tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14656264802748129702024-02-20T11:28:00.392-08:00RandomMusingsAdult Content - Comments on the spanking scene as I see it from the dominant end of the hairbrush...PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-17790938043968935342010-11-04T23:42:00.000-07:002010-11-04T23:50:41.634-07:00NaNo 2010 - Day 4Kept at it all day - snuck in some time at work, and then continued at home. I need to get a little ahead because this weekend is committed to someting else, so I'll get very little done.<br /><br />Today the total is 18,715. I'm trying to go back and pick up what I missed, and still make progress at the end, so this is spread over several chapters. The biggest issue today is that much of the stuff I was writing during work was emotional - my heroine has just lost her husband, for God's sake - and occasionally brings tears to your eyes. Well, it does me and I'm writing it. I remember the same thing happening last year and I was very happy with the results when I was done. Still, it is a little disconcerting when this happens at work. I'm about through the real (non-fantasy) part of things. Hopefully the rest wont get to me so much.<br /><br />Anyway, I feel good to be ahead of the game, at least a little.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-79096586436607250602010-08-18T16:00:00.000-07:002010-08-18T16:07:06.583-07:00The #Journaling Game 08/18/2010<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >An Old Lover</span><br /></div><br />I watched you dance,<br />The joy in your eyes,<br />The music only you could hear<br />As your clothes moved in the gentle breeze,<br />The blissful, swirling colors a storm of passion I'd never know again.<br /><br />You brought me to this place<br />Oh beloved,<br />Our place,<br />Our passion,<br />Our joy,<br />But within I knew<br />You were far too good<br />For the likes of me.<br /><br />A lady for a carpenter,<br />A queen for a soldier,<br />I learned the goodness within you could share<br />Your brilliant mind<br />Blinding my simple heart<br />In ectasy I thought must last forever,<br />But in truth<br />Could only stay until<br />The moon turned again.<br /><br />I gave you everything I had<br />But it was not enough,<br />Not enough to hold your interest,<br />Not against every boy in town.<br />And when at last you left,<br />Your laughter skipping down the street behind you<br />I would have wept<br />But I couldn't<br />Because you'd left me such happiness to remember<br />Until I die.<br /><br />And so I come<br />Hidden by the green shelter of gentle leaves<br />Watching you<br />Wanting you<br />Knowing you<br />And happy beyond words<br />That I'd ever had you.<br /><br />That was enough.<br /><br />-------------------<br /><br />I've not written poetry since I started working on the full-on writing biz. It was a delightPapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-62983781726622016502010-04-12T15:23:00.000-07:002010-04-12T15:27:26.549-07:00MirroFantasyMonday #75<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Revelation</span><br /></div><br />Your heart opened<br />And you gave me all you were<br />Your love<br />Your tenderness<br />The most sacred parts of your body<br />You offered to my touch<br />Until there was nothing hidden<br />And then I asked for your submission<br /><br />I watched you struggle<br />Wondering if you could truly give yourself<br />I knew how high the cost<br />But without it<br />The rest was meaningless.<br /><br />You begged me not to ask it of you<br />Knelt before me<br />Tears winding down your face<br />As I told you what more you must do<br />To be truly mine.<br />You were silent<br />You sulked<br />You thought me unfair<br />To demand your demeaning<br />The fear of pain twisting your thoughts<br /><br />You stood<br />You could not<br />We parted<br />You in tears<br />Me in strength<br />It would be a painful time<br />Sometimes being hard hurts<br />It was a lonely week<br />But I had no choice<br />I am who I am.<br /><br />I heard the tap<br />Gentle like a bird looking for a meal<br />You stood on my sill<br />Eyes on your toes<br />Hands behind your back<br />You couldn't talk<br />In lieu of flowers<br />Or a kiss<br />You handed me a cane<br />You'd found yourself<br />And walked past me<br /><br />I could hear the sobs, quiet<br />As you turned<br />Faced the chair<br />And waited<br />Opening yourself to me<br />So completely<br />It took my breath<br /><br />I loved you then as I do now<br />With everything I have<br />For being mine.<br /><br />---------------------------------<br /><br />Thanks to Ang for an interesting MfM theme. Havent had a chance to do much with you all lately. This was kind of an interesting one for me.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-37332391382916624082010-03-16T16:11:00.000-07:002010-03-16T16:40:32.331-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Renewal</span><br /></div><br />The ships came from all corners of the republic, carrying these holy men, these princes of the church, back to the planet from which their religion sprang nearly three millenia ago; human or not, they came, bidden to carry out a rite little changed, selecting the leader for untold numbers of worshippers. It would be a once in a lifetime experience for most, given the recent inclination to choose younger men; for those of us who watched as well, drawn by the drama of renewal.<br /><br />The ships – ah the ships. Anyone who had stared upward at the spaceport had seen military cruisers, freighters, the huge emigration tubs, But these were unique. They were privately owned, a fleet beholden to no one save their God. Most were old, but all were in perfect condition – so the tri-D had been telling us all week. An amazing collection we couldn't stay away from. We went down to watch them come in. We were close enough to catch a glimpse of their cargo; gasps escaped our lips at the rare sight of an alien member. It is far different to see one in real life, even at a distance that taxed our young eyesight, than to see them on a vid, no matter how realistic. This was the real thing.<br /><br />At last we went home – Jirry's house had the best tri-D and we clustered around the living room, watching them sit around the table as if it sat in the corner, listening to them speak, watching connections make and break. Of course, it wasn't real – it was a psych-sim, the avatars high in the room kept reminding us – for nineteen centuries only the men in the room knew what happened, and they largely kept it to them selves. Still we watched, fascinated. They chatted – some renewing old friendships, others carrying on the business of shepherding souls. As discussion wore down, consensus led to a first vote. We watched, fascinated, as they collected the ballots in a crucible of gold, counted, and, failing to choose, burned the results with the straw in a building nearly as old as their communion. We wondered what straw was, exactly – it was outside our knowledge, being city boys.<br /><br />The sim was amazingly accurate, at least in portraying time. The view cut to a view of the chimney, black smoke visible, true believers at the top of their voices, urging on the men performing their sacred duties; they were, of course, completely isolated from the spectacle without. At this point, the avatars warned us, the sim became more and more unreliable due to changing attitudes of the participants, but they would continue for a while. We watched as the Cardinals began politicking, just as any politicians might; the commentary from our friends above predicted just who would next be Bishop of Rome, and, by extension, leader of their church. When, after how many votes, was the question.<br /><br />We watched for hours; the sim predicted votes closely, and the reality break as the cameras moved to the chapel's exterior made it seem even more real. Commentary on the various contenders continued as, spellbound, we considered who might come to the fore of the ancient process, refined though it had been over the centuries. Finally a vote showed a young Cardinal from an alien race was chosen, at least according to the sim. It wasn't unknown – two hundred some years before an excellent leader had been chosen who was not human as well. It was still a surprise. There was a long pause while the avatars popped down, their desk now back into our room. They filled the time until something happened, explaining that the sim could go no further since it thought that the issue was decided.<br /><br />We found out the ancient way. The cameras cut to the light smoke above the chapel; shortly the men we had been watching in simulation walked out into the sunset. They had completed their responsibility, an ancient rite of transition fufilled. Frezzo picked up a ball, balanced it on his fingertip.<br /><br />“Ready to go out?”<br /><br />We left, pusuing the joys of our childhood, all of us remembering what we had just seen. It put today in perspective, the child of millenia past.<br /><br />----------------------------<br /><br />Finally got a little time to try something new for MicroFantasyMonday. It is not as bawdy as the usual stuff I write for that, but it should be responsive to Ang's choice for the week - ancient rituals. Thanks for an unusual subject.<br /><br />Much of my writing time has been involved with pieces I'm submitting for publication. You'd be amazed how much time gets chewed up with nitty little details. Shortly I'll have a separate full website completed for my stuff.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-87224402470206560542010-01-20T18:19:00.000-08:002010-01-20T18:37:56.204-08:00Sensual Stories, January 20, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Hard</span><br /></div><br />We curled together<br />Our bodies united<br />So many different ways<br />She gave herself to me<br />Willingly, freely<br />And I took her<br /><br />She was so young<br />Had not yet learned<br />To protect her soul<br />From life itself<br />I felt myself her guide<br />Not that I was much older<br />But far more tattered<br />And hard<br /><br />When we kissed I felt her stir<br />Her body replied to every thrust<br />Her soft skin slick under my worn fingers<br />The wonder of her beauty never tired me<br />The delight of her soul with everyday things<br />Brought me joy beyond my cynic's droll view of life<br /><br />I was careful with her. I touched her soul gently<br />Never wanting to cause her the hurt that would force her<br />To become as I, scarred over raw pain<br />I felt the weight of her heart in my hands<br />Light, gentle, untouched, innocent<br /><br />Of course, there came a day when it was not enough<br />When carefree moments<br />The joy of unfettered youth<br />The need to go forward won out.<br />I knew it would<br />Someday<br />I waved adieu and watched her walk down the cobblestones<br />With a boy I could have killed in a single stroke.<br /><br />Je t'aime, I thought. Always will, I suppose.