Category Archives: MF

That’s a Good Mutual Friend


David was not a confrontational man. He wasn’t prone to raising his voice. He never interrupted others, even when they insisted on yelling. He didn’t need to. When David had something he needed to say, people listened. Sometimes, it took a look. Sometimes, a gentle clearing of his throat. Occasionally, a loud “Excuse me.” People listened, of course, excluding Emily Anne.

She had waltzed into his life like a gentle tornado several months ago, a date set up by a mutual friend. He found her charming and charismatic, endearing and endlessly frustrating at the same time. And though he knew there was really no such thing as a gentle tornado, he found himself falling for her just the same.

Emily didn’t need to fight to make herself heard, either. She was fiercly independent, the kind of woman who did not ask permission and did so unapologetically. She found David steady and kind, intriguing and genuine, and above all, trustworthy. She was falling for him as well.

When they had their first fight, David was unprepared. It was over such a small thing… he had come to pick her up for a date, and her front door was unlocked, keys dangling from the beneath the handle. He’d grabbed them and let himself in to her apartment with a knock. “Emily?” he had called. He gave her a reproving look as he handed them over. “Be careful, babe. You left these in the door.” Instead of a thank you, she had rolled her eyes as she took them, dismissing him with a flippant “oh I do that all the time.”

“You leave your keys in the door? All the time?” he had asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Not a big deal. Where are we going for dinner?” she answered, brushing him off.

“I think it is a big deal, young lady,” he said, followed by a pause as he tried to mask his own surprise. Young lady? Where had that come from? He continued though, “This is not the worst neighborhood, but keeping your door locked is an effortless way to keep yourself a little safer.” His second surprise came when she didn’t argue or agree, but huffed at him. She huffed!

For her part, Emily had no idea where the huffing came from either. She just felt herself give in to some small unreasonable voice that rarely escaped. In restropect, she recognized that David was the first man she had ever trusted enough to hear that voice, but in the moment she just felt confused, and instead of backing down, she picked a bigger fight. They both got mad. Dinner was cancelled.

A week later, laying in bed at his apartment and both feeling the warmth from a now empty bottle of wine, Emily let the little voice take over again. Playfully she walked her fingers up his bare chest, smiling mischievously until…

“OW!” David yelled.

Emily snuggled closer to him as he covered his freshly pinched nipple. “Oops,” she said. A minute later, her fingers crept back up to his chest, this time taking only a few tiny steps before they were captured in his much larger hand. Leaning his head down close to hers, he said in a scary and quiet voice, “if you pinch me again, I will spank that little backside of yours until you can’t sit still.”

Butterflies errupted in her stomach and she jerked her hand back, tucking her mischievous fingers between their bodies and hiding her face in the crook of his arm. He smiled, though she couldn’t see it. The wine had made him bold, but he had listened to his instincts, and been prepared to apologize if he had read her wrong. It seemed to have paid off.

Two days later, it was date night again. As David climbed the steps to her apartment door, a bit of metal glinted in the evening sun. His expression darkened. Surely not.

Her keys again hung from the door. David grabbed them and walked inside, calling out. “Emily Anne?” though he expected no answer this time; he could hear a hair dryer running in the bathroom. When he appeared in the mirror behind her, she jumped and shrieked. “David! You scared me!”

“That is not all I plan to do,” he said, reaching over to unplug the hair dryer before taking it from her hands and setting it on the closed toilet lid. “You have some thinking to do.” With that, her grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the bedroom, steering her directly into the one unoccupied corner by the bed. Her outfit for the evening was laid out neatly, but for now she wore only her underwear and a blue tank top. “Why?!” she said as he arranged her hands behind her back, and he was pleased and affirmed in his choice by the faint whine he heard there, what he recognized now as a secret and rare glimpse of her most free self.

“Because a certain little girl left her keys in the door. Again.”

Emily made to turn around, and he knew she was rolling her eyes. A sharp thwack rang out, and Emily practically flung herself back into the corner. He had swatted her! And it hurt! She felt her face begin to burn with embarrassment. This was what she wanted, she thought. She had danced around it from practically the beginning of the relationship; it was perhaps the only thing in her life for which she had never directly asked.

David stepped back and watched the handprint bloom on the undercurve of her left cheek, faint fingerprints reaching out from beneath her peach colored underwear. If David had not been David, she would have eventually been forced to have one of those direct and difficult conversations. But perhaps their mutual friend knew more than they gave her credit for, because David suspected exactly what she wanted, and now he felt more confident than ever.

When he was sure that his girlfriend would stay put, at least for the time being, he walked back to the restroom and grabbed the sturdy wooden hairbrush she’d been using when he arrived. He returned quickly, set the hairbrush on the bed and moved her outfit to her dresser. Then he made himself comfortable, sitting on the bed’s edge and watching Emily shift her weight from foot to foot for a moment before he began to speak. “Stop fidgeting,” he began sternly. “You have landed yourself in trouble, and from now on, that is going to include corner time, so I suggest you get used to this position.” She groaned and leaned her head forward, letting it softly thunk into the joint of the walls.

“And when you are finished with your time-out, I am going to put you across my lap and spank your bare bottom.”

“David!!!” she wailed, having been unprepared to actually hear those words, and her hands jumped to cover her backside. He had expected something like this, and easily took the two steps from the bed to her corner and planted a matching swat on her right cheek, more pink fingerprints blooming. He smirked to himself as she went rigidly back into position. She wasn’t the only one who knew how to push buttons. He was thoroughly enjoying this.

He settled himself back on the bed and began to scold her. “I believe I was very clear about my feelings on you leaving your door unlocked, much less having your keys left there for the taking. And I understand that accidents happen, and we all have our moments. But you did not take me seriously the first time I showed concern, so you are going to take me seriously now.” She had begun to shift again as he lectured, and this time he let her. Her time in the corner was going to be over soon. He let her stand for several minutes in silence for good measure, though.

When he said “come here,” she jumped and pushed herself farther into the corner. He kept quiet, and was proud to see her ease herself out a moment later and shuffle to his side. She looked down at him pitifully, her mouth curved in a pout. “Do we have to?” she said softly.

“No,” he replied thoughtfully, taking her hands in his and squeezing them reassuringly, “but we’re going to.” And he pulled her gently to his side and then across his lap. She settled herself, would have even called it comfortable if she hadn’t been so nervous. David didn’t make her wait long. He pulled her in close with his left arm and said, “I think this is long overdue, little love. When I’m finished, you are going to have a very sore bottom, and a new motivation for keeping track of your keys. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she said into her arms, and though it was muffled, he felt a second surge of pride. Not wanting to make her wait any longer, her raised his right hand and began to spank her. She remained still as his hand bounced on her quickly warming backside, absorbing each swat stoically. He smiled as he spanked her, unsurprised. His instinct to grab the hairbrush had been right; she had never been entry-level at anything, and spanking was no exception for his exceptional girl. He paused and hooked his fingers under the elastic of her underwear, ready with his free hand when she did react with a squeak and a frantic attempt to stop him. He paused, his left hand around her wrist as she clutched the thin fabric with her right hand. “What kind of spanking did I say this would be?”

