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Posts Tagged ‘domestic discipline’

  1. Coffee and a Spanking

    July 26, 2014 by Heather Cole

    Our mornings usually began with coffee. I was a morning person, and rather than inflict sir with a cheerful good morning, I crept downstairs to start our morning pot of coffee. On this particular day, my mind was running through the events of the night as I threw out old grounds and filled the pot with water. In the past eight hours I had given two blowjobs and had been fucked thoroughly, but despite having enjoyed myself, something nagged at me.

    I straightened the kitchen while I mulled over matters, the aroma of fresh coffee swirling around me. I couldn’t decide if I was being overly-sensitive. My gripe seemed petty, but I no longer trusted my perspective on the situation. Sir and I were having more and more conversations about my behavior lately. I didn’t classify myself as a brat, but in recent weeks I had taken to talking back and even telling sir ‘no’ on occasion. He kept a sense of humor about it, and told me that he loved my sass, but I couldn’t seem to curb my tongue. Part of me didn’t want to, and as a result, I was pushing back and acting out.

    I wasn’t proud of myself. As I chewed my lip in front of the coffee pot, I worried that my irritation was only subterfuge, that I was fooling myself into thinking that I had a defensible position for my irritation. All the while the nagging feeling in my chest warned that if I probed deeper into the motivation behind my brattiness, I’d find a bigger issue that I didn’t want to deal with. And I really didn’t want to look into that writhing can of worms.

    When the percolating stopped, I took a cup up to sir still wrestling with myself. He was awake and propped up against the pillows, his laptop settled across his lap. The light from the screen highlighted his slightly mussed hair and hazel eyes. I loved seeing him this way, half-awake and drowsy with sleep. He murmured a thank you for the coffee, and his gaze followed me as I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

    “So what got you riled up in the middle of the night? Were you looking at porn?” I asked.

    “No,” he said, a small smile on his face. “I woke up with a boner and decided to put your face on it.”

    His wording made me laugh, and I almost spit toothpaste on the mirror. “You know, you woke me up from a deep sleep. I thought maybe I’d get a thank you for the service or at least a high-five. Maybe a ‘way to go, slave.’”

    I kept my tone teasing and light, but my earlier feelings of angst bobbed beneath it. I had blown him before we went to sleep only to be woken up a few hours later for a second blowjob. Oral sex was one of my duties as a sex slave, and it was one of my favorites. In the middle of the night, though, when I was yanked out of dreamland to suck cock… well, I tried to be gracious about it. And regardless of my feelings, I did it.

    This isn’t the problem, I thought. But I squashed it down and silently scolded my feelings to shut the fuck up.

    “I said thank you by filling your mouth with come. It’s your reward.”

    “Right,” I said, unconvinced. I knew he was teasing me, but I couldn’t muster a smile in return.

    “After I gifted you with my come, I wrapped you in my arms to snuggle you. But my phantom girlfriend was gone, disappearing into the bathroom. Without permission, I might add.” The look on sir’s face was pleasant, as was his voice, but I felt a twinge when he mentioned my disobedience.

    I had left our bed on purpose. I put my toothbrush away and came to stand beside him. He reached for my hand, but I avoided his eyes.

    “I didn’t want to snuggle you while feeling bitchy about your silence so I got up to clear my head. I came back right after I peed,” I said.

    “Perhaps there’s a better way that we can communicate so that you don’t feel like you’re unappreciated. Maybe you can say, ‘I felt ____ when ____ happened.’”

    I tried not to roll my eyes even though I knew he was right. I hadn’t handled it well, and I should have told him about my irritation rather than abandoning the situation.

    “Fine,” I said.

    Sir’s eyebrows arched with surprise. “I think someone needs to remember her manners.”

    “FINE. SIR.”

    As sir’s eyes widened with incredulity, I gave him a look that would have made any five-year-old proud. I couldn’t help pushing him, needling him one step further.

    “Come to the other side of the bed, please,” he said and patted the space beside him.

    “I have to go to work.”

    “This won’t take long. I’ll count to five. 1… 2…”

    I didn’t stall any further, knowing things would be so much worse if I delayed even further. He instructed me to get on my knees towards the edge of the bed with my ass pointing out towards the window. I stared at the jumbled sheets around me and wondered what kind of hot water I had landed in.The jingle of a belt buckle answered my unspoken question.

    “I want you to count, and I want you to thank me for each one, because you need a lesson in manners.”

    “Yes, sir,” I said meekly, my fingers digging into a blanket.

    He hit me hard, the sting of leather stealing my breath. I counted and thanked him, tears pooling beneath my lashes. I only had to count to five, but sir made every one of them count.

    After the last one, I stayed in place, trying to catch my breath. I heard the belt drop to the floor, and then sir’s arm gently pushed me down. I toppled on to my side, my emotions a zigzagging blur inside me. I felt outraged that I was punished even though on the heels of that came a giant wave of relief for it. All it took was those five strikes and my defenses were breached. I was laid bare, open and vulnerable.