<br />I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes.<br />Perhaps tonight I'll go out for a beer.<br /><br />---------------------------------------------<br /><br />Submitted to the #journalling game - see http://sensualstories.realaffection.com/PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-64781317585786537332010-01-19T20:22:00.000-08:002010-01-19T20:29:03.149-08:00MicroFantasyMonday #63<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Dreams II</span><br /></div><br />Your lips beckoned<br />So red<br />So smooth<br />Pursed with desire.<br />Never did I hold back<br />I always came<br />Wanting you<br />Despite the pain.<br /><br />I could almost feel the silk of your skin<br />Slide beneath my fingertips<br />You writhe with passion<br />Then slide away, laughing<br />As I try to claim you<br />Catching only a wispy touch<br />Your thighs, perhaps<br />Your back<br />Your beautiful golden hair<br /><br />The sound of your gentle voice<br />Whispering to my ear<br />So missing from my life<br />These long months<br />But this is my dream<br />This is where we meet<br />This is where I can hold you<br />Once again<br />I can have you<br />Until morning's brutal call<br /><br />The laughter stops<br />You lay back<br />Watch me for a moment<br />As you did<br />Then your eyes<br />Your beautiful eyes<br />Close again<br />Your body white and cold<br />I have lost you once more<br /><br />I wake<br />There is no trace of your scent<br />No strands of your hair<br />No mark of your head on the pillow<br />You are gone<br />Again<br />Forever<br /><br />------------------------------<br /><br />This is for MicroFantasyMonday; this week Ang's theme is dreams. I had done an earlier poem on a similar theme previously, although it was not a theme-driven event. This was what the theme of dreams led me to again.<br /><br />For the earlier version see http://papatomla.blogspot.com/2009/07/sensual-stories-july-21-version.html#linksPapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-78632946895124735342009-12-28T20:06:00.000-08:002009-12-28T20:11:26.703-08:00MicroFantasymonday #60<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Merry Christmas</span><br /></div><br />We had, as always, a big family Christmas; unwrapping gifts was one of the high points of the day. From three-year-olds to octegenarians, we all sat around while the younger generation passed out cards and wrapped packages from under the tree. At the magic word "Go" everyone started unwrapping, the tearing of paper drowned out by screams of joy. I held mine in my lap and looked across the room at her, waiting for the response. As she finished unwrapping, she held it up. It was a private joke - all the women admired the antique wooden hairbrush, but only the two of us knew what it was for.<br /><br />I knew when she finished reading the card by the way she looked up at me and blushed. She refused to share the card - I dont think she wanted twenty-five people to read the PS that said<br /><br />"When everyone leaves tomorrow morning I'm going to turn you over my knee"<br /><br />The blush turned to laughter as she watched me open my present. It was a well-oiled heavy leather belt. Perfect. It was all I could do not to fold it over and snap it. We both looked at each other smiling.<br /><br />She walked over to me.<br /><br />"You have to read the card"<br /><br />I hadn't seen it since it was taped to the inside bottom of the box. I opened it.<br /><br />"Dear Santa. I've been a very bad girl this year. I trust you'll take care of that"<br /><br />I stood up and we kissed, a long passionate kiss. Since we had kids staying with us there wasn't much else we'd been able to do.<br /><br />She nibbled on my ear lobe, whispering into my ear.<br /><br />"Merry Christmas, Santa. Surprise."<br /><br />"Ummmm. Merry Christmas to you too. And that was a lovely surprise. We'll unwrap that present tomorrow. And by the way..."<br /><br />She looked up at me.<br /><br />"Yes?"<br /><br />"There's a brand new cane in my closet too. I couldn't figure out how to wrap it. Surprise."<br /><br />------------------------------------<br /><br />This is for MfM, put on by Ang. This week's theme was surprise. Please see http://swelteringcelt.com/ for further information.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-38634301753440578442009-12-28T19:09:00.000-08:002009-12-28T19:16:11.831-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Shutting Down</span><br /></div><br />Standing apart<br />In an empty room<br />The pain was in your eyes<br />And on your lips<br />Mere words recording<br />The passage of love<br />From now to used-to-be<br /><br />From passion to apathy<br />We walked together<br />Destroying what we built<br />How we loved<br />Why we lived<br />Until there simply<br />Was nothing left<br /><br />A world of small things<br />Done wrong our legacy<br />Both of us wishing it<br />Could magically change back<br />Wiping the tears<br />We leave the keys<br />Close the door<br />And walk to an uncertain life<br /><br />Love is a flame that should<br />Never turn cold<br />But when it does<br />The agony is far, far greater<br />Than never having known it at all<br /><br />Submitted to the #journalling game - see http://sensualstories.realaffection.com/<br /><br />A little difficult to pick back up again - the holidays, sending the novel out for review, and also got two new novel projects through the outlining phase. Needed to see if I could do it again if I had to.<br /><br />Merry Christmas to allPapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-71992500002340576322009-12-14T21:39:00.000-08:002009-12-14T21:56:20.687-08:00MicroFantasy Monday #58<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Trading Places</span><br /></div><br />Every month we have what we call play week. For a whole week we have different rules of engagment than normal. I feel that this keeps Annie on her toes, since I set the rules. One month, for instance, during play week she had to wait on me hand and foot. If she failed (and she couldn't help failing once in a while) I'd spank her. Another week she had to wear a French maid's outfit around the house. If she grumbled I'd spank her. I enjoyed it, of course, and she went along, generally with a good sense of humor. This was just for fun - she's not really submissive. but you'd never guess it from the way she acted sometimes.<br /><br />So last week when I got home from work - she's always home an hour or so before me - there was a big note on the front door. I was surprised.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">'This week it's my turn. Come in and go upstairs to the bedroom.'</span><br /><br />I walked in and did as requested - after all fun is fun, right? I walked into the bedroom to something unexpected. My wife wasn't there - in her place was a well dressed if slightly small gentleman.<br /><br />"The mustace is a nice touch," I said.<br /><br />"Shush. This week I get to set the rules, and for this week we are going to change places. I'll be the guy and you'll be the girl. Including all the jobs."<br /><br />"I dont think I'll be too convincing. And its not fair, since you're an actress You know how to do all that makeup and dressing and..."<br /><br />I stopped and thought.<br /><br />"So that means you'll take out the garbage," Damn I hate taking out the garbage.<br /><br />"Uh huh. And you'll make dinner every night."<br /><br />"Oh, big job."<br /><br />" We'll see if you think it's that easy after a week. For the rest of this week I'm Jack and you're Jennifer. And if you screw up I give YOU the spanking for a change."<br /><br />I hadn't thought about that part.<br /><br />"Oh, OK... I guess"<br /><br />Besides acting she also played a mean game of tennis. I decided I'd better not make any mistakes.<br /><br />"Also every night to remind you of your role you'll be all dressed up."<br /><br />I laughed.<br /><br />"Fat chance. I haven't got anything.."<br /><br />I stopped as she reached behid her and produced a stack of clothes, including underwear. Black, pink, and red. I've never worn anything but white.<br /><br />"You do now. I've got you outfits enough for a week. Including..."<br /><br />She reached back again and pulled out a stack of boxes.<br /><br />"Heels and a wig. I cant wait to see you. To make it fair I'll help you with your makeup for the first day or two, but after that you better get it right or else."<br /><br />I sighed. Obviously she had thought this out and planned it carefully.<br /><br />"Come take a shower and I'll show you how to shave your legs."<br /><br />Anyone watching would have laughed themselves silly at my metamorphisis into a woman. God what a lot of work. I had to shave everywhere I usually didn't, and she inspected my face and had me shave twice, once reverse,<br /><br />"I spent some time on a couple of web sites for cross-dressers," she giggled. He giggled, actually.<br /><br />After more than an hour my makeup and clothes were to her satisfaction. I was reminded that I would come up and do this every night.<br /><br />"What, I don't have to go to work like this?" At times like this my sarcasm creeps out.<br /><br />"No..." She paused for a second. "But I think you should wear pantyhose under your slacks. And that's the last time for sarcastic remarks."<br /><br />She walked over to "our" vanity and picked up her antique ebony hairbrush.<br /><br />"Do you want to find out how this feels now, young lady?"<br /><br />I was quiet. Very quiet. I didn't. I shook my head.<br /><br />"Then let's mind our mouth. Come on, time to go downstairs and fix dinner"<br /><br />We walked down the stairs, me balanced precariously and holding firmly onto the handrail. I've always loved the sound of heels clicking on the floor; I thought it sensual. It's a lot different when they're your's, I discovered. I walked through the kitchen, unfamiliar territory to me. I started looking through the refrigerator.<br /><br />"I'll expect a delicious dinner in, oh... half an hour, OK?"<br /><br />It was a line I'd used on her more than once. The next sentance was "or you'll get a spanking." She didn't say it; she just looked at me and smiled. But she knew I knew. She walked into the living room. A few seconds later I heard the TV go on. I turned back to the refrigerator and tried to remember something she had made before. I was getting more and more panicky. I couldn't think of anything. I looked through the freezer and found frozen corn, and a package of meatballs. I needed one more thing. I took both packages out and tried looking though the cupboard. I was getting desparate. Finally I saw a box of Bisquick. I could make biscuits. That I knew how to do.<br /><br />"You might want to put on an apron to keep that dress clean. I'd hate to have to pay a dry cleaner. You'd really be in trouble then" The voice came from the living room.