Spanking Dictionary

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Amphitheatre- Performance venue designed to enhance the sound of spanking

 

Autocorrect- A kick to the boot of a misbehaving vehicle.

 

Bratwurst- the one who needs the hardest spanking. Alternatively, one who needs more practice misbehaving.

 

Catnap- flogger theft

 

Countertop- evasive maneuver employed in case of excessive trouble

 

Dominos- can smell trouble.

 

Freedom- one not currently engaged in a spanking.  

 

Hit List- plan of attack at a spanking party

 

Hither- encouragement for a top. Alternatively, an attempt to displace consequences onto a third party

 

Laptop- pejorative term for a service top, particularly one of smaller stature.

 

Random- one exhausted from chasing brats

 

Seldom- an attempt to both avoid a spanking and make a profit.

 

Servant- long-winded complaint from a top

 

Sublime- a sour brat

 

Submarine- a bottom on a boat

 

Subpar- the average number of hits required to tame a given brat

 

Subscribe- one writing lines

 

Subsidy- ancestral home of bottoms

 

Utopia- domly heaven

 

***

Thanks to @Lilintia for the creative assistance and help getting into the right frame of mind before school starts!

Leading and Learning: First Punishment

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From the Sarah Saga

“Bring me the brush.”

 

Sarah took a deep breath before complying. It was time. After nearly three weeks of discussion, negotiation, confession, apology, scolding, it was time for the punishment.   

 

There had been scolding this morning as well, in-person scolding, and though it had reminded her of precisely why they were there, it didn’t have nearly the impact that the emailed scoldings had.  

 

She had hurt him, Sarah knew, she had hurt Brian and needed to atone. “You acted like a right bitch,” he had told her.  He had been more than appreciative of her playful naughtiness, rewarding her cheek with playful spankings, but this was something different.  

 

“Even the others noticed. You should have seen the look Tim gave me at the munch, that I was letting you say those things.”  Sarah apologised, electronically and personally, but more was warranted. “I understand if you are stressed, understand if you are tired, but that is no excuse to lash out.” Sarah agreed.

 

Hence the brush.

 

“I want to use the brush for this,” Brian had told her as they agreed the parameters for her first true punishment. “It does a good job of getting the message across without being too severe.”  

 

Sarah had disagreed with that bit. He had two brushes, after all, one which made more noise and one which made more bruises.  After much discussion they had settled on the noisy one.

 

This time.

 

She ran her hands over the brush as she brought it over to him. Solid, but with a slight give. She tried to reassure herself. She knew this brush. It stung, but it was bearable. She knew this spanker. He was harsh but human. It would be ok.

 

“This is going to hurt,” he told her.

 

Sarah nodded sadly and passed over the brush.

 

“Jeans down,” he said. Sarah complied, lowering her panties as well, as they had  discussed. This was not the time to quip over details.

 

Brian nodded approvingly.  “Over my knee.”  

 

Sarah crawled onto his lap, bracing her feet against the edge of the sofa. She shivered as Brian lifted the hem of her shirt to expose her bottom fully and gave it a few taps with the brush.  

 

“No warmup, as we discussed. I want you to feel this, and to think about how you should treat your friends, how you should treat me. I deserve more respect than you’ve been showing.”  He brought the brush down with a crash. Sarah gasped at the beginning of her punishment, and let the pain roll over her. It was a shock, but one that she could handle.  Still, it would get worse.

 

“I want you to think about your snippy remarks,” Brian scolded.  “When it’s all in good fun, that’s one thing, but there are better ways to express frustration.  There are better ways to deal with being tired. If you’re not in a mood to socialise, don’t go out.  That’s all there is to it.”  Brian spanked on throughout the scolding, and Sarah tried to process his words, to process the pain.  

 

The words stung more.  Perhaps that was right, but Sarah couldn’t help but feel that she had cheated the punishment, that her insistence on the use of this brush had prevented her from getting the punishment she deserved. When Brian paused next, she turned her face back to him.  

 

“You can use the other brush if you want, the harsher one,” Sarah offered before turning her face away, ashamed that she felt she needed harsher correction, and that her fear had let her talk Brian out of using the harsher brush.

 

Brian paused, and Sarah began to panic. Was the suggestion out of line. She chanced another look back over her shoulder. Brian was looking at her, and though his brow was furrowed in frustration, he gave her a half smile that let her know that she was not the cause of the consternation. That her suggestion was not only welcome, but that he agreed, only. . .

“I didn’t bring it with me,” he told her. In any other position, at any other time, Sarah would have laughed aloud. She had been so terrified of the heavy brush that she had begged him not to use it during their discussions of the impending punishment. Had he told her earlier that it wasn’t even in her apartment, she would have been relieved. Now, she felt ashamed of her fear, and of the frustration the consequences of that fear were now giving her disciplinarian.

 

“This will do for now. Next time, it will be the other brush though, you’d best keep that in mind.” Brian brought the brush down again, hard, on the lower portion of her bottom. Sarah squealed. Perhaps this would be enough, she tried to tell herself, even as she knew that it wasn’t. “Just a few more, then you can spend some time in the corner.”  

 

Sarah tried to focus on the swats. If this was all she was going to be getting, she had to let the brush do what it could, have to accept the pain rather than fight it.

 

“Up,” Brian ordered.  Sarah rose, and shuffled clumsily over to the corner, trying not to trip over the clothing wound round her ankles.   She faced the wall, tried to think of what she had done to earn this, tried to promise herself that she would remember this, would learn from this.

 

“Get back over here,” she heard Brian order.  Already? Sarah gave a small chuckle. Why was it that corner time always seemed so short? She’d heard so many other girls complain that mere minutes lasted ages, and yet for Sarah the time flew.

