Monday, December 4, 2017

Alicia 006 - An Experiment in Turning Porn into Literature

I started work on new fiction! I haven't worked on fiction in quite a while, so I'm excited to have new characters and relationships to explore. Not to mention, more spankings to describe in detail.

The new story started as a writing exercise. Short on ideas, I thought I'd try turning a spanking video into a short story. That way, I wouldn't have to come up with a plot or characters. I could just describe something dirty. I even decided to tag it #porn2lit and make it a feature here on the blog.

However, I quickly got off track when I decided to use the Lupus/RGE film "Uncle." It just recently came back into my rotation and was stuck in my head. If you're familiar with it, you'll know it's from their "Dream" series and isn't heavy on plot - or English. So, left to my own plot devices, I began describing the scene and the characters soon took on a life of their own.

Since I haven't posted in a few weeks, I thought I'd share a snippet. To set the scene, the story is being told by a male. I've never written from the male point of view and I'm curious to see where it takes me. He is about to spank a woman who has shown up in his office with a list of misdeeds, but we don't know what they are. As he tells her how hard he's going to spank her, she wets herself a little in fear. This "accident" is from the video, as is the rolling of the shirt cuff that follows. The narrator's secret thoughts and desires are my own doing, as is the dialogue and relationship of the characters.

A snippet from "Alicia 006"

“Uncle, Please,” she whispered.

“Fine. Go clean up. Come back without the panties and return to your position.”

While she was gone, I sat back down at my desk so she wouldn’t see my hard cock trying to escape my trousers. She wasn’t really my niece, of course. Some might call her my patient, though the form of counseling I provided was not sanctioned by any health association, medical, mental, or otherwise. In my record-books, she was client number 006. In my fantasies, oh, she was something else entirely.

When she came back, she nodded in my direction, lifted her dress again, and bent back over the bench, hands clutching each side so tightly that her knuckles matched her white socks and shoes. I walked to her slowly then picked up the paddle from where it still lay on the bench. Tapping my palm with the paddle, I began the lecture I knew she needed.

“You are a grown woman, Alicia. You are strong. You are in control of your own destiny. Why are you bent over half naked in my office, then? Hmm?” When she didn’t answer, I had an idea.

“Roll up my sleeve, so that I can spank you more soundly,” I commanded. “Yes, stand up. Roll my sleeve up, all the way above the elbow.” She followed my instructions, hands trembling. I tried not to meet her eyes as she did so. “That’s right. Prepare the arm that beats you,” I told her, my voice steadier than my heart felt. With her shaking hands, her fingers were like little electric birds fluttering against my skin. I could barely contain myself and was relieved when she bent back down and I could stand behind her, my erection hidden, albeit that much closer to its desired destination.

More to come, I hope!

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

The Wisdom of the Octopus

the octopus in his glass cage hides in the corner,
clinging to shadows, and tries not to feel

the pummeling of small hands on the side of his house
and the eyes seeking him, begging him
to bare himself, to expand himself -

to be the version they know from documentaries
and library books about creatures of the deep but

that octopus does not live here in this tank
by this concrete coral reef. it cannot live here.

in the midnight hours he practices the art of escape.
one day, he will slide over glass down grates
through pipes and finally to swell into his ocean’s waves:

he is renewed as he propels himself though her currents,
diving deeply. she runs every drop of herself
over him in celebration of his return.

the rippling suction of his every arm pulses
against her, through her, within her in longing to grasp –
but it is she who holds him.

as he settles into the cloak of her depths he disappears,
his freedom found in the opaque darkness of his home.

~Abby Williams, copyright 2017

About the Poem: I couldn't get this photo out of my head. I intended to write a poem that simply sexualized the octopus and imagined the shared sensations between it and the model. Instead, it became a metaphor for wanting to be the comfort and safety for Mr. W when he's having a rough day and feels trapped at work. I hope he always thinks of his place in my arms as both his freedom and his home. There's also an element of encouragement about breaking away from who we are expected to be, about knowing that acting the part isn't a way to truly live.