<br /><br />I couldn't think of anything to put on the meatballs, so I just put them and the corn in the microwave. I made some stupid mistake with the biscuit dough, and they burned a little. Just on the bottom, though. Suddenly I realized I needed to set the table. I ran around like crazy trying to get everything together. Finally I called "him" for dinner. I sat there nervously, hoping "he" didn't get mad at me.<br /><br />"I don't see a salad. or anything to drink either." The voice sounded harsh. "I'll let you slide with a poorly planned and presented meal today, but that's it. Tomorrow it's decent or else."<br /><br />I got up quickly and opened a beer, served it.<br /><br />"Next time use a glass"<br /><br />It was hard not to slip into the mindset of trying not to make "him" mad.<br /><br />"I'm sorry"<br /><br />I stood back up and got one out of the cupboard, poured the beer.<br /><br />After forever passed in small talk about the day, dinner was finally over. I felt relieved. I was sure I was going to get spanked for something. I followed him into the living room. For the next few hours we watched TV together. I cuddled up to him. He, of course, selected all the programs. Finally he switched off the TV and we headed up to bed. It felt funny to put on a nightie instead of pajamas; I do have to admit that the silky feeling all over my body felt sensual, in a very unusual way. Perhaps the fact that my skin was now shaved made a difference, I don't know. All I know was that I felt aroused, but not like usual at all. I wasn't hard - it was much more an internal thing. He came in from the bathroom in pajamas, men's panamas. They fit well, and he looked good in them. He walked over to the vanity and sat down, reaching behind to get the hairbrush.<br /><br />"Come over here, young lady"<br /><br />I walked over. This was different too. I knew I'd made mistakes, and I wouldn't blame him for spanking me. It was a really strange feeling, one I'd never had before.<br /><br />"I was going to let you slide on dinner - I told you that. But I never heard the table being cleared, and I never heard dishes being done. Those are two jobs you failed to do tonight. What happens when you fail to do a job?"<br /><br />I was startled. I suddenly realized the she did do that every night. I coudn't look him in the eyes, and I found it hard to answer. Finally I stammered it out.<br /><br />"G-G-Get a spanking"<br /><br />"Get over my knee"<br /><br />I dropped over, arms stiff against the floor. I found myself with strange thoughts, feminine thoughts I'd always considered them, of weakness and submission. Even more when I felt my nightie slide up my thighs. When my panties were pulled down and I felt the chill of the night air I started to shiver, as much from fear as from cold.<br /><br />"Why are you being spanked Jennifer?"<br /><br />My throat was dry and it was very hard to answer.<br /><br />"Didn't get the dinner chores done."<br /><br />"That's right."<br /><br />I heard the sound of a loud slap and felt intense pain. I'd never felt anything like that. It hurt. The spanking went on for a long time, and every swat hurt, hurt intensely. I was losing control, and I felt tears welling up. I couldn't help it. Finally he stopped and I stood up. I pulled up my underwear and smoothed down my nightie. It continued to hurt even when I stood there with both hands rubbing my behind.<br /><br />"Am I going to have to do this again?"<br /><br />I shook my head, trying not to cry. THAT would be all I needed. He got in bed, as did I. A few seconds later I was lying there in the dark, my ass on fire, trying to cope with my feelings. It was hard to let go of everything I'd ever felt of masculinity, but it seemed to be happening whether I liked it or not. I'd just gotten in trouble and I'd been punished for it by someone I loved. Even if it was ... role playing, I suppose ... some part of me had found some feminine area I didn't know was there. I rolled over and the pain spiked as I did. I couldn't help it. I started bawling, amazed. I hadn't cried since I was six.<br /><br />I felt arms around me, a soft voice whispering in my ear, comforting me. It took a long time.<br /><br />In the morning I ran downstairs to take care of the kitchen chores before I left. I came back and both of us were reverting to our daytime persona, she in her dress and me in my suit. Except I had pantyhose on underneath. I hoped I didn't get in an accident.<br /><br />The game went on for the next week. I struggled with feelings of femininity all week, trying to reconcile how I'd been raised with how I felt. I never found an answer I felt good about. I got spanked two more times, and he was playing fair. I really did make mistakes and I did deserve both of them. We spent all the time outside of work in our new roles, and it somehow fit both of us. We never did talk much about it - it was kind of like one long play. I was beginning to see what she liked about acting.<br /><br />It seemed no time until it was Monday. Play week was over at the end of the day; we would revert to normal. I was startled when I got home and there was another note on the door.<br /><br />"Come up to the bedroom"<br /><br />That's all it said. I came up and she was sitting on the edge of the bed, much as she'd done last week.<br /><br />"I know we havn't talked about this at all. How did you feel about play week?"<br /><br />It took me a long time to answer, and she just let me talk.<br /><br />"I don't know exactly why, but it changed something inside me. I keep having these feelings I've always thought soft and feminine, weak. I've never been weak in my life, I've never felt the slightest bit female, but you've done something... well, not you, I guess, this experience has done something to me I'm not at all sure about. It's tapped into feelings I didn't know I had. I... I really dont know where to go with this or what to do about it."<br /><br />The whole time she was silent, nodding her head occasionally as I spoke.<br /><br />When I stopped she looked at me.<br /><br />"Yes, it's definitely changed you, I could see you becoming more feminine every day. It really is a change for the better, in some ways."<br /><br />I was still unsure of a lot. Finally I asked her<br /><br />"How about you?"<br /><br />She smiled.<br /><br />"I enjoyed it very, very much. And so, I have an offer for you."<br /><br />I looked at her, not knowing where this was going to go.<br /><br />"I have another week's outfits for you..."<br /><br />She reached behind her and produced another stack of clothes.<br /><br />"... And I bought you another pair of heels. I think you'll like them. It's up to you if you want to continue. I've really enjoyed it, and I really like what you've turned into. To be honest, you are a delightful and feminine woman to be around. It would please me very much, but it is your decision. If you come down dressed and start dinner, we'll continue. Otherwise I'll come back up here and change my clothes and we'll go back to the way we were."<br /><br />She left the room; downstairs I heard the sound of her wingtips cross the kitchen to the living room. I looked through the new stack of clothes.<br /><br />You know, the sound of clicking heels when you walk across the kitchen does sound kind of sensual when you think of it.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Thanks to Ang at http://www.swelteringcelt.com/ - she always comes up with such interesting themes. This week the theme is role reversal. Above is my entry. It probably isnt micro by Ang's usual standards, but then compared the the 79,000 words I've got in the novel it is becoming micro by my standards.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-79054368067592553132009-12-08T14:29:00.000-08:002009-12-08T14:34:49.266-08:00Micro Fantasy monday #57<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Contortion</span><br /></div><br />The blue line crawls<br />Around your soft white body<br />Like a snake<br />Cupping your breasts<br />Tucking your tummy<br />Sliding between<br />Your slippery places<br />And wrapping your thighs<br />Frustration itself<br />For you cant open your legs<br />Knot<br />After knot<br />After precious knot<br /><br />But knots for bondage<br />Are trumped by knots for pain<br />As it binds your arms,<br />Your soft gentle hands<br />Behind your back.<br />You began with your face<br />Lovingly drinking from me<br />Gulping,<br />Swallowing<br />Pleasing me<br />So I will please you<br />The return of caring<br />For submission<br /><br />Click<br />Your hands slowly,<br />Inexorably,<br />Rise to the ceiling<br />Click<br />Your face begins its slow descent<br />To face the floor.<br />But not touch it,<br />For to touch it<br />Will return you to the cane<br />Sitting next to me,<br />Warning,<br />Waiting<br /><br />Click<br />Click again<br />You ankles secured<br />By the snake's friends<br />Your body twists in<br />Painful ways you didn't think it could<br />Every sinew stretched<br />Unti vulnerability<br />And pain forces a cry from your lips.<br /><br />I smile at your pose<br />Immortalize it<br />And release you<br />Slowly<br />Releasing your knots<br />And holding you once more<br />Enjoying your peace<br />As much as my own<br /><br />-------------------------<br /><br />My thanks to Ang, the sweltering celt, for running MfM. This weeks theme was contortion, which to me, among other things, suggested a bondage adventure. See her challenge and the other respondents at http://swelteringcelt.com/PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-1312257548313584372009-11-30T19:03:00.000-08:002009-11-30T19:13:44.747-08:00MicroFantasy Monday #56<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Etiquette</span><br /></div><br />You are cuffed<br />Retrained to please me<br />Twisting to escape<br />The wet touch of my lips on yours<br />My tongue penetrating<br />My fingers playing your passion<br /><br />The etiquette of our evening<br />That you must not explode<br />You must hold it in<br />Arousal be damned<br />Until I grant you<br />Release<br />The consequences are painful<br />Should you fail<br /><br />You plead<br />Beg me to allow you relief<br />Your satin thighs whisper your desire<br />Your wetness on my fingertips<br />Proclaims your readiness<br />Your back arches<br />I release your mouth<br />And capture your breast<br />Nipple firm with lust<br /><br />How well I know you<br />How well I lead you<br />Your voice<br />Released from my kiss<br />Moans its will<br />I slide down your tummy<br />And you cry out<br />For as my mouth senses your moisture<br />And takes it in<br />My mind senses and loves your passion's perfume<br />Breathing you into me<br /><br />We both know you wont<br />Withstand my touch<br />You cannot keep your love inside<br />You share it<br />Arousal and release<br />Poetry of your heart<br />Your eyes locked shut<br />Body thrusting<br />Pleasuring<br />Through our love<br /><br />Your eyes barely open<br />Passion's aftermath<br />As you look into mine<br />Lovingly<br />But your body bucks as you see<br />Behind me on the wall<br />The cane<br /><br />-----------------------------------<br /><br />I have certainly missed MfM and the other writing pleasures as I struggled with NaNoWriMo. It was a satisfaction to finish, but now I have months of editing and rewriting, though hopefully at a slower pace.