Archive for the Fiction Category

A leash for punkin

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , on September 7, 2009 by scarlettbottom

“C’mere, punkin.” He patted his knee.
“What, Daddy?”
“I’ve got a present for you.”
“You do!?”
“Yep. Turn around.” He slid the straps around her chest and shoulders, and buckled them with a click. Then he snapped the leash onto the D-ring on the back, underneath the stuffed animal back pack.
“Does it fit okay?”
She squealed: “It’s pink and Big Bird!”
“Yep, it matches your dress, punkin. Let’s go to the park.”
“‘kay.”

They made their way toward the park slowly. Punkin needed to stop and pick flowers and look at the chalk drawings on the sidewalk. She showed off her new backpack and lead to anyone who would stop to pet her. She collected pretty rocks, carefully stowing them in the small pocket. When they arrived, Daddy said, “I’m going to let you off your leash, but come back when I whistle, okay? Don’t run too far so you can’t see me.”

She ran away towards the playground. Daddy followed at a leisurely pace, tucking the leash into his pocket. His eyes followed the little spot of pink, bouncing around the playground, swinging, climbing, playing with other children, before she disappeared over a rise. Daddy continued his stroll, until he reached the top of the hill. On the other side was a wide grassy field where people let their dogs run around and play together. Punkin was kicking an abandoned tennis ball around.

Daddy whistled. That ball was too dirty for precious punkin to touch. She picked it up and ran over to him.
“Drop it.”
The ball fell to the grass. “But I found it!”
“It’s too dirty. Don’t argue.”
Pout.
“Keep that up and we’re going home, young lady.”
“No!”
“That’s enough.” Daddy hooked the leash to her harness and tugged roughly. Punkin pouted as she was half dragged home.

Inside, Daddy sat down on the sofa.
“Punkin, pull down your panties.”
Frowning, she slowly followed directions.
“C’mere, punkin.”
“Lean over my knee.”
“Lift up your skirt.”
“Do you know what you did that was naughty?”
“Yes, I talked back.”
“That’s right. How many spankings should I give you?”
“…three?”
“Alright. You count them out loud. Ready?”
Smack. “Ow! One.” “Two.” “Three.”
“Brave girl. Now go stand in the corner with your skirt up until the timer goes off.”

Punkin made a pretty picture, standing in the corner alone, nose to the wall, dress up around her waist. Her leash hung loose down her back and coiled on the floor.

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Pro-sub

Posted in Fiction, Nonfiction with tags , , , , , on August 13, 2009 by scarlettbottom

Yesterday I had my first pro-sub gig.

Mostly it was very heavy bondage, no pain other than the soreness of very tight bondage over a long period of time. I spent three hours in various rope ties, as well as leather restraints. I had a great time. The following is a fictional story.

I’m gagged and blindfolded when I wake. I can feel rope around my wrists behind me and something is pulling my hair so my head is tipped way back. It’s very quiet. I don’t think anyone is in the room.

Feeling the length of the rope and the ties around my wrists, I find the end and slowly work out the first knot. With my eyes covered my sense of hearing is extremely heightened, but still there is no sound, not even breathing. The rope loosens around my wrists. It hurts to move my arm, but I remove the blindfold and gag. My fingers are tingling as the blood rushes back into them. I don’t know how long I’d been tied.

I take a deep breath and experimentally shift my legs. When you’ve been in one position for a long time it can be very difficult to move. I thought the was the problem, but it seems that my ankles are tied to my hair. My joints are a little creaky, but I manage to get the rope untangled from my hair and realize that my ankles are in cuffs, locked together.

The room is a typical motel room. I’m laying on a double bed. There’s a dresser and a tv and, I assume, a closet and a bathroom around the corner. It’s very dim. There is a bedside table lamp on behind me, but the rest of the room is dark. There’s something on the dresser across the room. Rolling over to my stomach, I stretch out my legs and point my toes for the journey. I skooch down to the end of the bed, and off, onto my knees on the floor. My ankles are pretty close together, so actual crawling is not really possible, but I slither over to the dresser on my belly, crawling on my elbows.

My jaw is so sore from the gag.