Photo: Anna and Barney, Untitled. Appears on page 73 of Hot Cheeks edited by Martin Sigrist, Edition Skylight, 2003

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

A Little (a Lot) About Me

While reading Love our Lurkers posts, I thought about my future lurkers, now that I am committed to being back. I realized that I pretty much picked up where I left off, so unless you read me way back when, it might be hard for new readers to get to know me. I was especially inspired by Still LOL Days and Our Beginning over at Fondles' blog because as a new reader it was a great introduction. I'd like to do something similar for you, current readers and potential future lurkers. So here we go.


I've always been fascinated by spanking, all the way back to being five or six years old and asking my friends to tell me about their punishments. My parents didn't spank - in fact, they didn't punish at all. I was expected to manage myself and if I failed to do so, I was told "I'm sure you're punishing yourself enough," as if I was just expected to carry the weight and guilt of my mistakes. Is it any surprise I love being turned over Mr. W's knee now? It's such a relief to just let go.


That being said, we call spanking "playing" and though he has always been my top and I have always been his bottom, he doesn't punish me for real misdeeds. Mr. W has held the same lifelong fascination that I have and we both enjoy the sensual and sexual elements of spanking and all that goes with it - the authority and submission, the implements, the positions, and yes, the punishments. I am his young lady and he is my Sir, and when we are in these roles, he can make up any misdeed he wants to punish me for, and anything goes. I've been "punished" for everything from being so late that he forgot to wear a watch to being an apple thief.

How We Met and How We Got Here

We met working at the Barnes & Noble in Calabasas, CA in late winter of 2003, both of us then in our mid-twenties. We'd confessed our spanking fetishes in the Customer Service booth of the bookstore and had been obsessed with one another ever since - but I had a boyfriend, he had a girlfriend. Then they both broke up with us in the same week - and one of the reasons mine broke up with me was my friendship with Mr. W. We spent the summer hanging out together, madly in love but neither of us able to be in a relationship. This is how it came to be that he caned me before he kissed me. We slept side by side, he bared my bottom. Then in the fall he moved to Oregon and I stayed behind.

Two years later, he came back to California, only to announce he was moving back to Oregon. However, we couldn't see each other because the guy I now lived with had worked in that same B&N with us, and was now my boyfriend. He'd been jealous of Mr. W back during that first summer and our relationship was on rocky footing and I was scared of what would or wouldn't happen next. So I told Mr. W I couldn't see him before he left again - and then, while my boyfriend went camping, I invited him to Disney Land, where we spent an amazing day and kissed for our first time under the fireworks while, I swear to goodness, "When You Wish Upon A Star" was playing. When my boyfriend got back from camping two days later, he took me to a park and - you guessed it - broke up with me. He thought I might want to move to Oregon with Mr. W.

Two years after that, I became Mrs. W. A month after getting married, I became Abby. I started this blog as a wedding gift. He had just discovered spanking blogs and had shared them with me, and I knew from the moment I realized what they were that I wanted to write one too. It feels both like Mr. W and I were always destined for each other, and destined to bring our love of spanking to the world.

Did You Really Make Spanking Videos?

Yes, we really did. In 2008 and 2009, we decided that the blog was going well and both of us had always had a secret desire to make a spanking video, so we made one. Then we made more. I called the series Naughty Abby, and for a time I even owned and sold video downloads there. I've made them available on Clips4Sale and there's a link in the sidebar if you're curious - please note, they control the prices but even though they're SD, I stand by these videos. We worked really hard on them. Mr. W did an amazing job of editing two video and audio feeds into one film, and I did my best job of putting my bum out there for all to enjoy. I didn't know how to feel about these videos for a few years, but I'm proud of them now.

My Disappearances

I have been living with major depression for most of my life. It got really bad five or six years ago, and though I was seeing a doctor and trying to find the right anti-depressant, I was also ruining my chances of finding the right medication by self-medicating. That is, I was drinking more, then more, and then finally all the time. Then I'd quit and try to pull myself together and get back to writing and living and caring. Then one day I'd start again. It cycled like this for years, medications and doctors and periods of sobriety and even a five day stay in a hospital for mental health so that I could medically detox and get started on a recovery program. There was absolutely no spanking at the mental institute and that makes this paragraph all the more depressing, doesn't it? The point is, I wasn't writing because I couldn't write. We weren't playing because it was unsafe. So I disappeared.