 

She turned back to Brian, who raised his arms, brush in hand, to allow her to settle back over his knees.  Sarah laid down, trying to prepare herself for the rest of the punishment.  Brian scolded her gently before resuming the spanking. Sharp, stinging,but bearable swats rained down. Sarah squirmed a bit, but found herself wishing she hadn’t objected so strongly to the use of the harsher brush.  She had asked for this, she reminded herself. This would have to be enough. SHe had to make it be enough. After all, the spanking was only part of the punishment. The spanking wouldn’t make her change, she would have to do that herself.  

 

Brian struck her lower, right at the tops of her thighs, and Sarah cried out in genuine distress for the first time. She tried even harder to remain still, struggling now, and hoping it would end soon. Knowing that it shouldn’t end soon. Knowing that she deserved more, far more.

 

But it did end.  “All over,” Brian told her soothingly, rubbing her back for a moment before helping her up.  Sarah didn’t believe him at first. She needed more, the spanking had been almost enjoyable, easier to take than some of the spankings he’d given her just for fun.  
“All over,” Brian stated again. “It is forgiven, it is over.  We won’t speak of it again.”  Sarah nodded into his chest, and, for the first time, the tears began to flow.

Kidnapping Catastrophe

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Linda leapt from the sofa at the sound of footsteps on the gravel path to the door, her paperback tumbling to the floor.  Despite Sean’s attempts to persuade her to join the Kindle revolution, she preferred the feel of paper- and the fact that the non-electronic books were more likely to survive her lapses in attention.  She didn’t have time to think of the book now- Sean was home!   

 

He husband had been away for the better part of two weeks. While they had both agreed that the business trip had been an excellent opportunity, she had spent every moment of their time apart waiting for his return.  

 

Well, perhaps not every moment- the first few days had a certain blissful element to them. After ten years of cohabitation, it was a relief in a way to be free from some of Sean’s habits.  He’d barely been out the door before Linda had cranked up the thermostat a couple of notches, shedding her cardigan with a sigh.  As warm and lovely as Sean’s hugs were, she missed being able to walk around her own home without bulky outerwear.  Sean’s energy seemed to be something of it’s own heating system, and though he hadn’t exactly insisted, the house had been kept decidedly cooler than Linda would have otherwise preferred. Of course, her husband had myriad ways of keeping her warm, Linda thought wistfully.  He was never one to turn down a request for a hug, and snuggling on the sofa together had become part of their morning and evening ritual.  

 

Then again, not all of his warming methods were quite so pleasant at the time, Linda thought with a smirk and an involuntary rub of her bottom.  Still, it was something she more than accepted as part of life with Sean, and she had to admit his attention in that particular regard had helped her break the slovenly habits she’d developed in college and to keep their house in a habitable condition.  

 

She’d made considerable progress in the decade they’d lived together, and it would be nice to have a small break while he was away.  

 

However, leaning against the door and waiting for the heating to kick up, Linda’s gaze was drawn to the small pile of Sean’s shoes in the corner, a pile she promptly began chucking into the adjacent closet.  Though her husband had by and large imposed order on her lifestyle since they’d moved in together, this was one area where his compulsive cleanliness didn’t reach.  That task complete, Sarah surveyed the freshly-tidied entryway with a smile. Perhaps this time alone wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

It did feel odd to be cleaning without the slightest prompt from Sean though. In a sacrifice to the gods of entropy, Linda retrieved her scrapbooking box from its shelf and upended it onto the dining room table.   She grinned as the bits of paper and scraps of souvenirs skittered across the tabletop, a few bits and bobs fluttering onto the floor. She’d only once tried to use the dining room table for this particular hobby before. Sean’s preference for eating in here, rather than the kitchen, meant that she’d only managed a few hours of sorting and pasting before having to gather the lot back up again- though not without a quick swat to her behind from Sean to speed the process up.  Now, with two uninterrupted weeks ahead of her, she could finally see herself making a dent in the several years of memories that had so far been piling high but forgotten in the cardboard box.

 

Scrapbooking did indeed prove a significant distraction from Sean’s absence over the next few days, and Linda did little else with her time.  She did fix herself meals, but otherwise avoided the kitchen other than to deposit her used dishes in a stack that teetered near the sink, promising herself each time that she’d clean up after the next meal.  It was lovely to have the freedom to put that task off for a little while; after all, one person hardly made enough of a mess to warrant cleaning after every meal.

 

Instead, she spent the last few hours of her evenings stretched out across the width of their bed, winding the whole of the duvet around herself, revelling in the luxury.

 

It would have been perfect but for the absence of Sean’s embrace.  

 

On the third day, the novelty wore off. Fumbling to the kitchen in her pyjamas, Linda poured herself a bowl of cereal- into a largeish serving bowl as all the normal bowls were awaiting washing. Yawing and vowing to do something about that in the afternoon, Linda dug the milk out of the refrigerator only to find the carton was empty save for a couple of drops.  Still half asleep, Linda glared at the carton accusingly before trying futilely again.  She couldn’t remember the last time this had happened.  With a sigh, she set the carton down.  Sean had always gotten the milk. While she’d done the weekly shopping, Sean had always picked up milk mid-week to tide them over until the next shop.  

 

WIth that simple realisation, the bubble she’d created to fend off her longing burst.  She surveyed the mess in the kitchen, the mess of papers that had spread from the dining room table to take over most of the room, and missed her husband more than ever.

 

Linda managed to shovel half the dry cereal into her face, chased with a couple cups of coffee, before making herself presentable enough for a trip to the grocery store.  

