Two important updates

March 20, 2011

First, after considerable thought and planning,* I’ve decided to migrate over to Blogger. You can find my blog at Please update your links and follow me there.

Second, Craig and I have decided to write a collaborative spanking story. I’ll post the first chapter on my blog,** he’ll post the second chapter on his blog, and so on. We will both provide links to each other’s chapters so you can follow along.


* Read that “one abrupt decision followed by considerable frustration, cursing, and fussing”…and you’ll find it far more believable.

** In fact, I’m supposed to post the first installment on Monday (tomorrow!). It would probably be a good idea to stop messing around and write.


March 12, 2011

Inspired by Lunargirl’s post – What’s Really in a Name? – I’ve been thinking about honorific titles (things like sir, ma’am, master, and so forth), both  in the scene and in my vanilla life.

I wasn’t raised to say “sir” or “ma’am”; no such honorific was ever required of me. The difference between Miss/Ms./Mrs. was  forced upon me by an influential teacher. To this day, I’m amused by Miss (it makes me feel innocent and young), annoyed by Ms. (from anyone who knows my marital status), and tolerant of Mrs. In all cases, I’d rather the person used my first name anyway. Somewhat embarrassingly, I’ve even introduced myself by first name only in a professional context (an interview…and no, I didn’t get that job).

I have a tendency, in my vanilla life, to use “sir” to deflect anger and disappointment. Perhaps because I live in the conservative midwest, where such curtesy is neither expected nor demanded…the occasional “sir” has always served me well. I was the sort of child who drove my teachers (primarily female) to annoyance, but could talk any principal (all male) down just as quickly. The simple addition of “sir” works just as well as an adult. As well as it works, I’m a little self-concious about it now as a result of the scene because I don’t want anyone in my vanilla, professional life to think I’m submissive.

“Ma’am,” on the other hand, is hard for me in a scene. I don’t use it in my vanilla life…not ever. And being required to do so in a scene can heighten the impact of the power play for me; provided, of course, I have the sort of relationship with the Top which would support such a thing.

Oddly enough, I can get the same power-exchange response, if you will, from a male Top who hates being called “sir” as from a female Top who requires me to call her “ma’am”. I suppose it is simply the internal effort of doing something that does not come naturally to me.

That said, so-called honorific titles like “master” or “mistress” rub me the wrong way. I not only won’t use them, I’ll write off anyone who insists upon them.

Impatience (Xavier and Maddie)

March 10, 2011

This story is part of a new series – Xavier and Maddie are lovers who engage in all sorts of spanking play. This story is dedicated to my lover, who provides endless inspiration and support. The normal disclaimers apply.

“Can we go yet?”

Xavier looked up from his MacBook to find Maddie all but jumping with impatience. Standing beside his desk, she was wearing a scoop-necked t-shirt with the words It’s a good thing I’m into you, because otherwise it would be awkward printed across her chest, tight jeans, and her scuffed Sketchers. He rolled his eyes, “You’re acting like an impatient four-year old.”

“I am not!” She crossed her arms and pouted ineffectually at him.

Xavier raised an eyebrow, glaring at her as she proved his point. She sighed theatrically, attempting to distract him with her heaving chest, but this worked no better than her previous ploys.

“You can stand in the corner until you’re ready to act like an adult.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, considering him for a moment before she answered, “No.”

He was up in an instant, taking two long strides to her side and catching up her wrists in his hands. But he caught the triumph that flashed in her eyes, so they stood motionless for a long moment.

“You will stand in the corner, beautiful,” Xavier said, squeezing her wrists to emphasize his point, “Until I’m ready to deal with you. Then,” he paused again, “we can run our errands after your punishment.”

Maddie watched him cautiously; the mischief fled from her when he squeezed her wrists, as he must have expected it to do. Her lower lip trembled as she offered, “I can…”

He released one wrist to silence her with a fingertip on her lips. Her lips trembled under his finger as he traced them. “No, love. You’ll stand in the corner for me now…naked.”

He released her other wrist and stepped back to watch her. Maddie crossed her arms in front of her and took hold of the hem of her babydoll t-shirt. She peeled the material up and over her head, revealing a trim waist and full breasts. She shook the shirt right side out and tossed it onto her chair at the desk opposite his. Her bra quickly followed. She stepped over to her chair and toed off her shoes without untying them. Unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans took a moment, but he delighted in watching her wiggle out of them. She gave the jeans a rather sketchy fold and tossed them on top of the rest of her clothes. Brightly colored boy-shorts followed a moment later.

