Claire obediently holds her hands out, one by one, for Will to strap them. She finds it painful, as she’d expected, but also likes the controlled steps taken to make sure she suffers no harm. There’s something hot, she thinks, about that.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
Claire is in Will’s office to discuss the punishment, in front of the whole school, of her daughter for shoplifting. She begins to reveal things about herself, her loneliness and guilt, and the kind of relationship she needs.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
Claire is in Will’s office to discuss the punishment of her daughter Tara for shoplifting. She begins to hint that there are things in her own life that have gone astray, where she could use some external … control.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
Claire, the mother of Tara, who is likely to be publicly flogged for shoplifting, arrives to talk about her daughter’s punishment. Will starts to reassure her, but finds that Claire agrees that Tara needs a shock to bring her back to real-world consequences.
It occurs to Will that Claire arrived fifteen minutes late to their meeting, and if she was a student she’d be spanked for that. Why did he have that thought about Claire, he wondered?
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
The plane slid wildly across the air like spit on a frypan, buffeted by winds that never let up although they seemed to change direction every few seconds. Other passengers had noticed that we were flying level just above the water, and the wings were only metres – not many of them – from jagged rocks emerging from the seashore. Some of those passengers were crying, and the most irritating were praying loudly.
They were irritating because they were scaring the little girl sitting next to me. Her name was Melinda, and she’d been happy to humor an adult by telling him about dinosaurs, how annoying her best friend Fergie was being, how Jacob Sartorius used to be so cool, but now he was… old.
She was also an expert on clouds: cumulus is lovely, and did I know how to tell cirrus from stratus?
Her mother wasn’t in this conversation; she’d self-medicated with little bottles of whisky and she was currently drooling onto the window. It wasn’t her best look, though it meant her ass, in tight blue jeans, was pointing in my direction. Still, she’d been noticeably pretty, with dark curly hair, when she’d been conscious.
So I was the adult looking after Melinda, and she’d realised, from the praying nutters that many of the adults were losing the plot. Children find that scary.
So I lied: “This is great! It’s like a roller-coaster, only it’s FREE!”
Melinda wasn’t quite convinced, so I told her that the point of the game was to raise your fist and shout “Whooo!” every time the plane skidded across the harbour. I demonstrated. A game where an adult says you’re allowed to make silly noises is a good game, so Melinda was probably the most cheerful passenger every time she released a triumphant “Whooo!”
I wasn’t quite as sure as Melinda now was that we weren’t all going to die, though I figured the pilot must have landed in Wellington before. Still, a man has his responsibilities, and my fist-pumping “Whooo” was easily the second most cheerful sound.
When the plane reaches the shore it crosses a road, flies just over an embankment of maybe eight metres, and finds itself level with the runway. Our plane’s tyres hit the ground with a scream, and jolted Melinda’s mom awake. She looked at me suspiciously. Men who play with little girls don’t get a good press.
She frowned, but it was a thinking kind, not the angry one. Melinda was the right kind of happy, so I must be ok. She took the water I held out to her. “Thanks.”
It was a New Zealand accent. I’d picked her as American.
We were taxiing to the airport, no longer the wind’s toy though it was still blowing. I said, “Welcome home.”
She looked embarrassed. She’d neglected her maternal duties. And our conversation was still subject to passenger noises. The woman in the row ahead of us was still ululating prayers at the top of her voice, and Melinda’s mom poked her from behind, in the shoulder.. The woman looked back at her, incredulously indignant. “I’m thanking the Lord!” She was a fellow American.
“Then could you do it quieter, please? I’ve got a fuck of a hangover and you, you’re really not helping.”
So I started to learn things about New Zealand compared to US culture. Praying woman dropped to a mutter, keeping it between her and her lord.
Melinda’s mom looked back at me. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m terrible in airplanes. Flying scares me shitless. Seriously. Terrified. I had to get pissed, or I wouldn’t have have been able to stay on board. Seriously. These things have doors, and I’d have been out one of them.”
“Pissed? You had to get angry to stay aboard?”
“Ah. Yank boy. Down here it means drunk. Hey, thanks for keeping Melinda sane. It was my job and I fucked it up. My name’s Ngaire, by the way.”
She put out her hand. I took it and we looked at each other. She was pretty again. I said, “Freddie.”
Breath control? thinks Maddie. Yes please, so long as it’s done with a penis in my mouth. Maddie and Will are alone together, Master and slave, with no games.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
Maddie struggles in bondage on Will’s living room floor.
She inadvertently reveals that the implement of his she most fears is the thin, single-tailed dogwhip. She works hard to make sure she doesn’t deserve that.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
Will uses their tool kit to demonstrate to Maddie that life is best when what she wants doesn’t count. Which, paradoxically, is what she wants. But that still leads to a fuck that’s all the hotter for being physically uncomfortable, until she has to beg to be allowed to come.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
Jennifer is frustrated. Will always gives her lovely orgasms after he’s punished her, nut he never lets her pleasure him. While he hesitates, she leaps way ahead of him.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
After Jennifer’s spanking and her orgasm, she and Will start to realise they don’t just desire each other. There’s liking there, and perhaps more.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.