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-21345760361953377402009-11-24T17:35:00.000-08:002009-11-24T17:46:04.219-08:0020 Nov 09Accidentally cross-posted here. This actually is on my writing blog; I decided to leave it here instead of deleting it.<br /><br />Posting this after the fact. Friday represented meeting my goal. Finished 50,645 words late Friday night, thus meeting the plan of 50K in 20 days. I really felt like I accomplished something. and I (like many others) put up an "I DIT IT" post on the twitter #nanowrimo topic. Finished Chapter 19 and well into chapter 20. I also can see the next 5 chapters to the end (finally) and the plot is falling into place. It looks like it will go a little over 60,000 words - the tale grows in the telling (Chaucer, isn't it? - I dont recall for sure. but it applies).<br /><br />Anyway its interesting how the contents of #nanowrimo have changed in the last week. There seem to be fewer articles website references and more sticking to the job at hand. I'm guessing a mood change in the writers, but I dont know.<br /><br />Anyway I'm happy. Luck to everyone.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-35610929769912718322009-11-02T14:58:00.000-08:002009-11-02T15:10:54.590-08:00For a ChangeFor a change a real blog post...<br /><br />Thanks to my twitter friends @caseydamnmorgan, @asparkle, @nettagyrl, and @adelehaze I became aware of the National Novel Writers Month project. Thus far my writing in this blog has evolved, as it has evolved me, to a point where I am ready to try something bigger. So I'll be trying my hand at a full-on novel during the NaNoWriMo (try saying that fast a few times) period - the entire month of November. I wont be posting anything here - I'll be taking time off from FFF, MfM, Bookends, and the rebirth of Sensual Stories. I simply have very little time as it is - adding another 4 - 5 hours a day of recreational writing just wont fit. So, I'll be back here at the end of the month, probably very thankful to write short little things as opposed to a 50,000 word novel.<br /><br />The main site is www.nanowrimo.org if you are interested in the whole concept.<br /><br />And for any who'd like to follow my efforts I've started another blog just for this project (and whatever flows from it, I guess) - www.toms-writing-adventure.blogspot.com. I expect to post daily regarding my progress and how easy (or, more likely difficult) I'm finding it. I'll probably also post excerpts as well. As always feel free to comment, there or here, and I'll be back here posting my usual stuff at the end of the month. Thanks to all of you who've commented on my stuff here. The feedback was invaluable, and one of the things that gave me the self-confidence to pursue my muse...PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-23573912041074257372009-10-30T15:37:00.000-07:002009-10-30T15:46:53.143-07:00Bookends 5<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Trust</span><br /></div><br />“The only wisdom we can hope to acquire is the wisdom of humility”<br /><br />He wrote it on the blackboard in large letters and underlined it.<br /><br />“Now who'd like to tell me exactly what old T.S. meant by that”<br /><br />I sat in the back of the hall, feeling smug. I let a couple of the girls of either sex in the front row struggle with answers before I raised my hand.<br /><br />“Yes Janice?”<br /><br />He cocked his head to one side with that quizzical look of his that was so endearing.<br /><br />“He meant that literally – he was a great believer in humility. Since the rest of the line is “Humility is Endless” I think it was his way of describing our relationship with an infinite being...”<br /><br />“Were you paying attention at all girl? That is the silliest interpretation I've ever heard...”<br /><br />He continued describing my stupidity for the next minute or two before proceding to what he really wanted to say. I was stung. hiding my face from the rest of the class. I thought I really had the answer locked up. Last night after a particularly intense game of “professor and coed” where I spent most of the evening with my skirt up around my waist he'd finally tired and lay back on the huge bed. He was snoring in a minute and I rose to clean-up and leave. As I walked by his desk I saw the notebook he taught the class from. Figuring any advantage would help even if I was teacher's pet I looked at his lesson plan for today and saw underlined his “make them think” question with the answer I'd given next to it on a sticky note. I felt like I'd been suckered.<br /><br />He ended the class (not soon enough for me) and noticed several girls smirking at me. Teacher's pet indeed – they felt like I had gotten taken down a peg. I deserved it and I could see it in their eyes. As we filed out he called “Janice I'll want to see you after office hours today”<br /><br />I was puzzled – what would he want that was that important about a wrong answer anyway. Couldn't it wait until later when me met at his house? I rolled it around in my mind during the rest of my classes, searching for an answer.<br /><br />His secretary didn't like me – of that I was sure. I think she suspected our relationship. Anyway she was usually quite rude to me on the few occasions I had to meet him at his office. Today she was competely smiling, friendly. The hairs raised on the back of my neck. Something was wrong. I knew it. She escorted me into his office, actually placing her hand on my back as we enterred the inner sanctum.<br /><br />“Professor here is that student you wanted to see...”<br /><br />He looked up over his glasses and smiled. Now I was really worried. It was definitely the cat and canary smile, and I was wearing bright yellow.<br /><br />“Shut the door Phyllis – but I may want you back in here in a little bit.”<br /><br />The door closed behind me and he cleared his throat.<br /><br />“Well last night was a test and I'm sorry to say you've failed...”<br /><br />“What do you mean?”<br /><br />I was trying to figure him out.<br /><br />“Well, Janice, I trusted you. You had access to my lesson plan and there isn't a way in the world you would have come up with that answer on your own. I was surprised, I guess. And I am very disappointed...”<br /><br />I stared at my toes. I felt like a little kid who was in trouble, and Daddy was mad at me. Oh damn, I remember what used to happen to me when that happened. Daddy had a thick leather belt and he used it when he thought it appropriate. Mom had a hairbrush that she used. I stood there twisting back and forth. Oh god, I hated it when they were disappointed...<br /><br />“Janice, I don't know if we can continue if I can't trust you...”<br /><br />I was stunned.<br /><br />“Please Paul. Oh please. I'll never do it again. I'll do whatever you want to make it up to you...”<br /><br />He sat, stroking his chin, that thoughtful expression on his face.<br /><br />I told him about the spankings I'd gotten from my mom and dad when I disappointed them.<br /><br />“Couldn't you do something like that?”<br /><br />The idea of being alone after I'd had a relationship with him for over a year was devestating to me. I'd do anything rather than live with that.<br /><br />He pressed the button on his desk.<br /><br />“Phyllis would you come in here for a moment?”<br /><br />I wondered what she would have to do with it. I started to talk but he put his finger up, motioning me to be silent. She came in and shut the door.<br /><br />“Phyllis I have a little problem with Janice here. It seems that she has broken my trust with her and I'm pretty unhappy. She's made a suggestion about her behavior and I wonder what you think about it.”<br /><br />I looked back and forth between them, trying to understand.<br /><br />He described my behavior, not mentioning what had gone before. He ended it...<br /><br />“And she thinks that maybe a good spanking would straighten her out. What do you think?”<br /><br />“Well, if I had to say it, girls often benefit from a good spanking to clean up their behavior. But if it was me I'd use my hairbrush on her for half an hour or so. I guarantee you she wouldn't be sitting in that class for a while, and I think she'd remember to mind her p's and q's for a while.”<br /><br />I looked back and he was nodding.<br /><br />“So you wouldn't mind helping out with this ?”<br /><br />I looked back at her.<br /><br />“Not at all. I'll just take her down to the ladies room and we'll just have a nice little talk, won't we dear”<br /><br />Her smile was enough to make my want to throw up. I looked back at him and he was nodding again like a bobblehead.<br /><br />“Yes. yes, I think that's the right answer. Janice, if you want to continue then I think this will be the way. Do you have any questions?”<br /><br />I couldn't talk. At least I'd be back with him afterwards but I wasn't looking forward to a spanking from Mrs. Greene. She was taller than I by a lot, and bigger. She looked strong – I thought this wouldn't be pleasant at all. And she looked like she would enjoy it. In the end I just nodded.<br /><br />“Well, you bring in your hairbrush tomorrow...”<br /><br />“Oh – OK professor. Janice, you'll be here tomorrow night at this time, right?”<br /><br />I couldn't do anything but nod.<br /><br />“OK then – see you then.”<br /><br />I walked out with her – she seemed so bouncy I wanted to choke her. I walked across the street to the little cafe in the student union, feeling nauseated. I had twenty-four hours to wait and I wasn't looking forward to any of them. I was really scared.<br /><br />I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and I knew I had to get something – I hoped it would settle. So I did sit and eat...<br /><br />---------------------------------<br />Written from a different perspective - last time I did this it worked out well...<br /><br />Bookends, run by @caseydamnmorgan is an interesting exercise - given two sentences, write the story between them. Try it sometime... see http://www.caseymorgan.orgPapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-61410143041171229682009-10-26T20:54:00.000-07:002009-10-26T21:01:42.119-07:00MicroFantasy Monday #51<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Waiting</strong></span></div><br /><br />The call had been brief<br />The message terse.