Pulling myself up using the edge of the dresser I manage a kneeling position and retrieve the tool- it’s a wire cutter. It’s not the ideal tool for the job, but I’ll make it work. The locks are a little too heavy duty for this tool, but if I just have time I’ll get through them. My hands are so tired and weak. After cutting just the center lock to separate my ankles, I give up. I’ll have to wear the shackles until my hands get back to normal, or I find a better tool.

I stand unsteadily, swaying slightly and return to the bed to rest. My joints are beginning to feel better so I stretch my muscles, my hands, my legs, my feet, my back. After a bit I’m feeling safe and much more comfortable so I find my clothes in the closet and get dressed. Glancing around the room, my attention is drawn to the lamp on the table. There, under the small circle of light is a stack of bills. I tuck that in my bra and leave the room.

S is standing outside. I collapse into his arms and he sets me down on the floor. “I need to go get the camera, babe. Go wait in the car. Here’s the keys.”

Dinner Party

Posted in Fiction with tags , , on August 1, 2009 by scarlettbottom

We’re at a restaurant. Me and my dates. I’m sitting in the middle of a horseshoe shaped booth, two men on either side of me. This is my fourth glass of wine.

The fellow sitting to my right asks me at a whisper if I wouldn’t mind, you know, playing with him a little bit. The tablecloth is long after all, and no one can see. I don’t mind, of course. I’m not very subtle though, and after a few seconds the other guys at the table have caught on. I watch them, grinning, exchanging sly glances across the table. Not only is this a girl who goes out with several men at once, this is a girl who might give a handjob in public. In a well-lit restaurant, no less.

The man to my left: “You’ve dropped your napkin.” Wink.

“Oh, so I have. Thank you.” Glancing around for the waitress, I slide under the table. My, these gentlemen are an excited bunch. Unzipping the pants of the man to my left, I take out his cock and begin stroking it to full hardness with my hand while rubbing his neighbor through his slacks. I can hear their muffled conversation and nervous laughter. I’m smiling as I slide a third cock into my mouth, and wrap my fingers around the fourth.

Oh, here’s the waitress. She wants to know if we want dessert. I tap the thigh of my man who belongs to the cock in my mouth. Yes, I certainly do want dessert. He asks for the menu. Another man passes a menu to me under the table. I read it out of the corner of my eye, running my tongue around the head of another delicious cock. Making my selection, I place the menu in my seat, finger on my choice, the fingers of my other hand on something equally delicious.

Above the table, the tension is building. The men shift uncomfortably in their seats. The waitress returns.

“A cherry clafoutis for the lady.” “Certainly.”

The man I’m currently serving reaches under the table and caresses my breast for a moment, lifting it out of my low cut dress. Another man holds my hand tightly, while I bring him to the edge. This is a calculated enterprise; none of these men will be satisfied until I have had dessert. First things first.

Arranging my hair and my dress, I reappear in my seat, wiping my mouth with my errant napkin. As I reapply my lipstick, my dessert arrives.

Strategy

Posted in Fiction with tags , , on July 30, 2009 by scarlettbottom

“You wanna come over and watch a movie?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because.”
“… Because why?”
“Because I don’t feel like it.” He couldn’t see her but he knew she was pouting. He’d canceled plans for the night before, and she was upset. She wasn’t usually like this. He paused.
“Come over anyways.”
“No, I don’t wanna.” That rebellious little girl voice.
“If you’re not here in half an hour, naked and on your knees in front of my door, you’re going to get the spanking of your life.”

He hung up.

She felt a familiar warmth in her tummy, but she was feeling stubborn. She mentally dug her heels in and smirked at her reflection. She’d been playing with her hair for a while now. She tried on some new lingerie. She doodled a little, laying in bed. She hummed along to her current favorite song, and was inspired to dance wildly around the room. Her phone rang.

“Where are you?”
“At home. Where are you?” She giggled, flirtatiously.
His voice changed tone. “Come here. Now.”
He hung up. Nervously, she put the phone down and changed into his favorite panties, thinking about his authoritative voice. Slipping into a jacket, she locked the door and went out into the street. A few minutes later, she was leaning against his doorframe. She gave two sharp knocks with her knuckles. When he opened the door she was smoking a cigarette.

