I am beautiful

My hair is snarled and tangled and sticky, from the hard grip of his hands, from my head being driven into the mattress, from sweat, from the cunt-cream he rubbed through it. My face is tracked with tears, from the vigorous throat fucking, from the harsh sting of his cum in my eyes, from the joy of serving him; I don’t wear that much makeup but what there was of eyeliner and mascara has followed the twin rivers and stained my cheeks. My lips are swollen, from stretching to fit around him, from the relentless friction of his thrusts. My chin is slobbery from gagging and sucking; the torrents of drool have coated my breasts and below. My eyelashes are sticky and clumped into points, from the jets of praise that coated my face and filled my eyes. My bottom and thighs are covered in lines and stripes and blotches and handprints of red and crimson and purple, from… from how this all started.

He tells me that, when I look like this, I am at my most beautiful. It took me a while to see through his eyes, but I now know that to be the perfect truth.

— Frenulum

The price of advancement

“Stacy. Can you give me a hand for a minute?”

Stacy kept typing, her eyes on her copy stand. “Sure, one sec.” The keys continued to fly, until Stacy raised her left hand and slapped the carriage return lever twice. She looked up. “What can I do for you, Rose?”

“I have my performance appraisal at ten,” Rose replied. “I could use your help for a few minutes to…” The comely young stenographer blushed. “Um, you know, get ready for it.”

“Sure,” said Stacy, standing up. “Annual review time. Need me to give you an enema?”

“If you wouldn’t mind — it’s hard for me to do it myself. And I’m really hoping Mr. Gardner will give me a raise this year.”

— Frenulum

Odd jobs

Stopped at a red light one day last week, I observed a bus stop, with a bench for passengers, with a local business advertisement on the back of the bench — all quite familiar — and an orange panel van, with a worker in a safety vest extracting a new bus-bench advertisement from a collection in the back.

I’ve seen bus-stop bench ads for my whole life. I had never seen one being changed.

Now of course, if anyone had asked, I might have guessed that there were people who drove around and took off old signs and installed new ones as called for by various contracts. Certainly I would not have imagined that the signs changed themselves, or that professional artists wandered by in the dead of night to paint new ones by hand. But no such question arose, either in life or in my own mind.

Huh. Bus-stop-bench-back-sign-changing is a job. People do that. Hundreds of people do that! Do they do other things as well, or is bus-bench sign maintenance a full-time profession?

As with the designing of panties (see Too Late Wise), this is obvious — as of one second after the thought first hits.

The main difference being: after seeing the bus-stop-bench-back-sign-changing fellow, I was not suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that I had misspent my life.

— Frenulum

Entitlement

Esther, Erin, Adrianna, and Kylie sat side by side on the bench outside Room Six; for the most part they were absorbed in their own dread, or searching through their personal galleries of excuses and ploys, looking for some escape.

“I prob’ly shouldn’t have said ‘stupid fucking B’,” Erin said glumly. “That’s when she got the pink slip out.”

All four miscreants pondered and compared that thought. “I thought I was convincing her,” observed Kylie, “But then I said something like: my parents pay your salary and if I want an A you’ll give me an A.” She sighed. “That wasn’t exactly brilliant, was it?”

Niether Esther nor Adrianna spoke up, but their faces were similarly regretful.

Mr. Foster opened the door, and glanced out at the waiting tartlets. “Adrianna,” he said, and waited while she rose and, with halting steps, passed through the doorway. “Take your kilt off and put it…” the others heard before the door closed.

Erin, shocked, looked at her classmates. “Did he say… her kilt…”

“Yeah,” Kylie replied mournfully. “Spanking on the bare bottom. No kilt, no panties. That’s the deal.”

“It’s worse,” Esther moaned. “At least for me… see?” She held out her pink slip for inspection. “If there’s an X in this box, it means spanking. But mine is marked here instead — that’s something even worse, I don’t know what.”

Erin and Kylie examined their own punishment orders. Their hearts sank as they found them to be marked in the same way. Just at that moment, an explosive SMACK and Adrianna’s first cry of pain filtered through the closed door.

