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.

Work Startle - part 3

As you’ll remember for my last post on this, my co-worker, J, had expressed his desire for a gift certificate to “Paddle Palace” for Christmas.

I had an opportunity to talk to our boss after J had left the office. Our offices are interlinked, so discussing anything privately can be a challenge. I’ll leave you to imagine scheduling doctor’s visits – I think it’s safe to say that we have few secrets between the three of us. Though I have managed to keep my kink to myself. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: “J says, if we’re looking for a Christmas gift for him, he’d like a gift certificate to Paddle Palace.”

[stunned silence]

Me (laughing): “He assures me it isn’t as kinky as it sounds…”

Boss (also laughing): “Maybe the two of you should get *me* one of those. Or better yet, get one for [pet name for his wife].”

Then he stops laughing, looks away and at the ground, and says, “I’ve been a very naughty boy…”

I took that as a sign that it was time to leave, before things got any stranger.

Work Startle - part 2

Continuing the startle-at-work-saga, which started here. If you’re new to the story, I’m out to my family about my spanking interests, but not at all in my professional life, not even to my friends. J is my closest co-worker, our offices adjoin, and we share the trials, tribulations, and hilarity of our boss (who is even more obviously ADD than I am). We wander out to lunch together more days than not and talk about nearly everything under the sun. We'll even talk about sexuality and kink, but not our own.

I had J and his wife over to my house for lunch a few weekends back. Midway through the meal, J casually tells me that if our boss and I happen to be looking for a good Christmas gift, he would like a gift certificate to “Paddle Palace.”

My first thought was – he has been collaborating with our boss about my Christmas gift, so I should probably get on that. I can’t remember what we got for J last year, but the comment makes it obvious that he thought we needed some direction. He’s probably right, which must be frustrating because he always finds the perfect gifts for me.

My second thought was – wait, what? A gift certificate to where? Of course I know it’s some store that sells table-tennis rackets and assorted equipment, because we’ve wasted plenty of time at work discussing all the variations of custom-made rackets. But you can imagine where my mind went.

Seeing my expression, he quickly added, “It’s not as kinky as it sounds.”

Oh dear.

“But I’ve seen the catalog, and there ARE lots of pretty Asian women in it,” his wife helpfully added.

As soon as they left, I had to look this place up. Unless you’re planning to take up professional table-tennis, don’t bother.

The Fight

Just a short story...

It was an argument born of alcohol and exhaustion, the sort of fight that escalated unreasonably and would evaporate in an instant if they thought about it. But when they pulled into the parking lot, they were both wrapped up in the fight, the anger, the hurt. She sat perfectly still, lost in her head. He circled the car and opened the door.

She turned to look at him, but her eyes looked through him - unfocused, locked on a distant, unseen point. His words washed over her like so many unrelated syllables, refusing to order themselves into words with meaning. She might even have responded automatically, shaking her head or even answering in a flat, unnatural voice.

He fought back anger and frustration, recognizing the signs this time. She had shut down, in that odd way she had; seemingly responsive, she was on the verge of withdrawing into a ball of tears and sobs. He took several deep breaths. He leaned into the car, grabbing her wrist and squeezing tight. It took a moment longer than usual - a hesitation as she was drawn out of the scary place in her head and back into this moment - but her breath hissed out of her, deflating as she did in response to his touch.

"We are going inside," he growled, giving her wrist another squeeze to emphasize his command, "You can walk or..."

She was climbing out of the car before he could complete the threat. In the room, his words washed over her again, meaningless sounds. He laid his hand on her bare arm, her eyes snapped to his. "You don't even know what we were fighting about, do you?"

"Not..." the word stuttered out of her mouth, "Not really."

He made a frustrated sound and pushed her into the corner, "Then you can stand there until you want to talk, or I'm ready to talk."

- - -

He sat on the sofa; she was curled up in his lap. They spoke quietly, the anger gone from the fight, evaporated as quickly as spilled vodka.

The Shoe - part 1

During a brainstorming session with Jada for story starters, I came up with this: An argument over a shoe…not a pair of shoes, but a single shoe. The story has been rattling around in my head for awhile, but I’ve finally written the first half. For this story, I return to Melanie and Sara.

Melanie opened the door to the apartment she shared with Sara, juggling her purse, briefcase, and the bag of groceries she had picked up on her way home from work. Two steps into the entryway, she stumbled, the grocery bag tumbling to the floor. Mel caught herself with a hand on the wall, her shin barking painfully against the bench.

“Fuck, Sara! How many time do I have to remind you to pick up your shoes?” Mel shouted into the living room, kicking the offending shoe out of her way and walking through towards the office to deposit her things. “Pick them up,” she demanded, “And pick up the groceries.”

“Not my shoe,” Sara said lazily from the sofa. She was wrapped in a quilt, lounging in front of a mindless home design show.

“I beg your pardon!” Mel paused to stare at her girlfriend, “Which of us leaves her shoes strewn about?”

Sara tore her eyes away from the television, glanced back into the entryway and shook her head. “It’s not my shoe,” she announced, sinking back onto the sofa.

Mel dropped her things just inside the office, grabbing the leather paddle that hung beside the door, and stormed over to the television. She stabbed the power button, the screen flickering off. She stomped around the coffee table, yanked the quilt off Sara with one hand and grabbed Sara’s ear with her other hand.

Sara shrieked as she was pulled to her feet, “Melanie!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Sara. You endanger both of us, leaving such stumbling hazards everywhere. This isn’t the first time! Get over the sofa.”

“But Mel,” Sara began, but Mel cut her off by tightening her hold on Sara’s ear.

“Now,” Melanie demanded.

Sara reluctantly got into position, her legs spread wide and her bottom thrust out. Melanie laid into the presented backside with the paddle, striking hard from the first swat. Paddling so hard, cold, quickly brought Sara to tears.

Melanie reached forward, grabbing her girlfriend by the hair and pulling her to her feet again. “Pick up the fucking shoe,” she growled.

Sara sniffled, rubbing the back of her hand quickly across her streaming eyes before walking over to the offending shoe. She picked up the shoe by the heel, flipping the distinctive red sole at her girlfriend. “It’s not my fucking shoe,” she announced, vindicated.

Melanie stared at the Christian Louboutin pump she had purchased only the weekend before, a splurge for her birthday. She hadn’t even taken the shoes out of the box yet. Melanie took a deep, steading breath before she asked, “Sara, where is the other one?”