<br />She took a childs stance<br />Eyes inches from the corner<br />Her jeans and panties<br />Lay on the bed<br />Hands behind her back<br />Legs cramping<br />The quarter hour<br />Joining the last two<br />Her eyes clamped shut<br />To hide the terror<br /><br />The hairbrush waited<br />Where he decreed<br />The chair in position<br />Armless<br />Straight-backed<br />Evil<br />Her body shaking<br />Anticipating<br />The reach across his lap<br />The restraint of her movements<br /><br />A drop of sweat rolled down<br />As she recalled<br />The pain<br />The last time she disobeyed<br />The marks, the soreness<br />Stayed for days<br />She promised herself<br />It would never happen again<br /><br />But it did<br /><br />A car door slams<br />Minutes later the front door<br />It seems hours before<br />His footsteps drum on the stairs<br />Days before the bedroom door opens<br />And he strides to the chair<br />Calling her<br />She opens her eyes<br />Turns from the corner<br />To see the anger in his<br />And show the naked fear in hers<br />Before, eyes downcast<br />She lies over his lap<br />Terrified<br />Awaiting his touch<br /><br />----------------------<br /><br />MicroFantasy Mondays courtesy of Ang at <a href="http://www.swelteringcelt.com/">http://www.swelteringcelt.com/</a>. This week the theme is fear.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-24134433743654452422009-10-25T23:34:00.000-07:002009-10-25T23:42:55.693-07:00Friday Flash Fiction #26<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>The Jedi's Slave: Padawan's First Adventure</strong></span></div><br /><br />The ship's engines rumbled, resonating in Lara's mind. She was on a mission with Jar Gon - a real mission as his Padawan. She was excited - she had never left her home planet. Her job was to watch and learn - nothing more. Still, it was an honor. She reached down again and touched her lightsaber - it was still there! Jar Gon looked over and saw her. He smiled, then turned back to the reports from Mangus, a dumply planet famous for mining obscure metals needed by the Republic's industries. After a moment she did the same.<br /><br />She thought about the last few weeks - her training progressed, but she'd had difficulty with the blind sessions. She could avoid attacks, but she couldn't find Ben Kor to strike.She tried falling back on her feelings and was amazed to see his figure outlined in the yellow-orange of hatred. She slipped behind him and struck him repeatedly until he surrendered. After three more bouts with the same result the lights came up and the leaders eyes were twinkling<br /><br />"Good senses you have, Lara. An excellent swordswoman you will be. Your capabilities are better than the force alone."<br /><br />She had gone through the ceremony naming her a Padawan. She'd received her lightsaber, one of few women to do so.<br /><br />She tried to focus on the reports but a vision kept interrupting. In the distant future she saw herself and Jar Gon on the jigsaw peaks of a mountain range fighting for their lives. She shivered, wondering what lay ahead.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-15885385569912805662009-10-23T17:46:00.000-07:002009-10-23T19:02:46.164-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >The New Listing</span><br /></div><br />It was the sort of house that you never seem to come to the end of, and it was full of unexpected places. Marilyn moved to the next room, laying her measuring tape in both directions and enterring the size on her listing form. Being a mid-19th century estate there were many more rooms than normal, and she had to document each of them, She had finished inventorying the kitchen appliances, noting the clever way they had been built in behind false wooden fronts that matched the cupboardry. No expense had been spared, it seemed, making the home modern, yet not violating the classic ambience. She was impressed.<br /><br />She was especially impressed with the price. If she could swing it she would buy it herself. Jan, the woman who had listed it didn't seem to match the careful planning and execution of the home – she was just in a hurry to get it sold and move on. She presented the necessary paperwork showing that her husband was deceased (in England, of all places). Marilyn expected not only her normal commission – the woman was willing to pay to have all the furniture removed and placed in storage, as well as having any necessary cleaning and inspections done.<br /><br />The house was quiet – almost too quiet. She had finished with the downstairs - next she would head upstairs and measure the bedrooms – all eight of them – and the multiple bathrooms. As she passed the full length mirror on the wall she turned and checked her appearance. She felt proud of her figure at thirty-six – she turned back and forth. Not that she was vain (well, maybe a little). Her appearance was one of the tools she used to sell houses. That and her friendly, if slightly authoritative personality. She had come a long way in the four years since her divorce. Ten years of marriage had left her very little. When she had discovered that he was an alcoholic and a cheat that was enough. She had moved to the small lakeside town to get away from everything she had been. She had worked her way into real estate sales, and it looked like she would be able to take over the brokerage when Jack retired. She was studying frantically to pass her brokers license. Then, even if he didn't allow her to take over she would be able to take the next step. And afford a place like this. She sighed, and turned to take one last look out the window over the lake. Another example of the care with which the home had been built, it was a modern picture window, but wrapped in old molding and sills so it fit into the great room. It was a beautiful view. She headed up the stairs.<br /><br />She pressed the old-style pushbutton to light up the long hall. That switch must be 100 years old, she thought. Still it worked perfectly. The first few bedrooms were of average size, furnished with antiques, and beautifully done. They looked like guest rooms – they didn't appear to have been used often. Still, all were immaculate and well laid out. She measured them and dutifully enterred the values. The last two included the master bedroom and, she had been told, a den. She turned to the left and opened the door – she was amazed at the size of the bedroom and the choice of the furnishings. Rather than the antiques furnishing the rest of the house this room was unashamedly modern. A huge bed, matching his and hers chests, sparkling mirrors, large screen TV. electronics... there must have been tens of thousands of dollars of furnishings alone. she stepped through to the master bathroom, where the motif continued. Even – she giggled – a bidet. She turned to the womans low vanity. Centered on it was an old fashioned mirror and hairbrush set. The hairbrush was long, dark wood – the type that had terrorized little boys for generations before hers.<br /><br />She picked it up and held it in her hand – it was heavy. She'd had only one experience with a hairbrush in her life – her “big sister” during hell week at her sorority had used one on her for infractions real and imagined – it didn't matter. She smiled at the recollection – she had rubbed her behind at night, then between her legs, then gone pleasantly to sleep after several orgasms. She hadn't thought about it in years. She set the hairbrush back down and headed across the hall to the den.<br /><br />The door refused to open and she had no key for it. She tried to reach across the molding above the door but she was too short, even on tiptoe. Grumbling, she returned to the master bedroom and carried out the chair, then stood on it. Running her hand along the molding she felt the key. She caught it as it fell, then returned the chair. She opened the door and gasped.<br /><br />It certainly wasn't a den, at least not in the normal meaning of the word. All along one wall were implements for punishment. She recognized a few, from where she wasn't sure- paddles, canes (she thought that's what they were called), several leather straps. Also several with multiple tails – she didn't know what those were called. And the room was furnished in the same type of thing. Across the room from her was a large straight backed chair, a small table next to it containing several more paddles and a hairbrush that was the mate to the one in the bedroom. There was a stool, and a reproduction of an old-fashioned set of stocks - she'd seen the original in a museum on vacation she recalled. Finally, there was a padded sawhorse, only it wasn't rough-built like the sawhorses she'd seen workmen use. It was smooth, oak she thought, well-finished, and the padded leather looked rich.<br /><br />It looked too tall for her, but she tried leaning over it. She was a little too short to bend all the way over it. She wondered what it would be like... She tried getting on tiptoes and she nearly fit.<br /><br />“Hmmm... You've been a bad girl” she giggled to herself. She walked over to the opposite wall and took down one of the smaller paddles. She came back and bent over the sawhorse again. She was curious as to how it would feel – she tried swatting herself. It was hard to do - in this position her blazer was a little tight. She stood up and took off her blazer and laid it over the table next to her. She leaned over the sawhorse again and tried swatting herself with the paddle. This time it really did hurt.<br /><br />“Ow” she thought. "Guess I'm glad that I'm not getting that for real."<br /><br />She closed her eyes and thought back to the time in college. She wasn't sure why but she felt a sense of arousal. She swatted herself one last time.<br /><br />“Would you like a little help with that young lady”<br /><br />The voice was deep and distinctively masculine.<br /><br />She squealed and tried to ease off the horse.<br /><br />“Oh no – not yet”<br /><br />She felt strong hands around her holding her in place, then the paddle was wrested from her hand. She tried to turn and look at her captor, but all she could see was the bottom of his slacks and a pair of very expensive wingtips.<br /><br />“Let me go.”<br /><br />She began to have a moment of panic.<br /><br />“I dont think so”<br /><br />She felt herself lifted from the horse and carried across the room. He sat in the chair and stood her in front of him. She appraised him. “Yup, qualified buyer” was the first idea that came into her mind. His Armani suit, silk shirt and power tie matched the shoes. He clearly had the money to do what he wanted. Then she realized how silly that train of thought was.<br /><br />“Supposing you tell me what the hell you're doing in my house first. Then we'll talk about everything else.”<br /><br />“Your house? I have a client who came in and listed this house for sale...”<br /><br />He looked impatient.<br /><br />“For sale. Hmmm... let me guess. Jan. Tall blonde. Forty-ish. Drives a gold Lexus...”<br /><br />“Yes...”<br /><br />“Needed a quick sale. Had to leave the area...”<br /><br />“Yes...”<br /><br />“Closing costs dont matter. Send the money to her in Nevada...”<br /><br />“Yes. That's her. She had the death certificate for her husband.”<br /><br />He began to look angry.<br /><br />“Death certificate?”<br /><br />“Yes. She said he died in England. She was broken up about it and just had to leave.”<br /><br />“Well I just bet she was. Well, rumors of my demise are greatly exadurated, as they say.”<br /><br />It took a minute for her to understand.<br /><br />“So this is all a scam?”