This is for you

Our Second labor of love is finally out. We’re live. You can find our child on Amazon (here’s the link). This time around, the evil Stardawn and Claire came up with a fair but totally tough main topic: seconds. I know, right? It’s fitting for our bunch! And yet, writing about Seconds is so much harder than you could ever imagine. I can’t wait to read what all the writers came up with (in case you are wondering, no, we don’t have a preview-access to the book, so I’m just as curious as you are!).

If you intend to buy the book, know that all the incomes will go to charity.

But, hey, not why we’re here! As I said, this is for you.

You’ll find one of my stories in the book, and I want you to know that – whatever you wanna say (be it positive or negative comments, questions, reviews, just a quick “hi”), this is the right place to let it out.

I’ll be happy if I hear from any of you and actually am looking forward to seeing what you all will make of my characters and plot!

So, go ahead, bring it, readers!

A big thank you to those of you that will give us a chance and to Stardawn and Claire for physically and emotionally giving birth to this 12 pounds baby book.

A special mention goes to Logan Tyler, who refused to let me give up, and to Mishi Dreamer, my very first editor and beta-reader (as usual).

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Back to the future

A few weeks ago I posted a story featuring a younger Terry ensuring herself a sore bottom for misbehaving while sick and putting her health at risk.

A certain young brat (of course it had to be a brat, or she wouldn’t have noticed) realized that, out of a strange coincidence, the first time contemporary Top Terry made her appearance in a public kinklet story, she was after Ellie for basically the same crimes (along with a few more minor infractions).

 Today I’m going to show you what Terry looked like on her first public appearance, clearly a long time after switching to the dark side.

Please, enjoy a “back to the future” (or back to the present) snippet, a repost and reconstruction of some bits of the original kinklet that happened over at Anna Reilly Spanking Romance in June 2017.

Many thanks to Mishi for coming up with this similarity and Micah for giving me permission to repost the bits I wrote back then. 😉

More comments at the end of the story.


 

Terry put down her phone, staring at it with a worried expression. It was the third time she tried to call Ellie, and yet no answer had come from the young brat, not even in text form. Terry would have thought the younger girl was simply mad at her and avoiding her because of it, but Ellie hadn’t been online at all, which was strange in itself.

Terry Parker had lived in town for over a year now and half of her stay she had shared her apartment with the young bratty friend from her country. The two had always had a connection, and Terry could see so much of herself in the youngster, but Terry had grown a long way from that far away time when she would recklessly get up to mischief, continuously earning a sore backside from her girlfriend Mary or their mentor, Hannah.

Now, years later, Terry was an amazing doctor and a Top, an affirmed one too, and she was also rather convinced that little Ellie could beat her at her own game when it came to mischief-making.

The young miscreant had no interest in taking care of herself and staying safe, which was the reason why so many times Ellie had found herself over Terry’s knee, getting a bit of a nasty, but most necessary (in Terry’s opinion), handmade old-fashioned medicine.

Despite that (or maybe because of it), their cohabitation had worked charms so far. They had cared for each other before, but they had grown even closer in the last few months. Terry looked after Ellie and Ellie strived to do better, the older woman made sure Ellie would be well fed and behaved at the cost of not sitting comfortably, and the younger brat made sure Terry felt loved and nowhere near lonely. They balanced and completed each other, like two sides of a coin – kept each other sane when everything outside seemed to be falling apart.

Continue reading “Back to the future”

Achoo!

Here’s the first of my stories for the spankostory seasonal challenge.

It features a character many of you already met, someone you know to be a sweet, caring, but also stern and unforgiving Top. Terry Parkers is a character dear to my heart. It takes inspiration from the first toppy character I ever created, back when I was a young girl building her own secret, safe world of words. Terry is one formidable Top (if I say so myself), one you might not want to ever be on the bad side of, but – hey, it wasn’t always like that. Please, enjoy a sneak peek into her life as a college student.

ALERT: there is something non-spanky in this story, but I put an alert that will easily allow you to skip it if it’s something that makes you uncomfortable.


Terry growled as she entered the hospital, shrugging the water off her umbrella and trying to fold it without doing further damage. Her coat was dripping, and her shoes were soaked, so much so that she couldn’t feel the tips of her toes.

She dropped the umbrella somewhere near the entrance, hoping she’d find it on her way back, and headed straight to the stairs. The hospital was its usual potpourri of people of any age and kind. Some wandered around the hall wearing their pajamas, escorted by relatives or nurses fussing over them. Others were, just like Terry, simple visitors, coming in to see someone they loved.