She jerked her hand free and pulled it back under her, attempting to get out of the question by showing compliance, but he had no plans to let her get away with it. “Emily Anne,” he said sternly, and he could feel her body tense in resistance. Alright, he thought, and he resumed spanking her, underwear still up but his hand now much further down, softer swats because that’s all it took when one spanked a pair of naughty thighs. Emily didn’t think they felt softer at all, and now her feet did kick and she finally yelled “bare.”

He stopped, resting his hand on her bottom again, and asking in the silence, “how?”

She screwed up her face and her courage and said again, quickly but clearly, “on my bare bottom.”

“Good girl,” he said, and then she felt the cool air hit her hot bottom and she attempted to bury her face under the bedspread. David resumed spanking her, a little surprised to see that she still remained fairly still. That wouldn’t last long, he thought, glancing at the hairbrush. A moment later, he paused to grab it, gripping her tighter before resting the smooth wood on her bottom to prepare her. Again her muscles constricted, this time in anticipation, and he proved to be right about her stoicism as he brought it crashing down.

“David! Please!” she yelled, keeping her hands away but moving her backside and legs this way and that in a vain attempt to escape the dreadful sting of the wood on her bottom. “I won’t do it again!”

“Oh, you might do it again. And we will deal with that if and when the time comes,” David said as he continued his steady assault on her backside. “What you will not do is ignore me when I express concern for you, not without facing consequences. Also,” he said, as if it were an afterthought, “no more pinching.”

“Okay! Yes sir. Yes sir. Okay!” she replied. He swatted her a few more times, then set the brush aside and asked, “Are you going to behave yourself for the rest of the evening?”

She nodded meekly, and he swatted her thighs. “Ouch! Yes sir!”

“Good,” he said smiling. He pulled her underwear up and allowed her to stand; she immediately began rubbing her bottom, her bottom lip trapped by her teeth as she hopped up and down. “That really hurt!” she said accusingly, but her expression was more pitiful than challenging. He smiled and opened his arms, whispering gently into her ear a moment later, “Spankings are supposed to hurt. The next one will hurt, too. And the one after that.”

And though she knew it was supposed to be a threat, she smiled into his chest, feeling content and happy, and very very sore.

The Dent


Danny pulled into the driveway of the small split-level home he shared with his girlfriend, Emma.  Instead of shutting off the engine, though, he put the car into reverse and backed up slowly, until the rear of his car was almost in the road again.  He put the car in park.  He let his hands rest on the dash as he leaned forward.  He stared at the blue Pontiac by which he had been briefly parked.

The back driver side bumper had a soccer ball sized dent in it now, one which certainly hadn’t been there this morning when he’d left for work.  One which shouldn’t be there now, because a certain girlfriend of his was supposed to be grounded.

He slowly pulled back up, this time parking as usual and stepping out of his own car.  He walked casually back around, surveying the damage closely.  Cosmetic, he decided.  That was good.  His girl wasn’t hurt.  He figured as much.  He was certain he would have gotten a phone call.  Danny felt his face harden as he slipped his hands into his pockets and circled the blue car, checking for any other damage.  He should have gotten a phone call regardless.

Satisfied that he had gleaned all he could from the car, he grabbed his briefcase from the backseat of his own vehicle and headed toward the front door.  He set his briefcase and keys on the kitchen table, and walked back toward their bedroom, loosening his tie on the way.  His steps into the room were slow and deliberate.  He paused by the bed, turned, sat, and waited.

It took almost four minutes of silence before he heard a soft voice from underneath the bed.  “Are you mad at me?”

He wondered briefly how long she’d been there this time, feeling guilty as she listened for the jangle of his keys in the door.  Not too long, he hoped.  She hated to feel like he was upset with her.  Especially when she deserved it.  “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.  But you better believe that I’m not happy.  Come out here and talk to me.”

“I can’t!” she said emphatically, and he heard her scoot farther back, away from the edge of the bed.  His mouth became a hard straight line, and he decided immediately that he would not be as patient with her nervousness as he usually was.  “One,” he said sternly, and he both heard and felt her scramble beneath him.

“Danny don’t!!!”

“Two,” he said, unaffected by her pitiful cry.  He watched as her hands appeared, flung outward to lay flat on floor as she pulled herself out from under the bed, sliding ungracefully across the wood.  “Three,” he said as she began to stand, and suddenly she was being hauled across his lap as she yelled “Danny wait!”  He kept her flailing hands at bay with his right hand as he began to spank her with his left, putting plenty of force behind it as swats landed one after another on her dark blue jean shorts.  “Danny, please!”

He stopped as abruptly as he’d started, pulling her up and sliding her over to stand directly in front of him.  Her hands went immediately to her backside, but he raised his eyebrows at her and she jerked them forward again as if her hot bottom had burned her fingertips.  She let her hands linger at her sides, clearly desperate to rub the sting away but smart enough not to.  She shifted her weight from foot to foot as she waited for him to speak.  He looked so serene that it was almost out of place, even in his professional clothing: his tie loose, his shirt collar unbuttoned, his posture relaxed as he leaned forward and rested his hands on his thighs.


Emma’s eyes welled with tears that she rapidly and unsuccessfully tried to blink away.  “I can’t,” she finally whispered.

Danny’s face looked briefly surprised, but his next words felt almost like a dare.  “You can’t?”

“I don’t… there isn’t a good explanation.”

“Explain it anyway.”

She rung her hands and looked at him pleadingly, but she received only his cool gaze looking back at her.  She could practically see the clock counting down behind his brown eyes.  He wouldn’t wait forever, and her bottom already hurt from the brief but harsh spanking a moment ago.  Finally she managed, “I had to return some books to the library.”

It hadn’t been enough.  His arm snaked out to grab hers and once again she found herself upended, his hard hand landing on her already pink bottom.  She shrieked as he spanked her, but he was immune to her cries.  When he finished this time, she was breathing heavily, and he didn’t let her up.  Instead he rested his dominant hand on her throbbing bottom and his right hand casually across her back, fingers dangling alongside her waist.  “You seem to be having a lot of trouble recalling some of the details of your afternoon, Emma Grace, so I am going to help you get through this explanation.  But it is going to cost you.”

