Marked
~ a story ~
Birthdays are always fun at the house. Everyone gathers. We drink. We eat. We laugh. But, most importantly, we all enjoy the show.
We have a little tradition amongst our friends, a rite of passage for each new year of life. One year, one person, one hit.
The funny ones opt for the birthday spankings, the simplest form of our tradition. One-by-one our friends circulate, the birthday boy or girl stands in front, bent over, counting as hits land. There's lots of laughter and everybody, including the birthday boy or girl, has a great time.
But this was my birthday. I wanted something a little different, something special. Still, it would be hard to choose my fate. Celine had an intense display for her twenty third year, twenty three slaps across the face. Taren was just as hardcore. He took twenty-nine punches to the face, stomach, and chest. Not many had the stomach to take a swing, or to watch, but we did anyway.
For my twenty-five strokes, I wanted more meaning, more feeling. After all, it had been a big year for me. Meeting Daniel. Our recent engagement. And my promotion at work. I wanted to mark my years, and, I decided, mark myself.
I sat on the chair in the middle of the room, the small table beside me. The tiny scalpels laid on a sterile sheet. Twenty-five cuts to mark my twenty-five years.
Only three people had the stomach for what I asked them to do: Raquel, my oldest friend in life, Nance, the first person I met when I entered the public kink scene and who'd been my rock during my first difficult days, and Daniel, my love.
The room grew quiet as soon as I sat down. Everyone knew what was about to happen. I made sure to warn the faint of heart to stay away, but everyone remained.
My three stood behind me. Raquel was first.
Before that night, Raquel and Daniel had learned the proper precautions to take from Nance who, among our friends, knew the most about (and presents on) blood play. He also explained to them what I wanted.
Raquel's area was my right shoulder blade. I spied her gloved hand in my periphery as she picked up her scalpel. It didn't shake, not an inch. I could always rely on her to be strong. She cleaned her area, then placed her left hand on my back, steadying myself and herself.
I felt the bite of the blade, the quick scratch of the first mark. Then the second, a little more pain now that my body knew what to expect. The third, as I felt a drop of blood form on the first. The fourth, as I felt the high begin. The fifth, slashing across all four, the hardest mark to take yet.
I gritted my teeth as she worked, breathing, pushing through the pain. Her second set of five she placed beside her first, ticks marking off ten of my years. When Raquel finished, she disposed of her gloves in the waste bin and her scalpel in the sharps container. She came around to my front, knelt, and kissed my forehead. There were tears in her eyes and mine.
Next up was Nance. His marks would be on my left shoulder blade. Just like Raquel, he made his slashes in my flesh, two sets of four upright ticks and their fifth slash across. Disposing of his gloves and scalpel, he too came to my front, knelt down, kissed my forehead, and joined the watching crowd.
I could hear them breathing, but I didn't dare look at them. For me to get through this, for me to truly feel the meaning and weight of this, I remained in myself and saw only my arms or the eyes of my closest friends.
The last to mark me was my Daniel. His marks would be at the top of my back, just below the nape of my neck. As he worked, I thought about our year, thought about the first time I saw him across the room, walking into the lounge. I thought about that first eye contact, the way he made my heart flutter from twenty-five feet away. Our first kiss. Our first scene. Our first fuck.
When Daniel finished his marks and disposed of his scalpel, he pulled out the jar from under the table. Slathering the mixture on my skin, it hurt more than creating the wounds. But it was necessary. I wanted to hold the cuts, wanted to be scarred by this.
The scars were my years. The individuals who made them were my closest friends, the people who I held in my heart.
On my body, I wear my days. In my flesh, I show my years, my life marked.
"Would you like to come to cigars after?" - Gray
"Yes, but I'd need a ride." - me
"You have it." - Symetrie
"What are the seat belt laws in this state?" - me
"Put it on." - Gray
The Meet & Greet ended at 10pm with the last few attendees walking out together, among them Inretrepida, Rough, myself, Gray, and Symetrie. With hugs and kisses and see you tomorrows, we parted.
I felt like one of the cool kids as Symetrie drove myself and Gray to an after party, cigars at Scotty's house.
When we arrived, we found folks congregated in the backyard, sitting in a circle of camp chairs. I greeted Scotty with a big hug.
"Hi. I crashed your party," I said shyly, while pouting.
"You are quite welcome."
As our trio settled into the assembled camp chairs, Scotty pulled a few more seats over to accommodate the small influx. Two were tall director style seats. I took one. Rough took the other, sitting to my left. Gray and Symetrie sat next to each other across the circle from me.
Introductions were made, cigars were lit, and fingers of whiskey poured. I sat back and relaxed, slightly sad that I had not brought my cigar supplies but happy to be in great company. (And also happy I wore a hoodie; it was a bit chilly.) With good conversation and cigar play happening all around, I was quite glad I'd made it to Minnesota.
"Poetic." A friend called to me. "Would you like to take some ash?"
"Yes please."
I sat my glasses in my chair and scurried over. He instructed me to open my mouth. I cocked my head back and looked into his eyes. As he lightly rolled his ash onto my tongue, I closed my eyes, taking in the small amount of heat. I then opened my eyes, now looking into his, still holding his ash on my tongue and my mouth open for him to see.
He then leaned down and kissed me, the ash mixing on our two tongues. He thanked me for my service. I thanked him for the privilege.
Back in my seat, conversations continued. Then my friend had the wonderful idea of having his girl crawl around the circle, the flap on her footy pajamas down, her bare ass available for spanking. Everyone took their turn hitting her as she slowly circled around before again sitting at her Daddy's feet.
"Poetic, you should crawl over to me with your ass out," said Gray. "And you should make an entrance."
Always eager to please, I left my hoodie on my seat, stepped outside of the circle, hiked up my skirt over my ass, got down on all fours, and made my entrance.
After thanking my first two spankers, who were just to my right as I entered the circle, Rough stopped me, resting his boot on my ass.