 

Immediately after returning to the house, Linda began cleaning.  Not only did she wash the dishes, but, figuring that she had the time, emptied each cupboard to give the shelves and their contents a good scrubbing.  She attacked the dining room the next day with a similar level of vigour, wrangling up her scrapbooking into one corner of the table, then hoovering the glitter and dust out of nooks and crannies she hadn’t realised the room had. Where did it all come from?

 

In the days that followed, Linda cleaned the house from top to bottom, an exhausting but satisfying task, and one that she knew Sean would appreciate.

 

In one last gesture, she even restacked his shoe pile by the door.

 

The final day, Linda had run out of things to clean. Instead she tried to read, but found herself distracted, eager for her husband to return, anxious to see his reaction to how she had spent her time, wondering if he might guess what she had done- or not done- for the first couple of days.  Linda winced at the thought. She’d be in for a spanking if he’d known, perhaps even with his belt, but she had to admit it was deserved. Even appreciated, she admitted to herself.  Spankings may not be great fun, but the aftermath was always particularly tender.  

 

Though she had nearly left him when he’d first revealed his desire to spank her for discipline all those years ago, now Linda could hardly imagine her life any other way.  Sean was strict, but fair, and there was a certain special  intimacy to the act. She’d been surprised at how easy it had been to submit to his authority, how deeply she had accepted his guidance, how humbly she had reacted to his corrections- both the more serious and the quick lighthearted ones. Either way, such encounters left her with a warm feeling in her bottom and her heart, a feeling prolonged as he held her afterwards. She had to admit, as much as she dreaded spankings, she almost missed them.

 

If Sean asked what she had been up to, Linda decided that she would confess fully and accept whatever he deemed necessary. In fact. . .

 

Linda grinned at the idea- it would be the perfect homecoming. She checked the clock- his plane would have just landed, and it would take at least another half hour for him to drive home. She had plenty of time.

 

Linda skipped to their bedroom and set to work transforming the space. She drew the heavy curtains, and set candles out around the room, the flickering light illuminating the space with a suggestive glow.  She stacked the pillows in the middle of the bed as she usually did before a serious spanking, then slipped into the barely-there top and wriggled into the stockings she’d gotten for their last anniversary.  

 

Shivering, she deemed her preparations sufficient and crawled under the fluffy blanket on the sofa, trying to read as she anxiously waited.

 

The footsteps on the path could not have come soon enough; Linda’s nerves were on edge with both excitement and a hint of worry. This would hurt, it always did, and yet. . .

 

It was too late now, she realised as she waited behind the door, thick flannel pillowcase in hand, watching for her husband’s shadow in the frosted glass. As soon as the figure appeared on the doorstep, the streetlights creating a saintly corona around his head, Linda flung the door open, threw the pillowcase over the man’s head, and dragged him inside as quickly as she could, lest any of the neighbours see her semi-clothed state.

 

“Mrrrph grvvnh!”  the man uttered in shock, his words muffled by the improvised hoodwink.

 

“Now, now, calm down. I’ve a surprise for you. Come along, it will be worth it.”

 

“Grrrphm hsst mfvvv!” the man struggled to speak, reaching for the pillowcase. Linda swatted his hands down.

 

“None of that now. You’ll ruin the surprise.  Almost, there, just a few more steps.”  

 

Linda led the man to her bedroom, leaving him near the door.  “Now, count to ten, then you can look.”

 

“Hrrrmv,” the man said as he tried to reach the pillowcase once again.

 

Linda firmly grasped his wrists, dragging them down to his sides.  “Just a few seconds. I’ll tell you when you can look.” Linda took a step back, watching the man carefully to be sure he wouldn’t try to cheat again before she draped herself over the stack of pillows.

 

“Ok, now you may look,” Linda said, “Though I suppose it was cruel of me to make you wait, for treating you so roughly.  You must punish me for being so thoughtless.”  Linda held her breath, waiting for her husband’s reaction.  Instead she heard an unexpected voice from behind her.  

 

“Errr. . .Linda?”  

 

Linda glanced behind her to see, to her utter shock, not her husband but his friend Jim.  Linda froze at the realisation, unable to even cover herself as she tried understand what she had done.  Their friends had often joked that Sean and Jim might have been twins, they looked so alike and seemed to do everything together.  Though Jim had been a friend for years and had seen her in some decidedly compromising situations, this was a new level of embarrassment.

 

Jim recovered first, shaking himself and glanced back into the shadows of the hallway, as if seeking confirmation from the dimness.  “Stay right there,” he said firmly. “You wanted a spanking, and I have to say you certainly deserve one.  What did you think you were doing? You’re lucky it was just me on the doorstep, you might have let anyone into your home just now.”

 

Linda, too shocked to speak, could only nod.  She wanted to protest, to apologise, to do anything but submit to this, but couldn’t.  He had played along with her thus far, and it was only a spanking after all; a well-deserved one given her mistake.

 

“Jim. . .I’m so sorry. . . I thought.. . “

 

“I know quite well what you thought, and I’m sure Sean would have appreciated this particular homecoming. However, what you did was decidedly careless.  You’ll be getting that spanking, make no  doubt about that.”

 

Jim strode to the bed and picked up the belt laying there. “This is what Sean uses?” he asked. Linda could only nod, her embarrassment increasing exponentially.  “How many strokes do you usually receive?”

 

Linda didn’t think it were possible, but she blushed even more deeply.  “It depends.”  She waited for Jim to respond, but as he let the silence drag on, she continued, “Sometimes just a couple. More, when warranted. I think I’ve had up to twenty or so when deserved.”

 

Jim regarded her closely, before glancing off into the dim distance again.  He nodded, as if gathering his resolve.  “Twenty then.  Hold on tightly, if you reach back, there will be more.”