She bit her lip as she looked at him, silently asking for a last-minute reprieve. He simply nodded toward the corner of the office and watched in silence until she put herself there.

“Hands behind your head. Stand up straight.” Xavier nodded to himself as she positioned herself in accordance with his directions. She could be biddable, if she put her mind to it. With a little smile, he returned to his work.

After several minutes of silence, Maddie’s voice had just a trace of a whine, “Xavier, I…”

“No,” he answered simply, glancing up to make sure that she kept her position. He knew she was uncomfortable, even wanted her to be. Even so, he clicked rapidly through the remainder of his work email. He wanted to push her, but he was always conscious of her possible distress. He finished with a sigh and closed his laptop.

Maddie reacted to the quiet snick of his laptop closing, tensing and straightening. A shiver raced down her back, visible just as a slight tremor. She knew he was serious today, but she had no idea what she was in for here.

He stood and paced behind her, in no hurry to approach her. Let her imagination run wild for a moment. But only a moment, lest she truly panic. He took her wrist again, using that subtle trigger to keep her in the headspace. He led her out of their shared office, into the living room of their loft. With only the grip on her wrist, he pulled her over the back of the large leather sofa in the middle of the room. In quieter moments, the two of them would lay on the sofa, watching television or cuddling quietly in front of the fireplace. But this was not one of those sweet, intimate moments. She had been asking for a serious punishment for some time now, but he only just now had the time to deliver one.

Xavier spent only a figurative moment with his hand, delivering the barest warm-up she would need to get through this ordeal. She loved his hand under any circumstances.  It was impossible to ignore the way she squirmed under his application, arching her back and offering her bottom to him.

“Don’t you dare move,” he admonished as he stepped away, removing the hand he had wrapped around her waist. He needed both hands to unbuckle his belt, pulling the leather slowly through the loops of his pants. He wanted Maddie to anticipate it. He relished in seeing the effect the sound had on her, the little shivers, the slight tensing of muscle.

Xavier did not bother to snap the leather against itself; he knew she was aware of what was coming. He only doubled the belt and silently took measure of his position. Adjusting just slightly, he struck. The perfect snap of sound predicted the well-placed welt that appeared on her backside. With a little grunt of satisfaction, he struck again just below that first welt.

He worked carefully, each strike precisely aimed for symmetry. He worked his way down her bottom, concentrating on the sweet-spot for a moment, and finally struck down her thighs. She kept very still, her moans and whimpers the only evidence of the intense pain he was delivering.

Xavier knew her well, though, and could interpret these tiny sounds and minute shifts in position. He stepped back, running a bare hand over her welted skin. He flipped his hand over and traced his nails back up the sensitive skin. She whimpered and spread her legs a bit further.

“Not yet. I’m not nearly finished with you, Maddie.” He dropped his belt over the back of the sofa, before admonishing, “Don’t move. And don’t you dare look!”

He left her to go into their bedroom in search of another implement. This one a thick, leather paddle that she loved to hate. But it was his use of it, he thought as he returned to her, that she simply hated.

He positioned himself against her hip, his free hand wrapping around her waist. He stood ready to fling a leg behind hers, if she was in the mood to kick. He set the cool paddle against her bottom, knowing she would recognize it by the feel. Indeed, she tensed, then relaxed and pushed her bottom out to him.

“One hundred, Maddie. And you’ll count nicely for me.” He gave the order knowing she would protest, knowing she hated counting, but checking her headspace.

“Xavier, I can’t…”

Xavier nodded to himself, her protest answering his question. “Double, then. If you don’t count, I won’t.”

When he struck, Maddie reluctantly counted. When he struck exactly the same place a second time and a third, she gritted her teeth and continued to count. It was a battle of their not diminishable wills – her hatred of this method and her equal tenacity in accepting anything he delivered, his knowledge of her and use of that knowledge to push her. His strikes built steadily in intensity, until the fortieth swat, where he leveled off. She fought mostly within herself, remaining still and keeping the count to fifty, expecting the ordeal to end there.

When he struck the same spot the fifty-first time, Maddie actually screamed. She had decided he was only teasing about doubling the penalty, as that was the only way she could accept his sentence. But she also knew his love of symmetry; she knew he would repeat the strikes on the other cheek, which put the total over one hundred. He paused for a moment, giving her the time to count, before continuing on to sixty. Her relief when he moved to the other cheek was tempered by the knowledge that he would repeat the torment. But she counted steadily, determined to outmatch him.