"Take a half step forward," he instructed. I did. He then reared back and literally kicked my ass.
"Thank you," I said.
I took my time around the circle, pausing for each new person, giving consent to those I had just met, and making sure to thank each and everyone who laid their hand on me.
I quite enjoyed the compliments the assembled group gave about my rear as I slowly crawled towards Gray.
Stopping in front of him, I rested on my knees, my mouth open and ready for his ash. He too rolled his ash into my mouth and had me hold it there for him to see. I loved the look on his face as I obediently waited til he gave me permission to eat it.
As I continued around the circle, one new friend asked permission to squeeze my ass. I, of course, gave it. He quite admired my cheeks, firmly gripping the muscles. Once back at my chair, I sat down again.
As conversation and play went on, I found myself turning to my left quite often to listen to comments... but also to admire the incredibly hot image of Rough with his super sexy boots and an impressive head of ash. I truly didn't know what to focus on, which I suppose is why he didn't notice my figurative drooling at first.
But, finally, he did catch me staring at his cigar.
"See something you like?" he asked.
"You have a pretty piece of ash there."
"Would you like my ash?"
"Yes please."
"On your knees." My heart still flutters at the memory of hearing that.
"Stick your tongue out." I obeyed. I closed my eyes and he lightly touched his ash to my tongue.
"Bite down." I did so, piercing the top of the head of ash.
"Open up." I opened my mouth back up and opened my eyes, now holding his stare. He then allowed me to eat his ash, thanking me. And I thanked him.
Sitting in my chair, there was one more piece of ash for me that night.
Gray beckoned me over once more. Again I hiked up my skirt and slowly crawled towards him.
"I want you on your back."
I flipped around, laid down on the grass, and straddled my legs in his lap, my cunt now right in front of him. With one perfect sweeping touch, Gray ashed onto my pussy.
"Play with it."
I closed my eyes and rubbed my clit, feeling the ash on my sensitive nub, the sensation of the flecks against me. And then I felt Gray's cigar in my pussy as he began fucking me with.
"Cum."
Instantly my muscles tensed and delicious warmth pulsed from my abdomen. I writhed on the grass, cumming for him.
My orgasm finished, Gray brought the cigar back to his lips, the tobacco now flavored for his enjoyment. He thanked me, I thanked him, and returned to my seat.
With the night growing cooler still, the cigar circle soon disbanded. Hugs were given all around. Unfortunately some from the circle would not be able to attend the Grue, but could make it to Sunday pancakes or MN Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate.
Symetrie and Gray gave me a ride back to The Naked House.
As I crept into bed, I finally saw PrincessA. I briefly filled her in on my full and interesting day before we both passed out.
I pulled my gold fabric up over my ass, opting to not remove my toga. I had intricately placed my two pieces of long fabric and didn't want to try to rearrange them. My diadem stayed put fine. My sandals and chainmail belt were not an issue. My golden wing earrings dangled from my ears. My outfit garnered multiple compliments throughout the evening.
The group had provided a chair for the spankees to lean on. Hoop had already had her licks. Her birthday was the day before mine, so it seemed fitting. I had waited patiently on some stairs above, ushering people down in the room for the show.
And then it was my turn.
But my spanking could not be simple. Is my life ever simple?
There was the tradition set the year before: DeepEnd's hockey stick enjoyed the honor of #29 and the one for good luck. LadyAisha wanted to get a comparison from me with her pool cue stick, so she claimed #27 & #28. N3rddom brought his cricket bat and wanted equal treatment; he would swing #25 & #26. Big Sis wanted to go first; she would be #1-#3.
The room was dark, save for the two lamps at opposite ends shining blue light, and the porn I'd set up on a projector at the far end of the entertainment area. The positioning was a brilliant idea; you could look into the room and see the fucking all the way from kitchen.
It seemed fitting that my ass was about to get abused in our Family Room.
Big Sis started, smacking each side once and finishing with both hands on her third. After her a stream of friends, new and old, stepped up for their turn. I was thankful SkinnyBitch gave me a reprieve; she merely punched my ass, a bit of thuddy pleasure in an ocean of stingy pain. Others, however, enjoyed their lashing, enjoyed my yelps, enjoyed making me hurt. My ass was thoroughly warmed up before the experiment started.
Throughout the love fest, I was very happy I was leaning on a chair, but never so much as when the big boy toys came out.
N3rddom stepped up holding his godawful cricket bat. His first blow utilized the stingy side. I counted out the number, 25, a tear gliding down my cheek. His next blow switched to the thuddy side, but my ass was too raw to register the difference, 26.
LadyAisha stepped up, her pool cue in hand. She swung, connecting mostly on my right cheek. It was thuddy burny, a sensation I had not felt before. Again I collapsed into the chair and called out the count, 27. She repeated her swing, now with my knowledge of how much it would hurt; 28.
As the affair had gone on, DeepEnd had loomed at the top of the small set of stairs leading down to the Family Room, observing our revelry. Now it was his turn.
The crowd parted as he stepped down and approached my ass. I braced myself, assuming he'd follow his normal pattern: 1, 2, 3Hit! Instead he took a back swing and landed his blow, no countdown. I screamed out my count, 29!, and then pipped about keeping to pattern.
"Everyone, on the count of three, yell Happy Birthday to Kristen. One, Two, Three. Happy Birthday!" At least he stuck to pattern on the last one.
My ass was more than warm. When I glided my fingertips over my rump, I could feel the bruises and bumps that had formed from my abuse.
There were hugs, and later photos (check my Tumblr or Twitter feed), my analysis of the comparison of the big boy toys, a conversation about odd impact implements, and my dumb ass volunteering to be a demo bottom for their uses, eventually.
Happy Belated 29th to me.
"Whatever someone has done to you, they can do it again."
"Oh shit."
With my knowledge that Gray was indeed a part of my abduction team, the possibilities for pain, restraints, and all kinds of meanness increased exponentially. My level of dread for what was to come skyrocketed.
