Saturday, 11 February 2017

Normal Service

After too long of a break, over the next few weeks, "normal service" will be resumed.

The Enigma Of An Empty Room

The enigma of an empty room, a odd title for a spanking story I'm sure. Except this is no story of BDSM or a tale of spanking fun, in fact there is no kink involved at all.

You see, once that you enter a empty room, it is no longer a empty room. So it is actually impossible to be in a empty room. I know, I'm being pedantic, perhaps that my problem?

Or should I say one of my problems?

Trust me, my problems are manifold. But, it is a cold fact, that you cannot be in a empty room.

However, you can feel that you are alone in a empty world. Of course you never truly are, but it can feel that way.
When you have someone, that is the first person that you tell of your news. Be that news; good, bad, or even just how windy it is in your little corner of the world. Whatever the news, they are the one that you choose to share with, the person that has your ear, and you have their ear.

That is a person that you would choose not to lose, for whatever reason, most of all a person that you would not wish to lose easily, not through your own stupidity?

Then it hits you, your world is, at least in a metaphorical sense, empty.

You see, it's quite hard to make true friends, it is though ever so easily to lose those friends. Even when you only mean well.

My advice, should you wish to hear it. (Is actually good advice, for despite what you may think. I'm not a stupid person, just a person who does stupid things.)

You always know when you do things for the first time, but rarely do you realise the last time that you are doing anything.
So relish every moment, enjoy every word when you talk. Laugh, don't frown, if you argue don't let it fester, spike the boil straight away.

Trust this, now, wise person who does stupid things.

But, don't be like me, don't be wise after the fact, when you have such a friend, make sure that they know they are such a friend.


Thursday, 30 June 2016

Friends and Pole Stars

At times I look at the night sky in wonder, the stars twinkling on the black velvet like backdrop and I think of friends. How like stars friendships are, the way that they light up the darkness and I smile at that comforting thought. Also, though in these days of the internet how distance has been shrunk in oh so many ways, proximity does not always mean that the brightest shining lights are the nearest. And, as the earth spins on it's axis, as it hurtles through space orbiting the sun - it's very own life giving star - the brightness and intensity of some stars wane or gain in importance as the planet journeys it's cyclical movement.
Life is very much like that; you have the lighter twinkling stars, friends that you like to be around/correspond with, as they cheer you at some level. Be that through shared ideas, or just the simple fact that you have a similar sense of humour and can amuse each other.
Then there are the closer friends, the people who you know and who know you on a deeper, a more personal level, they are the brighter shining astral bodies on your “friendship sky”. Those are the ones who you are comfortable to share deeper thoughts with, while still having that feeling of mutual enjoyment that you have with fore-mentioned stars.

Then though, just as in the real night sky, there is another kind of star. The Pole Stars, their permanence is an unspoken guarantee; a fixed point, a friendship not just measured in years but by the decade, or at least close to.
Pole Stars - if you are lucky enough to have one - are more than just friends, like my inference to the night sky, they are a guiding light on your horizon. Their position never alters, they are always there for you should you need help in navigating your way through life, their brightness never wavering.
So, I would like to take this moment to say happy birthday to Miss Lori Cane, my Pole Star.

Saturday, 26 March 2016

Getting caught.

My nose is pressed up against the wall as I wait for my master, my feet are shoulder width apart and my hands placed obediently on my head. I've been here so many times that I know the drill like clockwork. I must remove everything except my underpants and wait silently and completely still until further instruction. 

He ordered me to come into the study for corner time at 7 pm, that must have been at least fifteen minutes ago and I still can't hear him in the room. I daren't look around to see if he's coming. 

Master always moves quietly, keen to take me by surprise or catch me disobeying him. I've fallen into that trap so many times, always with the same swift and sure result. Punishment. 

My nose itches. I want to scratch it but can't, no, I mustn't. He could be watching me right now. Looking at me from the doorway as I wait for him. 

Could I sneak a peak? No, the risk is too great. Be patient Lori.

Finally I hear a movement behind me. My breath hitches and my heart begins to pound in my chest.

"Come here," He growls.

Slowly I turn to see him sitting in the leather, wing backed chair. He's leaning back, regarding me closely as I step towards him. He's so damn handsome, especially now in his business suit and white shirt. He hasn't even got changed yet. Tousled black hair falls softly around his face, and seems to emphasise his strong jawline. His slender index finger points towards the floor, signalling for me to kneel at his feet. I do so immediately, bowing my head in total submission. 