She made it through those symmetry swats, painful as they were. And the lighter swats he spread over her bottom, evening the color, were easy to manage. But the last thirty concentrated on her thighs, left her sobbing.

Xavier dropped the paddle to the floor. He helped her up and around the sofa in one smooth motion, dropping onto the sofa and pulling her into his lap. Maddie curled up on him, her face buried in his shoulder. He held her until she calmed. When she gave him a tentative smile, he returned the smile with a kiss.

“Put your clothes back on, Maddie. We’ve errands to run.”

She gave him an incredulous look. He slid his fingers into her wet pussy and smirked at her, “That’s part of your punishment, love. You’ll wait. That, and those delightfully tight jeans of yours should make an interesting afternoon, don’t you think?”

Obadiah’s Journey (chapter 3)

February 13, 2011

The appearance of two figures on one of the temporary screens startled Obadiah, but he wasted no time clicking his computer program into action.  Despite his failure to identify the mystery pair, Obadiah felt some satisfaction that his final computer project worked seamlessly.  The other guard on duty failed to notice the single flicker as the screen changed from a current display to one Obadiah had recorded previously, the current activity transferred to a video file on his laptop.

Thanks to Obadiah’s search for the “notorious Senator”, he had heard the gossip about the construction area the pair had selected for this nighttime adventure.  The year’s elections had caused major upheaval, requiring that office spaces be totally reassigned.  The Senate minority had been assigned this area in the basement, which was still under construction.

Earlier attempts to paint the sandstone foundation had gone poorly; the living stone rejected the paint in many of the earlier reconstructions.  Instead, the Senate Minority Leader had decided to embrace the dungeon like appearance of the basement quarters the party had been given.  The room this pair had selected even had eye-bolts screwed into the sandstone in various locations.  The cameras had only been installed temporarily in the offices due to various allegations of fraud in the construction. Obadiah had a wealth of gossipy information, but he was no closer to identifying the Senator.

–           –           –

Jordan threw the extra latch on the external door before making his way to the room where Violet waited.  There, he closed another latch, ensuring their privacy for the evening.  The party may have suffered in the elections, but they did not skimp during their construction project – these offices would be secure once completed.  But once completed, it would be more difficult to find them empty.

Violet had already prepared for Jordan’s arrival, a leap of faith even in the deserted construction area.  She had taken off her suit, hanging it neatly in the doorless closet.  In place of her daytime clothing, she wore only leather cuffs around her ankles and wrists.  The cuffs were black with purple trim, the silver fittings matching the only other item she wore – a white-gold engagement torc he had given her earlier that week, because she refused to consider a second wedding ring.

He took several long steps over to her, gathering her in his arms and kissing her soundly. Her naked body pressed against his suit, a little shiver racing down her back. Violet closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensation. It was a very innocent power exchange, being naked while he remained in his office attire, but one she loved.

After several minutes, he pulled away from her to remove his suit coat. He hung it neatly beside her suit. Stretching a bit, he plucked several items off the back of the shelf in the closet and carried them back to her. He set his cane, crop, and flogger on a table that was pushed against the wall. Beside them, he set a small bag. He unzipped the little bag and removed a few more items accompanied by the sound of metal clicking against metal.

With a few words and sharp slaps, he positioned Violet in the center of the room. Her arms were raised above her head, her wrists secured to eye-bolts in the ceiling by carabiners. Her legs were spread wide, but unsecured. Jordan began with the flogger, circling Violet, wakening her skin. After several minutes of that, he took up the crop, turning her pink skin a darker shade of red.

Her eyes were closed and her breathing harsh before he set aside the crop. He spent an eternal moment touching her, exploring her bare skin with his hands, his nails, his lips and his teeth. She whimpered when he pulled away, knowing that the last bit of the scene would be the hardest to take.

He set the cane against her breast. Her eyes opened slightly, her gaze locking with his.

“Something you want to say, little one?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head quickly, never taking her eyes from his. He brought the cane down hard, raising a red welt. He repositioned himself and struck again. Several strikes to each breast left a brilliant starburst pattern. He set the cane aside and took her breasts in his hands, squeezing them hard. She writhed against the sensation, arching her back and pressing her breasts into his hands. He ducked his head, taking first one nipple, then the other, into his mouth.

“You did very well,” he murmured, retrieving his cane, “I was going to put clamps on, but if you’re very good, I won’t.”

She nodded sharply, her lip caught between her teeth. She moaned when he stepped behind her, and hissed when the cane struck hard against her thigh. But she held tightly to her position, breathing in the pain of each strike, accepting it and loving it.