    Sir’s arms came around me, and he pulled the blanket over us both. He spoke in my ear, his words soothing and sensual at the same time. The tickle of his breath on my neck, and the rumble of his voice against my back… I told myself to remember every last little detail. I wanted to soak in the experience through my skin and into my bones so that I could recall it in the lonely weeks to come. It was then that I realized that the quagmire of emotion inspiring my behavior was grief, an ocean of sadness that he will be leaving. It wasn’t a can of worms that I was avoiding. It was one giant, Dune-sized, earth-shaking worm of loss that I wanted to un-see. I decided to continue ignoring it even as it threatened to surface.

    We have today, I told myself. We have this moment.

    It had to be enough.

     


  2. Let Go, Baby

    April 23, 2014 by Heather Cole

    I was snuggled under his arm as we watched Game of Thrones in bed. Despite losing myself in the story and the feeling of his warm body next to mine, I could feel a tight coil of tension at my center. The stress of worrying about the future and mourning our impending separation was my constant companion. The mornings were easiest when I had work and caring for my child to distract me. By the time sir returned home for dinner, though, I could feel tears threatening. I knew it was about needing a physical release for the emotional tensions of my day, but I was reluctant to give in to it. I didn’t want to be Debbie Downer, and I really didn’t want sir to begin associating his return home with a deluge of my tears every time he walked through the door. So I mentally placed those coils of tension in a small box somewhere around my stomach, and tried to ignore it.

    After the program ended, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand to set the alarm. Sir disentangled himself from the bed sheets and got to his feet to go to the bathroom, I presumed. To my surprise he strode to the closet instead and began digging through the toy bag. I watched in disbelief as he pulled out black clover clamps and walked over to my side of the bed.

    “Stand up and take off your pajamas,” he said.

    My mouth dropped open in disbelief, and I stopped myself a second before asking why out loud. Asking for an explanation of sir’s motivations would only get me in hot water.

    I did as he commanded, and he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He watched me intently, one hand on his lap and the other holding the clamps that I loathed. Finally I stood in front of him wearing only knee socks, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.

    “Step out,” he said and motioned for me to spread my legs.

    My heartbeat kicked against my chest, and I took a tentative step. His expression was pleasant, but I heard the underlying hint of steel in his voice. His hand went to my crotch, but I backed away. I stared at the clover clamps glinting at me in the dim light.

    “I can’t handle clover clamps on my pussy,” I said.

    Panic blossomed through me, and I found myself shaking my head. My eyes were wide, and that box inside me where I had kept the day’s fears was threatening to spill open. There was no way on God’s green earth that I could tolerate the merciless clamp of metal on my sensitive nether regions. The thought was overwhelming. I couldn’t do it. Not even for the man I loved.

    Sir laughed. “You say that like you think there’s a Door #2 or something. There’s no other option. Come here.”

    “I can’t do it,” I repeated and shied away from his questing fingers.

    “You’re going to do this,” he said, “or I’m going to beat you with a wire hanger.”

    If he had threatened me with any of our usual toys, a cane or whip or flogger, I would have dived for the alternative. But a hanger was so outside our usual play parameters that I recognized it as a true deterrent. Plus, I had seen Mommy Dearest. Did I think he would actually do it? Probably not, but I understood the message beneath the uncommon implement. Sir was dead serious.

    My voice caught in my throat. In that moment I knew there was nothing to be done but submit. I could feel the emotion welling in my throat, along with defeat, and there was no denying that the avalanche of feeling contained within me would break free. Tears slid down my cheeks as I slowly stepped forward and gave him access to my labia. I couldn’t bear to watch him apply the clamps, so I shut my eyes and looked away. My tears fell faster, and I started to shake. Big hiccupping sobs shook my chest as I felt sir’s hands move from my pussy to my breasts. Still I refused to look.

    His fingers gently teased my erect nipples as he clamped them, and the familiar weighted chain felt cold against my skin. Relief that he wasn’t going to clamp my pussy washed through me, but it couldn’t stop the torrent of emotions that had been unleashed. I continued to sob as sir murmured endearments.

    “Just let go, baby,” he crooned. His lips grazed the underside of my breast, and then he kissed a clamped nipple. He gently caressed my skin with his hands as his lips planted sweet kisses over my chest.

    As he wrapped his arms around my waist to pull me even closer, I rested my cheek on the top of his head. Finally my tears were spent, and I took a ragged breath. I felt exhausted and empty, exhumed of all tension and sadness.

    “Thank you,” I whispered.

    Sir sat back on the bed and carefully removed the clamps. “I think you really needed that.”

    “I did.”

    “You know, I was never going to put these clamps on your pussy. That would have been mean.”

    I shook my head and felt a small smile bow my lips. “You really are a champion mind fucker.”

    We crawled into bed and returned to the positions that had originally started our evening. I snuggled into his side, my head on his chest, and I took my first deep breath of the night. Deep feelings of love and gratitude swept through me, and I pulled them tight around me like a blanket. I wanted the moment to last forever.

     

    IMG_2233 Smashwords

     

    Want more stories of a good girl being naughty? TALES OF A FILTHY GOOD GIRL by Heather Cole is now available on Nook, Kindle, and Smashwords.