He reached beneath her, fumbling at the button of her jeans for just a moment before freeing it, and then her, of their trappings.  She shifted her body and helped as best she could, though she dreaded the loss of the thick denim.  She tried not to protest as her underwear followed, but a small moan of embarrassment escaped her.  Danny returned his arms to their previous spots; he let his left hand glide gently across her hot bottom now, a tender gesture that happened absentmindedly when he held her in this position.

“Are you supposed to leave the house today?”

“No sir,” she replied miserably.


“Because I’m grounded.”


She shut her eyes at this question.  She hated being grounded, hated having to talk about it, and especially hated having to go over it again after the lecture she had already received.  She knew better than to push her luck, though, and despite the redoubled throb of her bottom, Danny had been right– she found it easier to speak in this position.  “I’m grounded because I volunteered to take extra shifts at work when I already had a busy week scheduled and because I haven’t been getting enough sleep as it is.”

He nodded thoughtfully above her head, though she couldn’t see it.  “So there is no confusion about how today should have gone, Emma?”  She sighed miserably.  “No sir.  I just didn’t think.  I had some books that were due and I just jumped in the car.  I realized it before I even buckled my seat belt.  But then…”

Danny could hear the shame of her decision to disobey him pouring out of her, and he knew that tears were making their ways down her pretty cheeks, even if he couldn’t see them.  He gave her bottom an unsympathetic squeeze.  “Keep going.”

“It’s just a few minutes away…” she began, and he felt the slight offer of an excuse.  His hand on her bottom stilled, and then lifted.  She tensed and yelled “it wasn’t a good reason it wasn’t a good reason it wasn’t–” and then the spanking had resumed, and his hand was bouncing, thudding rapidly, delivering hard swats that propelled her small body forward upon every impact.  He didn’t scold her.  He didn’t need to.  His hand did all the talking, at least until he stopped spanking and moved her legs, letting her body slide down so she was kneeling between his knees.  She let her hands dance around her swollen backside but didn’t touch it this time.  She kept herself from resting on the heels of her feet; her thighs hurt with the exertion after only a minute, but it was better than letting her bottom come in contact with anything right this moment.

Danny took her chin, brushing some wayward tears away with his thumb.  “In a few minutes, you are going to walk over there and get the hairbrush from your dresser drawer.”  He let that sink in for a moment, watching her eyes squeeze shut and reopen.  “First, I want to know about the dent.”  She took a shuddering breath and looked up at him, eyes round and fearful and innocent.

“It happened while I was in the library.  It was only for a few minutes, but a man was walking to the car beside mine when I got there.  I think he hit it.  It was a blue truck.  I don’t remember the model.  They have security cameras and the police are going to be in touch later.  I left my contact information.”

For the first time since he’d gotten home, Dan smiled.  And even with her sore fanny, her wet cheeks, and the promise of more to come, his smile made Emma smile.  “Good girl,” he said.  “Very good.  Those are all the right steps.”  He leaned down to kiss her forehead, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.  She used to balk when he praised her for doing normal adult things on her own– “Everyone has to deal with this stuff, Danny.  You don’t get a reward for being a grown-up.  You just do it.” — but after a particularly harrowing afternoon at the DMV of all places, he’d finally gotten her to see that he wasn’t being condescending.  He pointed to several people they’d watched struggle through the tedium of license renewals and car registrations and tax forms.  “Look, sweetheart… she deserves a cheerleader.  So does he.  So does that guy.  So does that woman running customer service.”  She’d leaned against him, listening to his quiet voice amid the crowd.  “We all have to do it, yes, but it’s a daily miracle that we get through it.  So let me be proud of you.  Okay?”

Now, he leaned back, untangled her arms, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.  She closed her eyes for a brief second, then stood, stepping out of her underwear and walking past the shorts she had long since kicked off, to grab the wooden hairbrush from its spot in her dresser.  She brought it back quickly, eyes downcast, and held it to out Danny.  He let her stand there for a minute as he unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve, rolling it up slowly.  Then he took the brush with his left hand and took her wrist with his right, pulling her across one knee, letting her torso rest on the bed while her legs draped around his thigh.  She immediately grabbed the comforter, thinking briefly that it was more aptly name that most people realized.  She felt his arms encircle her waist and then a blaze of pain erupted on her right sit-spot.  Emma screamed, but the next swat was just as hard and in the exact same spot.  Next came two on her left sit-spot.  Repeat.  Repeat again.  At the twelfth spank, she heard him toss the brush on the bed, and finally she was pulled up into his arms.

The rest of the evening passed with forehead kisses, back rubs, and the occasional squeak whenever Emma’s backside happened to make contact with anything.  She felt better, though.  Better than she had since the moment she’d heard the click of her seat belt, better than the entire short-lived disaster of an errand, better than the time she’d spent worried and nervous under the bed.  Everything was okay now, and though she would never say it aloud, a sore bottom seemed a small price to pay for this sort of happiness.

Little Monster


You look relaxed again today.

I don’t like it.

I want to like it, I do, but there’s a little monster living in the pit of my stomach that demands your attention.  Your positive attention, your compliments, your arm around my waist, but also the hard palm of your hand, the yank of your fingers around my wrist, your legs pinning mine… I want all of it.  I am jealous of books and street signs and the songs that get stuck in your head.  I hate the sound of your car starting in the morning and I’ve got a collection of hate mail for your boss that I will never send.

You’re not looking for signs of rebellion, and it throws me.  The logical part of my brain… the sane part, you might say at this point… is celebrating this apparent return to normalcy.  The little monster is outraged, though.  I can feel her screaming, pulling at her hair, stomping across my liver and throwing punches at the soft walls of the stomach which contains her.  I feel her anger and my muscles clench involuntarily.  My ass aches; I’ve spent more time across your lap in the last ten days than in all the other time we’ve known each other combined, and so little of it playful, the way we usually enjoy each other.

There has been a lot of love, too… aftercare, comfort, cuddles and forehead kisses.  But it’s never enough to feed the little monster.  I pinch myself, hard, and she quiets down, at least through breakfast.  I’m walking a very thin line here.  My efforts to restrain her often end up with me bursting into tears, sinking down into a sobbing mess at your feet, feeling guilty and sad and wounded.  Every night seems to end in this way or the other, all of my energy zapped from crying or from spanking.  Every night.  One way or the other. Never both.

I watch you warily from the corner of my eye as I put our dishes away.  There’s a part of me ready to panic.  You’ve reassured me again and again that you will take care of me, that you know I’ll be okay, but I don’t really believe you.  I believe that you believe I will okay, but I don’t trust anyone more than I trust myself, and I don’t know what the fuck is going on.  I’ve been to the dark corners of my mind before, places where no one else is invited.  You’ve waited me out then, and you have your own lonely dark corners.  You understand.  But this is different.  These demons are… active.