As the truck traveled, we passed over the uneven terrain of the camp. I had no idea where we were going.
When we stopped, I was pushed out of the truck onto the ground. I heard Murphy ahead of me and felt him tug on my chains, pulling me forward. I was to walk the rest of the way to my fate.
My Hello Kitty bag was still slung over my shoulder, a dangling dead weight as I was marched along.
My dress was in tatters, barely clinging to my body. Another bra had been destroyed (but, since Gray had ripped one of my bras before, technically it was allowed).
The terrain was a little rocky but mostly muddy; I guessed we were in the woods.
When we finally stopped, I felt a log under me as Murphy dragged me onto it. My legs straddled the large piece of wood. I was pushed down onto my stomach. My dress was ripped still more, exposing my back and backside.
My captors started with spankings. At first it was Slut's big blue cock smacking my ass playfully. Soon, though, Murphy had a better idea.
I knew Big Bro's love of firing squads, having experienced the Hitachi Firing Squad last year at Rope Camp. He suggested the entire team participate in a spanking fire squad. So many hands stung my body all over my back and ass. I screamed and tried to wiggle away. Of course, there was no getting away.
They turned me around on the log, pulled off my hood, and Slut's big blue cock was now in my mouth. Murphy gripped my hair and bobbed my head back and forth on Slut's strap-on, encouraging my efforts.
There was yet still more abuse to my ass. Punches, for which Slut drew targets before her and others inflicted their blows. A cricket bat, who strokes were at first wickedly stingy. But then N3rddom (I'm assuming it was him since I know he owns a cricket bat) turned the implement and began giving me thuddy hits. Those strokes were but a small respite as next out came a cane; more stingy pain eliciting my cries.
Again I tried to crawl away. Instead they just flipped me over, my back now on the log. Apparently one side was cooked enough. It was time for the front.
"She has an unfair advantage because she's British." - Gray
"I'm going to write a letter!" - Slut
I knew going in just how to act to get my way. I used the smile, the down turned head, the quiet eagerness to lure her in. I dropped into little mode, the fifteen year old girl inside of me wanting something I knew I couldn't ask for.
She was obviously interested in me, brushing against my skin, eyeing me up and down. She held rope, which I wanted on me. And she wanted to do the thing I couldn't ask for.
And when she asked me about it, I told her how much I liked it. I told her how I moaned and squirmed, and how I like it hard and soft. She seemed to like that.
Soon her rope was over my wrists, and I was over her knee. I loved the sound of her hand meeting my ass, loved being in someone else's control.
But then my Master caught us.
I groveled at his feet, tried to calm him down. He yelled at her, blaming her. When he asked me what happened, I told him I never said she could spank me, only that I really liked it.
My Master yelled some more. I stayed at my place on the floor.
I felt bad for the lady, felt bad that she had to suffer the anger of my Master, but I kept my mouth shut like a good little slave, except that night I wasn't one.
~
I love Gray's Apocalytakink class. I especially love it when I'm prompted to act in his scenarios.
For this particular ideration, I was to lure an unsuspecting Top into playing with me in a way that was specifically forbidden by my Master. Unfortuantely, Slut was chosen as the Top.
When she spanked me, Gray burst into the scene, acting as my Master, yelling at Slut for crossing a line she did not know existed. True to form, she stayed calm and tried to pivot the conversation.
The goal of this exercise was to have the class think about consent, explicit versus implied, as well as ways of "How To Not Be A Dick When A Dick Is In Your Face."
By staying calm and not letting the argument escalate, I think Slut handled herself brilliantly.
And, after the scenario ended, I apologized profusely. Afterall, no one can resist my temptations. [/sarcasm]
~a poem~
There's just something
About the smell of his leathers,
The engulfing aroma,
When he is near,
That I can't let go.
There's just something
In his stare,
His eyes fixed
On me,
Seeing me
Through to my bones,
That I can't let go.
There's just something
In the way he squeezes
My hips,
Digging into my flesh,
And the final
Bite of his nails
That I can't let go.
There's just something
In how he pulls my hair,
Craning my neck back,
Guiding me anywhere,
That I can't let go.
There's just something
In his worship of my ass,
Caressing my cheeks,
And the crack!
Of his spanks,
That I can't let go.
There's just something
About when he fingers my clit,
Teasing me mercilessly,
Til I beg him for release,
That I can't let go.
There's just something
About when I ride him,
My legs straddling his thighs,
Feeling like I'm
Being fucked
Even when I'm
On top,
That I can't let go.
There's just something
In his kisses,
His raw, passionate,
Yearning kisses,
Enveloping, unrelenting,
Never ending kisses,
That I can't let go.
There's just something about him,
Dark dominant him,
My Daddy,
My Master,
My love,
That I can't let go.
And there's just something about me,
How I feel when I'm with him,
Of him,
For him,
Only his,
That I desperately can't let him go.
~erotica~
"Belt, paddle, or hand?"
I had to choose.
"Belt."
If I'd chosen his hand, I thought he would've felt the pain as well, but possibly resented me for it, as if I were trying to punish him for the mistake I made. If I'd chosen a paddle, I thought he would've eventually tired from the strokes, but only after I was beyond black and blue. At least with the belt, I thought he would tire some as he pummeled my ass.
He pulled his belt off of his dress pants, sat on the bed, and waited. I made sure to not look at him; I was already in enough trouble.
"Come here."
With my head bent down, I slowly walked over, finding my place standing at his side. A hand on my back guided me over his knee. My forearms rested on his thigh. I turned my head towards the front of the room. At least this way my tears wouldn't stain his pants.
"Do you know why you are being punished?"
"Yes."
"Tell me."
"Because I forgot about my assignment. Because I did not do as you asked. Because I was a naughty girl."
"Tell me, why did you forget?"
"Work. My other errands. And family commitments... It all bunched together, and in my eagerness to help everyone, get everything done, my mind lapsed, forgetting my assignment."
