This was originally written (and posted on my previous blog) October 4, 2009, the day after the (now defunct) OTK Night at Paddles, in NYC (a BDSM club that had a small cafe area with booths and seating but was rather dark with few private areas). I was a regular attendee from 2007-2013ish and even organized the pre-event Munch for a year or so. I was unhappy that a friend had to leave a bit earlier that night. This was someone with whom I had a very parental disciplinary dynamic with at the time – my first and so far, only, experience with something like that. Anyway, my best writing tends to come in bursts – emotionally charged, can’t get it out of my head fast enough, just need to write it down and get it out – vs planning and taking my time. This was no different. It’s not long, but it captures the feeling.
At the time, I was nearly 21 so this was 15 years ago. I think the biggest theme here is something I’ve explored since (personally, not in fiction) which is the idea that someone can see me at my sort of “worst” – my emotional worst, that is – big feelings, insecurity, etc. and be ok with it. That they won’t abandon me or change how they feel – they will simply…deal with it and continue loving/caring about me. This person very much did that for me at the time, which is I am sure what inspired this.
What Didn’t Happen Last Night (M/F, semi-cons, spanking, belt)
“Pbbbbhhtt,” the raspberry left my lips seconds before I realized what I’d done. Arms crossed defiantly across my chest, staring him down, almost daring him to flinch, his whole face changed.
His eyes were no longer playful, but steely and dark. His mouth straightened and his jaw was set. Leaning in close to me as he straightened his jacket, he was calm, but more like stone than cool. Firmly he stated, “I can always add five more next time,” referring to the punishment I had coming when we could find some privacy.
My face went sober and my own eyes pleaded, with what, I am unsure. After a firm look and nod of the head meant to be the end of the ‘conversation’, he kissed the top of mine and turned to leave. Before my profile was out of eyesight, he caught the unhappy and childish sneer on my face. I didn’t know he’d seen my public display of unhappiness until he was next to me again.
Setting his bag down, his fingers were on my ear before I knew what was happening. I started to cry, big sad tears streaming down my face, to be met with his unwavering tone, “Let’s go.”
Drawing me out of the booth and to my feet he led me, still by the ear, to a corner where he sat down quite abruptly and started smacking me, hard. My bottom tensed despite the protection of my jeans, and his hand fell heavy and unrelenting.
I could feel sore spots and he hadn’t even taken my pants off yet. Without much ceremony he stood me up, again by the ear, and seemingly with one had, yanked my jeans and panties to my knees in one swift movement. Pulling me back across his knees, my tears continued to fall as the spanks rained down on my now bare, and quite tender, bottom.
He wasn’t holding back and soon I was choking out sorries and pleas for him to stop. Much to my surprise, a moment later it did. I was stood back on my feet where my hands quickly moved to rub the ache and burn away. It wasn’t long before I recognized the familiar motions of hands removing a belt from a pair of pants.
Stomping my foot I cried out a long and whiny no, only to be met with a firm hand on my chin, forcing my hiccuping self to look him in the eyes, “Yes. Bend over.”
When I hesitated, he didn’t wait for me to comply. He grabbed my arm and bent me slightly around his hip and thigh, bringing the doubled up belt down quickly and sharp. The sting was overwhelming and before long all my fight was gone. It seemed to go on forever and the strokes, falling one after another, overwhelmed my senses. I was spent, and broken, and exhausted. All I could do was sob. My nose was running and my hair was a wreck when he let me up. My bottom felt hot and raw, and touching it only made me cry harder.
Pulling me into a hug he rested his chin on the top of my head and held me tight, reassuring me, telling me it was ok. It felt like forever until I stopped crying and he gently pushed me away. Moving my hair out of my face, he brought my chin up again and said firmly, but softer, “Enough, ok? Enough.”
I nodded, and sniffled again, which brought on another hug and thus more reassurance.
o0o
-M
Very, very good, Marie. There are few tales (tails) a dom likes to read then the righteous comeuppance of a naughty girl. Thank you for this morning enjoyment. Curious…which do you prefer better? Hand or the leather?
If I was forced to pick one over the other, always hand. There’s just something connecting about hand spanking. Bare hand on bare bottom.
One could also argue that hands are leather 😉
Beautifully told.