 

Linda shuddered and grabbed fistfulls of duvet, squeezing tightly.  What had she gotten herself into?  

 

She didn’t have long to wonder. After only a couple of light taps on her raised behind, the belt came crashing down in the first swat.  Linda gasped- she’d thought that Sean spanked hard, but it had never felt anything like this.  She could almost feel the welts rising on her behind, and only from a single stroke.  She grabbed tighter onto the duvet, not wishing to show weakness in front of Jiim. She did deserve this, she reminded herself. She wondered distantly what Sean would think when he saw her bottom. There would be no hiding this, not that she would have tried; this wasn’t the sort of secret she could keep from her husband, even if she earned herself further punishment. She only hoped he would allow her time to recover, this spanking would doubtless leave her sore and marked for quite some time.

 

Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t keep herself from crying out as the belting continued. Her cries grew from muffled shrieks to piercing shrieks.  Jim gave her no more than a few seconds to recover from each stroke before applying the next, not nearly enough time for the throbbing sensation to fade. The searing burn grew exponentially, and Linda struggled to cope.

 

“That’s ten,” she heard him say.  “Halfway through, you’re taking this very well.”

 

Linda shuddered through a sob, trying to pull herself back together yet wondering if it were worth the effort; another ten strokes would certainly push her over the edge.

 

“Ready?” Jim asked.  Linda nodded, despite the fact that she wasn’t, she couldn’t be.  Better to just get it over with.

 

The second half of the punishment was just as difficult as she suspected. She dissolved into incoherence, barely managing to keep herself in place under the relentless belt.   

 

Linda gradually realised that the belting had ceased, and instead she was being treated to a far gentler caressing. The hands on her back and bottom felt lovely, calming, reassuring. . . and a bit more intimate than she’d expected from just a friend.  Linda trembled as feelings of guilt ran through her. This was something she was supposed to do with Sean, with her husband, not just a friend.  She brushed the hands away and sat up, trying to think of a way to apologise, to explain, but as she turned, she noticed another figure in the shadows by the door.  As she watched, her husband stepped into the candlelight, smiling benignly as he approached and wrapped her in a hug.

 

“It’s ok, I’ve got you,” he whispered as he held her.

 

“How- how much did you see?” Linda asked, wondering what she would have to explain.

 

“Oh, the whole thing.  I’d just pulled into the drive to see you dragging Jim inside. Not the homecoming I’d expected, and I’ll admit, it was tempting to step in earlier. However,  Jim seemed to be well able to handle you.”

 

“I’ve had a fair bit of practice,” Jim chimed in. “You’ll have to ask Susan about that someday.”

 

“It shows,” Linda replied with a wince that turned into a smile as she began to appreciate both the ridiculousness of the situation and what it might mean for their relationship with Jim and Susan.

 

“In any event, I think I’ve done enough here,” Jim replied with a wink, “I’ll leave you two in peace. Sean, if I could get that document?”

 

“Of course,” Sean replied, leaving Linda’s side for a moment to return to the hall and fish a folder out of his brief case.   “I’m assuming this is what you came for?” he asked when he returned.

 

“That’s it,” Jim replied. “Much appreciated. Welcome home, I’m sure we’ll chat more later.”

 

“That we will,” Sean replied.  “And thank you for your assistance.”

 

Linda could only blush as Jim gave her one last quick hug before leaving.  

 

“Sean, I’m so sorry,” Linda said once they were alone. “I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought it would be a special homecoming. . . “

 

“Shhh,” Sean calmed her.  “It certainly was special, if not quite how you intended. And it was certainly unique!  But anyway, we’ll have plenty of time to talk about this later.  In the meantime, I’m just glad to be home.”

 

Linda smiled, allowing herself to be hugged once more before welcoming her husband home more enthusiastically.

Stack of Notebooks

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He had given me a notebook. Handed it to me at the end of the night, those pages with lines written, punishments recorded, signed and countersigned.  Reflections documented. Feelings shared. It started a touching momento, a record of a lovely evening. A symbol of hope, too, all those empty pages.  Hope that they would be filled one day.

 

They weren’t.  Instead, it remained hidden in the darkest corner, the back of the deepest cupboard. This place of dishonour originally selected to hide from eyes of those from whom I needed to hide my secret desires, now served to hide from myself as well.

 

But there was a new notebook, new handwriting, new memories. New hopes.

 

New pages never to be filled.

 

Now there are more, now they are labelled. One for Dublin, one for Galway. One for each of those who asks me to write in them.  Some larger than others, some fuller than others; some used frequently, some largely untouched. Each special.

 

I take them down, skim the pages, remember. Smile.

 

Replace them somewhere I can see.

 

Strangers No More

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From the Sarah Saga, with thanks to Topcat599

Frank and Sarah’s story began here

***

“That was an amazing scene.”

 

“What?” Sarah asked, genuinely confused.  The night had barely begun and, here among newish friends, she’d yet to establish the sort of connection she needed before feeling comfortable submitting to a spanking or anything else.

 

“Last week, you and the gentleman in uniform.”

 

“Oh. . .” Sarah felt a giddy, floaty feeling rising and smiled as echoes of the experience washed over her. Even a week later, their power was undeniable. “Yes, with Frank.  Thank you.  It was. . . . wonderful.”

 

***

 

Sarah floated back downstairs, back to socialise.  Brain followed right behind, smiling benignly.  He must be floating as well, Sarah thought distantly, though he was much better at landing again than she was. It always seemed to take forever for her to return to her own mind after a good session, and this had been one of the best.  