"Are you sorry for what you did?"
"Oh god yes! All I want to do is go back in time and do as you told me. But I can't do that. So I have to be punished."
"Oh, my girl. Such a sweet girl."
He stroked my hair softly, gently. The hand that held his belt caressed my ass.
"You are a good girl, just forgetful."
"Very forgetful."
Even I could hear the pout in my voice.
"Okay, I'll make you a deal. From now on, you will carry around a small little planner. When you leave me, you will write down notes and your weekly assignment. This week, and only this week, you will get a reprieve."
"Really!?!"
I half jumped out of his lap, a huge smile on my face, beaming at him.
"I said you would get a reprieve, not go unpunished."
A hand on my back quickly pushed me down again.
"Seven days you forgot your assignment, so I will give you seven strokes, a far cry from the lashing I had planned."
"Thank you, thank you so for my reprieve."
"Well, most everyone deserves a second chance. Are you ready?"
"Yes, always as you wish."
Crack! Lashing was quite the appropriate term as I felt the bite of the leather into my flesh. Through gritted teeth, I counted. "One."
Crack! It was as if a quick searing pain licked across my ass. "Two."
Crack! Like the flick of a snake's tongue made of fire. "Three."
Crack! As before, I had my head turned away from him. And tears did indeed graze down my face. "Four."
Crack! As they slowly ran, their final home was his carpeted floor, falling from my face like raindrops. "Five."
Crack! I imagined them seeping into the fibers of the carpet, spreading like tiny fingers through the multitude of fuzz. "Six."
Crack! And for a brief moment, I wondered what it was like to be a teardrop. "Seven."
His hands lifted me; I pivoted, sitting in his lap gingerly. He brushed away my tears with his thumb, pushed my hair back off my face, and kissed me sweetly.
"That's my good girl. Now, what are you going to remember for next week?"
"My assignment and a pocket planner."
"Good."
He held me, rocking me slowly; I sunk into his arms, having endured my reprieve, this time.
~erotica~
He wore his riding boots, worn from age and experience, his chaps, laced up the sides and closed in the back with black parachord, his leather jacket, with snaps instead of a zipper, and his leather gloves, which more often than not massaged the back of my mouth. No other garment graced his frame.
I, naturally, wore nothing.
I knelt before him, arms behind my back, eyes down as instructed. I drunk in the image of his boots, the smell of his leathers wafting all around me. I resisted the urge to lick my lips, knowing soon I would have the pleasure of tasting his leathers.
I heard the hard jangle, then saw in my periphery the small length of chain held in his hand. He stepped forward, bent over me, and secured my wrists behind my back with the click of the lock taken from his jacket pocket.
As he worked, for less than a minute, I nuzzled his chaps with my cheek and felt his cock in my hair. It was well on its way to standing at attention.
He stepped back, gripped my locks, and pulled my head up. I got to look into his eyes. Like his lips, his eyes were smiling widely.
"What a naughty girl; I thought you were suppose to be my good girl."
I smiled back, then tried to kiss him. He, of course, pulled away. Then I pouted.
He let go of my hair, flinging my head away, and stepped back. My gaze returned down, looking at, drinking in, his boots.
"Stand up."
Rocking back on my heels, I ascended.
"Turn around." I did.
"Spread your legs wide." I did.
"Bend over." Uh oh. I did.
I knew what was to come next.
"Such a naughty girl deserves her spanking early."
Early spankings were hard spankings. Early spankings meant a red ass for days.
I bent my knees slightly, rested my wrists on my lower back, and tried to relax yet brace myself for what was to come. He was going to wallop me but good.
At first I felt the gentlest of caresses on my right cheek, soft and sensual, a mean tease. And then came the smack, the loud crack, the painful stingy blow. My body rocked forward, but I did not fall.
"What number was that?"
"One Daddy."
"Have you forgotten all your manners today?"
"No Daddy."
A smack graced my left ass cheek.
"Two Daddy. Thank you Daddy."
"Now that is my good girl."
All further hits would receive equal courtesies.
"Three Daddy. Thank you Daddy. Four Daddy. Thank you Daddy."
Before hit five, he slipped his left arm across my chest, bracing my body. As I knew they would be, his hits grew harder.
"Five Daddy. Thank you Daddy. Six Daddy. Thank you Daddy."
The tears came easily, sliding down my face and dotting the carpeted floor. My voice produced a lilt; I couldn't stop my words from sounding stunted.
"Se-ven Dad-dy. Tha-ank you Dad-dy. Ei-ight Dad-dy. Tha-ank you Dad-dy."
He took two steps, positioning his body in front of me. My shoulder rested against his hip. I leaned into his body. With both hands, as hard as he could, he smacked both of my cheeks at once.
"Nine! Daddy. Thank you Daddy."
My voice was now a drawl-like wail. I sobbed as I leaned against him.
I still had one more to go.
Again, with both hands, his palms came down on my cheeks as hard as he could muster.
"Ten! Dad-dee..." He dung his nails into my ass, scratching the raw flesh and elongating my speech. His nails ran up my back, up my arms, and dug into my shoulders. Gripping down, he lifted my frame back to standing up.
Looking into his eyes, I finished.
"Thank you Daddy."
"That's my good girl."
He lightly kissed my forehead, my nose, and then my lips.
My ass burned, sore and sensitive to the touch.
I knew this was only our warm up.
~erotica~
What are you doing tonight?
Meh. Nothing. Why?
I need you inside me.
I decided, for that night, I wouldn't care.
For tonight, he didn't have a girlfriend. For tonight, I didn't have a wife. For tonight, his dick was all that mattered.
As soon as he opened the door, my hands were at his belt. He managed to close it before I exposed him to any snooping neighbors.
Immediately I was on my knees sucking him off.
"What, no hello?"