Erin paled. “I can’t take off my kilt! I’m not… I wore…” Speechless, she lifted her short uniform skirt so her friends could see: peach lace thong panties instead of the regulation cotton briefs. “I’m in so much trouble!” Tears overflowed and began to roll down her cheeks.

“Wear mine,” Esther offered, standing and tugging her own panties down her legs.

“No, mine,” said Kylie, echoing the motion. She stepped out of her plain white cotton panties. “If he takes us in order then I can change back while he’s busy with Esther.”

While they stood there, panties in hand, arguing about the best way to avoid further punishment, the door to Room Six opened and Adrianna emerged: tear stained, disheveled, half naked, with the fiery crimson lines of a vigorous strapping adorning her bottom and thighs.

Mr. Foster surveyed the scene, looking from one girl to another. He lifted the lace panties from Erin’s unresisting fingers. “Yours?”

“Yes, sir,” Erin whispered.

“I’ll have you next, then. Come in.”

The door closed behind them. Adrianna wept, face in hands, oblivious to her exposure.

A “B” is a pretty good grade, after all.

— Frenulum

Not Asleep

(A sequel to Sleep-over)

The girls froze into silence at the sound of footsteps in the hall. A soft knock followed, knuckles rolled gently over the door.

“Everything ok?” asked Liv’s father, through the closed door.

“We’re fine, Dad,” Liv called.

“I heard a noise. Need any help?”

“No,” the girls chorused.

“That was me, Dad, I just had a bad dream,” added Liv.

The doorknob turned, and a crack of light from the hallway appeared. Two highly concerned teens hid desperately under the bedclothes: being found naked in bed together would not be easily explained. But Liv’s father was content with the narrow gap to talk through, and didn’t open the door enough to see them.

“Sure you’re ok now?”

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“Riley?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Ok. You know where to find me if I can do anything for you.” The door closed. Footsteps receded. Liv and Riley held their breaths and looked at each other wide-eyed, waiting to be sure that the interruption was over.

“What were you thinking, screaming like that?” Riley whispered.

“I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t really know I made a sound. I was just — taken by surprise.”

“Yeah. My first time, I didn’t know what to expect either. Just that it was supposed to feel good.”

“It felt amazing,” Liv whispered, “But also… it almost hurt, it was so… I don’t know, just… wow, all through me.”

As the girls cuddled together, Riley softly stroked Liv’s hair. Liv, more tentatively, returned the caress with a hand on her friend’s back.

“Riley?”

“Mmm?”

“Can you do that to me again?”

Riley leaned forward and kissed Liv on the mouth. Her tongue, slipping inside, fed Liv her first-ever taste of herself.

“I can, if you promise not to scream again,” she replied. “But first, I’m going to teach you how to do it for me.”

— Frenulum

Oh yes it could

I figured it couldn’t hurt to leave the dishes in the sink until I got back from lunch with my girlfriends.

But lunch ran long, and by the time I got home, I found that he had washed and dried everything and put it all away.

Or so I thought — until I found a spatula, a pancake turner, and two wooden spoons lying on our bed.

— Frenulum

Sleep-over

Liv and Riley had been friends since the beginning of high school, but this was their first sleep-over: Riley’s parents were away and didn’t want her to be alone. The girls were up late, the last ones awake in the house, lying side by side on Liv’s bed, whispering and giggling; both were clad in tank tops and panties, ready for sleeping but not the least sleepy. Only a desk lamp remained on, casting soft light across the bed.

“Have you had sex?” Riley asked, apropos of nothing at all.

Liv snorted. “You kidding? I’m not even allowed to date yet.”

“Well duh, I know you don’t have a boyfriend. I meant, like, with a girl.” Riley rolled onto her side to get a look at Liv’s face.

“No. Good grief. No! I’m not… you know…” A blush bloomed in Liv’s cheeks.

“Lesbian?”

“Yeah.”

“So you haven’t had sex,” Riley persisted.

“No. Cut it out, Ri.”

There was quiet for a moment. Riley rolled back onto her back. Her body touched her friend’s at shoulder and hip. Both of them noticed.