New Additions

January 3, 2011

I’ve added a few pages to my blog, most of them with links to groups of stories I’ve posted here.  Because the majority of my posts ARE stories, I hope this will make my stories easier to find and follow.  Of course, if you’ve read them already, I encourage you to comment on your favorites – as that might help entice me back to writing on a series I’ve abandoned.

Do tell me what you think of the layout – if it’s helpful or what would make it more helpful.  I’m still finding my way around this blogging thing.

I’ll do my best to update the pages when I add new stories.  Speaking of which, I must get back to Obadiah.

Obadiah’s Journey (chapter 2)

December 28, 2010

“You know, Obadiah, you’re really too much of a gadget freak to work security.”

“And you’re a Luddite, Bill.  What’s your point?”  Obadiah did not bother to look up from his laptop to answer the older security guard on duty with him tonight.  A complicated array of cords, boxes, and connectors ran across the table between the monitors and Obadiah’s laptop.

“I just don’t see the point of all this.  You can simply watch the screens.”  Bill grumbled.

“You can watch the screens, Bill.  I’m working on my final project for my computer science class,” Obadiah explained patiently, silently thinking that his project was far more interesting than one for any class.

Bill grunted, “I’ll leave you to it, then.  Want anything from the snack machine?”

“No,” Obadiah paused before adding, “Thanks, though.”  With everything connected, he settled back in his seat to watch the monitors.  “Excellent timing,” he muttered to the empty room, “But the guts of this pair!”

He wasted only a moment shaking his head at the figures that appeared on the screen showing the interior of the capital dome.  A few clicks and several keystrokes later, the monitor showed footage of the capital dome Obadiah had captured earlier in the week.  The current scene was transferred instead to a video file on his laptop.

–           –           –

Violet paused at the top of the stairs, looking about the large open area between the interior glass dome and the exterior copper dome.  Numerous windows let in enough light that the area was gloomy, but not dark.  Jordan smiled at her from near one of the larger windows.

“Too bad an elevator isn’t included in the renovation plans,” Violet said, breathing deeply.

“You ought to work out more, Vi,” Jordan said, half-teasing.

Violet glared at him, “It’s not just the stairs.  The dome is still closed.  I had to be quiet!”

Jordan took several quick steps to her side, wrapping his hand around her upper arm and pulling her to him, “Is that really the attitude you want to take with me?”

“Um…no?” Violet offered quietly.

“Strip,” Jordan ordered.

Violet removed her suit jacket first, laying it neatly over the railing on the stairs.  Her skirt and blouse followed.  She hadn’t dressed for this scene, because the location was secluded enough to give them sufficient time to pull themselves together.  Still, her fingers trembled a bit as she unfastened her bra.  For some reason, it was more unnerving to remove her underthings than not wear them at all.  Her bra and panties joined the neat stack of clothing.

“You can leave that,” Jordan said, nodding to her garter belt and stockings.  “I want you over there, shoulders against the window.”

Violet stepped over to the indicated window.   A deep window well had her leaning far back to rest her shoulders against the mullion. The window sill was level with her hips, keeping her pelvis forward.  Moonlight shone through the window, leaving her face in shadow but highlighting the length of her body.

“Hands out, here,” Jordan directed.  Violet spread her arms towards the corners of the window, her hands grasping the window frame where he indicated.

“Simply beautiful,” Jordan said with a satisfied smile.  He picked up his crop, tracing the black leather over her ivory skin.  She took a shuddery breath, arching her back and offering her breasts to him.  He started there, raising red patches on her pale skin.

The crop moved down her body, coloring her tummy, her sides, her arms, her hips, and even between her legs.  She bit back a cry, managing only to whimper occasionally.  Her eyes closed tight, she gave her body over to him.

–           –           –

Obadiah pointed casually to the two suited figures captured by one of the capital hallway cameras, “Wonder who is working so late.”

Bill glanced at the screen, “Couple of suits, probably legislative staff.  Nothing to worry about there.”

“Wasn’t worried,” Obadiah shot back, “Simply curious.”

Bill took a closer look at the screen and chuckled, “Oh, the notorious senator and staff.”


“Don’t you follow politics at all, boy?  Ran on a ‘consenting adults’ campaign in the face of all those smear ads about their affair,” Bill nodded to the pair on screen.  “Gutsy, that one,” he added.