<br /><br />“Looks that way. You see, I am a consulting geologist for several oil companies. I spend a lot of time out on oil drilling rigs here and in England. I also spend a lot of time reporting to management and boards of directors both places. So I'm gone for long periods of time. She was expecting me to be gone for the next month.”<br /><br />“What happened?”<br /><br />“We had a rig blow out and I dont have to be out there until they fix it. So I have a week off. One she didn't expect”<br /><br />“Oh”<br /><br />“This is just an ugly divorce. She was trying to get an additional settlement. I'll have my lawyer visit your office and he'll have the police take care of it.”<br /><br />She stood there in front of him, not sure what to do.<br /><br />“OK – so you dont want to sell then? This is a beautiful place...”<br /><br />His face relaxed in a smile.<br /><br />“No – not as long as I'm alive.”<br /><br />He looked at her thoughtfully.<br /><br />“So shall I pretend that I didn't see what I did?”<br /><br />His eyebrows raised. She blushed bright red, and now she felt really confused. She looked at him in a different light. He was attractive, very attractive now that you thought about it, and if she was ever going to get a spanking from any body...<br /><br />“Well?...<br /><br />He was so attractive that she could want him even if there was no spanking invloved. But there was. Or could be...<br /><br />“Ummm. I guess you know a lot about this stuff, huh?”<br /><br />She was trying to give herself time to think, but he wasn't having any.<br /><br />“I know enough to be able to see a girl who thinks she needs a spanking”<br /><br />He reached over and pulled her down across his lap. She felt more embarassed than she remembered ever before in her life. His hand lay on the seat of her skirt, and his touch awakened something within her, a desire, arousal. She couldn't help squirming a little on his lap. She felt his hand smoothing her seat, gently, but with a firmness that made her melt.<br /><br />“Ouch”<br /><br />He swatted her – not particularly hard – more it was a surprise and she cried out not in pain but because she was unprepared. The room had no carpet and the walls were panelled rather than the softer coverings in the other rooms in the house. The sound of the swats from his hand echoed around the room. He didn't really hurt her – she couldn't explain why but the impact of his hand was driving her to heights of arousal she didn't recall before either. She could not hold still on his lap, wriggling back and forth.<br /><br />“So how's my naughty girl doing”<br /><br />She could hear the smile in his voice. He continued the spanking, not too hard, just enough. After a while her wriggling turned to thrusting her hips. She began to really want him inside her. He stopped, then she felt her skirt slipping up her thighs.<br /><br />“No wait. Dont....”<br /><br />“Well, well, well. If that isn't cute”<br /><br />She knew he was enjoying the view. Her one surrender to feminine frilliness was her underwear. She loved lacy underclothes, and preferred old fashioned stockings to pantyhose, so her tormentor was looking at skimpy black lacy panties, a matching garter belt, and dark nylon stockings. She had never shared her preferences with anyone, so no one she worked with would ever have guessed. But he knew. Her face, if it was possible, was an even darker shade of red, she knew.<br /><br />She felt the intimacy of his hand on her bottom. Without the skirt in the way she could feel the toughness of his hand.<br /><br />“Ow”<br /><br />Being spanked this way was much more painful – she couldn't keep from crying out, and this time it really smarted. He continued. She couldn't help but feel that he somehow knew how to handle her, how to master her. She definitely felt the swats much more – they were hard enough to make her beg him to stop if he went on much longer. But then he stopped, wthout being asked. Again, somehow he knew, she thought.<br /><br />She felt him open her legs slightly, then run his finger along the edge of her panties. Down her bottom. Down the inside of her thigh. Down next to her lips...<br /><br />“Oh God”<br /><br />His touch was unbelievably right, sensitive, gentle... She bucked on his lap as he began to stroke her, moving far more than from the spanking. He continued until her words became incoherent, lost in the pleasure of the moment. She had no control, no knowledge, nothing.<br /><br />He stood her up, lifted her and carried her across the hall to the bed, softly laying her on it. She watched as he stripped off his shirt, pants, shoes. As his shorts came off she caught her breath – she had only been with a few men, but he was bigger than anyone she had seen. Or heard of, considering the powder room grapevine. Gently he pushed her on her back, then slid her panties off. Opening her legs he gently dropped onto her. As he enterred her, she felt him moving slowly – perhaps he had learned to be tender because of his size. But he quickly filled her - if he were any bigger it would have been painful. She reached up and enfolded him, giving back the pleasure she felt. Their passionate thrusts matched and it was not long before they came, both crying out together as one.<br /><br />The sun was setting as they rose, having lay together holding and whispering the rest of the afternoon. She fetched her clothes and dressed – he pulled sweats out of the chest and slipped easily into them.<br /><br />“So how long are you here?” she asked.<br /><br />“Till Friday. Would you like to come over?”<br /><br />“Try to keep me away. What happens then?”<br /><br />“I'll be on the Gulf coast for three weeks, then over to the North Sea”<br /><br />“Would you like company?”<br /><br />He looked at her appraisingly.<br /><br />“You know, in all the five years I was married to Jan she never wanted to go anywhere with me. I never expected... I mean, yes, of course”<br /><br />The expression on his face warmed her.<br /><br />“That was her. I'm me. I go where my man is”<br /><br />It was a little presumptuous, she thought, but he would get used to the idea.<br /><br />“You do know, the paddle is still here. Waiting”<br /><br />“Well you know how to use it, dont you?<br /><br />“Yes”<br /><br />“Then I'll learn how to take it."<br /><br />He walked her out to her car, kissed her goodbye. As she backed down the driveway she looked back. He was leaning against one of the porch pillars, a smile on his face. She waved and he waved back. As she headed down the river road towards home she started thinking about the paddle. Yes, it would hurt. It would hurt a lot. Enough to be scary. But the thought flittered away quickly. If things are good they’re not terrifying, are they?<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------<br />Bookends, run by @caseydamnmorgan is an interesting exercise - given two sentences, write the story between them. Try it sometime... see http://www.caseymorgan.orgPapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-68136603143631057382009-10-19T16:12:00.000-07:002009-10-19T16:21:29.712-07:00MicroFantasy Monday #50<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >The Contest</span><br /></div><br />Her eyes gazed up<br />Shiny with unshed tears<br />Her heart pounding<br />As she nodded obedience<br />To his unspoken order<br /><br />The contest between<br />What she deserved<br />And what she endured<br />Defined her submission<br />And her love<br /><br />She bared her body<br />As always<br />And bent to grasp<br />A dancer's ankles<br />With her delicate fingers<br />Forcing herself<br />To want the pain<br />To desire the pain<br />To accept the pain<br /><br />His muscular arm drew back<br />Then planted<br />Rattan's kiss<br />She bit her lip<br />To stifle her cry<br />Eyes fixed<br />On chair legs<br />For if she wandered<br />Her control would go<br />And she would lose him<br /><br />After the stroke<br />Her mind eased the body<br />By meditating on<br />Their passion<br />And their love<br />Knowing that she needed<br />What only he could give<br /><br />The pain a line of fire<br />It took all<br />To maintain the stance<br />To avoid the dance<br />Many do<br />Because it pleased<br />But fire it was<br /><br />She awaited the next stroke<br />And the next<br />Now tensing<br />Now letting go<br />The fourth was always the worst<br />Because there were still more to go<br />And the urge to surrender<br />So high<br /><br />She could no longer keep<br />The tears<br />The cries<br />But in letting them out<br />Her resolve rose<br />To see the end<br /><br />She stood<br />After he released her<br />Pride in submission<br />On tiptoes to pull<br />Them close<br />As they walked together<br />To their bedroom<br />For an afternoon of<br />Aftercare<br />She caught a glance<br />Of the double stripes<br />And smiled<br /><br />She had<br />Indeed<br />WonPapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-77176125944934122152009-10-19T15:11:00.000-07:002009-10-26T00:15:07.793-07:00Firday Flash Fiction #25<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold;font-size:130%;" >The Jedi's Slave: The Power of Mind</span><br /></div><br />A glow suffused Lara's being. After the gentle passion with Angaa she'd pulled herself together to return to training. The afternoon was a mental challenge. It was the first time she had to try – in a world of darkness, black as coal, she had to engage a Jedi and avoid his training light saber. While not fatal, when it hit her it stung – badly. And it did not help that the young one who disliked her – Ben Kor – clearly enjoyed the process. He was her training partner. One thing that betrayed him was his anger – she could sense it as if it were visible. Again and again she avoided his blows. At the end she was worn down and his final blow caught her on the back of her thighs – she cried out and the pride was clear in his voice.<br /><br />“For the Win!”<br /><br />The lights came up and the leader stood. She was still rubbing the sore spot as he complimented her. She winced and shook her head.<br /><br />“I can do better” she gritted. She did not want him to think her a tempermental female, easily beaten.<br /><br />Ben Kor smiled.<br /><br />“When you are ready”<br /><br />---------------<br /><br />That night she lay with Jar Gon, drained after lovemaking.<br /><br />“Master, I have something to share with you”<br /><br />“Yes little one?”<br /><br />“Master beause of the rosewater I now enjoy the touch of a woman. A lot. Are you angry with me?”<br /><br />He smiled.<br /><br />“Of course not. I just wondered when you were going to tell me...”<br /><br />------------------------------<br /><br />This weekend not only did I have to work, but I had two down computers - one hardware failure, the other a nasty virus. Should any of you encounter the SecurityTool virus the latest version is really nasty - took over the whole machine. It took all day Sunday and much of this morning to get it wiped out...PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-63836452645378766802009-10-16T16:56:00.000-07:002009-10-16T17:16:42.241-07:00Bookends No. Three<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >The Train Ride</span><br /></div><br />"A blind agitation is manly and uttermost. If you do not enjoy it, why make a fuss about it"<br /><br />She planted her little flower of civilization into the conversation.