Master cups my chin and tilts my head back until I am gazing up into his deep brown eyes. "You've been a bad girl today haven't you?"

I slowly nod my head and he frowns at me.

"I expect a proper answer, young lady."

"Yes, Sir. I've been a bad girl." My voice is no more than a whisper. 

"And what happens to bad girls?"

I swallow hard, struggling to maintain eye contact. I'm captivated by him. Hypnotised almost. But I want to look away, avoid his accusing stare. 

"I'm waiting for an answer, Lori."

"They get punished, Sir."

"Yes they do." He nods, releases my chin, and then screws up his mouth in deliberation.

Eventually Master shifts forward in his seat and takes off his suit jacket. He unbuttons his cuffs, roles his sleeves up his muscular forearms,  and before I know it he is lifting and guiding me across his strong thighs. "Tell me what you did wrong," He asks after getting me into position. 

"I... I..." My voice falters as I feel his firm hand caress my upturned behind. 

"You what?"

"I played with myself, Sir," I admit as anticipation and arousal surge through me, my suddenly dry throat making it difficult to speak. 

"And did you have my permission to play with yourself?"

He always asks me for a confession when he already knows what the answer is. It's infuriating but he does it for effect. And it works, as I always feel humiliated and ashamed of myself.

"No, Sir I didn't."

"I didn't think so. Keep going." He runs his hand up and down the backs of my thighs making me squirm. "Keep still and finish explaining yourself."

I take a deep calming breath. "You already know what I did, Sir. Please don't make me say it."

"I want to hear it from you, Lori." 

My deep sigh and loud tut betrays my frustration and moments later a hard, stinging smack lands across my behind. I yelp and buck in response.

"There's plenty more where that came from!" 

I'm gasping and breathless already but manage a hasty apology. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"Oh you will be, but first I want your explanation."

I take a few more deep breaths to quell my nerves. "I.... I was looking at some stuff online, and it made me, y'know."

"No. I don't know."

I could feel my face flush with embarrassment. "It made me horny."

"I see, and you decided to take matters into your own hands, quite literally?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you just hoped I wouldn't catch you?"

"I didn't think you'd be home until later."

"Not very sensible reasoning was it?"

"No, Sir."

"So what exactly were you looking at?"

"Just videos."

"What kind of videos?"

"I'd rather not say."

Another hard smack lands across my behind, this time making me cry out.

"You will say, young lady," he demands. "Now tell me what you were looking at!"

"Porn. I was looking at porn, Sir." My face is burning now and I know my behind will soon be catching it up. 

"I want you to be more precise."

Oh my God this cannot be happening. "Bondage, bdsm, and spanking. That sort of thing." I'm so glad he can't see my face, I'm cringing so much right now. 

Master chuckles at me. "So, Lori was watching spanking videos, and look where she ended up. Some kind of irony huh?"
 
I think that was rhetorical so I remain silent.

"And your master walked in and found you going at your pussy so hard he thought you were trying to start a fire down there."

Again I remain silent, although I'm grinning wickedly now.

"Did you cum?"

"What?"

"Are you having trouble with your hearing, Missy?"

"No, Sir."

Another smack, this time across the tops of my thighs. I yell out.

"So answer my question."

I bury my face in my hands. If I tell him the truth he'll go mad, but if I lie I risk getting into even more trouble.

"My patience is running out."

"Yes, Sir I did."

The tension in the room suddenly becomes palpable. I feel him take a tighter grip on me, then hook his fingers into the waistband of my underpants and quickly tugs them all the way down to my knees.

I'm exposed and vulnerable. It's exhilarating beyond measure.

"By the time I've finished with you you're not going to be able to sit down for a week. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir." My voice is a faint squeak.

I brace myself and don't have to wait long. 

Master begins spanking me. Hard. Fast.  

He alternates the slaps between each cheek and then concentrates them across the centre of my behind. 

It's relentless. 

Within seconds my butt is on fire, and I'm kicking and squealing loudly. I writhe around on his lap in an attempt to evade the smacks, but to no avail. His rhythm is steady and his aim unfaltering. I'm getting the spanking of my life. 

It's not long before I'm crying and begging for him to stop, but I know he won't. Not yet.

I consider using the safe word, to admit defeat, but I hate giving in.

And so it continues. 