 

It helped that everyone here understood, would excuse her spacy-ness, would take it as a sign that she was having a good night, rather than as a personal sleight. This space seemed designed for floaty people, the various clusters of chairs and soft places to collapse that flowed seamlessly into one another, the happy people milling about, ready to soften the landing of those rejoining humanity.  She could take her time, reintegrate slowly, then do it all over again.

 

As she pulled the heavy curtain aside and stepped into the social room, she found herself face to face with a most unexpected figure smiling broadly at her from a small conversational cluster.  Sarah came crashing back quicker than she ever could have expected.

 

“Hi Frank,” Sarah greeted him, beaming, panicking, soaring, happy.  Memories of the last time she had seen him came flooding back, that blissful night that had ended with her stumbling back into her hostel at nearly six in the morning, reeking of tiger balm and high as a kite on a rush of endorphin and emotion.  

 

It had been a night to remember, and she did frequently and fondly, long after the bruises had finally faded.

 

And then there was nothing. Although he had been very active years and years ago, he had stepped back lately for reasons she had no desire to pry into.  She hadn’t expected to see him again, and yet here he was.  

 

“Hello again,” he relied warmly, extending a hand in greeting. Sarah took it and beamed up at him, unable to think of anything to say in reply; she was too busy trying to reconcile the man next to her with the near-mythical figure her mind had created in its ruminations of their first meeting.

 

She tried to join in the chat, but sentences were difficult at the best of times after scenes.  With this additional complication, such intellectual endeavours were well beyond her grasp, and she satisfied herself with smiling and nodding as the others continued discussing whatever it was they’d been chatting about before her arrival.

 

The group had begun to disperse before Sarah had gathered her wits enough to attempt speech. “It’s good to see you again,” Sarah finally managed.  “I never got a chance to properly thank you for last time; it was a very powerful experience,” Sarah confessed.

 

“Good,” Frank replied with an encouraging smile. “I enjoyed that night immensely myself.”

 

“Thanks,” Sarah replied, then added, “if you’re interested, I’d love to play again later?”

 

“Should be able to fit you in somewhere,” he replied gamely.  “I’ll come find you later.”  

 

“Sure,” Sarah agreed brightly and floated off in the direction of the bar. After her first spanking of the evening, she was in desperate need of something cold and drinkable.  Sarah collected a bottle of water but refused the glass of ice- such things tended to be used in ways the barman never intended- and looked for a place to sit down. Seats were often at a premium, but Sarah was determined to make the most of things while she was still in any condition to enjoy the luxury. She searched for Brian, but he was nowhere to be found- presumably upstairs with his next eager victim. She spotted an empty chair next to Mark, but wasn’t quite back to a stable enough frame of mind for that conversation.  

 

Gerard saved her from her conundrum with a wave from across the room. As Sarah walked over to join him, he slid over on the bench to make room for her.  Sarah sat next to him with the slightest of winces, which he acknowledged with a knowing grin.

 

“I see Brian has finally finished with you. Anyone else on your dance card this evening?” her sponsor asked.

 

“A few,” Sarah responded, “Lisa was talking about trying that wire thing, but wasn’t sure she’d make it.  Knowing Brian, we’ll have at least one more go later.  Possibly Tom too, and then Frank just agreed to do a scene as well.”

 

“High-level player,” Gerard said simply, watching for her reaction without betraying any emotion of his own.

 

“I know,” replied Sarah with a wistful expression, “very well. The bruises lasted most of a month last time.”

 

“Ah, have fun then,” Gerard said with a gentle punch to her thigh.  Sarah nestled up to him and slouched into a relaxed cuddle, quietly listening to the conversation happening around her.

 

***

 

“Are you ready?”

 

Sarah jumped at the sound of Frank’s voice behind her, turning to find him regarding her with a toppy look, that somewhat threatening but mostly intriguing expression that seemed to come naturally to dominants.

 

“Yes, Sir,” Sarah replied, already slipping under his spell.  “Oh, I mean.- um. . . I really . .Can I have a few minutes? Too much water,” she offered apologetically, wincing at her struggle to form a sentence for reasons completely unrelated to her earlier spanking.

 

Frank merely raised an eyebrow, regarding her with a mixture of playfulness and sternness that did nothing to improve her ability to explain herself.  

 

Thankfully, Meave saved her with an understanding smile and an ill-concealed chuckle. “He’ll wait for you, dear,”

 

Sarah nodded in thanks and dashed off to the toilets, which, to her dismay were occupied.  She tried to calm herself down as she waited, but ultimately gave up on the exercise as futile.  When the door finally opened, Sarah slipped in, refreshed herself as quickly as she could, and returned to Frank’s side.

 

“Ready now, young lady?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Sarah replied, dipping her gaze involuntarily.  It was starting already.  

 

“After you,” Frank gestured toward the stairs up to the play area.  

 

Things had gotten much busier upstairs since Sarah’s first scene. Each of the play spaces were filled with people expressing pain and pleasure at various volumes, and a small crowd had gathered around the edges of the room, waiting and watching. Sarah paused at the top of the stairs, looking for an unobtrusive place to stand until a play space was free.

 

Frank brushed past her, sweeping her along to one of the quieter corners, adjacent to the bench here Meave was laying into a girl Sarah recognised but couldn’t quite remember with a vicious looking strap.  Sarah winced in sympathy as she watched the girl’s skin rose in ripples and welts with each stroke, but also in awe at the transformation in Meave. She’d spent several evenings chatting away with the woman, who had been nothing but pleasant and friendly.  Sarah had seen her play before as well, but was still rather shocked whenever she glimpsed Meave’s sadistic side. She wasn’t one to pull her strokes, and took open, obvious pleasure in the reactions she produced.  Judging by those reactions, however, her current victim was enjoying herself just as much.