I ignored his humour. Tonight wasn't about conversation. It wasn't about our long talks about nothing, our non-flirting, or the way he ignored my desire for eye contact. Tonight was about his cock inside me.
Soon he was hard, his hand behind my head guiding my mouth.
"Fuck, I missed your mouth."
With a last lazy lick up his shaft, I stood, my body leaning into his, his back pressed against the wall.
"My mouth missed your cock. Well my mouth, and other various parts of my body."
I stroked him, massaging him hard, keeping him up. It wouldn't do to have him...relax.
He tried to kiss me, but I shied away. He attempted again. And again. I kept him at bay.
"Still such a fucking tease."
"Still such a fucking pussy."
I kissed him hard, shoving my tongue down his throat, letting him taste his cock still on my breath. His hands slipped into my jeans, gripped my ass, and eased a finger to where I wanted him most.
"There is the asshole I so love to fuck. Did it miss me too?"
"It missed you most."
He bit my neck. My hand reflexively squeezed his cock harder.
"I think my ass is ready for you, and you are most certainly ready for it."
Gripping my hips, he pushed me back against his couch. Flinging me around, he slid his hands around my waist and unzipped. Pulling down my jeans, he followed the path of the fabric. Kneeling, I felt his lips on my cheeks. Separating them, he licked and licked my asshole, getting me good and wet for him.
I heard the condom wrapper ripe, then felt his cock's head press against my hole.
And then he was inside me. With a deep sigh, I relished the familiar feel of his cock so far in me. He fucked me hard against his couch. I pushed back, always wanting more of him.
Sweaty, breathing heavy, we fucked like we had so many times before: rough, grunting thrusts mixed with over-the-back kisses, ass smacks, and my hands on his ass pulling him into me.
And when we came together, we both bit into the other's flesh, marking what was ours.
Finished, I pulled up my jeans and left. He started to say something, but I departed before his sentence ended.
I didn't want to look at him, hug or kiss him. I didn't want to say goodbye. I couldn't say goodbye. Because I knew I wouldn't have had the strength to have left.
~erotica~
He sat on the corner of the bed, the corner nearest the door. He still wore his clothes from work: collared dress shirt, creased dress pants, polished shoes, tie. He'd set his glasses on the end table beside the bed, his briefcase on the floor just under them.
I stood in the doorway. I wore the sundress he liked, light blue. The color of the sky on a clear day. The color of his eyes. I was barefoot. My hair flowed down my back.
He smiled at me with a familiar grin, a mixture of "I'm going to hurt you" and "I'm going to fuck you." When I saw that grin, I knew what my evening had in store.
He waved me over, and pat twice on his thigh. I slowly crept, coyly shying my head away. Lifting my legs, I straddled him on the bed, and wrapped my arms around his neck, resting them on his shoulders. His arms found their usual spot on the cleft of my hips, his hands brushing my ass.
He kissed me softly at first, a greeting. Which turned into a knowing. Which turned into a wanting. His nails dug into my ass as our kiss grew deeper, longer. My fingers brushed his jaw line. Our tongues danced.
We had begun.
"So good to see you again, girl."
"So nice to see you too, Sir."
"Did you remember your homework?" I looked at him, puzzled.
"Homework, Sir?" He shook his head disapprovingly.
"Lean back."
His arms cupped my hips as I bent my body back, eventually resting my hands on the floor. With one arm still around my waist, he used his free hand to try to slip my dress up to my hips. When I found balance, he removed his other arm and was able to guide the fabric completely. I wore no underwear.
He ran his hands over my hip bones, pressing down at the clefts. A quiet scream escaped my lips.
Grabbing the center of my strap-less bra, he lifted me back into a seated position in his lap.
"Over my knee."
I quickly repositioned myself, resting my hips against his right knee. Both hands were on the floor. He rubbed my bare ass, and then smacked hard, the left cheek first, and then the right. The crack of his blows echoed off the walls. Smack! Smack! He gave me five blows to each side.
Finished, he pulled me back onto his knee, my dress still at my hips.
"You may not have remembered it was an assignment, but you did come to me fully shaved. I gave you ten strikes for forgetfulness."
He tapped my nose with his index finger.
"You would've received twenty if you hadn't shown up properly. Less forgetful from now on."
"Yes, Sir."
He took his index fingers and laced them through my dress straps. Pulling down, he shifted the fabric off my bra, down to rest on my hips. Reaching behind, he unsnapped my bra as he lightly bit my breasts. My hands found his hair and grazed through his strands. Unhooked, he flung the bra away.
Taking up my breasts in his hands, he began sucking on my nipples. His tongue circled my areolae. His teeth gripped parts of the flesh, imprinting their pattern in my skin. My eyes closed. My head craned back. My body grew warm, my pussy wet.
Gripping one arm, and then the other, he positioned them behind my back. I felt the kiss of the rope on my wrists as he wound the chord and secured his binding. He wrapped it around my chest, over my shoulders, and then began weaving an intricate pattern in the back. Finished, happy with the harness, he stood, balancing me as I slid from his lap.
With a push, my chest landed on the bed, my hips bent, my ass presented to him. With one yank, he pulled my dress off and onto the floor. Again he caressed my ass, but this time he also pressed his hips in, simulating what I hoped would be in my future.
Gripping the back of the harness, he pulled my body to standing again. A hand found my clit, massaging me there. The other controlled me through his rope.
"Hmm, someone is happy."
"You always seem happy to me, Sir."
He rubbed a little harder. My knees buckled for a moment before I righted myself.
"Happy? No. Content. Controlled. Calm. No, not happy. Happy comes when I'm inside you. Happy comes when I hear your little noises. Happy comes when I see you cum."
"May I cum for you, Sir?"
"Oh, my little pet, not just yet."
He pushed me back down onto the bed. With a rush, his knee landed on my ass. I would've rocked forward more, but his hands gripped my harness keeping me set. Left. Right. His knees continued to pound me. I made one of the noises he likes, a mixture of a grunt and a moan, with each swift contact of his knee on my ass.