My hand flies back in an attempt to protect my burning behind, but it is swiftly captured and held out of the way. I kick my legs wildly, and he quickly pins them down with his right leg. I'm firmly restrained and totally helpless. 

The spanking continues.

Can I handle it? Can I really take any more? I must and I do.

After what seems like an eternity he finally stops. I lay there limp, sobbing. Breathless and exhausted from all the struggling and writhing around. 

My mouth has gone dry and my nose is running, but I hardly notice it. What I do notice is the burn. An intense scorching painful burn that radiates through my entire body.

It's euphoric. 

Master is rubbing my back now, smoothing my hair and talking gently to me. "Good girl, you took that so well. It can't have been easy for you.'

"No, Sir." I sob.

"I'm gonna lift you up now and put you back in the corner. You're gonna stay there with your hands on your head again and you're not to rub your bottom. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good."

He carefully lifts me from his lap and stands me up. My legs are shaking and I feel dizzy. He holds me for a while until I'm steady on my feet, and then guides me back over to the corner of the room. 

"Please can I wipe my nose, Sir?" I plead as I gaze at my feet. 

He tilts my head back and smiles softly. His eyes glowing.

"I'll do it, baby."

He grabs a handful of Kleenex and gently dries my eyes and nose. "Better?"

"Yes, Sir." I smile up at him.

He responds by kissing my forehead. It sends a magical shiver running through me. I'm still delighting in it as he positions me back in the corner. 

The room falls silent again. Is he still there, or has he left? 

The burn in my behind seems to be getting more intense. I long to rub it, to soothe away the sting.

I have no idea how long I've been standing here but the burn is beginning to subside. I manage to relax slightly and then suddenly he speaks.

"Come here."

I swallow hard, slowly turning to face him and wondering what else may be in store for me. Then I see the leather strap in his right hand. I'm glued to spot unable to move. 

Master walks up to me and leans in close to my ear. 

"Breathe," he whispers gently.

I gasp, unaware I'd been holding my breath.

He takes my arm and leads me over to a chair in the centre of the room. When did he put that there? 

"Bend over and place your hands flat on the seat of the chair."

I hesitate briefly then do as instructed. I'm all too aware of my vulnerability and nakedness as he forces my feet apart. 

"Good. Now you're to stay in position. If you don't I'll start over from the beginning. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

I gasp as his fingers suddenly slip between my legs. They delve into my pussy.

"Hmm. So wet. Seems like you're enjoying this."

Damn it for betraying me. I just know he's grinning at me now, revelling in my arousal and sense of awkwardness. He begins to rub and massage my clit, making me push back against him and moan loudly.

"The sooner I finish dealing with you, the sooner I can enjoy you." 

He eventually withdraws his fingers after bringing me close to the edge. I sigh with disappointment. 

"All in good time baby." He chuckles. "Such a greedy girl."

He wipes his wet fingers on my right butt cheek and adjusts my position until he's satisfied. He's an expert at this and won't begin until everything is just right. 

"That's better. Ready?"

"Yes Sir." I breathe.

"Good girl."

The first lash lands across my behind. I gasp at the sudden pain, but before I get a chance to catch my breath the next lash is delivered. 

I struggle to keep position. If only I knew how many I was going to receive, but that's all part of the game. 

Two more land across my burning behind making me cry out, and Master shushes me. I bite my lower lip in an attempt to control my actions. 

Another two and I begin to sob. I'm shaking, my arms barely able to hold me in place and my legs like jelly.

"Almost done," he tells me.

I grit my teeth, determined to endure this. The next two land hard and I stifle a squeal. 

There's a thud as the strap falls to the floor, then the sound of a zipper. 

Master suddenly grips my hips and plunges his cock deep inside me. I let out a low guttural moan of sheer hedonistic pleasure as he thrusts hard and fast. 

I move my hips to meet him and am consumed by delicious sensations. 

My eyes close and I lose myself in the moment. 

Who knew that watching porn on the internet could be so rewarding? Maybe I should arrange to get caught more often  ;)

Thursday, 17 March 2016

Hidden In Plain View

As the first shafts of dawn's light intruded through the semi-open blinds, Joan looked at the – compared to her short, slight build – behemoth by her side. She watched as he lay there gently snoring, her hand reached out to his shaven scalp. As her fingers reached to trace his fuzzy, peachy skull, she felt a dull, but satisfying ache in her bottom cheeks and upper thighs.

