Archive for spanking

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.

A Special Invitation

Posted in Nonfiction with tags , , , , , , on August 20, 2009 by scarlettbottom

Remember this post? That fellow is my costar in this one, too.

Last night was my second spanking from him. He’s the DM at a weekly playspace. Last week I asked him to try a few different toys so I could experience a range of different sensations. They all ran together quite a lot, and when he was finished, he rested his hand on my back, as I slid right off the end of the bench into a puddle on the floor. He looked down at me on the floor, grinning, and assisted me to my feet. Half carrying me over to the edge of the playspace to recover, he handed me over to a friend who set me on a bar stool.

Sometimes one can be so deep in subspace that normal activities seem unnatural. Like sitting on a chair.
“Can I sit on the floor?”
“Absolutely.”
I slid down to the floor, petticoats spread out everywhere, completely unconscious of the staring crowd. S came back and I leaned my head on his knee, his fingers wrapped in my hair.

I wasn’t able to indulge in this very long because this girl lines up several dates in a night; Luke beckoned me over for a suspension. He suspended me from my hips, upside down, hands and heels together. It was my first suspension and I had a great time. But the best part was that I could feel that S was watching.

Last night S noticed me as soon as I came into the club.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
Since he’s the DM I have to wait an awfully long time for his attention; he has work to do. About 1:30, I went hunting for him.
“I’m going to have to insist in a moment.”
“Oh no, we’re going upstairs right… in a minute.”
He held me around my waist and chatted with a few people (I love being a trophy on someone’s arm- and the higher the status of the man, the more satisfying the experience) and then took my hand and lead me upstairs. Standing in the playpit, he held me by my hair and instructed me to pick out three favorite toys and lay them on the spanking bench. I chose two different paddles and a crop, and played “poor me” to get a flogger and and bare hand, as well. Five toys? Sure, indulge the kitten.

I stepped out of my skirt. In just a wifebeater tank top, towering heels, and bare-assed, I leaned against the bench, basking in the attention from the growing crowd and letting suspense build. But I forgot all about my audience when S came back. He pushed down hard on my back, down to the bench, gripping my hair, and using first a flogger and then hands to stroke and slap my ass and pussy. He leaned over me, talking dirty in the best bdsm tradition- “You’re a very dirty girl, aren’t you? You like it when I hold you down like that? I bet you’d like to be even more restrained- how’s that? You’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you?” He put his finger in my mouth and I melted. How is it that he knows exactly what I want him to do?

He pulled me to a sitting position, straddling the bench.
“Do you drink vodka?”
“Sure.”
“Are you driving?”
“No.”
He took a shot into his mouth, and then fed it to me, and then another. Let me tell you, I’m not normally a fan of shots, but that was the smoothest vodka I’ve ever had. It probably helped that he was holding me up by my hair and leaning into me like that.

He pulled me up and walked me over the the cross. Kicking my feet apart, he stood with one knee between mine and leaned in, pressing my lower back into the crux of the cross. He nibbled my ears and neck (nibbling for this guy isn’t what you would normally think of as nibbling) finally kissing my mouth before putting his hand over it. I’m guessing that breath play isn’t normally allowed at this PG-13 club, but when you’re the boss you do what you want. I like rule-breakers anyhow.

Someone came over to him and said it was 2:20 and time to clean up. He swore mentally and pulled out a horrible wooden paddle and gave me three of the hardest slaps I’ve ever had. Ouch! That was like a hairbrush. I stood and turned around, sitting down on the bench (so we ended up using all of the furniture in the space) and he wrapped an arm around my waist and invited me to play at his personal dungeon at his home before sweeping me up in his arms. I snuggled my face into his chest and he held me for a little bit, before setting me back on my feet smoothly.

“Scarlett, how old are you?
“22. How old are you?”
Sigh. “36.”
“I’ve never played with anyone younger than 30. And I choose my tops carefully.”

He went to tidy up the toy box and get some people to put the furniture away. As I unlaced his corset, he made an apology to the club manager for taking so long: “Sorry about that, I was playing with Scarlett. Look at that cute ass! How could I resist?” I, for my part, hammed it up and he laid a hand on my lower back and bit my right ass cheek so hard I screamed. That bite mark is going to last for days.

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.

Acting Out

Posted in Fiction, Nonfiction with tags , , , on July 10, 2009 by scarlettbottom

I need a spanking.