With a hand in my hair, he elevated my head.
"Do you like it when I knee your ass?"
"Yes, Sir. You know I do, Sir."
"It never hurts to ask. And I do love it when you call me Sir. In fact, from now on, begin and end your sentences with Sir. Do you understand?"
"Sir, I do, Sir."
"Good girl."
His hand again found my clit
"Please, Sir."
His hand quickly moved away. He wrenched me up from the bed again, his face now a breath away from mine.
"What did you say?"
"Sir, please, Sir."
"Your forgetfulness."
He slapped me hard, back handed, across my left cheek.
"Sir, my apologies, Sir."
He graced my other cheek with a blow.
"I don't want your apologies. I want you to remember and respect my wishes."
"Sir, I will, Sir."
Again he shoved me face down onto the bed. I felt rope around one ankle, and then the other. He lifted a line, and with it my left leg. He ran the line through the back of my harness, and then down to my other ankle.
I found myself in a balancing act. Only one foot could be on the ground at a time. My left leg desperately tried to stay in the air while my right felt the strain of its counterpart's weight pulling it from the ground.
With a hard smack, both his palms landed flat on my ass. I yelped from both the pain and the surprise. Stingy blows followed, one after the other, as he punished me further for my mistake.
"Good girls remember what their told. Good girls remember their assignments. Good girls remember the rules. Are you a good girl?"
"Sir, I am, Sir."
"Then start acting like one."
He spanked my ass til it grew sore, til it throbbed with the memory of his hits, til I knew it would be red for days. I whimpered from the pain, another sound I knew he enjoyed.
"Sir, please, Sir."
"Please what?"
He stopped his spanking, irritation in his voice.
"Sir, I need to switch my legs, Sir. Sir, and a good girl would never kick her Sir, Sir."
"You think you can do that?"
"Sir, may I try, Sir? Sir, please, Sir."
"You may."
I could hear the now grin in his voice, I suspected from the many times I threw in the word he loved, but also from the ridiculous act I was about to attempt. With only my chest on the bed, I had no way of balancing so that I could simply ease my legs to switch. Instead, I needed to basically leap.
I counted to three in my head, rocking my hips with the numbers, and then, at once, flung my legs, hoping gravity would assist me. My left leg did successfully landed on the ground, with my right leg up, but my whole body inadvertently rolled over. I tumbled towards the floor and into his waiting arms.
"Sir, bad idea, Sir?" He chuckled softly.
"Not your best, but you got me to stop punishing you, so maybe not so bad."
I felt the air of his voice as he spoke against my neck. His arms wrapped around me. Slowly, a hand crept down my stomach. Down my hips. Down to my clit once more. He lifted us up to a seated position as he slowly circled his fingertip over my clit. My arousal rose, the heat in my abdomen overwhelming.
"Sir, please, please, Sir."
"Yes."
He kissed me as my body convulsed in his arms. I screamed my pleasure into his lips. I could barely breathe, could barely think, could barely do anything beyond feel the rush of ecstasy in my body and the joy of his lips against mine.
Suddenly my legs were free again. He'd untied the ankle cuffs as I came. He lifted me, even as I languished in the final moments of my orgasm. Once more, my chest rested on his bed.
I heard his zipper, heard the condom wrapper, and then felt him inside me. Instinctively, I cursed and screamed.
"Sir, oh God, Sir!"
Once again using the harness for leverage, he now rocked his hips into me, thrusting his hard cock into my wanting cunt. With what little leverage I had, I pushed back, needing more of him, all of him, inside me.
As we fucked, he slapped my ass, pulled my hair, bit my shoulder, and whispered, "That's my good girl," into my ear. He sucked on my neck and I begged him for permission again.
"Cum," he whispered, driving harder still inside me.
"Don't stop," he whispered, not relenting in his fucking. His balls slapped my clit. A hand gripped my hip. His teeth left impressions all over my body as we fucked liked starving men at a feast.
I never stopped cumming. Never stopped screaming. Never stopped cursing. Never stopped thanking him, proclaiming my love for him, for my Sir.
The ruler was made out of cedar, lacquered, with a metal straight edge. The numbers were a deep black, with inches as their only measurement. When it struck my hands, there was a snap in the air, not just from the sound but from the tidal shift in my world.
Mr. Ebon's class on Monday was just as brutal as ever. A pop quiz on the weekend's reading greeting his beleaguered students. I breezed through the questions and sat patiently as the rest trudged through it. As I waited, hands crossed on the desk, staring straight at the chalk board, though I never saw even a whisper of a glance from his direction, it felt like his eyes were always on me, always watching, always noting even my slightest twitch. It was unnerving, and exhilarating.
We passed all our quizzes, after the fifteen minute limit, to Hilda. Her desk was the most to the left, the closest to Mr. Ebon's. She left the pile on the desk next to hers and never dared look at them again. Once, when she happened to lean over to straighten the messy pile she'd originally left them in, Mr. Ebon burned her with a searing stare. His voice, though its same volume, took on a chilled quality. "Ms. Caron, don't." She never did, again.
Class over, the period bell rang, and our night's assignment given, everyone filtered out. As we all gathered our things to go, I had hoped maybe he would acknowledge me in some way. Maybe he would ask me to stay after, if only for a moment. Maybe he would give me a subtle cue, a knowing glance, something. I left his classroom, nary a whisper from his lips.
At 5:15pm, around the same time as my stroll on Friday, I made my way up to the History wing. Just like before, his was the only classroom who's door was closed. I stood outside, taking deep breaths, trying to quiet my nerves. Why was I nervous? Why did my heart flutter, my chest feel light as air?
"Come in, Ms. Ivory." I hadn't knocked, and yet he knew I was there. A second later, I realized half of the door was clouded glass. Who else would be at his door at so late an hour? I bit my lip from the slight embarrassment, and walked in.