The happy ending to this story is that I am one year and three months sober. I am on the right medication and my heart doesn't always feel broken. Mr. W and I are stronger and better than ever, all the way down to our orgasms, no joke. I don't have a lot of sexy stories from the time I was away, but now that I'm back writing, that means we're back to playing, which means I get to tell the world the dirty details, because I really do love writing about spanking.

What's Next

I created an e-book of my favorite posts from this blog, but I haven't published it yet because I am an absolute chicken. I went through the whole Amazon Kindle process and everything. I just want to give you something perfect, and I'm terrified it isn't perfect.

I want to write a collection of erotic poetry about butts, perhaps inspired by artwork, namely photos of bottoms, both spanked and unspanked.

I have fiction to write. I have so many story beginnings, it's time I flesh them out and give you a spanking heroine who isn't me. Nah, she'll probably still be me in disguise.

We're also working on a small business venture. More to come on that!

So that's the general scoop. I am happy to answer questions, even about the more sensitive subjects, as long as they are respectful. I am also open to email at If you're going through anything, maybe I can help, or at least be someone to listen. And thanks for listening to me!

Saturday, November 18, 2017

e[lust] #100

Hi! I've been sick this week. While I wait to be struck by inspiration or a feisty spanking implement instead of germs, this is the perfect time to present the newest edition of e[lust], a collection of recent posts by sex bloggers - and I am so happy to be included! It's not genre specific, so it's nice to get a variety of morsels to tempt one's erotic palate. Enjoy and please come back soon (or stick around and explore)!
xoxo Abby

 Photo courtesy of Wriggly Kitty

Welcome to Elust 100-

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #101 Start with the rules, come back December 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

He’s Out of My League
Pink Hair, Don't Care!
I’m a feminist but...

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Pain Sluts and Brain Squirrels
His Car Keys

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~


Writing About Writing

Why Financial Disclosures Matter on Your Blog

Erotic Fiction

An American Werewolf in London
The Spider and the Fly

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Over exposed?

Erotic Non-Fiction

Mirror Image
Return to Position, Part 1 - This one is by me!
One Present Moment
Edgy Morning
The Date-Aversary Continues
The Smell, Taste and Love of Chocolate.



Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Asking can be sexy too!
Soaring in Space
Age Play
Stroke of luck

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Adult Content on Patreon
Censorship on Share our Shit Saturday
#SSoS Sharing for the Win

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

#iTalkSex Why I Talk Sex
Radical Acceptance In Relationships
So... ghosting is an acceptable thing now
What giving a collar means to me


Reflections on us and the blog

Saturday, November 11, 2017

Time for a Spanking

When I first started blogging, I was as much trying to understand my love of spanking as I was trying to share it. "Why do I like this?" I would ask myself. I didn't need to understand the fetish or what anyone else liked - it was all about me.

In one of my first posts, The Weight of the World, I wrote about spankings as a reset button, a way to let go of the things that were stressing me out so I could carry on:

And when I do break, when I do begin to weep silent slow tears, then sob, when I can't hold back a cry with every stroke, when I know I've built up to it, have earned it, have struggled through every part of my mind and have released it all, I can let go. Every pain throughout the day is gone. Every familial agony and workplace drama is released in the whoosh of his chosen implement. Swish. I pay every bill in full.Crack. I am beautiful and striped and proud. Then, slice, I'm only a little girl. I'm only a little girl. With each stroke, this is all I know now. I collapse into him afterwards, this little girl fully punished, released of all her sins and the sins of those around her, and he holds me, curls around me, gently, whispering how proud he is of me. My hips begin to rise and writhe, pressing back against him even with the pain, and I am a woman, ready to carry the weight of the world once again.

Released of all her sins and the sins of those around her. Wow. I was not kidding about feeling like I carried the weight of the world.

I've long since let go of the idea that I am being personally punished during a spanking. It's sexy in fantasy, but we do not punish in our home. We play, even if we're playing at punishment. I don't list off real or imagined wrong-doings in my mind with each stroke. So besides mutual sexual pleasure with Mr. W, what do I get from a spanking now, if not temporary release from all the world's sins?

Making time for a spanking is making time for and about us. We get attention. Connection. We are fully focused upon one another. The space is set - door closed, implements laid out, clothes removed. The air is quiet, heavy with breath and anticipation but there is no music, no TV, no buzzing or beeping of phones. There is no one and nothing but us and the spanking, which in itself is an extension of us. We give it and each other our everything.