 

As terrifying as it was, the connection between the two women was undeniable,as was their unintended hold on Sarah’s attention. Even as the girl cried out, she made no attempt to rise from the bench or to block the blows, answering each of Meave’s questions with contrite respectfulness, requesting further strokes each time she was prompted.  

 

After an age, Meave set the strap down and went around the front of the bench to comfort the girl. It was difficult to tell in the reddened light, but her bottom looked like it had taken on a brilliant shade from the ordeal.  The girl rose partially off the bench to accept a hug.  Sarah smiled at the tender end to the scene, but Meave had other ideas.

 

“Frank, would you be able to assist me in dealing with this one?” Meave asked.

 

“Certainly,” Frank replied, as if he’d been asked for the simplest of favours.  He approached the couple, and after a few quiet words with both of them, stepped back and unfastened his belt.

 

If Sarah had been intrigued before, she was now enraptured. There was something magical about that particular belt.  

 

All the same, the chance to watch Frank in action was something of a mixed blessing.  She’d not had that privilege the first time Sarah had submitted to him. Looking back, she was not at all certain if she would have gone through with it if she’d known just what she was getting herself into.  Much easier to submit when she was so blissfully ignorant, when she didn’t have to watch it happening just a few feet away, just moments before putting her own bottom in his care.

 

“You will take ten,” Frank declared before he delivered the first blow, a sharp crack that drew the attention of the rest of the room with its power. The girl cried out, even louder.

 

“Count,” Frank ordered.

 

“One,” she replied a beat later between gasps.  

 

“One, thank you. Sir,” Frank amended.

 

Her response was a beat in coming but come it did. “One, thank you Sir.”  She spoke clearly despite her shaking form, determined to see this through.

 

If the first count was difficult, the rest were nothing short of tortured.  Sarah was impressed at the girl’s ability to bear the beating she was taking, even given the benefit of Meave’s- the gentle Meave’s – constant presence and embrace.  

 

The ninth count was long in coming, requiring prompting from both Frank and Meave.   “You should give her another,” Meave suggested with a wicked smile as her sadistic side bubbled back to the surface, “a penalty for being late with the count.”  

 

Frank paused before replying, running his fingers gently across the bottom before him, studying the girl carefully from behind.  “Ten is enough.”

 

That one, short sentence did more to reassure Sarah than anything Frank could have said or done. He was intense, but he was safe. He would take his partners to the very edge of endurance, but he had mastered the special art of balancing on that edge without toppling into the space where true damage could be done.

 

“One more and I’m giving you back to Meave,” Frank reaffirmed, and the girl’s sobbing quieted long enough to nod her consent.

 

The final stroke drew a piercing wail before the girl collapsed into Meave’s arms.  Frank set his belt aside before leaning in close to her once more, sharing a few brief moments of post-scene intimacy.  Sarah turned her gaze away, feeling somehow more voyeuristic watching the whispered conversation and gentle hugs than she had watching the belting itself.   As Sarah surveyed the rest of the room behind her, she found many of the others doing the same, and giggled softly at the silliness of the unspoken convention.

 

Sarah was beginning to be drawn into observing a complicated bit of ropework in the middle of the room when Frank’s voice at her ear made her jump.

 

“Ready?”

 

Sarah didn’t, couldn’t answer, but followed him across the room and, with the gentle unspoken encouragement of his hand on her back, bent over a high padded table.  

 

“So, what would you like?” he asked, quietly, as he hovered beside her.  

 

“A spanking?” Sarah replied, feeling foolish. “Your belt was very nice,” she added, doing nothing to ease the rising sense of acute embarrassment, but at least it was something.

 

“I knew that much,” Frank replied with a smile and a glance down at the table. Sarah followed his gaze and blushed to see his belt there, not six inches from her face, folded and ready for use.  “And what else?”

 

She let the pause linger.  What else?  There was the hairbrush he’d threatened to use last time, but the thought filled her with a certain dread. She wasn’t ready, not yet. His hand was enough then, and would be tonight as well.  What else did he use?  There was that strap, that delicious strap that she’d finally worked up the nerve to ask just before leaving the last time they’d met.  It was lovely, but very much like the belt. Besides, she didn’t even know if he had brought it.

 

Then there was the cane.  She remembered the cane well, how it had marked Louise, how it had made even Mary squeal.  She’d watched in horrified fascination as the welts had risen and coloured, and how both of them managed to remain in place, albeit with several prolonged breaks in Louise’s case.  She wasn’t ready for that, and yet. . . no, the word wouldn’t pass her lips.

 

“I don’t know,” she confessed.  Not helpful, but at least it was honest.

 

“You don’t know,” the sternness of the voice cracked enough that she could hear his smile.  He was doing this on purpose, Sarah thought, enjoying her predicament. But she was too, in her own way. “What about the cane?” he asked.

 

Sarah felt a trill terror whisk through her.  She should say no, that she didn’t want the cane, that it was too much.  And yet. . . .

 

“I struggle with the cane,” Sarah said softly, turning to face him, ashamed at the admission of weakness, of inexperience, even as she knew it was necessary.

 

“Six then,” he replied, taking her lack of outright refusal for the consent that it was. Sarah turned her face back down, grateful that the discussion was over, the decision was made, her fate sealed.

 

“We’ll try something different this time. If it is too much, cross your fingers,” he told her.

 

Sarah nodded and crossed her fingers to demonstrate.  “So, yellow to slow down, fingers crossed for red?” she asked.    

 

“No, ‘red’ is ‘red.’” he told her firmly, reassuringly, his hand a steady presence at her shoulder.  “But if things get a bit much, cross your fingers and I’ll ease up.”