I startle at your hand on my shoulder, turn to watch it slide down my arm until you’ve locked your fingers in mine and you’re tugging me out of the kitchen.  My brow knits, and without thinking about it I hesitate, locking my knees, leaning back against your leading hand.  You saw this coming, and there is no hesitation on your end.  With one fluid motion you have jerked me ahead of you and I feel your free hand come crashing down on my pajama bottoms, two, three, six times, too fast for me to do anything but yelp and hop forward, and somehow we’re in your bedroom now.  You loosen your grip on my hand and I jerk it out of yours resentfully, glaring at you and rubbing. You sit on the bed and beckon me with a finger.  I feel a few tears jump into my eyes.  I haven’t done anything yet, and I don’t like this.

You’re watching all of these emotions flicker across my face, and your expression softens, but you still don’t explain.  I walk slowly toward you, unhappy, but I trust you, and lord knows you’ve earned my compliance so long as I can make myself give it.  When I’m standing in front of you, you put your hands on my hips and pull me down to sit in your lap.  Mad or not, I can’t help but curl into you, wrapping my arms around your neck, feeling small and comfortable there.  “We’re going on a little trip today,” you say, and I look up, surprised.  My heart jumps, excited- you know how much I love going anywhere- but then it sinks, rattling my ribs and waking the little monster.

Her eyes must have taken over mine for an instant, because your face becomes stern again as you continue, “And to make sure you are a very well-behaved young lady on this trip, I am going to spank your bottom right here and now.”  You silence me before I have a chance to protest, moving me across your lap as you say firmly, “It is not up for negotiation.”  My pjs are down in an instant and I still do protest some, but it’s half-hearted at best.  You don’t use anything but your hand, but it’s enough.  I’m still sore from the rest of the week, so the swats hurt immediately, propelling me forward as you land them one after another on the fullest part of my backside.  I grab a pillow and hold on, determined not to reach back.  Sometimes when I do that you scoop up my wrist and carry on, but other times you just move your swats down, spanking the tops of my thighs so that my legs kick wildly and I move my hands.  I don’t want to risk the latter, so I cling to the pillow through the whole thing.


Now I’m in the passenger seat, shifting a little but maintaining my grip on your arm even as I attempt to find a comfortable position.  Usually I’d be chatty right now, telling you about my dreams from the night before or asking you questions, but I don’t have anything to say.  I’m curious about where we’re going, but instead of trying to guess I just sit, focusing on the flashes of blue and white sky through the window.  You seem content, maybe even preoccupied, probably analyzing the morning, analyzing your actions, analyzing me.  Maybe not, though.  Maybe you’re just happy for the silence.

I must nod off because suddenly the radio is on and nothing looks familiar.  I sit up, looking over to you, and you’re smiling a little.  “Good morning, baby.”  I smile back, still coming out of the nap I did not intend to take.  “Where are we?”  You keep your grin but it’s a little stiff now as you say “We’re almost there.” I roll my eyes at your non-answer, but a bump in the road makes me wince and I get distracted from griping at you.  In fact I hunker down a little, feeling small again.

I hate to admit how much a spanking, even a quick one like this morning, can affect my mood. My arm loops back through yours instinctively; I don’t know what today is about, but it feels big.  I think you might be about to leave me, a thought that came early and continues to grow stronger.  It’s not as panic-inducing as one might think, though.  I know the manic stage will come later, when you’re moving my stuff out of the house, or maybe the first night I have to sleep in my own apartment again, a place that’s served as nothing but storage for months now.  But now it’s almost comforting, holding on to this knowledge that you will finally be free of me.  I want that for you.  Even with the little monster trying her best to destroy us both, there is a small unselfish corner of my heart left that wants you to be happy without me.

The car slows and I’m brought back out of my head.  You’re parking the car and it looks like we’re in a neighborhood.  I look at you, confused.  This is a weird place to break up with me, but you’re running this show, I guess.  Who am I to question where we are?  Numbly I follow your lead, walking up the path to the front door.  It’s a cute house with lots of flowers and a big cherry tree in the front yard.  You take my hand as you open the door, leading me into the empty echoing foyer.  You start to lead me around the house but even in my numbness I’ve had enough of this. I stop, keeping a hold of your hand, but looking to you for an explanation, nothing submissive on my face in this moment.  Your cheeks are a little red and you clear your throat awkwardly.

“Do you like this house?” you ask.

I hadn’t really been forming an opinion about the house, and you have to be able to see how absurd I think your question is.  You fumble for a moment, clarifying a little, saying “What I mean is, do you think you could be happy in a home like this?”  I’m more confused than ever but I glance around, humoring you but answering honestly, “Maybe.  I’d have to look around a bit more.  Why?”

You don’t answer.  Instead you walk over the picture window in the living room, waving a hand at me to follow.  When I’m near enough, you wrap your arms around me, so we’re both looking outside at the white blossoms falling slowly around the yard, our bodies pressed against each other and your head resting on my shoulder.  “I think I could be happy in a home like this with you. I could be happy anywhere with you.”

One of your hands disappears for a moment, returning to present a little black box at my waist.  I stare down at it, mouth agape, and you continue talking in my ear.  “If this is the worst that it gets, I’ll take it.  If this is just the beginning of the worst, I’ll take that, too.  If you will have me, I want to be there for all of it.  I love everything about you, and I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere, ever.  You make me happier than any other person I’ve ever met.”

I don’t know if you have more to stay, but I don’t give you the chance to continue.  I turn around in your arms and I have your face in my hands, my lips pressed against yours, kissing your mouth, then your cheeks and chin and nose and every part of you I can manage.
I kiss the corner of your smiling mouth, the dimples that form there, finally slowing to press my forehead against yours and whisper over and over again “yes.”

And the little monster doesn’t say a word.

Just Do It


Sometimes he wished she’d just ask for it.

He watched her from the hotel bed, saw the subtle shifting of her weight from foot to foot as she stood there, her nose toward the corner and her hands worrying her shirt tail. She had been grouchy all evening; she knew it, too, which made things worse. She’d get snappy, realize how hateful she sounded, apologize quickly and become quiet, only to repeat the cycle a few minutes later. He knew she was tired, knew she was stressed, and he did his best to be understanding.

She didn’t need his sympathy, though, and he had really known that all along. It was still so new to them both, and he wanted to be sure before he acted. He was sure now. As soon as they’d walked through the door he had taken her bags and pulled her jeans and panties down, sending her with a smack to her current location. She hadn’t protested, which comforted him in some ways, reassuring him that this was what she needed. It annoyed him in others, though, and he berated himself for not trusting his first instincts.