Unlike most of the other people, Terry had a special relationship with that place. The great majority of the faces around her expressed their ill-concealed wish to leave and put as much distance as possible between them and the hospital. For Terry, the Saint Maurice felt like home – or at least something close to it. She was aware of all the pain and suffering that happened within those walls, conscious of how many unknown heroes spent their days and nights fighting their own monsters and enemies. However, where there was aching, there was hope. And where there was hope, there was a chance to make things better.

The Saint Maurice was where her girlfriend worked as an intern, and where she herself hoped she would work someday, after finishing medical school and majoring in psychiatry. For now, she was but a young passionate student, full of energy, expectations and…germs.

“Achoo!”

“Hello to you too, Parkers.”

Terry rubbed her nose with the back of her sleeve, waving at the woman who had just welcomed her to the general medicine departure, and kept walking – only to be halted a second later, mid-step.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

Continue reading “Achoo!”

The Spankostory Seasonal Challenge

This weekend was somehow enlightening. I spent it in bed due to the most annoying cold, with a few lines of fever, a rain of sneezes and the energy to barely get up and wee. Also, I was grounded from video games and Netflix – which is a huge torture, if you ask me; never, ever get grounded when you’re sick.

On the bright side, it gave me a lot of time to think – more than I ever wanted – and my mind wandered into the world of story ideas I have had in the past year but never put on paper (blog). I thought about the many promises I made to you that I didn’t keep, the many times I should have posted and could not bring myself to write.

So I came up with this utterly stupid, masochistic suggestion:  let’s have a Spankostory Seasonal Challenge.

Now, what is that? It’s a challenge I’m throwing to myself, but also to each and every one of you who feels they need some extra motivation to write: let’s write (at least) a story per season.

Here are the few rules of the SSC:

  1. You have to write at least one story for every season of the year (that means around 4 stories a year – acceptable, right?). If you don’t, you will get a spanking (be it self-spanking or doled from a Toppy someone of your choice) and you will have to post about it.
  2. The stories don’t have to be season-related (but it’d be a bonus if they contained a hint to the season – could be a detail, a line or whatever).
  3. You can choose to actually accept the challenge at your own terms (which means, make it a two-seasons challenge, pick specific themes for every story, choose a different consequence – though I think the official one would work and force you to write one way or another).
  4. The stories can be of any length and type (this really is to motivate yourself to write, so that means even chapters of a story would be good, so long as you write and publish something).
  5. They can be multi-hand stories and will count as good for all of the involved writers.
  6. For those who like to participate in Alyx’s Christmas exchange, yes, the stories for her gift exchange can be used as winter seasonal stories.
  7. Last rule: of course there will be special spanking free tokens for those who have health problems or other things that objectively stop them from writing for three months in a row, or make their life especially complicated for a while.

So what do you think? Is anyone in on this? I know I will give it a shot for one full-blown year, and if it doesn’t work – well, I’ll just have to accept the trouble I’m getting myself into.

Please, let me know if you decide to join in. Remember to hashtag your stories #spankostoryseasonalchallenge or just #SSC. And good luck!

Ps. if you have any questions feel free to post them below!

Pps. The challenge isn’t only for spankos or writers in the spanking section, though I guess the terms would work best for those into TTWD. Food for thoughts.

Opposite views

I wanted to let you know that I am still alive, and working on something that looks strangely close to a few, brand spanking new stories: one of them you will be able to read in the II edition of the Anthology (it’s already written and awaiting final approval by the editors – more information as soon as I have any), but I hope to post something here as well, in the near future.

In the meanwhile, I have two little things for you.

  1. A suggestion, which is, check out these lovely stories that are out there, just within your reach: The Rodeo (a very adventurous spanking story, in more than 9 chapters, written by CJ O’Hara, Claire Britain and Anna Reilly) and Driving Lesson, written by Logan Tyler and her wild brat Jojo.
  2. The chance to take a peek inside my head, find out how messy it can be to have to constantly balance your two opposite “natures” (to be honest, I’m sharing just so I can maybe draw a little grin on your smug bratty faces):

Me: I experienced the excitement of calling the Urgent Care today. 😧

Inner Top: There is nothing exciting about it. Get in bed.