 

Sarah nodded, beginning to understand, to embrace the subtle signal, the one that would allow the two of them to enter into the scene, to scold, to banter, to plead, to signal an approaching limit in a way that would not disrupt their flow. In a way that would be all but invisible to those witnessing the performance, for that is what this was to be.

 

“Yes, Sir,” Sarah assented.  

 

“Good girl,” Frank replied softly. With a final tap on her shoulder, he stood back before saying more loudly, more firmly, “You deserve a hard spanking, don’t you young lady?”

 

“I deserve a hard spanking, Sir,” Sarah replied, her face blushing as she matched his volume, responding to his question in a voice projected just as he had his.

 

Frank lifted her barely-there skirt, a strangely embarrassing action, considering how little the garment concealed. “You deserve to be spanked on the bare, don’t you?” he asked. Sarah trembled- from his voice, the implication of discipline, and from the steady gentle touch of his fingertips on the waistband of her panties.

 

“I deserve to be spanked on the bare, Sir,” Sarah replied with a deepening blush as Frank drew down the garment, wondering what other ritualistic phrases he would impose on her.  Silly as they sounded, she couldn’t deny their power.  Impersonal and imprecise, the words nonetheless cemented her submission. She was here to be spanked, to be punished.

 

Frank didn’t make her wait any longer. She felt his left hand rest gently on her back, a slight comfort, but not sufficiently distracting to detract from the sting as he began her spanking.

 

Sarah had mixed feelings about hand-spanking. Her younger, unspanked self had thought it would be lovely, intimate, just nice.  The reality had been somewhat different.  The intimacy was there, but, as the hand tended to be the first thing to visit her bottom in any given session, the sensation was more shocking than pleasant. Not as painful, but also somehow not as easy to take as the implements often used later on her pre-warmed skin, on her well-submitted mind.  

 

Sarah wanted to enjoy this part of her spanking, but struggled even to stay still under Frank’s firm hand.  She struggled to push aside the panic that so often rose at this point of a spanking. If the hand hurt this much, how could she possibly withstand the belt?  What had she been thinking when she had consented to the caning?  It was tempting, so very tempting, to cross her fingers, to lessen the impact of the scene to something she could more easily endure.  

 

Sarah pushed the thought aside with inner violence, ashamed of her desire to cheat herself out of this experience.  The last spanking from Frank had been intense, more intense than this hand spanking, and she had survived. She had loved it, had treasured the marks and the memory.  She would do nothing to interfere with this session, she deserved to have that sort of experience again.

 

Still, it was difficult to remain in place. Frank noticed her struggle and move closer to her, pinning her body to the table more firmly, trapping her between his left hand and his hip to prevent any sideways squirming. Sarah tried to take comfort from his presence, the warmth  of him at her side even as he stoked the heat in her bottom with his other hand.

 

Frank paused, and, as Sarah caught her breath, she realised that her hands had balled into fists, clutching at the soft covering on the table.  Sarah forced her fingers to unclench, purposely laying her hands flat against the table, fingers straight.  

 

“How was that?” he asked softly, just to her.

 

“It stings, Sir,” Sarah replied, stating the obvious and wishing she had something more witty or intelligent to say.

 

“It’s supposed to sting,” Frank replied, and she could hear his wry grin.  “Are you ready to continue?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Sarah replied

 

“Good girl,” Frank murmured softly.  Sarah smiled blissfully, pleased and reassured, but gave a sudden quake as she heard the clink of the belt buckle. She braced herself for the first stroke, trying to remember the last time, how the abrupt shock had faded quickly into a more bearable, yet still burning sensation.  How the initial shock had been worth it.  How pleased she felt to be able to take the punishment he gave.   

 

It didn’t help.

 

The belt hurt, hurt much much more than she had remembered.  She gave a strangled grunt in reply to the first stroke, but retained enough awareness to keep her fingers flat and straight on the table.  

 

“Good girl,” Frank repeated more loudly before striking again.  He gave her several rapid blows that caught Sarah off guard. She had never seen him give anything other than a measured, slowly counted strapping. She struggled to process the sensation and found it entirely too much.  She felt herself making some sort of undoubtedly loud noise in her effort to stay in place for him, to release some of the torment in something other than movement.

 

“You have this coming, don’t you Sarah?” he asked after a pause. It wasn’t a question, but a proclamation, a declaration of intent to Sarah and to the rest of the room, which had now gone strangely quiet.  Sarah had often felt it somewhat difficult to slip into the headspace necessary for submission in this environment, this place where so many others were crying out from intense sensation and emotion.  She’d never thought that the lack of the distinctive background noise could be even more unsettling, indicating as it did that she was now the exclusive centre of attention.

 

“I have this coming, Sir,” she replied, not wanting to know how many people she was admitting this to.  She wanted to say something else, to do more to show her willingness, her submission, than simply parroting phrases back to her spanker.  She tried to think, but the effort was brought to an abrupt halt by yet another stroke of the belt.

 

He continued at a slower pace, but on top of the welts from the earlier assault, even this was agonising. Distantly, Sarah realised that he hadn’t asked her to count and tried to be grateful for the small blessing.  Each stroke of the belt made that more difficult.

 

It seemed like an age before the belting stopped, and the implement was replaced alongside Sarah’s body along the table.  Sarah glanced at the strip of leather, seemingly so simple, so innocuous as it laid beside her.  Difficult to believe that such a small thing could cause such pain.  

 

She was distracted from her musings by a sudden swishing from across the room.  Preoccupied with the afterglow of the belting, she hadn’t noticed that Frank had left her side, left to retrieve the cane that was now making her tremble even from more than a dozen feet away.