She smiled, that ache informing her that last night was indeed real, not just some odd dream. Of course the fact that she was lain there, naked in Tom's bed, should have been enough to tell her that last night had been real, even if somewhat surreal.

How it had all come to be, that though was still a mystery. How someone, that she had never even considered to be attractive, never mind her type. Yet still he had managed to not only lure her to his bed, but all those other things.
Those other things, things she would never have even thought to discuss with another soul, let alone take part in. Hidden desires, dark desires; desires best left unspoken, yet he had somehow tapped into her soul, found them, and then made them a reality!

It had all started with innocent conversations on public transport, the long journey to work, broken by talking about the shared passion for the local football team. A passion that the said team was failing to show on the pitch, was the jist of most of their talking.
Then slowly, bit by bit, the talks would change to more personal matters. Work, family, hobbies, music, all the usual small talk. Nothing risque, nothing to make her think that Tom was in anyway flirting with her.

Nothing that is other than his intensity, where some - most – people tend to avoid eye contact. Tom seemed to revel in it, causing Joan to feel that she was the at the centre of his universe. As if he was hanging upon her every word. On occasion she had even heard the muffled vibration of his cell phone, but that noise would never even register upon his face, as he listened intently to her words. It felt strangely good, that feeling of...importance?

She also vaguely recalled, that it was indeed herself who changed the timbre of their little tete-a-tetes. It was her who had brought a slightly cheekier aspect, an aspect that Tom happily ran with, but still it was comparatively innocent to the banter at her workplace.

Then, some three weeks after her break up with Paul, she happened to mention that she was at a loose end for the forthcoming Friday, as her son was going to visit relatives.

Had she mentioned it as a come on?

Was she looking for an offer of a date?

She was sure that she didn't mean it that way when she said it, she only remarked upon the fact as a throw-away piece of information.
Yes, she was certain that that was the case.

However, when Tom invited her to his house for a meal, she did not decline. Of course, she was only being polite when she accepted, as there could never be anything between them, she was sure of that.
Yes, she was sure that she was sure. Still though, she felt that to not make the effort in the way that she was dressed would somehow seem rude.

There was no other reason for her taking so much time in her attire, her hair and her makeup, anything less would seem rude, wouldn't it?

She arrived, the warm summer sun still hanging high in the sky, it's rays cutting through her thin dress giving Tom a fine view of the figure underneath the diaphanous cloth. A view that he was clearly drinking in, causing Joan to feel her face burn up in embarrassment.

“Hi Joan, please come in.” He said, his face beaming in his usual greeting smile. “You are early, I so like that in a young lady!”

“Young lady” Joan thought to herself, when was the last time anyone had called her that?

“We can have a glass of wine, the food will take another quarter of an hour or so.” Tom said, as he ushered Joan into the room to the right of the front door.

As she entered the room and sat down on a small leather sofa, her eyes darted about her surroundings. This was just how she imagined it would be, organised chaos.

Bookshelves filled to bursting, walls virtually covered with pictures and artwork; a guitar case in one corner, a TV to the other side of the fireplace. The fireplace, like everywhere else in the room, was well adorned with items; candlesticks, animal figures, and a vase of fresh roses, all adding the “Old Curiosity Shop” look of the room.

She smiled and thanked Tom as he handed her a glass of red wine. “That's great, red is my favourite.”

“I know,” He replied grinning mischievously. “I recall you saying that you were a red girl. Though, when I saw you standing there, I thought perhaps rose would have been more in order.”

She recalled the conversation, it was weeks ago, and surely it was Tom that said; “so you are a red girl?”

And what did he mean by rose wine, she and he had both agreed that rose was neither fish nor fowl in the wine stakes?

As Tom went out to check the cooker, it dawned upon her, she was wearing light pink bra and knickers, which must be showing through the thinness of her dress!

As she sat waiting for his return, she wished that the carpet would swallow her up like in the film Trainspotting, as this was not turning into a Perfect Day.

Just as Joan was considering to make excuses and leave, Tom came back into the room.
“We may as well relocate to the dining room.” He said.

“Yes, that would be nice.” Joan lied, as she arose self consciously from the sofa, and Tom shepherded her into the dining room.

If Joan had half expected the living room to be as it was, the dining room was another story. The clinical look of the plain white walls caught her by surprise, those walls only broken by a glass case, and a large painting of what looked to be a ruined church.