<br /><br />"Uh huh - and what exactly did you mean by that, Ma'am?"<br /><br />"Oh you're so ignorant, you're such a ..."<br /><br />Words failed her, an uncommon occurance. Just then the train enterred a tunnel; the darkness and the sounds enveloped them for a while. When they exited, blinking at the sunlight, she found her travelling companion in the same condition, slowly laying down the cards for solitaire. One difference - he was smiling at her.<br /><br />"You yankee women sure can talk."<br /><br />She sputtered for a second.<br /><br />"Well, I should hope. I've studied in the finest universities, spent time in Paris..."<br /><br />His calmness was unmoved.<br /><br />"Well that doesn't say what kind of person you are, now does it Ma'am. I can't help but wonder what you are doing out in this god-forsaken part of the country"<br /><br />She pulled her cloak around her shoulders as if for protection.<br /><br />"I have family business in San Francisco. One of my sisters..."<br /><br />Her voice trailed off as she thought of the errand she was on.<br /><br />"Hope its nothin' serious."<br /><br />His voice was half question, half condolences. She wan't sure she wanted to share family secrets with a total stranger, especially a man so... different.<br /><br />He stood, picked up his Stetson from the seat next to him.<br /><br />"Pardon me Ma'am, I'm going for a smoke"<br /><br />She watched him cross the car to the rear platform, pulling a cigar from his suitcoat pocket as he went. Actually she was surprised at his gallantry - she half-expected him to smoke in her presence. The silence almost turned into loneliness - something she thought silly, but there it was. She turned back to the need for her trip - Lily was not only in trouble but sick as well. She wasn't looking forward to straightening out another mess. She was the strong one, though, and that had always been her lot in life. Sometimes she wished she wasn't.<br /><br />He walked back to their seats - they were the only occupants of the car. No wonder, she thought. Who would want to come out to such an uncivilized country unless they had to.<br /><br />He stretched out on the seat, dropping the hat back next to him. He looked at her thoughtfully, his weatherbeaten face concerned.<br /><br />"Ma'am, you really seem to be troubled. Is there anything I can do to help you out?"<br /><br />She laughed bitterly.<br /><br />"Certainly. Help me pry my sister out of a really bad marriage and get her on the train back home. Her husband is truly evil."<br /><br />She was surprised that she had stopped trying to hold everything in. She didn't know why, but she was beginning to trust him. He seemed to have a quiet strength, different from the men she knew.<br /><br />"In what way is he evil? Just because he wants to keep her there?"<br /><br />"No - if it were that simple... He beats her. All the time. And now she's sick and he's been beating her even more becasue she isn't ..."<br /><br />She couldn't bring herself to say her own sister was a whore. To be honest she didn't know what she would do when she got there. Or could do.<br /><br />"Dont cotton to men like that"<br /><br />She felt strength from his displeasure. She felt a sense of right, of doing the correct thing. But she suddenly couldn't hold her feelings in any more, just could not continue to be strong. She started to sob, teardrops running down her face. She felt his body next to hers, hard and lean, his arm around her heaving shoulders.<br /><br />"Ma'am I've got a few friends in that town, including the police chief. I think we can get him pried away from her. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it"<br /><br />He reached down and tilted her face up to his, his blue eyes angry.<br /><br />"Don't worry"<br /><br />That was all he said. She was content to sit near him, watching him play.<br /><br />Later they talked. They talked of differences and similarities. They talked of New York and of Dallas. They talked of her writing and his cattle ranch. They talked about each other. She became used to his gentle drawl and he to her sharp-edged pronunciation. She walked out on the platform while he smoked, something she had never dared do before. He sat quietly playing cards while she read.<br /><br />The night before their arrival she curled up next to him, sleeping while he played. His arm around her body, she felt completely safe in a way she hadn't since she was a small girl.<br /><br />As they climbed down from the railway car she was impressed at his command of the disorganization of travelling. He lined up porters for their luggage and got everything moving to their hotel. He had insisted she stay with him - he had cancelled the reservations she'd made in the small hotel, moving her into his suite in the Stanford.<br /><br />She was impressed when the chief and several policemen paid them a visit that night. Bret explained the situation to them far better than she could. All of them had grim faces as they left. He left with them, telling her to wait for their return. It was over an hour when the door burst open and he carried Lily in to the bedroom, accompanied by the policemen. The two women screamed and hugged each other, Lily thanking everyone within earshot for rescuing her. She promised again and again that she had learned her lesson and all she wanted was to return home. Home never looked better.<br /><br />The next morning they put Lily on a train headed there.<br /><br />"I've got a little business to attend to, then we'll have dinner."<br /><br />Business took several hours - she took the time to think over her new find. They weren't lovers but she could easily see it hapening. She wondered if she could give up her life for his - she had no idea what it was like to live on a cattle ranch. Of course, he hadn't even asked her yet.<br /><br />Over dinner they began again.<br /><br />"Train leaves for Dallas in the morning. Would you like to be on it with me?"<br /><br />She looked at him. She'd already worked through to her answer. Tears welled up as she said yes. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a box.<br /><br />"Guess you'll be needin' this then" he said with a sly grin.<br /><br />She blinked at the size of the diamond, then screamed and threw her arms around him.<br /><br />The next morning they held each other as the train pulled out. She curled up next to him, putting his hat on the other seat. She smiled as his arm wrapped around her body, then gave a little sigh.<br /><br />He gathered some of the cards together and shuffled them...<br /><br />---------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Bookends, run by @caseydamnmorgan is an interesting exercise - given two sentances, write the story between them. Last week since I bitched about writing like a Brit she instead gave us quotes from a couple of American authors (although Stein was an expat in Paris most of her career). It remains an interesting exercise regardless of how you frame it. Try it sometime... see www.caseymorgan.orgPapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-70599173600401017232009-10-13T18:54:00.000-07:002009-10-13T19:13:20.001-07:00MicroFantasyMonday #49<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Black and White</strong></span></div><br /><br />Kayla walked into her great-grandmother's house, laptop under her arm. It was her on-going challenge to try to get gramma Louise onto the net.<br /><br />"Hi Gramma"<br /><br />"Hi child. How are you today?"<br /><br />"OK - want to check your email and see if you have any?"<br /><br />"No, not right now. But there is something else I'd like to try"<br /><br />The old woman pulled out a letter, crumpled with repeated reading.<br /><br />"This is from an old friend of mine. Thanks to you we just got back in touch with each other"<br /><br />Kayla smilled at the recollection.<br /><br />"She sent me a place on the net I'd like to see. Can you help me with it ?"<br /><br />"Sure Gramma. Let me see it"<br /><br />She unfolded the note and swiftly keyed in the address. Quickly a website popped up - it was totally foreign to Kayla, but she looked over to see her great-grandmother totally entranced.<br /><br />"Honey show me how to get around here..."<br /><br />Kayla showed again for what seemed the fiftieth time how to use the mouse. She was surprised as the older woman moved assertively in front of the monitor.<br /><br />"Kayla go get yourself a coke..."<br /><br />When Kayla returned she was amazed to watch the woman she had thought computer-illiterate easily handling the keyboard and mouse. She seemed lost in deep thought as she maneuvered quickly through endless photos of groups of men, old airplanes, and unfamiliar scenery. Suddenly she stopped, zoomed the photo she was looking at to fill the screen. Louise screamed, then began to wail. Through her tears she was repeating<br /><br />"Oh God, I miss you..."<br /><br />"What is it, gramma?"<br /><br />It took a long time before she made a visible effort to pull herself together. She attended to the tears with kleenex, than began to explain.<br /><br />"Honey, that is your great grandfather and his crew. He died right after that picture was taken, and I've never seen it before. He was a real hero."<br /><br />"That was a long time ago, gramma?"<br /><br />Kayla didn't know much about her great-grandfather except he had died before her grandfather was born.<br /><br />"Yes child. During World War II. We were so proud of him. I met him at the beginning of his flight training. We were married then, and I only had a few months before he finished and he was gone. I had hardly any photos of him - we weren't supposed to take many back then. And when he was over in England some of his buddies had cameras, but they weren't allowed to send the photos home. So I've never seen these before."<br /><br />She pointed to the picture of a dozen men in bulky clothes standing under a huge airplane. She pointed out one, a tall handsome man.<br /><br />"That's your great-grandfather. Everyone of those boys was in my kitchen at one time or another. His copilot.."<br /><br />She pointed to another of the black and white figures.<br /><br />"...Jack and his wife were our best friends. I know Jack survived, but his wife was killed in an accident before he made it back. I always felt for him"<br /><br />"Gramma, How did he die?"<br /><br />"Honey you have to remember how close these men were, and how bad it was for them. Grampa Bill - I guess that's what you would call him..."<br /><br />Kayla nodded.