He put away their bags, poured himself a glass of water, contemplated getting the hairbrush from her suitcase and deciding against it. Eventually he set his glass down and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Come here. Leave those,” he said, watching her step out of the clothes piled around her ankles and walk hesitantly to his side, her bottom lip out as she slipped her hand into his outstretched one. She resisted only a little when he tugged her forward, and she fell easily across his lap. He pulled her tee shirt up, resting his left hand on the small of her back while he ran his right hand over the cool skin of her bottom.

“You’ve been a very bad girlie today, haven’t you?” he scolded, patting the curve of her bare backside, feeling her flinch beneath him. She didn’t answer, only tensed her muscles and buried her face in the blankets. “You most certainly have, little girl. Very naughty. You’ve been practically begging for a spanking all day.” She made a sound of dissent, like he knew she would, and he brought his hand down hard, then went back to caressing her. “Don’t you argue with me. You have behaved badly, and now you are in for a red backside and an early bedtime. Is that clear?” A small whimper escaped her, not a yes, not a no, but enough for now.

He brought his hand down sharply, not just once this time, but over and over again, watching her skin become pink under his assault, not being gentle with her, not yet. She began to wiggle and he spanked her harder, and she squealed. When her legs began to kick he shifted his focus, pelting the tops of her thighs, listening to her uneven breathing. She threw a hand back, and he stopped spanking her. “Move it.”

“Please,” she asked, spreading her fingers across her hot skin, covering as much as she could.


“Pleasepleasepleaseplease, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good,” she begged, her entire body tense.


With a wail she moved her hand and he brought his palm crashing down the second her fingers were out of the way, harder now, faster, not giving her a chance to think about anything but the pain and the noise and keeping her hands in front of her.

After what she felt was an eternity and what he knew to be only about a minute, he slowed, until he had stopped spanking her and was running his hand across her freshly punished bottom. He slid his hands under her and lifted, turning her to sit in his lap now, and she draped her right arm around him, her other hand finding his in her lap and twining their fingers. He lifted their hands together, used his thumb to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Better?” he asked, and she nodded and hiccuped, glancing up at him briefly.

He moved their hands behind her back, transferring hers from his red right hand to his still cool left, bringing his right hand to sit on her lap again. When he nudged her knees, she spread them obediently, though a blush rose from her collarbones to her cheeks. He slid his fingers up her thigh, whispering as he did so, “Are you going to be good for me now?” She shuddered as his fingers brushed against her, a “yes sir” falling from her lips.

Her body language was so different now, so malleable, so submissive and so his. He pressed his hot palm against her, pushing lightly, watching her bite her bottom lip at the tingles he now controlled. The tip of his middle finger dipped into her, and he felt a pool of warm liquid waiting. “It wasn’t all bad, was it?” he asked, and she glanced away, smiling.

“Look at me,” he told her as he pushed his fingers into her, and she complied, no more hesitations left. He felt her breathe in sharply at his touch, watched her mouth open slightly, and he pushed harder, farther in. She whimpered as he slipped out, a different sort of sound than her earlier cries, but she didn’t protest otherwise. He brought his hand to her face, ran his thumb around the curve of her lips. She opened her mouth, eager to have any part of him, sucking his fingers when he let her, moving to kiss his palm when his fingers were clean. She nipped at his thumb and he swatted her with his other hand, a light but effective spank on her swollen ass.

She jumped and her eyes widened and she kissed his hand again, the muscles of her stomach quivering and her breath shaky as she tried not to direct him. He smacked her again and she moaned, her legs falling open wider. She looked at him pleadingly, and he moved his hand back down to rest on her thigh. The heat from her skin pulsed through the fabric of his pants, and his erection pushed against the back of her legs. She shifted slightly, her fingers going to the button of his pants, her eyes looking to his for permission.

He moved his knees apart and she slid down to the floor, kneeling on the carpet, tugging his pants and underwear down and off. He pulled her shirt over her head, and as soon as she was free she ran her tongue up the length of him, sucking the pre-cum off his tip as greedily as she had sucked her own wetness from his fingertips moments ago. He watched as her head moved up and down, his eyes following the arch of her spine, down to the curve of her bottom. Her skin was red and lightly bruised, and though her thighs were pulled under her, he knew they matched, that they were covered with defined impressions of his hands, and that tomorrow she would be pink and purple and happy, much happier than she had been today.

She giggled lightly as she felt him begin to shudder, and her pleasure at his pleasure almost pushed him over the edge. He suddenly wanted to be inside her more than anything, and he reached for her waist, pulling her up urgently. She opened her legs obligingly and settled across his lap, this time sitting, facing him. Her ass met his thighs and he was all the way in her, cumming immediately, gripping her thighs to keep them both steady as she rocketed into her own orgasm moments later.

He kissed her as they finished, ran his hands from her shoulders to her knees, finding her hands and holding them in his as he leaned back on the bed, looking up at her, still straddling him and breathing heavily, breasts heaving in her lacy bra. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them, then sat up again, rolling her onto her back and gently sliding out and away from her, still holding her hands for a moment, then letting go and patting her side, so she rolled over on her belly. He unsnapped her bra, slid it out from under her, leaned in to kiss her ear. She shivered and turned her head toward him, whispered “thank you,” as her eyes began to shut, and he supposed he didn’t mind having to guess what she needed after all…

We All Are


He stood frozen in the doorway, watching her cry. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. Years of reading stories online and noticing the obsession with women being “spanked to tears” hadn’t prepared him for this very real interaction. Common phrases began popping into his mind as he watched her. She was supposed to be holding on to her grief like a coiled spring; he was supposed to spank her so she could let go, release her burdens, feel the weight lifted from her shoulders.

There was nothing stopping her tears now, though. He watched her lie there, clutching a pillow, body wracked with sobs so heavy she could barely breathe. She didn’t register his presence until he sat on the bed next to her and then she flung herself at him, burying her head in his chest, unable to say anything, though she tried to apologize. There was nothing to apologize for, or nothing he could think of. He guessed it was for messing up his shirt or for crying at all, something silly that she would feel guilty for, no matter how illogical.

And she did feel bad. She felt bad for being depressed, for feeling mean, for acting unresponsive. A few days ago she felt upset because her boss had been in a bad mood, and then she missed the bus. And the next day she was sad because it rained and because she heard a song on the radio that reminded her of her dead grandfather. And now she couldn’t stop the great snowball of emotions, as anything that had ever hurt her, no matter how ridiculous or purposeful or out of her control it was, came back.