He glared at her, and taking her roughly by the elbow said, “What did I tell you about those?” He snatched the cigarette out of her hand and threw it into the bathroom sink as he steered her into the apartment. He released her roughly, removing her jacket, and slapped her ass hard enough to send her stumbling into the living room. Finally on her knees where she belonged, he made himself comfortable in a straight-backed chair front of her.

She was visibly nervous. She hadn’t meant to upset him; she didn’t know what she was doing. And now she was in trouble. Big trouble.

He hauled her over his lap, ripped her panties down, and began to spank her. He started lightly, but the slaps began to sting. Only when she started struggling did the force increase. Once she realized that her struggling was making him hit her harder, she stopped and submitted, sagging limply over his lap, only whimpering softly after each stroke.

He gathered her up in his arms. He knew when he’d won and there was no need to go any further. Discipline and respect for authority was one thing, but hurting his baby was another. She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest. One arm wrapped around shoulders, the other hand cupped her burning rear. His cool hand felt nice against her bottom; she began to cry silent tears.

After a few moments, he lifted her into the bed, curling around her. He offered her a finger and she sucked it gently, opening her eyes for his approval. He smiled gently at her; her body relaxed into his.

Another Sucker

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , on July 21, 2009 by scarlettbottom

I held the tip of Daddy’s cock in my mouth, running my tongue around the head, pressing gently just below it.

With my eyes closed, I felt Daddy spread my knees open. His hands trailed down the inside of my thighs, to my now dripping pussy. Between the spanking and being allowed to lick Daddy’s “sucker,” I was embarrassingly wet. His fingers traced up one side, over my clit and down the other between the delicious folds. I could barely concentrate on Daddy; he freed my mouth to better hear me whimper. His cock still rested on my lips and I moved my head so that it traced my lips.

I felt a new sensation on my pussy. I was confused for a second, but then I realized, it was my cherry sucker. Daddy rubbed it’s smooth-worn surface over my clit, dipping between the lips, rubbing deeply. I raised my hips involuntarily. “Good girl.” Daddy rubbed the sucker over my lips where his cock had just been. Slick with my juices, I took the sucker into my mouth.

Daddy alternated “suckers,” first the slippery sucker, then Daddy’s cock, until I couldn’t distinguish any difference in flavor. Even my empty mouth tasted like me and Daddy and delicious sweet cherry.

Daddy made me roll over on my belly, holding the sucker just out of reach in front of me, he leaned over me, slowly settling his weight onto my back. I could feel his hard cock pressing against my ass, juicy from the dripping pussy juices. Forgetting the sucker, I arched my back and shifted my hips to feel his shaft against my asshole, his balls against my very slippery pussy.

He moved my hair off my neck, over to one side, for a better view and directed my attention back to the sucker. I stuck out my tongue and licked the sucker with just the tip. I could feel Daddy watching my intently, and feel his other hand under my belly, reaching lower and lower, finally stroking my clit very gently. My hips jerked. Daddy got up onto his knees, and taking my hips in his hands, pulled me back onto his cock. I moaned, gritted my teeth, exhaled. He began to fuck me deliberately, one hand guiding my hips to his rhythm, the other rubbing the sucker against my clit.

I slept soundly that night. When I woke, Daddy’s face was nestled into my neck, and the sucker was very small, abandoned on the nightstand in a melty pool of sugar and cum.

Sucker

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , on July 18, 2009 by scarlettbottom

“Daddy, Daddy, can I have a sucker?”

“No, only good girls get suckers and you’ve been naughty this evening.”

“Please, please, Daddy? I’ll be really good.”

“Do you promise to do everything I say?”

“Yes, anything you say. Can I please have a sucker?”

“Alright.”

We’re sitting in a dark corner of a club. Styrn gets the attention of the girl selling snacks and candies and buys me a cherry sucker. I’m buzzing in anticipation, waiting, resisting the temptation to put my finger in my mouth. Finally he comes back- he’s walking so slowly, hurry up. He unwraps the sucker and takes both of my slim wrists in one hand.

First kissing my lips. “Open.” He puts the sucker in my mouth.

“What do you say?”