“It’s not gay if you’re, y’know, just playing around with friends,” she offered.

“Yes it is,” Liv protested.

“Well, what I mean is, it doesn’t make you gay just to try stuff that you would do if you were.”

“What?”

Riley sighed. “You can fool around, y’know, just for fun, and still be… well, regular.”

“Says who?”

Riley debated her answer for a few seconds, and then decided to take a chance. “I’ve played with another girl, and it didn’t make me into a lez.”

Liv rolled to face Riley and Riley copied the motion. The girls lay face to face, almost touching.

“Who?” demanded Liv.

“Not telling.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. A few times.”

Liv searched her friend’s face, and found no deceit. “And it was fun?”

“Yes. Fun and… I’ve had an orgasm, now — I know what that’s like.”

“As good as people—”

“Better,” Riley interrupted. “Wait and see.”

Liv’s eyes widened. “You think I would orgasm, too?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Riley reached out and gently laid a tentative hand on Liv’s bare shoulder. “So… whaddaya say?”

Liv felt her body responding in unfamiliar ways: with heat, with tremor, with a quickened pulse. “I… I don’t even know what girls do,” she whispered.

“We kiss. And then other things,” Riley whispered back. Her hand slipped down from Liv’s shoulder to her hip, coming to rest above her panties. “I’ll show you.”

“I never even—” Liv began, and then Riley’s lips silenced her.

— Frenulum

The Next Edge to Cross

“C’mere, kitten. Take a look at this photo.”

“Oh. Oh, my!”

“Doesn’t that look exciting?”

“Sir?”

“I think it’s time I tried this with you. Would you like that?”

“Um… no, Sir. I don’t think so. That looks...”

“Looks what, kitten?”

“Maybe not so much fun? And, um... scary?”

“Really? You don’t think this couple is enjoying each other? Look at her face.”

“Yes but... it’s not her face that he’s — I don’t think so, Sir.”

“This picture doesn’t excite you?”

“No, not really.”

“I think this would be just the thing for us to play with next. Just think, if she were you and he were me... doing that with you... that doesn’t turn you on?”

“No. I think it would be difficult. And embarrassing.”

“But you know that I like to introduce you to difficult things.”

“Yes, but...”

“And I would help you.”

“Yes, but I don’t think... I’m not... It’s too...”

“You’re sure you don’t want this?”

“No — I mean, yes, I’m sure.”

“Not even a little bit arousing?”

“No, Sir.”

“Pull your panties down.”

“I —”

“And spread your legs.”

“Yessir.”

“Put your hand on my pussy... and put one finger inside, in between your lips. That’s right. Good girl. Now, put that finger in my mouth.”

“I —”

“Mmmmmm. Juicy. Wet. Delicious. That’s the taste of a very excited girl.”

“But, Sir —”

“Spread my pussy open, let me look. Two hands, wide open. Oh, kitten, you’re positively gushing.”

“Yes.”

“So you are aroused, and excited, and turned on, thinking about doing what this couple is doing.”

“Ohhhhhhhh... yes, Sir.”

“You weren’t completely honest and open with me a minute ago, were you?”

“I... I was just... I guess I...”

“Hmm?”

“No, Sir.”

“Which means...”

“You’ll give me a spanking right away, to correct my poor behavior and remind me how important it is to be open, always.”

“A long, hard —”

“Bare-bottom spanking, that I earned and deserve and need from you, Sir, please.”

“Good girl. You may lie across my lap now. And, after your long, hard, well-deserved spanking, what comes next, kitten?”

“We’ll do that other thing, that scares me and excites me and makes me tremble and leak, and you’ll love me and keep me safe always.”

“That’s my good girl. Ready?”

“Always, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

— Frenulum

First

It was not the first time that I deserved a spanking.

It was not the first time that my husband decided to take care of me. He loves me, he sets my boundaries, he expects my good behavior, and he fixes everything when I go astray.

It was not the first time that I waited for him in our living room, bent over the back of the sofa, wearing nothing but my heels, with my legs spread and my pussy on display and my bottom ready for hand, strap, paddle, belt, or anything he thinks will help me.