He hadn’t spanked her. She hadn’t done anything wrong or asked him to. He didn’t know if it would help, and she wasn’t sure herself. But she felt out of options now, unable to stop the crushing rush of regret and remorse. She took a deep shuddery breath and pulled back from him, not looking at his face as she arranged herself across his lap and grabbed for the pillow again, wiping her eyes on the case as another round of sobs shook her body.

His left arm encircled her automatically; it was a familiar enough position. But he was hesitant, taking time to straighten her underwear and arrange the hem of her t-shirt, the one she’d slept in and still hadn’t changed out of here in the late afternoon. He rubbed a hand across her backside, leaned forward so his body was close against hers. He tossed out a quick prayer to anyone listening, then lifted his hand and brought it down hard in the middle of her backside. Again and again, covering her bottom, watching as a blush began to escape the edges of her panties. For a long time there was nothing except the sound of her crying and the thud of his hand. Usually she wiggled and kicked, but she wasn’t really here right now, so caught up was she in her own inner struggle.

She felt him take her panties down and the spanks became harder, solid and forceful and refusing to be ignored. All of the things that she couldn’t get a hold of, the mixed up thoughts that were keeping her down, suddenly became concentrated. For days all she had done was cry; no sooner did any single sad thought begin to fade before another took its place. Her heart was so full that no one thing could be dealt with, could even maintain her concentration. Now, though, there was focus. There was pain, physical pain, with each smack of his hand, and it gave her something specific, something that could be acknowledged and accepted, something finite.

He heard the tone of her wails change. She stopped the heaving, tearing noises, and he heard smaller, softer sounds. He picked up the pace, watched her skin turn dark under his assault, felt his palm begin to burn with the force of the spanking, but he didn’t stop. She threw a hand behind her, but she didn’t try to block him. Suddenly her fingers were just there, sprawled out against the small of her back, asking for his hand in hers, but not asking for the spanking to stop.

She got lost there, in the sound and pain and the heat. He paid attention to her body language, felt a small satisfaction when her legs began to twitch. And suddenly every spanking story he’d ever read seemed ridiculous. Her tears were drying up, her lungs fully expanding, her mind clear for the first time in days. He saw her turn her face, watched as she smiled, a grim smile, a smile that still flinched with every spank, but a smile nonetheless.

He finally stopped spanking her, resting his arm across her hot backside, not rubbing, knowing that would hurt more, reaching a hand up to brush the hair from her face. She rolled on his lap, ignoring the ache and straddling his thighs, kissing him hard. He smiled, a grin so broad that he could barely kiss her back, a small laugh escaping through their locked lips. She sat back and brushed the last of the tears from her face with the bottom of her shirt.

She was going to be okay.

What Not to Say (in front of Danny)


Danny put both hands on the table and leaned in toward them. “Unless you’re looking for a pair of sore backsides before supper, I suggest you quiet down and let me get this finished. I’m not going to ask again.” He turned back towards the office/spare bedroom as Emma’s eyes rounded and she felt her face grow warm. Danny had never given any hints about that part of their relationship in front of anyone, no matter what was going on in their home! And in front of his brother! What would he think if he knew… she risked a quick glance sideways at her new companion. Ben seemed to be as flustered as her was, his cheeks a bright pink and his eyes fixed blankly on the table. Danny had threatened both of them. Did Danny still…?

No way. Emma knew that Dan and his younger brother were really close, and she’d heard her boyfriend get on to him a few times over the telephone about school work and other little things, but nothing to imply that he still… And besides, Ben was twenty-two… of course, she was twenty-two it didn’t stopped Danny from busting her tail whenever he felt like it.

Ben looked up, catching her eye, and they both looked quickly away. As the silence grew deafening, Ben grabbed a pen and scrawled on the margin of Emma’s magazine. “Does Danny…?” She nodded slowly, took the pen, and wrote “you?” Ben nodded solemnly, took back the pen and smiled a little as he wrote “he’s got hands like canoe oars!” Emma barely suppressed her giggle, which grew as Ben began to draw a portrait of his brother, complete with paddled hands and an ass’s head. Soon they were cutting up again. Ben had come to visit them in California for the first time since Dan and Emma had moved in together; he was in his last year of school in Atlanta, where he was getting degree in graphic design. Ben and Emma had hit it off immediately, teasing each other and laughing as if they were long lost siblings themselves.

Danny’s threat was forgotten as Ben began to tickle Emma and she screeched and began hurling anything within her grasp toward her attacker. It was forgotten, that is, until they heard the scrape of the office chair. They were immediately quiet, too little too late, of course, as Dan appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the framed, surveying their guilty faces as they sneaked glances his way. “Come here.”

Slowly they both scooted away from the table and shuffled his direction, stopping in front of him with their eyes on their shoes and their hands behind their backs. “Ben,” and his brother’s head snapped up, “take this,” and Dan handed over his debit card, “and Emma,” now her eyes on him, too, “take these,” and he handed her the car keys, “and go get a pizza.” He fought to keep his face firm as he watched their slow smiles start and their bodies relax. “And if you’re not gone the better part of an hour, you’ll both sleep on your stomachs tonight!” he said with mock severity. They didn’t need to be asked twice, making it out the door in record time as Dan turned back towards the desk and his unfinished stack of papers to grade.


That evening found them in the local pub, sitting round a small table close the a little stage where local musicians played the usual classic rock covers. After two pitchers of beer between them, Ben and Emma where shouting requests and singing along, Danny laughing as he sipped his second mugful, having been designated the driver before hand. Danny laughing, that is, until Emma noticed an ex-classmate of hers and decided to point her out to Ben, who immediately proceeded to give his critiques on everything from the girl’s dangerously high heels to the beefy boyfriend she had on her arm. Drunk and giggly, Ben began a running commentary on the patrons of the bar, Emma egging him on as he got louder and louder and ignored every warning signal Danny sent their way. Ben finally snapped something about a woman sitting at the table to the right, loud enough that they all turned his direction as he slurred his catty remarks about the lady’s blouse being see-through. Danny was up in a heartbeat, apologizing to the woman and her bigger-than-average husband, glaring at his brother and girlfriend and their sloppy unapologetic grins and berating himself for not dragging them out five minutes earlier.

“It wasn’t a big deal, Danny, and besides, it was a slutty shirt,” Emma said as they trekked down the street towards the car a few blocks away. Danny took a deep breath kept walking, ready for the pair of them to be sober so he could make clear exactly what he thought of their impromptu “What Not to Wear” mock-up. Ben was stumbling behind Emma, his face a bit pale as the last couple drinks entered his system. Emma began to mumble again, and Danny turned sharply, her nearly running into him, and brought his face very close to hers. “Emma Grace, I am three seconds from–”

And that’s when Ben stumbled over and released the contents of his stomach on the sidewalk at their feet.