Me: But the doctor was cute! 😍

Inner Top: Still nothing exciting. You were sick.

Me: But I’m fine now. Look, I can jump and dance and even sneak under the bed to fetch stuff!

Inner Top: You’re on drugs, genius. You better not be doing any of that when the effects run out.

Me: I’m healed! And you’re spoiling all the fun. 😕

Inner Top: Oh dear. Lie the heck down and be quiet, for heaven’s sake! I know just the kind of doctor you would need.

Me: You’d like that, wouldn’t you!? 😏

Inner Top: I wanna spank the daylights out of myself. 🙄

Footnote: my inner monologues are weird. And #beingaswitchsucks

This is why you should never mess with magic…

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I found this lovely picture in the recesses of Tumblr (there is some interesting material over there) and it made me laugh. I find it endearing enough that I couldn’t help sharing it with you all.

This is what happens when you mess up with magic, young lady…it might come back to bite your bottom 😉 Quite literally.

What do you imagine led to this happening? I have my own take on the story…maybe I will share it later in form of one-shot, we shall see.

I couldn’t find anywhere the name of the artist, but if you know who the owner of this awesome work is (or if you are the owner), please let me know so I can credit them properly.

What would you want to find in your Easter Egg?

I wonder now if gifting chocolate Easter Eggs is a common practice across our countries. I know in mine we do gift chocolate eggs with a surprise inside. They’re usually the size of a “dragon egg” (if that is even a measure) or smaller. Depending on the brand, inside you can find plushies, toys or gadgets.

I wonder if there are any spanko-eggs out there? Lol If so, if you received one, what would you want to find in it?

In any case…I wish you all a peaceful Easter, a lovely break and good old fashioned…holidays. Whether you’re staying home and having good food, traveling to a warm beach to meet friends or organizing a picnic in the park – and even more so if you’re going to work – I wish you happy and restful moments.

Be kind to yourselves and try to do at least one thing you enjoy and truly relaxes you.

Running away

As I drive my Captur out of town, the landscape changes quickly. There is more green than steel-gray right after the outskirts, even though most of it is still pale and parched from the cold winter. It’s not exactly nice and warming a sight, but it gets me to take a breath, a deep one.
It would probably help me loosen up, if I weren’t so damn focused on putting as many miles as I could between me and my office, my apartment, my life. In all honesty, I just deeply wish I could leave myself behind, but I am not quite sure how one’s supposed to do that. So I’m grudgingly carrying myself with me, and focusing on driving, my foot stomping on the gas pedal as the car roars and overtakes another couple. Maybe three.
They’re clearly not as committed to getting the hell out of there, or they would get a move on already.

My phone rings. The blasted thing. One time I forget the silent mode and it comes back to bite me in the ass. I keep one hand on the wheel and quickly retrieve it with my right (it’s a good thing I dropped it on the seat next to me, along with a jacket and my backpack. A quick look at the screen tells me all I need to know.

It’s her. Unfortunate how good her timing is: sometimes it’s just like she can sense that something is wrong. Well, nothing’s wrong. I’m good – great actually – I’m beating my record speed on the almost empty road and letting my lungs fill with the sweet sensation that everything is being left behind. I am running away.

Three minutes later my smartphone is ringing again, and I am getting impatient. My heart is flickering in my chest, like a caged bird that seeks freedom. There is no way for that bird to flee unless someone lets it out. Is that what is happening to me? Am I just flying around in a cage, as fast as I can?

My head spins, hot flashes shoot through my body and I groan out loud. Panic. I know the physical effects of it by heart – which is good. They can never develop in a full blown attack. Recognition is my best defense.

I slow down just a bit as I kindly ask Siri to call her back. I am almost as gentle to Siri as I would be to a real human being. But then again, I apologize to trash cans when I bump into them on the street.

“El? Finally, I was getting worried. Are you still in the office? It’s really late.”

Her voice echoes in the car as I keep my eyes on the road with a purpose, almost as if she is right there staring at me and I fear meeting the look I know so well.

“Oh, yeah?” I answer casually, my fingers tightening around the wheel. “It’s so hard to tell since the days are getting longer. I still need to get used to the sky not being dark at this time.”

My tone is even, unreadable, but it’s a non-answer, and we both know that. As I know what’s coming next.

“Baby, what is wrong? Where are you? Is that a car engine I hear? Wh-why would you be in a car, when you work 10 minutes from here on foot?”