It was not the first time that he made me wait, and wait, and wait, thinking about how I disappointed him and resolving to be a better girl in the future.

But it was the first time I heard him open our front door, and say “Please come in.”

— Frenulum

Vows

Processional.

Bridesmaids and groomsmen face the aisle. Friends and family rise. The bride, petite, nude, blushing; towering white heels and floral lace veil. Appreciative murmurs, bright smiles. Taking the groom’s offered hand the bride kneels before him. Bridesmaids kneel, supporting her choice.

Words of tradition, hope, commitment, community. Bride’s eyes lowered, back straight, nipples hard. Groom tunnel-focused: only his beloved.

Bridesmaids remove the veil. Best Man hands the collar.

Collar around her neck, his hands warm. Questions, old as time. She answers: “I do. I will. I am.” Click the collar becomes a closed circle forever.

Maid of honor produces the leash, gives it to her dearest friend. More words. The bride gives the clip-end to her Sir, Owner, Center, Leige, Soulmate. Click attached to her collar.

The bride holds the strap of her own leash. All of the power is hers. All control. All freedom. Her own master, one last moment.

Raises eyes full of love, desire, passion, decision. Gives him the leash, and her life.

Recessional. Applause, tears, smiles. Together.

The leash never grows taut. She knows where he will lead her, and is already there for him.

— Frenulum

Wakin’ up next to you

“Good morning.”

“Mmm. Mornin’.”

“Sleep well?”

“Guess so. You didn’t.”

“I didn’t?”

“No, you were tossing around a lot… ’bout two or three o’clock, maybe.”

“Sorry.”

“No, s’ok, didn’t keep me awake. You were having a dream, prob’ly.”

“Dream… Yeah, I did.”

“Oh… You’re smiling — one of your famous sandwich dreams?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Guessed that from the hard-on you kept pokin’ me with. Who this time?”

“Who what?”

“Oh c’mon. You know what I mean. Who was the bread in the sandwich?”

“Doesn’t really matter. Always the same dream, pretty much.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Umm… Olivia Wilde and Yvonne Strahovski.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Those two were the bread and you were the filling.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Darling, I love you, truly and forever, but you must realize that either one of those girls is out of your league.”

“Yeah.”

“Both of ’em at once? Out of your… I dunno, home planet.”

“I know, I know. But…”

“What?”

“But you’re out of my league. Way out. I should be worshiping you from afar, hopeless, sighing, pining for a glance. Envying the guys who get near you.”

“Well… This is true.”

“And yet here we are.”

“This is because I have great perspic— perspicaiety? — perspicularity? — I am extremely wise and sensitive, and have detected your hidden qualities.”

“You’re good at that.”

“Very well hidden qualities, beneath that befuddled Clark Kent persona you present to the world.”

“So anyway if you’re out of my league and yet here you are warm and naked and snuggly in my arms, what dreams then can be deemed impossible?”

“Awwww. You’re sweet.”

“I’m conscious of my great fortune.”

“Of course you are. Smart man.”

“Smart enough to know that the only place I’ll ever get a double-header is in my dreams.”

“You got that right. Regrets?”

“Nope. You give me everything I need or want — more than I can handle, really.”

“But still the fantasy.”

“Sometimes. Harmless, though.”

“Yes. And fun, some of them. Y’know what?”

“What?”

“I have a peasant blouse somewhere. Puffy short sleeves and a square neckline.”

“Oh? Kinda lacy?”

“Yup. And I could shop for a red calico skirt. And those milkmaid pigtails would be no problem.”

“You’re thinking…”

“Agent Sarah Walker, undercover?”

“That sounds… how about that little waist-cinchy thing?”

“The corset too. And if you wore a white shirt and a tie…”

“Oooh.”

“Yeah. What I was thinkin’: oooh. Lights, camera, action.”

“Y’know, with you in pigtails, I would want —”

“I certainly hope so.”

“C’mere, you.”

“Mmmmm. ‘Perspicacity,’ that’s the word.”

“Dare you to say that now.”

“Pffpgkafffgfa.”

“Good girl. Don’t stop.”

— Frenulum