Emma’s eyes opened abruptly and she was awake, although she remained very still until she realized that the other side of the bed was cold; Danny must be awake and moving. She relaxed a moment, physically at least. It really wasn’t a good sign. She tended to be an early riser, while Dan was a big fan of sleeping in on Saturdays… her watch said it was just now eight, and they hadn’t even left the bar until almost 3… and if Danny was already up… oh boy. This was bad. This was very bad.

She saw a big glass of orange juice and a pair of Advil sitting on the night stand beside her, but she told herself that they didn’t look appealing and stubbornly closed her eyes again. Thirty minutes later she was still trying desperately to fall back asleep when Danny came back in the bedroom. “I know you’re awake,” he said from somewhere above her, “and I don’t know why that juice is untouched.” She remained perfectly still. “Ben should be awake by the time you’re out of the shower. I’ll see you in the living room.” As he shut the door, she groaned inwardly and began to sit up…***

In the guest bedroom, Ben woke with a mild headache and an unexplained sense of doom. Unexplained until he took in his surroundings, the corner desk and the flowery curtains: Danny’s guest room. “Shit,” he mumbled, turning to find the glass of juice he knew would be sitting on the night stand. He vaguely remembered downing several glasses of water and a couple Advil before being put to bed. Ohhh, a little voice inside his head whispered, last night wasn’t just a regular night of drinking with Danny putting you to bed… big brother was mad. Just how mad, Ben couldn’t remember– he could barely remember getting home last night– but he had an uneasy feeling that maybe he had something to do with it.


Emma walked timidly towards the couch where Ben sat, looking miserable in his loose plaid pajama pants, eyes puffy from the drinking and hair still mussed. Dan wasn’t in the room, but she guessed he wouldn’t be long in coming. Sure enough, he walked in carrying a chair from the kitchen a few seconds later and planted himself across from the 22 year-olds.

“Any reason I shouldn’t wear the two of you out?”

Protests, blaming their actions on the alcohol, died in Emma’s throat. She’s learned early on in their relationship Danny’s feelings about that old excuse. “If you’re old enough to drink, you’re old enough to know your limits.” She shook her head miserably alongside Ben.

“Right then,” and his damned decisive nod, “Emma, you’re up first.” She walked to his side, put her hands to her waist band and looked at him pleadingly as she glanced at his brother on the couch. He’d never so much as threatened a spanking in front of anyone else, and now she was about to be on the receiving end with an audience. Her stomach tightened and a lump rose in her throats as he simply raised his eyebrows at her and gave a small unsympathetic shrug of his shoulders. With shaking hands she dropped her pajama bottoms. As she was trying to work up the nerve to take down her white panties, Danny took hold of wrist and pulled her across his lap. She barely had time for to be thankful before the first smack landed solidly on her backside. She managed a stoic thirty seconds of his rapid spanks before the squirming began; another minute and her hand shot back of its own accord. Danny snatched it up quickly and pinned it to the small of her back without breaking his rhythm. He paused after another moment, observing the pink blush escaping the outer edges of her underwear. He grabbed the top, pulling them down to the top of her thighs, ignoring Emma’s mumbled “Oh, nonononono…” and the tensing of her body as his hand came down, leaving a flicker of white before descending again. Emma’s legs began to kick as her tongue tripped over apologies, not exactly asking him to stop (she knew he wouldn’t until he was good and ready) but offering everything she could by way of penance. Finally the spanking slowed as he began to talk. “Why am I unhappy with you, Emma?”

“Because I was rude and- and mean” came her choked reply.

“And who is responsible for your behavior?” he asked, still spanking her very dark pink bottom.

“I am!”

“Even when you’re drinking?”

“Yes siiiir!” she cried, feeling ashamed. Daniel briefly increased the force behind his swats, making Emma shriek, before slowing and finally stopping.

Emma cried quietly as she lay limply across his knees. He rubbed her back for a moment, listening to her ragged breath and letting his simple question rest. He eased her to her feet, kissing her hand tenderly and giving her a gentle nudge back toward the couch where Ben sat, looking paler now than he had last night. He had a blank look on his face, eyes on the ceiling, evidence of his failed attempt to tune out the spanking of his semi-sister-in-law. Danny called his name sharply, and Ben moved quickly to his brother’s side, not nearly as hesitant about dropping his shorts as Emma had been. Of course, he’d been on the receiving end of Dan’s discipline more times than he cared to remember, including several times right in front of (and often alongside) his friends and playmates growing up. Before the spanking even started Ben grabbed the lower rung of the kitchen chair, gripping it tightly, knowing he would struggle to keep them there. And so the spanking began, Danny’s rapid slaps turning his little brother’s backside a bright pink before whisking down his briefs and turning the skin a deeper shade of red. As with Emma, he stopped after a minute and rested his arms on Ben’s back for a moment, except he didn’t move his brother’s shorts back up. Not yet. “Benjamin, I hope you’re learning more at school than how to judge your peers. I know- or I hope, anyway- that you were raised to be a much better person than you showed yourself to be last night.” Ben mumbled his yessir, tears forming in his eyes. “Emma, go get the hairbrush.” At that Ben began to squirm fiercely, making protests until Danny tightened his grip around the young man’s waist and delivered half a dozen stinging slaps to his upper thighs. Emma hadn’t moved, except to open her mouth in disbelief. “Listen here, young lady. You had no problem pushing Ben last night to your amusement. You contributed to his behavior. You may contribute to his punishment.”

With a look of horror Emma rose and fetched the round oak hairbrush from its place in their bedroom. She forced herself to bring it back, motivated with the fear that she might make things worse for Ben if she didn’t do as she was told. Danny tapped it lightly on Ben’s red rear end before bringing it forcefully down twelve slow and solid times, Ben bucking and Emma wincing with each loud smack. Finally Danny allowed Ben up and back on the couch, running a hand through his brother’s hair affectionately before standing up and carrying the chair back to the kitchen, returning a moment later and offering a hand each to the two on the couch. “Back to bed, kids. You still only got about 5 hours of sleep.” They allowed themselves to be tugged up, and Danny pulled Benjamin right into a hug; he held his little brother tightly for a minute before sending him back toward the guest room and turning his attention to Emma. As much as Emma hated spankings and as much as she tried to talk herself into a good sulk afterward toward her brute of a boyfriend, she never could. Instead she became clingy, wanting to mold herself to Danny for hours after the punishment. He kissed her head, then walked back to the bedroom, where she spooned against him and squeezed his fingers in her own until they both fell asleep.