Spanking is perhaps one of the more zen sexual activities - you're in the moment, completely immersed. The top is aware of the bottom's physical and mental state, guiding the experience, ensuring both safety and satisfaction. The bottom is vulnerable but not a victim, consensual but not complacent. You don't just give or receive - together, two individuals become one spanking.

In the rush of daily life, there is traffic and work and then more traffic, groceries and pet supplies and pharmacies, dishes and carpets and yard work. After the must-do work of life, I still try to find time for the gym, to write, or to take a nice bath with epsom salts, because I am tired and thanks to the gym, I am always sore, and not in the fun bright-pink bottomed way. For Mr. W, after a day spent working with energy vampires, he still tries to find time to play his guitars, to work on his leather craft, or to just find a small spot of inner peace so that the things he really wants to do are possible.

Spanking can be exhausting for both partners, if you really give it your all and allow it to overcome your physical, emotional, and mental faculties. For a couple both trying to live their best lives as well as recover from the lives they've already lived up to this point, it can be daunting to even consider taking whatever ounce of strength you have left for the day and invest it in something that may leave you both unable to do much past snuggle and watch TV for the rest of the night. But that's the best kind of spanking! Pardon the pun, but I don't want a half-assed spanking. I want a full-assed, exhausting, arousing, three orgasms followed by dinner in bed kind of spanking.

As much as we wish the world was different, it can't be time for a spanking all the time. But when we do take the time, we give it and each other everything we have. There is nothing outside ourselves. No weight of the world, because there is no world. Just us. Just spanking. Just who we really are, and who we are together.

Image Source: Casemiro Arts - Peter Reiss on Society6. I just discovered both him and Society6 today while searching Google Images for "spanking clocks" for this post. Has a number of other art pieces also featuring the female bottom. On this one, "Fitness Time," I loved the curl of her left toes. I'm a toe-curler too. 

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Sunday Exposure

Our cabinet in early morning light, Sunday November 5, 2017

One of my better selfies, November 5, 2017

Wednesday, November 1, 2017


This name is a phantom more solid than my self. It appears; I fade to let it speak. It sings; eyes closed, I sway, enraptured.

Not “I” or “We” but “Abby’s back.”

A haunting returned –  let me be possessed.

Friday, October 27, 2017

Return to Position, Part 2 - The Continuation and Conclusion of Abby's Vacation Spanking

Read Part 1

“Kneel facing away from me,” he said.

I climbed onto the couch knees first, resting my elbows on the same over-sized throw pillows that had made the couch so comfortable the night before as we sat up chatting and sipping from ranch-themed mugs with cowgirl coasters. I spread my legs into a somewhat reverse-cowgirl position myself, knees wide enough apart to straddle a horse but feet together, tucked under my bottom. Then I leaned forward against the cushions so that my haunches rose into the air.

It was the tawse’s turn for a taste of my backside. He’d conditioned it before the trip and the ten year old leather was soft and supple again after an extended hiatus in the implement cabinet. The first stroke was quick and sure, a smooth pull of the long leather strap across both cheeks. “Aa-ugh!” My breath caught in the back of my throat, unsure if I was crying or moaning. The second stroke landed and I bit the pillow in front of me. “Uhnh!” Definitely both crying and moaning.

The next four strokes came in even succession, allowing me breathing space between each. “It’s so much,” I sighed between two of the strokes, though I couldn’t tell you which ones. I didn’t mean pain. Spread and arched before him, I felt sexy and beautiful, punished but pleasured. Everything I love to feel during a spanking was rushing through me in one wave of wanting more.

He paused to run his hand over my well-warmed bottom, squeezing each cheek then massaging the flesh. “You are so hot,” he told me.

“Already?” I asked.

“Always,” he answered. I looked back at him, my eyes wet but not weeping. “You are so hot,” he said again, emphasizing that he meant all of me.

I smiled. “I can take another six, Sir,” I told him. Another six, another sixty, another hundred.  I felt like me. It felt like us. I didn’t want it to end –the trip, the spanking, the togetherness of that moment. Once again, I returned to position, arching my back as deeply as I could, giving him a full canvas and a peek at how ready I was for a session of a different kind after the spanking ended.