I stood, just inside the door, my back against the wall. Though I'd done this before, though I'd been in this very room just a few hours before, it all seemed different. Holding my hands behind my back, I lightly brushed the wall for balance.
"You may sit as you did before."
Hesitantly, after screaming at my legs to move, I took my spot like last time, cross legged on the top of the desk. I pulled out my knitting and started a new row. I wanted to look up, but wanted just as much to breathe. After a few rows, and my breath nearing normal, I dared to tilt my head.
He sat, arms crossed, eyes locked on me. I had no idea what was going on in his head. Had no idea what he thought of me. Had no idea the next word to emanate from his lips. But I yearned for him to speak, to say something, to do something besides concentrate on me. He sat there for what seemed like forever.
"Do you know what domination is?" It seemed like an obvious question.
"To have control over someone or something."
"Do you know what a Dominant is?" Though I could not see it myself, I'm sure my face looked puzzled.
"Um, someone who has control over someone or something?"
"Yes. And do you know what submission is?"
"Giving up control or allowing oneself to be controlled."
"Good." He let a breath out, uncrossed his arms, and rested his hands on his desk. "Ms. Ivory, do you know what a submissive is?"
"Uh, one who gives up control, who allows oneself to be controlled."
"Yes." He leaned forward, looking very intently at me. "Ms. Ivory, are you a submissive?"
The question made no sense, and yet made perfect sense. I was at a loss for words.
I tried multiple times to find something, anything, to say. Finally, leaning back in his chair, he spoke again.
"Ms. Ivory, what happened on Friday was inappropriate. I am your teacher and you are my student. That conflict alone is... difficult. But I see in you what I felt in myself at your age: longing and a desperation to understand this part of you that, I suspect until a few minutes ago, lacked a name.
"You are a submissive. You do not fully realize what that all entails, but I see it. I saw it as soon as you walked into my classroom that first day. You are brilliant, and will do great things with your life, but you will not feel fulfilled unless you acknowledge this side of yourself and find an outlet for your desires."
Desires. What a perfect word for the swirling emotions in my head. Because, in that moment, all I wanted was to please him. To be at his beck and call. To do whatever it took to be his. I desired Mr. Ebon, had for almost as long as I'd known him, and now I possessed the words.
"Submissive." I let it roll on my tongue like a piece of hard candy. "Mr. Ebon, are you a Dominant?"
"Yes, Ms. Ivory. I am a Dom."
"Then, you can teach me to be a...Sub."
"Ms. Ivory..."
"You can teach me to be a Sub! You're my teacher. Teach me."
"Ms. Ivory, it's not that simple."
"Yes, it is! You're a Dom and I'm a Sub. You're my teacher, I need to learn, so teach me."
"Ms. Ivory, I'm your History teacher, not your..."
"Oh please, I'm acing your class just fine and probably could do it without your instruction."
My hand hit my mouth before I finished my next breath. His eyes grew wide, and his lips pursed. I couldn't see it, but I'm sure he started grinding his teeth. A moment later, he relaxed his face.
"Stand up." His voice was cold, calculating, chillier than even when he'd reprimanded Hilda. I put my knitting to the side, which I'd been holding the entire time, and slowly slid off the desk. He stood as well, once again towering over me.
"Turn around." I gulped hard and turned to the back of the classroom. My heart thumped in my chest.
"Bend over the desk, hands and arms flat." I carefully leaned into the position. The warmth of my breath bounced off the wood of the desk. I heard the drawer with the ruler open and close.
He stood beside me, his leg brushing up against mine.
"Five strokes this time for making the same mistake, twice in a row." Using the ruler, he lifted my skirt. I, like most of the girls, wore boxer shorts over my panties. Again using the ruler, he hooked the elastic waist band to help pull the shorts down. He let my panties stay on.
He placed his hand on the small of my back.
"You will count each stroke and follow the number with a Sir at the end. Do you understand?"
"Yes." He grabbed me by my hair and pulled my head back. His mouth was on my ear.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir." He shoved my head back down.
Smack! "One Sir." It stung like a hundred bees stings.
Smack! "Two Sir." The sound was louder than on Friday, cracking through the entire room.
Smack! "Three Sir." I could tell he swung harder than before.
Smack! "Four Sir." My ass began to ache, but so did something else...
Smack! "Five Sir." I breathed hard, heavy. I knew I would go home and think of this tonight while in bed.
He walked back to his desk and sat down.
"You may stand and pull up your shorts." I fixed my clothes, but remained looking towards the back of the room. "For now, Mondays and Fridays. You will come to this classroom and I will teach you. But, if anyone finds out about this, and I think you know this, I will loose my job. Are you worthy of me taking such a risk, Ms. Ivory?"
"Yes Sir." I tried to convey all of my gratitude, all of my wanting and yearning for both his lessons and him into those two words.
"Very well. Gather your things and go. I will see you again on Friday."
Like before, I hurriedly grabbed my bag and knitting. Like before, I quietly slipped out of the room. But, not like before, I dared a glance at his direction as I left. He sat, staring at me, the whisper of a grin on his lips.
~erotica~
Mr. Ebon looked like he stepped out of one of those recruiting commercials that played during the breaks of football games: buzzed cut hair, sleek trim muscles, a solid gait you could set a metronome to. The only difference was his uniform consisted of a starched tie, crisp folds in his collared dress shirt, and pressed black dress pants. He did, however, sport polished black boots that shimmered with each step. He was a former Marine and still carried the air about him.
To say I had a crush on this man was to discredit the length and breath of my affections.
Everyone feared Mr. Ebon's History classes, especially AP US. He was strict, unyielding, and calculating. He knew what to quiz you on for understanding, not just memorization. His required reading went well beyond just chapters in a textbook. Instead of churning out fact crammed teenagers, he sought to create fierce thinkers, sharp minds, leaders. Most people prayed for a C; I was bound and determined to be his first A+.