Obadiah took a longer look at the screen.  The gentleman wore an expensively tailored suit, the charcoal gray complimenting his dark hair.  He carried himself like a man used to being watched, a man with power.  The lady wore an immaculate skirt-suit, hers a lighter gray that would suit her dark hair and ivory skin.  She was in no manner submissive now, for all her face remained turned from the cameras.

Obadiah did not follow politics, so it was no great surprise that he recognized neither the individuals nor the campaign Bill thought so memorable.  But Bill found Obadiah’s curiosity amusing and refused to tell him anything more.  Obadiah spent the rest of a frustrating shift flipping through the legislative directory.

Obadiah’s Journey (chapter 1)

December 23, 2010

This story began as a very “innocent” scene between two nameless individuals.  But when Jada gave me multiple suggestions for character names…well, you’ll see how Obadiah hijacked my innocent storyline.  And I hope you’ll follow along to see where he takes us.

The door clicked shut behind Violet, blocking out the light from the stairwell and leaving her in darkness.  She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust.  She walked forward carefully, one hand gently tracing the bookshelf beside her.

At the end of the row, she turned and paused again.  Here, a dim light filtered through sheer curtains that covered a rare floor-to-ceiling window.  The pale light revealed rank upon rank of library shelving that she knew to be basic metal shelves capped with wood to add elegance.  She reached for one, tracing the metal fixture with its paper inset describing the books stored in the row.

This side of the library was rarely visited.  A researcher could find any of the millions of published cases far easier on Westlaw or Lexis.  These books, each differently colored series representing a section of the country, were a memorial to a time long past.  In daylight, she would think these books better stored, if at all, in the stacks, for all the floor-space they took up in the high ceilinged, formal library.  But at night, they had a certain magic, each row filled with a uniform series in a slightly different color.

She walked forward, her pace still measured and slow.  She passed another window, pausing only a moment to consider this new array of books before continuing on.

A flash of the gold-foil on the Atlantic Reporter caught her eye, revealed by the light from the window just ahead.  Her step stuttered.  He had promised to meet her here, where an internal column interrupted the shelving.  For some inexplicable reason, the space had been filled with a round table and chairs on one side of the column and a stuffed chair on the other.  No one used this little study spot, hidden away in never accessed books, even during the day.

His dark form separated from the column as Jordan pushed away from the spot where he had been awaiting her arrival.  His arms wrapped around her, easing her slight tremors.

“Look, Vi,” he murmered quietly in her ear.  He kept her in his arms as he turned her to look out the window.  The sheers dimmed the glow of the brightly lit capital building, but the window framed the picture perfectly.

“It’s as beautiful as you though,” he continued, “The perfect place for our scene tonight.”

Violet leaned her head back against Jordan’s shoulder, her body molding to his.  She soaked in his warmth, breathing deeply of his scene.  As much as she looked forward to this scene, she found nearly equal joy in spending a quiet moment with him.

His hands slid down her body, his fingers teasing the bare skin below the hem of her skirt for a moment before curling around the fabric and drawing the dress over her head.  She had worn a simply slip dress, the fabric thick enough to conceal the fact that she wore nothing beneath.  Jordan shook the dress right-side-out and draped it over one of the chairs.  Violet stepped out of her shoes, placing them neatly below her dress.  The building should be empty, but they took no chances.  Her outfit had been selected purely for ease of jumping bck into it, should the need arise.

Jordan pulled a chair away from the table, turning it to face the window.  Perhaps out of respect for the library, he silently guided her over the chair.  He ran his fingernails down her bare arms, raising goosebumps as he went, spreading her hands to either corner of the seat.  His nails traced back up her arms, over her shoulders and down her back.  With gentle nudges, he pulled her legs apart, positioning her feet just outside the chair legs.

His hands traced every inch of bare skin, the erotic and neglected alike.  She soaked it in, arching slightly to his touch.  He stepped back, one hand remaining on her back while the other searched the bookshelf for the cane he’d hidden there.

Jordan held the cane just away from her bottom, measuring the distance without the typical light taps.  He pulled the cane back silently, but the cane whistled through the air when he brought it back.

Violet drew in a sharp gasp, holding her breath against the sudden pain.  He struck again and again, leaving neat parallel welts down her bottom, while she struggled to remain silent.

–           –           –

Down the street, in stark contrast to the silent, dark library, two officers sat in a brightly lit room buzzing with television monitors and monitoring equipment.  Obadiah stared open-mouthed at the scene for a moment before managing, “Karl, should we, uh?”

Karl picked up his bag of chips and stepped over to look over Obadiah’s shoulder.  “No,” he said, hooking his foot around his chair and pulling it over, “We should watch.”