The furniture consisted of a four seat heavy oak dining table, and an oddly incongruous rose patterned chaise longue. Other than the candlesticks on the fire mantel, there were no other decorations barring the heavy velvet green curtains.

“Oh, this is rather minimalist?” She said, in clear surprise.

“Yeah, I like clutter, but I'm a walking paradox,” Tom replied, a slightly quizzical look upon his face.
“I also like order, does that make any sense to you?”

“I guess, everyone is like that to a degree...”

“True, but perhaps I overdo it a little?” Tom said, his eyes now mischievously sparkling. “I'm just going to check the oven, I would hate to be giving you burnt offerings for dinner!”

As Tom walked through the doorway to the adjoining kitchen, Joan followed as she wasn't sure if she was supposed to take her seat at the table, and for that matter he hadn't said which seat was hers.

“Is there anything that I can help you with with?” Joan asked, as her eyes flew around the almost barren kitchen.

The kitchen, like the dining room was almost all plain white, and kept in a manner that she would never expect a male, let alone Tom, to have it. It was almost clinical, the only things breaking up the walls was a large clock and a rose patterned breadboard. The breadboard looked totally impractical, it's narrowness negating it being of any use other than decorational.

“I don't think so Joan, I pretty much have everything under control here. For once, everything seems to be running to plan!” Tom said, than almost as an afterthought added. “Though, if you could please pass me the cutting board?”

Taken aback, Joan's hand reached up to the wall.

“No sorry, I meant the one on the counter,” Tom said clearly trying not to laugh. “we can get more garlic bread on that one!”

Now feeling slightly foolish, Joan saw the board that Tom was referring to.
“Yeah, I guess this one is more practical,” Joan said, feeling her face redden. “the other one would barely hold a baguette!”

“Yes, it is a gift from a very close friend, apparently they are a popular thing in the States. At least in some parts anyway, also it is a surprisingly useful thing to have around the house.”

“Uh-uh.” Joan muttered and nodded, though clearly far from convinced.

“Right, lets eat young lady!” Tom declared, now satisfied that his dish was ready.

The meal caught Joan by surprise; when Tom invited her, she had half expected something along the lines of steak and chips. Instead she was served something akin to a rich Mediterranean stew, the flavours of which were enhanced by the Spanish music that Tom had playing in the background.

“Who is this?” Joan finally asked, as the third track started.

“Ojos de Brujo, they are a Flamenco Hip-Hop band from Barcelona. I thought that the music would add to the Catalan mood. I know how much you love that area.” Tom replied. “Actually, I'm learning Flamenco guitar, I know, you must be thinking – at your age – but I'm a big believer that everyday is a school-day.”

Joan nodded, finding it hard to hold Tom's gaze. It was something about the way he said “everyday is a school-day”, that Joan found slightly unnerving. Or perhaps not so much unnerving as intriguing.

“That is an odd painting, is it based upon a real building?” Joan asked, trying to get her mind off the way that Tom had said school-day.

“You know, I'm not sure. I suppose there must have been something that inspired it, I just liked the it when I saw it. I dunno, something about it's bleakness appealed to me, I'm not religious but I do like churches, and this has the feeling of a post-reformation abbey.”

“The design on the spire, I have seen that before?”

“Ah yes!” Tom said shrugging his shoulders. “It is odd to see that on a Christian building, which is what makes me doubt that it is based upon a real building.”

“It reminds me of Yin and Yang?” Joan said, still staring at the oddness of the painting.

“With an extra leg!” Tom said in clear amusement. “I like to think of it that way, Yin and Yang are basically darkness and light, the extra leg gives another aspect. A shade of gray if you like?”

“You mean like the book?” Joan said laughing.

“Which book?”

“Fifty Shades Of Grey, of course!” Joan said amazed that Tom didn't know what she was referring to.

“Ah....I see! I've never read that particular work.” Tom said placing his cutlery down on his plate.
“Clearly, I know of it, just never read it.”

“I know it's not everyone's cup of tea.” Joan replied. “You know that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Well you know what the book is about!” Joan said, clearly getting flustered that she would have to describe in detail what the book related to.

“Yes, I know what it is about. It's about power transference; submission; spanking; the correlation between pleasure and pain. I know what it is about, I just haven't read that book.” Tom said, his blue-grey eyes gazing steadily into Joan's.

“Ah...I just thought the way you were talking...” Joan said her voice trailing off under his gaze.