On the first day of my senior year, I walked into class early and sat front row center. As if I were not in the room, he continued his work, jotting down notes and occasionally glancing at his computer. He never looked at me. The classroom filled, all ten of his brave pupils in their seats. The period bell rang, he stood, stepped to the front of the class, and spoke.
"Ten. Good, I like even numbers.
"My name is Mr. Ebon and this is AP US History. If you're here, that means you've heard the rumors about how difficult this class is and decided to take it anyway. For that, I will give a small sliver of respect. The rest you will have to earn through effort, hard work, and excellence.
"I've taught this class four times previously. In each instance, students have cried, begged, threatened me, thrown something, or gotten up and walked out, never to be heard from again. Which one will you be?"
The smart ones didn't cower at his warning. I sat, straight backed, meeting his gaze, ready to live up to his challenge.
Twenty page term papers, 200 page books on military battles, founding fathers, and other important American leaders were fruits I bit into to each evening. Staying late, with no car and parents who's job didn't end til 6, I had more than enough time to immerse myself in his teachings.
On a crisp fall Friday evening, having finished the night's homework, but still at least an hour before my ride would show, I decided to take a stroll throughout my ancient school.
Whetherly Academy was a co-educational private school. Students wore uniforms, parents paid tuition, and everyone carried an air of the elite they knew themselves to be. I, however, was a scholarship student. My squared shoulders and small knowing grin came from my core truth: I was smarter than any of them and would someday have what they had, but I would have earned it.
As I quietly roamed the halls, almost tip-toeing to avoid the creaking of the hardwood floors, I somehow made my way to the History wing.
Buildings have a life all their own when no one is around. The lights were off, allowing what little sunshine left to cast an eerie glaze across the floor. Classroom doors stood open, inviting, but nothing to offer inside. Desks with chairs in all manner of pushed in or pulled out whispered the lessons already taught for the day. But there was one door closed, so I decided to open it.
Peaking my head inside, there he sat, just like the first day of classes, working. Slowly retracting my head, a loud creak from the floorboards informed him of my presence.
"Good evening Ms. Ivory. Is there something I can do for you?" Mr. Ebon had not even looked up from his desk, yet he knew it was me. Or had he glanced my face when I did not notice?
"No, sir. Just killing time til my ride arrives."
"And the twenty-five pages on Gettysburg I asked you to read?"
"Completed, along with some cursory notes before your lecture tomorrow." This gave him pause; his hand stopping and his eyes finally met mine.
"I see. Well, if you have nothing better to do, why don't you have a seat? I, too, have nothing but time to kill, what with the pathetic group of children known as my Freshman World History class who cannot write a five page summary well for all the sand in Sri Lanka."
He beckoned me to the desk in front of his. After school, alone, with a man I adored, no one around to judge me except him, I decided to relax, a bit. I hopped up on the desk, sat with my legs crossed, and pulled out from my bag my latest knit project, a black and orange scarf for Halloween. I made sure to not look at him til I began a new stitch. When I did glance up, I think there was the slightest of smiles on his face.
"You knit?"
"Helps pass the time. And since I never leave before seven each night, I have time."
"Seven?"
"My parents own a General Store; they don't close til six. And it would take three buses for me to get home. So, I wait. Gives me time to finish homework and work on other things."
"Other things?"
"I write a little. I knit a little. Occasionally I'll pull out my sketchbook and roam the halls for inspiration. Things to pass the time."
"Friends?"
"I'm on scholarship, Sir. How many rich kids you know want to be friends with some poor girl? Well, to them I'm poor. My family lives comfortably enough. We just don't ride around in Benzes and sip cherry after dinner. Oh my, I've been blathering on and you have papers to grade."
"Stop. I invited you to sit. Chatting is a part of sitting."
"Ok. Sir, if you don't mind me asking, why did you become a teacher? I know you're ex-military. Why the change?"
"I took a piece of shrapnel during a munitions exercise. It made me unfit for duty in the field. They offered me a desk position, but if I couldn't lead my men, I didn't want to stay."
"And teaching?"
"G.I. bill. I wanted to get a degree in something. Why not study what I thought would be my life, military history. I never thought things would play out as they have, but teaching is well enough. How about you? What do you wish to do with your years?"
"Oh, I don't know. I haven't even thought about a major yet."
"Your college applications are in?"
"Soon. By December. I was giving myself a break because of my birthday."
"Your birthday?"
"Yes, today Sir. October tenth, ten ten. Easy for people to remember, though I have no one is this school to tell."
"Well, happy birthday Ms. Ivory. As of today you're now allowed to vote, be drafted, and drink a beer in some states."
"Yeah, I'm legally an adult."
"Excited?"
"No, sad."
"Excuse me?"
"It's just... I don't see myself as an adult. I'm a student, a smart learned plucky student who knows all the answers and does what she is told, when she is told, whatever she is told, however it is to be done. I take comfort in knowing exactly what to do because you have told me to do it. I feel safe in this room, completely centered and true in this room. In this room... I am the shit." My hand quickly covered my mouth as my cheeks turned red. "I am so sorry. That was inappropriate. I'll go." I quickly hopped off the desk, grabbed my bag, and turned to leave.
"Ms. Ivory." The sternness in his voice stopped me.
"Turn around." I slowly pivoted on the balls of my feet. He stood, his height towering over me.
"Come here." I put down my things and walked slowly to face him by the side of his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a ruler I had not seen before, wooden and old. "Hold your hands at your sides, out and up, side-by-side, palms to the ceiling."
I stood there in supplication to his whim. Swiftly, he lifted and came down with the ruler across the insides of my hands. It stung, but I only flinched slightly.
"Now, gather your things and go." I turned and quickly grabbed my backpack and knitting.
"And Ms. Ivory." I stopped dead in my tracks. "Please come by and chat with me again Monday evening."
"Yes, Sir." With hast I exited his classroom, silently closing his door and making my way down to the lobby to wait for my ride.
The weekend seemed to crawl by.