“Six of the best it will be, then,” he told me. I nodded. I don’t like to count aloud, even though I know he likes it when I do. He hadn’t asked or told me to, so I didn’t when stroke number one striped me with a flare of scarlet.

“Are we not counting that one?” he asked.

“You didn’t tell me to count!” I stammered, playfully indignant.

“Well, count the next stroke. Starting, young lady, with ‘one.’”

He whipped me in the same spot, this time pain catching in my throat before I could mumble, “One, thank you Sir.”

He patted my stinging bottom. “That’s right,” he said. “You’re welcome.”

I was still trying not to laugh when the second stroke hit. “Oh! Two, thank you Sir.” The laughter was gone and it was all I could do not to reach back and rub.

Strokes three and four came hard and fast. “Oh God,” I whispered, realizing I hadn’t counted stroke number three. “Three and four, thank you Sir?”

It was his turn to try not to laugh. “Yes, three and four,” he confirmed. “Well done.”

He teased stroke five, doubling the tawse to tap my thighs and between them as well. I caught myself clenching each time the leather touched me, so I took a deep breath, relaxed my muscles, and pushed my bottom towards him. “That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

The stroke would have been mean if I hadn’t wanted it so much. This time I cried out in earnest. Then, after a moment – “Five, thank you Sir.”

“Last one, young lady,” he told me. “Are you ready?”

I nodded, deepening the pose. I wanted to feel every inch of that leather burnish my bottom to a bright glowing red. He knew what I wanted and was happy to oblige. He pulled back and let the tawse sting its way across my flesh. “Ohhh,” I groaned with all the air that was left within me. “Six. Oh. Thank you, Sir.”

Some spankings feel like they might never end. This one, however, seemed to have come to a conclusion. He stood back and admired his work, sated, content. I let the full weight of my body collapse against the back of the couch, feeling sensual and satisfied. I knew he’d let me off easy, the two hour drive back home looming before us. For as much as he’d teased all weekend about what an unpleasant return trip it was going to be for me, I didn’t think he truly wanted me to be unfocused and uncomfortable.

He was being too kind. We’d had an incredible weekend and I wanted to give him just one more souvenir that would stay in his memory. “What about the cane?” I asked.

“It’s okay,” he told me. “You were amazing.”

I turned towards the side of the couch and lifted myself so that my stomach rested on the arm, my hands touched the hardwood floor, and my bottom was turned straight up in the air. “What about the cane?” I asked again, giving him all the invitation he could need.

Upside down, I watched him as he watched me, not averting his gaze as he reached back towards the twin bed and fumbled to find the cane. We both blushed. “That is the most beautiful position,” he said, stepping towards me to tap my backside with the cane, gauging the angle he would need to stripe me evenly across both buttocks. “Thank you, love,” he whispered. “That is so, so beautiful.”
He found his stance and tapped again. “You don’t need to count. Just three.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The first cane stroke landed perfectly across the full of my bottom, sending electricity through my entire body. I felt it course along my spine, tendrils of heat spreading as far as my shoulders and the nape of my neck, while my toes curled against the couch cushions. My breath left my lungs in a rush, the force of air the only sound I made.

The second stroke came down just below the first. “Ow. Oh, ow, ow,” I whispered. He let me gather myself and to thank him, I deepened the bow, pressing my weight into the palms of my hands, sweaty against the knotty but smoothly polished floorboards.

“That is amazing,” he told me. “My God, yes,” he ran his free hand over the welts that had surely risen white above my warmed pink skin. “Last one,” he reassured me.

The third stroke struck my sit-spot with perfect aim and a little skid off the curve of my cheeks so as to add an extra thrill to the sting. I cried out in agonizing bliss and slammed my right palm against the floor.

“Well done, young lady.” He soothed the sting out of my skin with gentle, massaging circles of his hand on my flesh. “That was amazing. You are amazing.”

I wanted the praise and the comfort of his hands on my body, but we didn’t have a couch with arms like this at home and I couldn’t picture a way to get into this position for him again. I took a deep breath, re-centered, and extended my lower back so that my bottom was presented to him in its full vulnerability. He noted the return to position and this time it was his breath to catch in lustful uncertainty as he awaited my next move.

I nodded, signaling that I was ready for the next stroke. “I can take another three,” I told him. “Maybe more.”

He moved forwards and swished the cane through the air behind me. I shivered. It was nearly time to go home, but not yet. Not yet.