“What, that I was ignorant of such things?” Tom replied, winking his left eye and smiling openly, still holding eye contact in a vampirish manner. “But. You know what these things are really about don't you?”

“Sex?” Joan whispered in reply, her face burning for the third time in little less than an hour.

“To a degree, most of all it is about trust. Trusting someone to get that pleasure-pain link right, giving up yourself, even just for a few hours is a cathartic thing, but you must have that feeling that the person you are with will respect your boundaries.”

“Yes...of course such things are just a foolish fantasy...” Joan said her voice even less than a whisper.

“Are they? Really, do you think that they are. Perhaps we should find out?” Tom replied, leaning over and picking up Joan's now empty plate. Placing her plate upon top of his, with the two knives a forks now on the upper plate he handed the ensemble to Joan. “Could you please put these in the sink, and bring that little breadboard in from off the wall?”

Joan felt the cold rush of adrenaline trickling down her spine, fight was not an option, flight ran fleetingly through her mind.

She picked up the two plates, and headed to the kitchen.

Instead of following her instructions, Joan washed and dried the plates, not out of some wish to be subservient, only to put off what now seemed to her to be inevitable.

Upon returning to the dining room, she saw that the heavy curtains were now drawn, Tom had left the table to sit upon the chaise longue. He held out his hand for the board, upon receiving it he placed it pattern up on the plain green carpet.

“It will give you something pretty to look at!” Tom said, his right hand now pointing at his lap.

This was it.

This was Joan's final chance to flee, her final chance to escape the madness.

She took up his invitation, and slowly, carefully, draped herself over his thighs.

She felt a little shudder as Tom's fingers went to the hem of her dress, and pulled it up over the fullness of her hips and bottom. Despite her small frame, Joan was indeed all woman, the swells and bulges in all the correct places, reminding Tom of the song My Humps.

“Yes, your underwear looks as delightful as I expected it to, a vision in pink.” Tom said, his hand slowly running along the said garment. “However,” he continued his hand crashing down upon Joan's proffered behind, taking her by surprise and causing her to gasp out in shock. “for future reference, I have a penchant for green!”

“Future reference!” she thought to herself, “what an arrogant bastard!” assuming that there would be a future occurrence of this folly.

“Don't worry,” he said conversationally all the time his hand falling onto her bottom,”it's not some schoolgirl thing, it's just I find green both relaxing and stimulating at the same time, I think it is the Irish in me!”

Joan gasped more as his hand alternated not only between her cheeks but also in delivery. Sometimes it was just his fingertips attacking her, other times it was the fullness of his palm, all through this though he continued talking of different shades of green. As if the conversation was the most important thing, the spanking just a sideshow to him stating his preferences for dress. Soon though she felt the heat building, if it was to him just a sideshow, it was an effective one!

Then he stopped.

As suddenly as the onslaught had begun, he brought it to a close.

“You see that little paddle in front of you?” Tom asked, but continued before Joan could reply. “It is solid oak, and even though people call them toys, they can be a rather painful playthings. So, I need to know that your bottom is well warmed up before I introduce you to it's delights. You see it can sting; bruise and cause severe pain, all of course depending upon the manner that it is delivered in.”
Joan lay there, her eyes now concentrated upon what a few minutes earlier she had looked upon as being a mere kitchen ornament.

“Of course, tonight will not be a bruisy night, least ways not too bruisy. Tonight will be an introduction, nothing more, but I need to know that you a fully warmed up. Now, you may be interested to know that your bottom is pinking well, which is a good sign!”

“Pinking well?” Joan said incredulously.

“Yes, quite rosy in places,” Tom said, his hands running over her knickered bottom cheeks, “but I need to see a uniformity in colour.” Tom informed her matter of factly as his hand went to the top of her panties.

“Whoah!” Joan gasped as she realised that he underwear was heading in a Southerly direction.

“You knew that these were going to be coming down Joan?”

“I thought....I thought they would...you know protect me, from....”

“These skimpy little things protect you when being paddled?”

“Yes!” Joan replied sounding every inch a grumpy teen, rather than the mature middle-aged woman that she was.

“No, trust me, it's better that I know you are really warmed up!”

Now, with her knickers at her knees, Tom continued his “charitable” chastisement. This time though, Tom seemed to have moved up a gear, the conversational aspect gone as he pursued the job at hand. For Joan's part she could feel the heat building, not just in her bottom, but in the whole area directly below her waist. The lips of her sex seemed to be warming as much as he now pain-filled bottom.

