s unmarked upper thighs, growling, “Don’t you dare,” before returning to Elle’s ass. Soon both girls were pleading with him, begging permission to come. Elle’s pleas were broken by the blows to her bottom, Layla’s by Elle’s breasts being pressed into her face, but Franklin knew what they were asking.

He pushed them both, making them wait. His cane raised welts that crossed one another on Elle’s bottom and a few parallel lines across Layla’s thighs. Still, he forced them to wait.

Finally, he dropped the cane to his side and walked to the girls’ side. He grabbed Elle by the hair, pulling her to look at him. “Come for me,” he ordered, “Right now.” She shattered, the orgasm taking her in violent waves of pleasure. He held her that way for a moment, watching her, enjoying her.

“I’m not even close to done with you, beautiful.” He leaned in to kiss Elle hard on the mouth, before stepping over to collect a small jar from one of his kits. He positioned himself behind Elle, straddling Layla’s legs but standing between Elle’s spread legs. He released his cock from his pants, lubing it up generously before setting it against Elle’s asshole.

Elle lifted herself up a bit, putting both hands out to support herself, giving Layla the opportunity to move and shift a bit underneath her. Franklin ran a hand down one girl’s leg and up the other’s. He leaned over them both, so that he could see both of them.

“Come as many times as you like,” he offered wickedly, before straightening up and pushing his cock into Elle’s ass.

Trio - part 2

Again, this story includes BDSM and sexual themes. If that isn't your thing, skip it.

Layla shrieked at the first strike of the cane. Franklin turned and growled to Elle, “Shut her up.”

Elle gave one quick glance at the bag and the items she had set out, uncertain about what he wanted her to do. Franklin took two steps over to Elle, smacking her face to bring her attention back to him. Glaring at her, his hand slid from her face, down her neck and across her chest. He grabbed the lacey fabric of her bra and jerked it back, revealing one pert breast. He smacked the bare breast, hard. “Use these,” he ordered.

One of Elle’s hands flew behind her back, unfastening her bra. She shrugged out of it, dropping it into Franklin’s bag. One more look at him and she walked around in front of Layla. She fell to her knees, steadying herself by working her fingers through the girl’s hair. Elle took a deep breath, raising her breasts and thrusting one into Layla’s willing mouth. Elle arched her back and enjoyed the sensation while Franklin returned to his caning.

It wasn’t long before Franklin stopped caning to watch. He set the cane aside and moved a chair so that he could sit and watch.

“Turn her over, Elle.”

Elle pushed herself to her feet and unfastened Layla’s wrists and ankles. She offered a hand to the other girl, helping her to her feet. Layla laid back on the bench on her back. At Franklin’s direction, Elle again fastened Layla’s wrists above her head. The girl spread her legs, resting her feet where her knees had been and Elle clipped her ankles into place using an extra carbineer.

“Nice,” Franklin muttered, enjoying the view granted by Layla’s spread legs. “Now Elle,” he ordered, “Get her off for me.”

Elle gave him a sly smile, kneeling on one side of the bench and taking Layla’s breast in her mouth. She teased the nipple clamp with her tongue until the girl was pleading with her. “Fast or slow?” she asked, blowing cool air on the wet nipple.

“Slow?” Layla answered hesitantly.

Elle eased the clamp off before taking the nipple roughly in her mouth. Layla writhed beneath her, crying out at the rush of pain. Elle ignored this, taking the girl’s breast in both hands, squeezing tightly as her mouth worked the nipple. Soon Layla was panting and begging. Elle eased back, running her nails over the sensitive breast before reaching for the other.

“Fast? Please?” Layla pleaded.

“Okay,” Elle said, teasing the nipple for just one moment before pulling the clamp off suddenly with her lips. This time, she ignored the agonized nipple in favor of squeezing her hands around the breast. She alternated squeezing tightly with lightly teasing the other breast. Finally, she lowered her mouth to Layla’s nipple, teasing it with her tongue.

Now one of Elle’s hands slid down Layla’s body. Her hand moved slowly, exploring but intent on its destination. Elle’s fingers slid into Layla’s slit, her middle finger searching for the girl’s clit while her first and fourth fingers spread the girl’s pussy for her lover’s gaze. Her mouth stayed busy with Layla’s breasts, sucking and teasing, while her fingers played in the girl’s wet pussy.

Franklin moaned softly. His hand discretely stroked the length of his throbbing cock through his jeans.