There was a dry period for maybe six months, before I got to know Styrn well enough to “come out” as submissive (and believe me, it’s not obvious), in which I never got anything even remotely close to a spanking. I admit that I didn’t miss it too much, until Styrn and I played seriously for the first time- then I remembered that I wanted (needed?) that. It’s been a few weeks since my last spanking. I don’t know if I’ve been particularly “good” but I haven’t been punished for anything much.

The last few days I’ve been pretty down and emotional and starting to feel really desperate for some dominance and power play. I might be experiencing some minor sub-drop , which is just a down sort of feeling after a period of stimulation. It applies especially to sexual submissives because of the physical aspect of their duties, but I think everyone gets it, even after hanging out with friends for a long time or being really busy and then suddenly not. Sometimes it can be really intense, but I’ve never experienced that.

I generally try to be well-behaved, but I’ve been pestering Styrn a lot over the last couple of days. I almost never act out with the conscious agenda of getting a punishment, and I’m really not this time, either, but it might be unconscious.

He opens the door. I’m sitting on the floor in the hallway and crawl in, arranging myself over the edge of the bed, ass presented for whatever punishment might be deemed suitable.

I’m late. On purpose. Really late. He texts. I’ve been smoking my way through a pack of cigarettes outside his door for half an hour. He comes to fetch me, angry to be kept waiting for nothing- I don’t even smoke regularly. Bratty and talking back and generally being insulting I am dragged into the apartment and sitting in a straight-backed kitchen chair he delivers a very protracted spanking until I stop struggling and hissing at him.

I think he thinks I talk too much, but I’m nervously babbling now. Finally fed up, he tapes my mouth shut. Then he tapes my hands to the wall about chest level; it’s not very secure, but it makes his intentions clear. Pulling my feet away from the wall, so I’m leaning my weight forward on my hands, bent over at my hips, he pulls my skirt down to my feet and gives me several very hard, rhythmic slaps on the lower curve of my ass. Unable to protest or struggle much, he leaves me bare-assed, stuck in place against the wall.

Asking for it

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , , on July 3, 2009 by scarlettbottom

When I was a child, my grandfather used to keep a huge jar of maraschino cherries in the refrigerator. If I was good, I could have one. I could also get a gummy bear from the box brought back from Germany that sat way out of my reach on the top of the kitchen cupboard.

I bought my own jar of maraschino cherries when I started buying my own groceries. I ate the whole thing and felt sick and they were nothing like I remembered. It’s better when someone else metes out the rewards.

I’m sitting on the floor in the kitchen. Styrn is making our dinner. Generally, little girls don’t have a choice when it comes to what’s for dinner, and little girls can’t be trusted to use kitchen appliances without help. This is boring and I’m restless, but Styrn is busy and doesn’t want to play.

I amuse myself by playing a game on daddy’s phone, but that’s boring so I take my hair down and braid it in tiny little braids. I’m halfway through the third one…

“Scarlett.” I shift focus from my hair to Styrn. “I told you to sit still.”

“I was sitting still. And being quiet, too.”

“Don’t talk back to me. You’re going to be in time out if your keep this up.”

“I didn’t do anything! Ow!” He hauls me to my feet by my shoulder and marches me over to  the chair in the corner. Pulling me across his lap, he yanks up my dress and down my undies. After administering six very hard slaps, he stands and sit me in the chair, on my bare bottom.

“Stay there until you’ve learned to be better behaved. Dinner will be ready in half an hour, and if you’re not sorry by then, you’ll miss dinner and go to bed with no supper.” Styrn walks away.

I sit in the corner, with a burning bottom, very uncomfortable on the chair, which is heating up fast from my hot skin. Tears form in my eyes. Sniffling, I lean over and put my head on my knees. I didn’t do anything. It’s not fair. Focused on how much my bottom hurts and the injustice of it all, I don’t hear Styrn come back into the room. He squats next to the chair very quietly, and I jump when he puts a hand gently on my head. I turn to look at him, my sore bottom forgotten. He kisses my nose, and carries me to his bed, my arms around his neck. I lay on my tummy and he gently rubs my reddened rear. His cool hands feel good.

“Did you learn your lesson? When I tell you to stay still I mean completely still.”

Oh.

“Yes, daddy.” A sniffle for good measure.

The timer goes off. “Dinner. C’mon.”

But first a cherry.