“I think, perhaps you are now ready to taste the paddle?” Tom announced, then his two middle fingers of his right hand deftly dipped into the petal like folds of her sex. His curiosity satisfied by the dampness that he found. “Yes, you are ready!”

As Tom helped Joan to her feet, her knickers slipped to her ankles, at a loss at what to do, she merely stepped out of the pooled garment at her feet.

“Pass me the paddle please,” Tom said, as he picked up the barrel shaped cushion from the chaise longue and placed it on the oak dining table, after pulling the chair clear. “if you please?” Tom said pointing at the cushion as he took the tiny paddle from her hand.

In a daze, Joan lowered herself over, the cushion now pressing hard into her stomach. Her stomach that was now filled with butterflies of contemplation.

“Five pops, I think will suffice by way of introduction. I advise you to hold onto the sides of the table, I'm not going to be harsh, as this is your first time.” Tom whispered softly in Joan's ear, his mouth close enough for her to feel the words coming from his mouth. “However, even lightly, it will hurt.”

Tom was right, the first pop was delivered to the centre of her bottom, catching but not covering both cheeks. “If this is light, what the hell does harsh feel like!” Joan thought to herself, desperatley forcing herself not to call out in pain.

“Have you noticed anything odd about the roses on this paddle?” Tom asked, putting the paddle close to Joan's misting eyes.

She shook her head in clear confusion.

“Thorns! The roses have leafs, but no thorns.” Tom informed her, pointing out the omission. “You see the sting comes from the plain side of the paddle, so there is no need for thorns on the painted side.”
Joan then sensed Tom returning to behind her...seconds later the second pop landed, this time it was concentrated upon her left cheek. This time she ran no pretence of stoicism, as she called out in in pain upon the paddles report.

The pain, even as the heat began to build up, was interceded with pleasure as Tom's fingers massaged her sex from the rear, the fingers of his left hand trailing, tracing the length of her labia, tracing but not entering.

Then the third pop fell, hitting her right cheek, the fourth quickly followed, again her right side being the target.

Now, his fingers entered her.

He leant forward, Joan feeling his body tight against hers, his fingers still deep within her.
“Which side would you like the fifth pop on?”

Joan sighed in frustration, wishing that just for once a lover could make her cum.

“Which side?” He repeated

“Don't know...” She gasped, tears running down her face. The tears not caused by the paddle's sting, but from her own body that always seemed to block her sexual enjoyment, accept of course those moment when she was alone. Even this, even living out her deep dark fantasy, she was still just being held upon the brink of satisfaction.

“Indecision young lady is a very bad thing!” Tom said. “I had better make it another two instead of one to even everything out?”

With that, Joan felt the paddle scorch first into her left cheek, then land again across the middle of her bottom. She heard mixed in with her cries of pain, the sound of oak upon oak as Tom dropped the paddle onto the table.

Next thing she knew he had pulled her up into his arms, and was kissing her deeply.

Their first kiss!

“How odd.” She thought to herself, a kiss being in most cases the precursor to sexual activity, yet here she was kissing Tom only now for the first time.

As Tom led her to the stairs, Joan's dress fell back down, the light flimsy material causing a sensation upon her bottom like a thousand bee stings with each step she took.

When they reached the bedroom, they were both naked in seemingly a matter of seconds. Tom took her from behind, slowly, unhurriedly, his thighs rubbing against her punished nates. But, still she could not cum.

She thought of faking an orgasm, something she had done on countless occasions, but a little voice in her head told her not too. Something about Tom told her that he would neither want, nor need such false re-assurance.

So, still she stood upon the brink as Tom sated himself.

The two then collapsed upon the bed, arms soon entwined in a loving embrace.
“Hmm...” Tom muttered, breaking the silence. “I always look upon myself as being a gentleman, and as such try to follow the ladies first rule?”

“It's fine, I never cum.” Joan said, trying to avoid Tom's eyes.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Joan said, now in tears.

“Let's see if we can change that,” Tom said, as he gently pushed Joan over onto her back. “not wanting to sound crude, but perhaps if we think outside of the box we may have some success?”

Joan smiled at Tom's weak joke. “It's OK, I enjoyed everything....just I don't you know...”

“Two of my friends informed me that their nipples are hot-wired to their clits.” Tom declared out of the blue, throwing Joan into further confusion he then added. “Perhaps I should practice my Flamenco guitar technique upon you?”