Elle continued in this vein for bit – her mouth busy with Layla’s breasts, her fingers spreading the girl’s pussy and lightly teasing the girl’s clit. Layla thrust her hips against Elle’s fingers, arching her back to press her breasts into Elle’s mouth.

Elle kept Layla’s pussy spread wide, one finger playing with her clit. Elle’s other hand thrust into Layla’s dripping hole – first two fingers, then three. She fucked the girl hard, spreading her and pounding into her at the same time. With a scream, Layla came and Elle eased back a bit, though she kept Layla’s pussy well spread for Franklin’s view.

Franklin stood; in two quick steps, he was beside the pair. First, he stroked Elle’s face, giving her a rare smile, “That’s my good girl, Elle. You’ll get your reward.” He turned his attention to Layla, “But you?” he smacked her face, hard, “Did I say you could come?”

“But…” Layla began to argue.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, smacking her again. “I’ll deal with you in a moment. But first…”

He took Elle by the hand and led her back to the chair. He unfastened his pants and freed his throbbing cock. As he sat in the chair, he pulled her tiny thong off. One hand hooked behind her knee, he pulled her into his lap. She straddled him, one hand between her legs to direct his cock into her dripping pussy. She slid down onto him, sighing as his cock pushed deep into her cunt.

She moaned, arching her back to display her breasts to him. She didn’t push them into his face, though she offered them for his taking. Here, she would not be so bold as she might in the privacy of their bedroom. But this was her reward, so she rode him, bouncing up and down on his cock.

He took the offered nipples in his mouth, one after another. His hands alternated between teasing her breasts, stroking her clit, and squeezing around her hips, controlling her rhythm. Soon she was begging for his permission to come, but he denied her. She simply rode him harder and faster, pleading with him. Finally, he granted her permission and she came noisily – screaming out while her cunt clutched his cock.

He held her there for a moment before he helped her to her feet. He hugged her tight for a moment, letting her shake against him. He whispered quietly to her, reassuring her and planning the next part of their scene.

Work Startle - part 4

Unable to get the image of my boss telling me he had been "a very naughty boy" out of my head, I relayed the story to J over lunch. As a result, this has become a running joke between us.

For example, one of the coworkers we play table tennis with over lunch got a new paddle from his wife as an early Christmas gift. J's email scheduling our next table tennis adventure said something like, "R is eager to show off the new paddle he got for Christmas. I guess he's been a very naughty boy..."

But to top it off, J included this card with one of my Christmas gifts:

Right, that's not a bit awkward. (Okay, I loved it!)

Trio - part 1

This story goes beyond spanking, into BDSM with a very sexual scene. If that isn't your thing...read something else.

They entered the courtyard a laughing trio, having enjoyed a leisurely dinner full of banter and bratting. Franklin walked between the girls, dressed in tight jeans and a black dress shirt with details that hinted at the climax of their evening. The girls that bookended him wore cute party dresses, but there the similarity ended. Elle, the taller of the pair, pulled a rolling bag full of implements; Layla carried her change of clothes in a messenger bag slung across her fit body.

Franklin paid their entrance fee and drifted off to talk to friends while the girls slipped off in different directions. Elle assessed the scenes in progress, the equipment available, and the prevailing mood in each room. Franklin had given her specific instructions. She picked a spot and laid open his bag on the floor.

She pulled her dress over her head with a practiced motion, utterly unselfconscious about being nearly naked in a room full of people. Franklin and she were known here. And while she played with others, none would approach her while she was alone. The hand that curled around her bare waist could only belong to her lover; her body responded automatically, leaning back against him and curling around him.

Franklin spun her around and kissed her deeply. They spent a moment in a tight embrace, oblivious to the room and people around them. Finally, he slid his hands to her wrists, squeezed them tightly and pulled her away enough to look at her.

She wore the ridiculously high-heeled black-and-purple shoes she had fallen in love with when she’d seen the corset-like lacing up the back. Black seemed stockings lengthened her already long legs, held in place by a black lace garter belt. Over that, she wore a tiny purple thong. A simple, gold, curved barbell graced her bellybutton. Her naturally perky breasts were lifted slightly by a push-up, black lace bra.

Around her neck, she wore the “collar” they had settled on for everyday wear. It was styled after a “Return to Tiffany” bracelet they had found when they were first dating - a wide, but simple, gold chain that fit closely just above her collarbone, with a smooth pendant that rested at the base of her throat. The phrase engraved there – Return to Franklin – was as acceptable in the vanilla world as it was understandable in this world.