Friday, October 20, 2017

Return to Position, Part 1 - A New True to Life Spanking Vignette

Playtime began by the twin bed tucked into the corner of the sitting room. I bent from the waist at the side of the bed, resting my forearms on the well-worn patches of the bed’s handmade quilt. A leather paddle, a strap, and a cane were already laid out beside me. I wiggled my bottom. “Well?” I asked.

Mr. W placed his hand on the small of my back then stepped away. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw that he was just looking out the sliding glass door that looked onto the pasture one more time. He spoke quickly then, his voice soft but roughly teasing around the edges as he turned back to me and said, “I hope you’re ready, young lady. There’s only the horses to hear you, and even they’re too far away to pay much mind.”

My clothes were already tidily folded on a dining chair. I’d been conscientious, going so far as to carefully place my shoes under the chair. Even my panties were folded in half atop the stack of clothing. I had nothing to protect my bare bottom, but had also made sure that I had done nothing to earn it more marks than it was already due. I returned to position, wanting only, as ever, to please him.

We’d been there for two days, having arrived Friday afternoon at the rental ranch house in Strawberry, a miniature town north of the slightly larger but still tiny town of Pine, which is north of the small town of Payson, which is ninety minutes northeast of the sprawling and far less pastoral city of Phoenix. It was still reaching over one hundred degrees in the city every day. The forests and fields of mountainous central Arizona had called to our bodies and our breath, which were exhausted from months of heat and smog and recycled air. The promise of a quiet, empty house with only a barn, a verdant acreage shared by the neighboring ranches, and an abutting national forest at the far edge of the grazing lands had called to a deeper need – one that was finally about to be fulfilled.

He asked me then, “Are you ready for your spanking?” I nodded and arched my back. Yes, I was.

His hand cupped my right cheek, then my left. He circled his palm over the as yet unmarked flesh, reconnecting us skin to skin. We’d both been anxious for this moment but had so savored the anticipation that we’d waited until the hour before we had to leave for it to arrive. Now, here it was, the pure holistic space between about to be and having been spanked.

He reached for the leather paddle. Designed, cut, stitched and finished by Mr. W himself, it had been made for this trip and this moment, for my body and his swinging arm alone. The leather was of a medium weight, two single pieces stitched together for heft and shape, the handle just long enough for a firm and controlled grip, the head of the paddle long enough to swat both cheeks with one stroke, but also restrained enough for a closer, over the knee session, each individual cheek able to receive the attention it so craved.

The first few strokes were quick but without force, letting me adjust to the sensation. It had been some time since our last session and he knew I was nervous about my ability to accept and receive the spanking. We’ve always liked to flirt with a little bit of fear, but he never wanted me to actually be afraid.

I had pressed my face into the blanket but wordlessly murmured loudly enough for him to read my sighs. I wanted more. The next few strokes were firmer and I rose on my tiptoes, arching over the narrow mattress and grasping the edge of the opposite side. No sooner was I in position, though, that he sat on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh. I stood up, straddled his right leg, and returned to my place, arms stretched forward, face inhaling worn clean cotton and the scent of newly conditioned leather caught in the back of my breath.

The paddling began in earnest. I let out little yips and moans interchangeably, already overwhelmed with the proximity of our bodies and the inability to tell pleasure from pain once my skin had warmed. The smacks and slaps fell surely and steadily. I could feel my backside changing color. From white to blush to the edge of pink – but no sooner had I begun to ride the rhythm that he shook his knee beneath me. “Stand up,” he commanded me. “Go kneel on the couch.”

I am never so hesitant and in need of exact instruction than during a spanking. I stood but looked back and forth on the edge of panic between the two couches in the sitting room. He saw my face and smiled, touching my arm. “This one, you,” he said, pointing towards the nearest couch, an upholstered sofa with deep cushions and bolstered arms.

Standing in front of the couch, I still didn’t understand exactly how he wanted me, so I fiddled with my hair, pulling it up into a ponytail and wrapping the hair around itself into a loose bun. I liked when he could see my face. I liked that he could see both the moments of anguish and the moments when a series of strokes landed just right, when the flush rose full to my cheeks and my jaw dropped, tongue in the corner of my mouth or front teeth biting my bottom lip, heady, steady, ready for more.