<br /><br />"...He was promoted again and again because everyone around him kept getting shot down. Anyway they were over Germany I think it was - I've never been sure. They had been hit a bunch of times by airplanes and guns. And the plane was going down. He kept the plane level enough that everyone else could get out..."<br /><br />Her voice started to break.<br /><br />"... and then it blew up before he could get out..."<br /><br />"Gramma..."<br /><br />She stood up and walked over to her credenza and opened one of the drawers. She handed a small box to Kayla. She opened the box, looking at the blue ribbon and gold.<br /><br />"This is the highest honor our country has to give. And your grampa got it. In fact the president gave it to me himself"<br /><br />"Gramma - really?"<br /><br />She reached further in the drawer and pulled out a framed photo. Kayla looked in disbelief at the much younger image of the woman standing in front of her taking the box from the man she remembered from her history books.<br /><br />"Oh my god..."<br /><br />Kayla simply didn't know what to say.<br /><br />"Kayla, I'd like to borrow your laptop until I get one of my own. Would that be OK?"<br /><br />"Of course gramma"<br /><br />"OK then - why don't you get on your way. I want to go through all these photos for a while. I'll be OK"<br /><br /> ---------------------------------------<br /><br />Late this week - had a funeral for a friend that took up most of my time until now. Really puts you in a reflective mood - thus the treatment of this week's theme...PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-7515930429959114282009-10-09T21:36:00.000-07:002009-10-09T22:07:56.648-07:00Firday Flash Fiction #24<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>The Jedi's Slave: Reconciliation</strong></span></div><br /><br />The summons had been brief.<br /><br />"We have not seen you for a while. Please honor us with your presence."<br /><br />Lara knew it was the right thing to do, scary though it was. She requested an autocar to take her to the Ordelian ambassador's residence. Angaa rushed out to greet her, hugging like old friends.<br /><br />"It has been weeks. We've missed you. How can we grow..."<br /><br />Lara interrupted her.<br /><br />"There have been new developments. We must talk":<br /><br />"Of course - come in child"<br /><br />They walked in together.<br /><br />Lara began.<br /><br />"You must realize that I now have to live in two worlds. First, in yours, the world of the sisterhood..."<br /><br />"Of course. That is why..."<br /><br />"Listen. They have tested me.It seems that I have the midichlorian levels to be a Jedi. A very high level Jedi."<br /><br />Angaa drew in her breath.<br /><br />"But how can you be part of us and part of them? Aren't they our enemies? Don't we need to rebel against them?"<br /><br />"Listen, dear one. My abilities will allow me to be..."<br /><br />Lara paused. It was important that she phrase this correctly.<br /><br />"... a bridge between the sisterhood and the Jedi. It is most important to both our continued growth that this work well, and to our mutual benefit"<br /><br />Angaa looked at her in a different light. That Lara could be a person of power rather than a conquest was new.<br /><br />"You know that I must discuss this with the others..."<br /><br />"Of course. But know this. It can only be good for you. Already I have the start of votes in the senate to prevent women from being punished for witholding information from the sisterhood. We have hopes of getting it passed soon."<br /><br />Angaa stared<br /><br />"How could you do this? This will benefit our drive to be one with your..."<br /><br />Again Lara interrupted her.<br /><br />"I do not have much time. I am due for training in a few minutes. It is that simple. You must trust me. I have only our interest at heart."<br /><br />Angaa nodded.<br /><br />"So have you discovered the drive I told you of?"<br /><br />She took Lara's hand, reached in her back pocket and produced a crystal bottle.<br /><br />Lara smiled.<br /><br />"Perhaps I do have a few spare moments..."PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-11458629654030111532009-10-09T10:56:00.000-07:002009-10-09T11:05:45.056-07:00Bookends No. Two<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Peter's Little Wife</strong></span></div><br />She liked people who made their own scrapes for themselves before they fell into them, and then got out without being fished for. She liked them because they were interesting, because they were strong, because they were clever, but mostly because they were something she was not. Never in her life had she been quick-witted enough to get out of problems of her own making. Like today.<br /><br />After university she found a position in a small law firm. The smallness guaranteed she would be visible, highly so since she was secretary to one of the partners. The many men flocking to his office also guaranteed her a steady stream of flirtacious encounters. In the end another partner, young by law firm standards, has stolen her heart with his gentle wit and she was now his. He still stayed at their flat in the city during the week while she had retired to run the country house. She didn't mind the isolation at all, and with three in help she was able to keep a pleasant home for him with little effort on her part. He was gentle, kind, and twice her age. And therein lay her <em>problème de jour</em>. He was as much parent as husband.<br /><br />She had a small acount to manage for the house - for the grocer, the chemist, a few others. She'd made an inconsequential error balancing the account, and the bank had rejected three cheques. When she realized her mistake she had tried at once to make it right, but she didn't have any money of her own. She could not see any way clear of this. Unfortunately Peter was rather unyielding on financial matters, and she remembered his words the first week they were married. He had presented her the materials for the household account, and casually said if she ever made a mess of it she could look forward to a caning.<br /><br />So here she was - a twenty two year old woman about to be thrashed like a child. The last time her mother had thrashed her she'd been ten. She hadn't enjoyed it at all. And she wasn't looking forward to tonight either. She'd sent the chauffeur to pick up Peter at the train, and the smells from the kitchen hinted at a delicious dinner. The maid had polished the living room to a high gloss. Now all she could do was wait.<br /><br />Once again she thought over her choices. She could bluff it out and just ask him for a little more this month. She could tell all and beg for his mercy. She could lie. She just didn't think she could out-bluff him, and she had never been able to get away with a lie, even a little one. She sighed deeply. Might as well get it over with and try to salvage a decent weekend, even if she couldn't sit comfortably.<br /><br />She dismissed the servants early - she told them she'd like to serve him dinner on her own. She went to his den and fetched the cane from the closet. He'd never touched her with it - she knew that was at an end. She heard the Bentley on the gravel and hurried out to meet him, the cane held behind her skirt. The smile split his face the moment he saw her. She threw her free arm around his neck and kissed him passionately. She knew that after her punishment things would never be the same between them. After a bit he pulled back and looked into her eyes. Tears began to flow as she brought out the cane and handed it to him, He shook his head sadly.<br /><br />"Tell me" he wanted to say "everything in the whole world."<br /><br />-------------------------------------<br /><br />A continuing series - see <a href="http://www.caseymorgan.org/">http://www.caseymorgan.org/</a> for more information. Two phrases are supplied - one must be the first, the other the last part of the story. We fill in the space between the bookends.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-77450425252070957542009-10-05T16:34:00.000-07:002009-10-05T17:16:21.820-07:00MicroFantasyMonday #48<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" > Survival</span><br /></div><br />Your little pink pin<br />Reminds us all of<br />The time you lay<br />A small body<br />In a huge white bed<br />Ensnared to the wall<br />By tubes and wire<br />The fear you faced alone<br />No matter how much we were there<br /><br />Women are strong enough<br />But you are the strongest of the strong<br />Fighting to care<br />To continue<br />To be the moms and lovers you have always been<br /><br />You’re missing a curve or two<br />Here or there<br />But in our eyes<br />You are as beautiful as ever<br />And always will be<br /><br />-------------------------------------<br /><br />Dedicated to all the victims of breast cancer. Soul mate and I have been lucky in that it has never affected her, but we both know lots of women that it has.<br /><br />In case you missed it, the National Football League (American football for those elsewhere) allowed players to wear pink in support of National Breast Cancer Awareness month. It was kinda cute to see these big burly lineman and tough defensive backs with pink shoes on. Coach Singletary had a pink brim on his hat.PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1465626480274812970.post-35694659221607771552009-10-03T00:49:00.000-07:002009-10-03T00:54:38.535-07:00Friday Flash Fiction #23<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>The Jedis's Slave: Training</strong></span></div><br />The sweat drop rolled down her nose. She hated PT. Her young body was in fantastic shape, but that seemed to motivate her trainer to push her further. Padawan hell, she felt like a pack mule. The mental exercises were ridiculously easy – they had not even started to push her capacity, though she was careful not to let anyone know that. And then there were the bullshit things, taught by those who couldn’t do, so they taught: the unfailing courtesy with which Jedi were expected to respond; the haiku-like chants; and the geopolitical knowledge to help run a republic spanning their part of the galaxy. She sighed. It was hard, but she was making progress. And she had been made a special case. She had gotten what she wanted<br /><br />She and Jar Gon looked at each other across the bed. She had dropped in a fit of exhaustion.<br /><br />“Well according to all accounts you are doing well, Padawan”<br /><br />She knew he called her that just to tease her.<br /><br />“Yes Master, err Yes Master Jedi – is that better?”<br /><br />“Yes little one – I’m never sure which role you’re playing at the moment.”<br /><br />He smiled, and her heart beat faster. She reached over to him, longing for his touch.<br /><br />“You know, although you are a slave, some people from the lesser developed planets would probably treat you as a god.”<br /><br />He rolled over and positioned himself above her. She felt the arousal rise as he entered her.<br /><br />He grinned.<br /><br />“In God we thrust”PapaTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02227215935346694171noreply@blogger.com2