Tonight I want to try doing something a little bit different, by writing a slightly different story in a slightly different style. I am not going elaborate where I got my inspiration from. Suffice to say that this will be in the realm of rather short story, but one I hope you all enjoy none the less.
One of the things that always amazed or amused me, much depending on your point of view, is that I have no trouble talking to people and explaining things in enormous lines of text as I do daily on IRC and in Second Life. However; sometimes sitting down and just writing a good thousand words for a blog post, I have the knack to clamp up at the best of times.
And this is strange because to an extend I enjoy writing, maybe it is the (emotional, mental?) masochist in me that wants to drag me through this. As you probably all noted my blog last week was not all that impressive, due to an fair amount lack of inspiration. Add to the above, that I am really someone who needs a deadline to write and you will start to see my problem. Sitting down on Monday and start writing ahead of time is not something that is usually in my system. Now imagine thus that inspiration strikes at the oddest of hours, although I will say that having a phone with an notepad next to my bed does help wonders with that.
So without much further ado, I am going to give you my next story to read. Like I said, it is a short story that has been playing around my head for a while. It was a bit of a hassle writing it, as it is somewhat different from my usual style of writing (I think). Regardless of it, I really do hope you like it, please any comments, constructive and otherwise are very welcome. Enjoy!!
As per usual: This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
The Spanking (a short story)
Dizzying, the smell of leather surrounding me. My head pressed into the corner of the sofa, my bottom sticking out over the edge. My whole body is tense, a roaring mix of anticipation, arousal, trepidation, all mixed with just a tinge of fear.
My heart beats against the base of my throat, I can hear the rushing of blood in my ears, like a dark red river, its currents foaming and bubbling at the surface while it thunders through my veins.
Nerves are wrecking my body, tying my stomach in more knots, radiating outwards as a stone into a pond until it reaches my muscles. My brow furrows, willing my body to stay still, concentrating. No idea if I’m successful, well not until I hear one way or another.
Hands, grabbing me, stroking, pinching, eventually raising my skirt up, flipping it over my back.
In surprise, my reaction comes almost instinctively and my head dips up for the merest of fractions. But a hand takes hold of my neck, rough fingers digging into my skin as they forcefully push my face back into the corner. Into the darkness and confinement, leather surrounding me, pushing against my face and nose.
The hand is removed and the probing, groping goes on. Soon they found their way into my panties and with an urgency, they are being pulled at. Too delicate to withstand this, the fabric is being ripped apart and before I know it, what feels like the tattered remains are shoved down to my knees.
Dipping between my legs, the fingers slow down to a crawl, the feeling of them exploring between my folds is a maddening torturous feeling. All to eagerly, pushing my body back only results in the fingers being withdrawn for a moment, until I back off and relax. Not being able to react, but to be freely to move around only to be withheld contact is making me extremely frustrated, my whimpers and groans unanswered and the silence itself is mocking.
Fingers retract and move up over my bottom, stroking, massaging the muscles. Then suddenly the fingers dig in and nails scrape over my flesh. My own fingers claw into the the cushions as my efforts to remain still become nothing but utter futilely. Again and again they scrape over my skin. Rough and painful, leaving trails of burning fire that sear through me.
Wrestling an arm free, I reach back to stroke and smooth at least one cheek. Fingers, curl around my wrist like steel snakes before I can. A grip like stone holds my arm unwavering away from my body. The grip hurts a little and I yowl as my whole arm is brought painfully up my back, pressing me deeper into the corner, my face scraping into the leather.
My world explodes as his hand smacks down, left, right, painful, searing, loud. The shock only takes a moment to register before the burning pain spreads out and radiates through my body. It takes the breath out of me. Tears sting in the corners of my eyes. Gasps and wails escape unnoticed. My mind rebels, struggles.
A cupped hand, gentle this time, covers the spot, stroking, following the edge with unprecedented tenderness. The grip in his other hand is unwavering, keeping me pinned. Sinking back into the sofa, my breath comes ragged, my throat feels raw and sore.