Mumbling around the sucker which suddenly seems a little too big. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome. Now remember your promise.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Releasing my wrists, he takes my the leash from his pocket and hooks it to my the collar I wear. He threads the leash down my shirt, cold on my skin, and slips the end around his wrist. Repositioning my arms folded behind my back, we leave the club, first two fingers of his right hand under the waist of my skirt. My sucker is getting smaller in my mouth, and I’m walking carefully to keep my balance without the use of my arms.

At home, he pushes me to my knees and takes the sucker from me. “Hey! Gimme my sucker back!”

“Whose sucker is it?!”

Defiant. “It’s mine. Give it back!”

Suddenly bent over the bed, skirt up, panties down, I’m swiftly punished for my impudence. Sharp slaps are punctuated by high-pitched cries, subsiding into quieter, tearful gasps. “Whose sucker is it?”

Contrite. “It’s your sucker, Daddy.”

“That’s right. Do you want another sucker?”

Wordless nod. I sit up, feeling dazed, eyelids a little fluttery. Styrn puts a different sucker in my mouth. My mouth still tastes like cherry, which blends nicely with the familiar taste of Daddy’s cock. A good spanking makes me feel content and malleable; I open my eyes to look up at him. He strokes my hair, smiles faintly at me, and pushes down on my shoulders, so I’m sitting on my heels, as lowly as possible. I don’t mind. All the fight is gone, I’m just enjoying the ride. I play with Daddy’s cock, on my lips, licking, kissing, with no direction in particular.

Styrn removes himself from my mouth, inserts the sucker. He undresses me quickly, and picking me up, he drapes me over his bed, rubs my breasts, belly and thighs in one long, delicious stroke, making me arch my back reflexively. Straddling my shoulders, he takes my sucker away. I lick my lips and am slightly surprised by the presence of his cock, suddenly so close to my mouth. This position is a little difficult for me, a wrong angle for my throat, but it lets Styrn watch my expression while I play with him. It pleases him to see me enjoy myself so throughly. Sucking cock is not a chore for me, it’s a delight.

Trust

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , , on July 14, 2009 by scarlettbottom

I’m laying on the bed on my stomach kicking my feet lazily. I’m reading a book, and so engrossed in the story that I don’t hear Daddy come in.

Suddenly he jumps on the bed and starts tickling me. I squeal in surprise/delight and thrash around, knocking my book off the bed, giggling hysterically. Finally after what feels like ages, Daddy stops. Breathing heavily, I lay flat on my back, one leg hanging off the edge of the (now very rumpled) bed. I can’t really relax- he could start tickling me again at any second- but Daddy knows better than to betray my trust. He folds me up in his arms and kisses my mouth. One hand firmly holding the back of my head, he slowly kisses down my neck, paying close attention to when I tense up, afraid he’s going to tickle me there now. Little by little I relax, exhausted from the effort of trying vainly to fight him off a few seconds before, and finally, I’m limp in his arms.

He lays me down across the bed. When he lays down next to me, on his side, I reflexively curl up into him, head snuggled under his arm, one leg between his. Stroking my hair, he lifts my face up and kisses me gently, meanwhile unbuttoning my shirt with one hand. I’m still a little tense, so when his hand brushes my tummy on accident I tense up and pull away defensively, but my brain trusts Daddy, even if my body doesn’t always, so he can coax me back to him easily. I try hard to overcome the residual ticklishness and take a deep breath. Daddy takes advantage of that moment of control to pull a nipple out of my bra and pinch it lightly. Rolling my nipple between thumb and forefinger, he watches me squirm and struggle with my submission. He takes my nipple in his mouth (oh that’s better) and reaches up the back of my skirt to stroke my bottom and pussy lips. The excitement of the tickling and the adrenaline from the physical struggle primed me for foreplay; my pussy is getting wetter and wetter while I focus on Daddy’s mouth and thumb pressing the space between my pussy and asshole.

I’m beginning to rock my hips, finally able to loosen my control on my body, not ticklish anymore. I put my finger in my mouth. Daddy knows what this means. Fingers are almost never as satisfying as Daddy’s cock, so he moves to make the necessary adjustment. I love sucking Daddy’s cock; I can’t wait. I scramble over to the edge of the bed, hanging my head over, body laid out on the bed for Daddy to play with while I satisfy my oral fixation.