The Drapes Are None of Your Business


Michael paused as he shut the front door of his apartment, eyeing the bob of red hair sticking up over the refrigerator door.  He raised an eyebrow, more curious than alarmed, waiting to see who might pop up.  After a minute, the smiling face of Zoey, his wife, appeared.  “Whatdoya think?” she asked without preamble.

He tilted his head and pretended to contemplate her new hair color.  He knew, of course, that there was only one right answer, but he couldn’t resist teasing her a little bit.  “Don’t we have a rule in this house about drastic hair color changes?” he asked.  She blushed, remembering his reaction to her purple streaks a few months ago.  He had been less than pleased, and had made his disapproval clear by paddling her backside and then dying her hair back himself that very night as she sniffled over the sink.

“This isn’t drastic, Michael.  It’s a natural color!” Her eyes twinkled.  “For all you know, it’s my natural color.”  He chuckled as he loosened his tie and walked over to give her a kiss.  “Oh, I am quite sure it’s not your natural color,” he told her as he ran a suggestive hand over the back of her blue jeans.  “Yeah?” she smirked, “prove it.”

He hesitated only a second before turning her quickly around, so her back was pressed to his front and his hands could work on her belt buckle.  She giggled and shrieked as he kissed her neck and finally pushed down her jeans, revealing a pair of leggings.  He growled softly, aware of the game now, and nipped her ear as she laughed and pressed against him.  He shoved them down impatiently and she all but dissolved into a puddle of mirth at his increasing frustration.

“You are in soooo much trouble, little girl,” he whispered, tugging down a pair of black tights.  He pushed her gently forward; she caught herself on the counter before she could lose her balance.  Her bare feet were tangled in the layers he’d worked through, and her backside was out, displaying a pair of white high-waist underwear.  Michael landed a hard swat on her right cheek, not surprised by the amount of padding he felt or her sly little laugh.  He landed a few more smacks before slowly peeling down the underwear, revealing a pair of bright orange hipster cut panties.  He repeated his swats, pleased to see her wince a little bit this time.

Once the orange panties were gone, he found a pair of skimpy white lace bikini cut panties, and again his hand came down.  She let out a squeal but stayed in place, even when she heard him step back to admire the view.  He could see the fresh pink of her otherwise light brown skin through the thin material, and the outline of the thong she wore underneath.  Slowly, his slipped his fingers under the band and slid them down her smooth thighs to join the rest of her discarded clothing.

He felt her tense up, finally nervous, less sure of her game now that it was almost over.  Michael took her hand and guided her up and around, now leaning her back against the counter so she could see her blushy face, then pushed his own thigh between hers, pulling her into him and kissing her hard. She reacted immediately, pushing against him as he gripped her warm bare skin, the thong still resting alluringly on her hips.

He lifted, and she pulled her feet free of their trappings to wrap her legs around his waist, holding him tightly, keeping her lips plastered to his as he moved them toward the bedroom.

He lay her on top of the covers, prying her arms from his neck after a minute, mumbling a stern “Zoey” when she resisted, ignoring the pout of her lip as he stepped away.  He’d felt the speed of her heart when it was pressed against his, and he knew she was anxious about what he’d think. “Up.” She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed her middle up.  He patted her left thigh firmly, watching the muscle sway lazily under his hand. He let her sit like that, wondering if she’d drop her pelvis, proud of her when she didn’t, even when her legs began to tremble.  Finally he leaned over her, pulling the skimpy cloth away, revealing her fresh smooth skin.  He left the black panties around her ankles, letting his eye roam up her body, enjoying the blush that crept down her cheeks and past her collar bones as she felt his eyes on her.

He leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of her hips, nudging her knees apart with his arms and gently pushing her back down on the bed with his lips above her navel.   He traced a line down her stomach with the tip of his tongue, ending on tender skin that he’d never seen bare before.  “Do you like it?” she whispered nervously above his head.  He leaned up to kiss her, and she felt the answer clearly as he pressed himself against her.  “I love it,” he whispered back, his voice husky with contained lust.  He saw her eyes light up with confidence, the teasing glint from earlier replacing her momentary self-consciousness.

With an effort, he pulled back, ignoring her surprised protest.  “That wasn’t a very nice trick you played, was it, little miss?”  Zoey’s mouth opened in shock, shutting again as she saw the determined look in his eyes.  She was a master at manipulation, and she had guided every step of their foreplay so far, knowing exactly what he would do and how he would react– until now.  She’d expected him to melt into her, to take her immediately, not to pull back.  The corners of her mouth tugged down at this unplanned shift, even as a deep well erupted in her stomach.  She would never give up control, not willingly, but she relished the occasions when he took it away from her, longed for them to happen, even though it made her anxious.

“Over,” he said, watching her bottom lip begin to shake, knowing that she would hate this as much as she loved it.  She struggled with the decision to obey, fighting to squash the impulse to fight, almost losing, but finally flipping over to lay on her stomach.  When she heard the clink of his belt buckle, she whimpered quietly and gripped the covers with her fingers.  He doubled the leather, tapping it lightly on her pink backside.  “This would be for the jeans,” he said quietly, bringing the belt down hard across her cheeks.  She yelped as he brought it down twice more, felt her palms begin to sweat.

“And the sweatpants,” and down came the belt three more times, making dark lines across her skin, “and for the tights.”  He took his time, delivering another set of three licks.  He paused and stepped close to her, laying his palm against her hot skin, checking on her, making sure she was okay.  She made soft noises at his touch, wanting to push against him, but not wanting to grant him the satisfaction of her mixed pleasure.  He smiled, recognizing her defiance, stepping back to finish.  “And all those panties… not nice at all, was it, Zoey?”

She braced herself as he brought the belt down again, this time quickly and in the same spot across the top of her backside.  With little pause he struck again, a repeated line just below the first, and her hand flew back as he finished them.  Without missing a beat he began to count, “One.  Two,” and her hand was back in front of her, twisting the blanket fiercely, and a tear escaped down her cheek.

He tapped the belt against his own leg a few times, surprising her when he brought it down again, catching the lower curve of her bottom, causing her whole body to jerk forward.  She released a ragged sigh, and he knew she was scared of the last three swats, that she was cursing the black thong that even now was suspended between her ankles, above feet that were on tiptoe, pushing hard into the carpet.  He didn’t hold back as he delivered the last round to the top of her thighs.  She cried out, and that cost her, he knew it did, and it satisfied him to know he had reached her so quickly.

He dropped the belt and went to her, flipping her over gently, kissing the corners of her watering eyes, feeling her cling to him, wanting him.  Yes, most days she plotted and schemed and she did her part to keep things interesting in their little house.  Tonight, though, tonight she was his entirely, to do with as he wanted, and he desperately, definitely, wanted…