Down my legs, his hand go. Reaching my knees he tucks the remains of my panties over my legs and, gone. Tossed aside probably, maybe stuffed somewhere for later use. I don’t know. It’s a sudden feeling of loss. Even though they were around my knees and torn, they were there. It feels naked, exposed. More so than before.
The touch of cold leather, moves between my legs. Forcing them apart. I try to adjust as far as possible, but it is not enough. An insistent push makes my leg spread painfully wide. I panic as I start to loose support, leaning for the most part on the couch.
I imagine myself. Spread open, trapped, naked, helpless. His strength pinning me there. The thought alone makes my head spin. But time is not mine.
Nails rake up the inside of my leg. Rapidly, over and over again, the pain multiplies and I fight desperately to get away. But every time I hit a barrier. He’s standing in between my legs. It’s like trying to push against an oak.
His hands fly over my legs, scratching, slapping and pinching the helpless flesh. I scream into the cushion. It taste of wet soaked leather. But it does not penetrate my thoughts fully as to why.
Suddenly, he stops. My legs ache from being so far stretched and burn. I can feel a dull throbbing from the many scratch marks. finger tops trail over my skin, a feather light touch, until he reaches all the way up. His fingers teasing my folds and circling around my clitoris.
Only now, when he touches me, I realised how I wet I have become. His fingers meet no resistance as he slips easily inside me. Over and over he pushes deep in me. My body bucks with his touch, seemingly of its own accord.
Rapidly he pulls his fingers out of me. I can hear him laughing as for a moment my body still react, but finding nothing but air and emptiness. Then he starts in earnest. With ever stroke of his hand, my body slides deeper into the sofa.
I loose all grip on what is happening around me. My focus becomes entirely based on his feelings. Pain sears through me as his hand lands fully on my bottom. He starts to pepper it with hard strokes. Red hot flash after red hot, never the same spot.
Tears streak down my face. I wail in pain, but he does not stop. Blow after blow comes down, left, right. My whole bottom feels like one glowing orb, drowning almost everything out as I more and more just surrender to the feeling.
His fingers fill me again, stretching me slowly but deliberately. Soon a third and a fourth finger are pushed inside me. I feel full, painfully so, yet my pussy does not resist. It clamps down and squeezes around his fingers who twirl inside me, never giving a moment rest.
My body tenses. I know I can not hold myself much longer. But he will not allow me before he’s ready. He knows my body. He knows the sign and stops before I can. I mewl in frustration.
Resting his full hand against my pussy, he starts to slap it. Lightly first. It is oddly arousing. Mixing emotions as the intensity increases. My mind is a whirlpool without any conscious thought what so ever. Lust, emotion, pain, elation are all getting mixed up and pull me deeper and deeper toward the dark centre. Still his hand continues to slap my pussy, wet sounds, his finger tip hitting again and again upon my clitoris.
Too much. The pain followed by the pleasure drives me onwards, fuels the raging fire in me. I bounce and glide over the couch. Even his strength seems no longer focused on stopping me moving.
His fingers enter me and I surrender. Screaming, kicking and drooling, my mind dissolves into the whirlpool of pain, pleasure. And the deeper down the whirlpool I go, the more I let go. Blackness surrounds me from all sides. I stop being. I float. Time looses meaning.
Slowly the blackness fades. I try to cling to it with the same desperation a drowning man may hold a piece of wood. But it is of not use. The blackness recedes, to shades of grey that slowly fill with colours. Flat at first, until slowly my eyes open.
I am still on the couch but lying down on it. Wrapped in a blanket, I pull it tighter around me as if it offers me security from all the world. It takes a moment to orient myself. I find his eyes, unwavering focused on me.
Slowly I sit up, groaning and wincing as my body is still very sore and lower myself from the couch and crawl over to him. Each step is a small victory for me, my body protesting, my skin feeling as it is screaming at me with every move.
Finally I reach him and lay my head in his lap and lets out a content sigh. His fingers rest gently on my hair.
I feel content,
I am safe.