 

Frank took his time in returning, pausing every few steps to give the cane another swish.   Curse him, Sarah thought, he knew exactly what he was doing to her, exactly the sort of anxiety the sound of the cane was dredging up from the depth of her stomach, exactly the sort of anticipation that was now festering within her.  

 

A series of light taps of the rod on her bottom brought her back to her body again, and Sarah forced herself to breathe, resisted the urge to cling onto the edges of the table for support, instead laying her hands flat, signalling a readiness she didn’t quite feel.

 

“You are getting six. You will count these,” he told her and their audience.

 

“Yes, Sir,” Sarah replied.

 

“How will you count?”

 

“One, thank you Sir; two, thank you, Sir,” Sarah recited, recalling his preferred method of address.

 

“Good girl,” he replied, and delivered the first stroke. The sudden slice made Sarah gasp.  

 

Sarah had been very tempted to continue her prior count, muttering a “Three, thank you, Sir”, insisting that it was not her fault if he hadn’t given her cane strokes as she’d uttered the first two counts.  After all, spankers had a tendency to think that strokes didn’t count if the spankee forgot to supply their part of the counting deal; it seemed only fair that the same deal should work in reverse.

 

Her nerve failed her, however, as the pain from the first stroke began to truly blossom. “One, thank you, Sir, Sarah counted. It would be enough to simply take the caning as prescribed- this time.  Perhaps next time she could be a bit more bold. She hissed from the second cut and took a moment to remind herself that her bottom hadn’t actually been split in two, even if that was how it felt. SHe gave another small gasp before counting “Two, thank you, Sir,” she knew she had made the correct decision; six would be more than enough.  

 

This was entirely different from the belt. The leather had burned and bruised, but the sensation had a certain undertone of desirability, a subtle quality that was pleasing even as it had made her cry in pain.

 

The cane was just dreadful.   Still, just as Frank had mastered the art of delivering belt strokes that, while hard, felt solid, accurate, and safe, the cane strokes felt similarly masterful.  They were nearly unbearable, but without even a hint of danger, hitting her with a terrible bite but one that felt sustainable and correct as it bit deeply into the muscle.  

 

“Three, thank you, Sir,”  Sarah counted again.

 

“Good girl, half way there.”

 

Simple words should not be as comforting as those were.  Despite the tears falling unbidden from her eyes, Sarah couldn’t help but be proud of herself for making it this far, for taking what he deemed she deserved, for turning herself over to him, trusting him to guide her through this experience.  She could take three more.  She patted the table softly, fingers straight and flat.

 

The fourth stroke made her ball her fists again as she hissed in anguish before counting,  “Four, thank you Sir.”

 

“Two more,” Frank encouraged. “Stay still,” the sternness in his voice doing more to hold her in place than any physical force possibly could.

 

“Five, thank you Sir,” she counted, choking back a sob as she absorbed the new line of pain, squeezing her eyes shut as the cane tapped her again, lining up the final stroke.  It bit low on her bottom, where the pain reached new levels of intensity.

 

“Six, thank you, Sir,” Sarah counted, both relieved the experience was over and yet desiring more.   

 

Frank gently helped her up, reaffirming that the experience was over.  Sarah brushed the tears from her eyes quickly, trying to look as presentable as one could in the circumstances.   

 

She took his hand, the tradition seeming appropriate. “Thank you, Sir,” she said, the words taking on a new, deeper meaning face to face than they’d had recited after each stroke.  

 

“Well done,” Frank told her with a warm smile. Sarah smiled back shyly before moving closer for a hug.  Sometimes a handshake isn’t quite enough.  

 

“That was wonderful. Thank you very much,” she told him quietly.  

 

“Anytime,” Frank replied. “Shall we go back downstairs?” Sarah agreed readily, and followed him happily, if somewhat unsteadily, back to the larger group near the bar.  Not quite ready to be bubbly again, she collected another bottle of water and followed Frank out to the smoking area, grateful for the dark and quiet place to reassemble herself.  

 

***

 

The rest of the night, what little was left, passed in floaty bliss.  Sarah indulged in a brief shoulder-flogging from Tom, and a mercifully gentle paddling from Gerard (who she could never refuse outright, and who was more than willing to assess and accommodate the state of her bottom).  

 

All too soon, it was time to head back to the city.  Sarah made her rounds of goodbyes, catching each of her partners that evening for a final hug and a promise of a message the following day.  Frank proved elusive however, until she poked her head out into the smoking area.  With only a few minutes left, she shyly touched his arm, excusing her intrusion into the conversation.  “I’m on my way out, just wanted to say thank you once again, and goodbye.”

 

“Glad you stopped by, it was a lovely night,” Frank replied, folding her into a half-hug.

 

Sarah considered just leaving, accepting that as the final farewell, waiting for the next time she might see him, but stopped herself.  It had been strange enough the first time, to have such an intense experience and then no contact.  She’d come to rely on the quick little notes from her partners to get her through the droppy days after events.  More than that, it felt odd to share such an intimate experience with a man she barely knew. She had the utmost respect for Frank as a spanker, and yet knew next to nothing about him outside of that context. She didn’t want to intrude, didn’t want to ask too much, but the chance at a more well-rounded friendship was worth a try, worth the risk of rejection. Besides, she couldn’t fumble over herself any more than she already had.

 

“Can we stay in touch?” Sarah asked timidly

 

“Of course,” he replied, and Sarah felt a relief mixed with embarrassment in her silliness and hesitancy to ask. She started to fish clumsily in her bag for a pen but Frank stopped her.  “Myra has my contact information- she’ll help you out there.  Don’t miss your bus.”

 

With a final grin and a quick wave, Sarah turned to leave, already looking forward to the next time, even as she walked with an oddly mincing gait.  

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