“What the hell are you talking about Tom?” Joan asked between giggles.

“Rasgueados young lady, rasgueados!”

Before Joan could reply, she felt a sudden burst of exquisite pain on her right nipple, as the fingernails of Tom's right hand rapidly flicked her nipple, the index finger coming back for second helpings.

“The lady likes?” Tom asked in a comical Spanish accent.

“Yes.”

“Si, la chica gusta mucho!” Tom said, as his fingers set off on a train of rapid rasgueados, taking and pushing Joan over the brink.

Joan remembered all of the previous night's events, as her fingers now played gently with Tom's long thick earlobes. Thinking to herself “who would have thought he was into anything like that, there was nothing about him to make anyone think that he would be?”.

Saturday, 6 February 2016

Ref Posts

On behalf of Miss Cane and myself, we would like to apologise for our lack of postings of late. Sadly, this will continue for the next month or two, as we are busy making a slight diversification into the world of bespoke impact toys and jewelry.
Details of which will be posted on @rosytales on Twitter, also in the meantime should anyone want to contact us ref writing or any other subject you can find us there. Also, we can be contacted on Fetlife; tomas_elu for myself, Lori2015 for Miss Cane.

Normal service ref stories shall be resumed ASAP.

Tomas.

Wednesday, 28 October 2015

TWTMC (Dedicated to Muses that I have known)

Do you ever wonder, if hotel rooms could talk, what kind of conversations they would have with one another. Would room 42 talk to 103 about the nice couple from the Mid-West who so loved taking photos of the Cathedral and Castle?

Or would hotel rooms, like humans, prefer to gossip of the more salacious events?

The illicit afternoon trysts, the fevered sexual activity, with one eye always on the time?

What would this room, room 53, have to say about the events about to take place this afternoon?

I know! My mind is wandering as I await for you to arrive.

Ideally you would have been the first to arrive, for me to then swan in and take control of the room, and of course control of you. Sadly our journeys distances and workplace problems negated such an arrangement, forcing me into being the one awaiting your arrival.

But, I am a patient man! Even if the waiting has made my mind thinking of the concept of gossiping hotel rooms!

After all, you can only busy yourself for so long, as that pre-meeting tension builds up. Once I had entered the room, I unpacked. Not my travel bag, as that is just a mere prop, for the sake of the hotel receptionist.

No, it was my black briefcase that I unpacked, like the Dreamseller in the Lindisfarne song Meet Me On The Corner. Accept my wares were laid out upon the bed, rather than on the ground.

Firstly, the paddle takes pride of place; despite being English my love of Americana makes this innocuous looking eight holed paddle my implement of choice. I say innocuous looking, as it is small with the air holes giving it an almost comic look. An overgrown hairbrush with ambitions of being an implement of correction?

I imagine that will be your initial reaction as you view it? Don't be fooled though, as this ash can, and will, really bite your ass. Yes, my dear young lady, I think you will be surprised by the bruising stinginess that this little slice of wood can deliver!

Next to that, is lain a large ginger root, still to be cut and trimmed. Should corner time be called for, then this little fellow will certainly spice that up!

Next to that is the tawse, a solid looking relic that was perhaps a little to familiar to me in the nineteen seventies. I placed it there more for visual impact, though of course that could change, as and when my mood takes me.

Lastly we come to my cat like flogger, it lies there like a true feline, sleeping, but at any moment it can burst into action. It's leathery tongues, flicking and licking at the most intimate of places!

Then I think of you. I wonder how you will look upon your arrival?

Will it be The lady in red that walks through the door? The brown eyed personification of beautiful shyness.

Or a business executive? An alpha female, dressed to address a boardroom, but content for these precious few hours to relinquish all control and choices into my hands.

Or Boho chicness? Wafting through the room with balletic grace and haughtiness, only to kneel before me to accept the rose collar' and there by offering her total submission to me.

I never stipulated, merely gave my favoured options of your attire. Should you take those suggestions as instructions, is your decision, and yours alone.

Of course, one thing that was unwavering was the colour of your underwear. That, was carved in stone, and would be the first thing to be checked. The style, the material, all for you to decide.

But, the colour?

No, that little foible of mine meant mint green was the only order of the day!

So, now I wait and wonder, just what tale of debauchery this room will have to tell by nightfall?

THE END?