Franklin smiled, well pleased with the way his girl looked tonight. He squeezed her wrists tight, almost painfully tight, smiling at the way she melted in front of him.

“Something is missing, little one,” he said quietly.

She sunk down to her knees, turning quickly to his bag and removing the black and purple wrist restraints Franklin had gotten custom made for her. He fastened them around her wrists easily, though the process was not so simple as he made it look. These restraints closed with a purple lacing detail similar to that on her shoes and many corsets, instead of the typical belt buckle closure. This pair was more decorative than functional, though they served a purpose.

“Beautiful,” he said approvingly as she rose again to her feet. He cupped her cheek in his hand and after checking in with her once more, admonished her to finish her part of the preparations while he sought out the third participant in their scene.

Elle found the cleaning supplies that were neatly hidden in a nook and wiped down the bench she had selected. She laid out a towel on the floor and began to arrange Franklin’s implements. She tried different arrangements – from stingy to thuddy, from large to small – before settling on one that pleased her eye. She rolled her dress neatly and tucked it into his bag. She flipped out a smaller towel and opened one of his neat kits to unpack a range of items he used for nipple torture. On the third and final towel, she placed the other kits, unopened in case he wanted them.

By the time she finished, Franklin had returned with Layla. Their scene had clearly started in the other room, for he dropped into the chair closest to Elle and flung Layla over his lap. He rolled up her tight skirt immediately before laying into her backside with his hand. Elle moved around to kneel where she had a better view.

“The nanny paddle,” Franklin snapped, pausing only long enough to reach for the implement that Elle placed instantly in his hand. The loud smacks of the paddle echoed through the room, causing at least one casual conversation to stop while the interested parties stared at the scene. It was nothing elaborate yet, though, so conversations resumed around them as Franklin worked his way through different implements.

Elle knelt quietly where she could both watch the scene and reach the necessary implements to effect the exchanges that Franklin requested. At one point, she stood and removed the girl’s panties at his direction and under his watchful eye.

“Is she wet?” he demanded before Elle had the chance to retreat.

Elle slid cool fingers between Layla’s legs, and responded quietly, “A bit.”

Franklin slide his own fingers into the girl’s pussy as Elle sunk back to her knees, “Not as wet as you are, love?”

Elle had the grace to look down, though she smiled. Franklin reached out and smacked her face, “Don’t try to hide from me, pet. I know you.”

They returned to the easy flow of the scene. He would demand an implement. She would offer it up handle first. He would hold out his current implement, which she would take with one hand while placing the other in his palm. He would resume spanking without more than a moment’s pause.

Although Layla was clearly enjoying the spanking, she fought frantically against some of the implements. Her panties had flown across the room and her tiny top had slid up to reveal the tantalizing view of one breast. Franklin suddenly stood up, toppling her from his lap.

“Get her naked,” Franklin ordered. He moved to review his implements while Elle helped Layla out of what little clothing remained. Franklin flung a set of restraints over to the girls, and Elle scrambled to fasten them around the other’s wrists and ankles.

“Here,” Franklin said, pointing to the lower portion of the spanking bench, indicating that Layla should sit there. She did as she was told without further direction. Elle stood and moved to the other side of the implement-laden towel. Before she could sink back to her knees, Franklin had another order, “Get her nipples hard.”

Elle caught her lower lip between her teeth, looking sideways at Franklin for just a moment. When he stared evenly back at her, she walked over to Layla, placed a hand on either knee and sunk to her knees before the other. She cupped the girl’s breasts in her hands, teasing them gently before lowering her mouth to first one nipple, then the other. Her fingers pinched and twisted one nipple while her lips and tongue worked the other.

When one nipple was hard, Franklin pushed Elle away from it to attach a clamp while Elle focused on the other. Franklin pushed her away a second time to attach the second clamp. He watched the reaction of one girl after the other, enjoying the way one processed the pain while the other craved it.

Suddenly, he turned to Elle and smacked her face several times. “What are you doing? Sitting there staring? I want my cane.”

Elle scrambled after the requested implement, but when she had it in hand, Franklin had turned his attention to securing Layla over the bench. Elle sunk back on her knees, watching, her eyes bright. Franklin reached out without looking and Elle put the cane in his hand.