Her voice is holding back a note of worry that I still sense. She’s trying hard not to jump to conclusions, something I always complain she does, yet this time she would probably be right and I would be proven a fool. The irony.

I hesitate, my lips pursing. It’s not as complicated a choice, it’s just a crossroad: either I go right, and tell her the truth, or I go left, and I lie. I can go ahead until I’m far enough that it would take her days to find me, in the best hypothesis. I wonder if she would still search for me, days after I’m gone. Maybe she would. Maybe she’d think I don’t want her around, give up on me. I would be alone with my thoughts, my silence and my gas bills.

Is that what I want? To be alone with myself? Come to think of it, I can’t remember a time when I was alone and could enjoy the silence. My head is never as quiet as I’d like, never been able to shut the fuck up. A bird in a cage.

“I am running away.”

WHAT!?

I repeat the words calmly, and accept the silence from the other side. There, now it’s quiet. It’s all quiet. Like the heart of the storm, or those few seconds when it passes. Quiet like the minute before the clock chimes midnight.

“Pull over.”

I completely neglect the firm whisper – or perhaps I don’t, for my foot stomps on the gas (some part of my brain clearly listened and reacted).

“Baby girl. Pull over.”

I’m breathing hard now, sniffling and obstinately holding back my tears. This is stupid. This is as completely dumb as it always is. As dumb as it is that I still try.

A bird in a cage. I can’t run from my feelings, my fears, my mind. I can only run from responsibilities, and fill my bags with guilt.

The Captur slows down and I grin wrily. I really almost laugh out loud, bitterly, wondering if I didn’t choose that car on purpose. Some part of me again. There are slices of me that are unaccessible to the rational side – more like puddles, maybe. Or pits. Deep inside.

“I’m parking.” I explain blankly. When the car rests on the side of the road, quiet, I feel like I’m physically aching. It’s hard to explain, the physical ache that comes from emotions.

“Send me your position.”

I retrieve my phone again and I do as I’m told, biting hard on my bottom lip. I look out the window. Now other drivers are overtaking me without giving me the slightest look. Like I’m a piece of furniture in the highway. I blend in with the guardrail.

“Stay right where you are, do you hear me?”

I don’t answer, busy frowning at the black Jeep that just roared past me.

“Little one.”

The words catch my attention. It’s rare for me to hear them. She probably knows that as well.

“Yeah.” I murmur, laying my head against the headrest.

She gives me a little cough-cough.

“Yes, ma’am, I know. I will not move an inch.” I have nowhere to go anyway. There is no way to run.

“Good. I’m getting in the car right now.”

“Thank you.” Is the last thing I say before I hang up. My eyes are stinging and I don’t want to cry. And I can’t pull myself together if she’s on the phone. And I want to be ready for when she gets here. I want to be the tough, little, brave bird that keeps flying in the cage, as if not bothered by the truth. After all, the world is full of little brave birds.

I shiver, and curl up on the seat making myself as small as I can, looking out at the dying sun.

It takes three

(A – late – story for Alyx’s Christmas Exchange) – Edited by Mishi Dreamer
_

“How long…?”

Allison James, I swear if you ask one more time I’m going to park right here and drop you off!”

Silence. The corner of Ally’s lips slowly bent down.

“And don’t pout.”

“I’m not pouting!” She was. She was and she couldn’t help it. They had been in the car for about two hours now, but it was going to take a good while more. Allison was mentally prepared, it didn’t come as a surprise, and on a “normal” day she would’ve just enjoyed the road trip, busying herself with picking the right soundtrack, staring out of the window or chatting with her wife about this and that, sharing thoughts and gossip on what they had missed of each other and their friends during the busy week. However, it had been a few terribly stressing months at work and, now that it was finally over with and they were seemingly free to enjoy a few days off for the Christmas holidays, Allison was experiencing a strange…surge of contrasting emotions. Even Karen had noticed. Ally was restless, and her mind kept racing out of control, just like her mouth: she often found herself pushing her wife for a reaction that, unfortunately, didn’t seem to come. It made Ally even more frustrated, no matter how hard she tried to shrug it off.

Continue reading “It takes three”

Dear Santa…before I explain, how much do you know already?

That (the title of this post) was how I was going to start my blog entry to wish all of you people around the world a heartfelt Merry Christmas…however, as you might have figured out by now, I am late.

Now now…that shouldn’t come as a surprise, I realize, for I’m always late (or so I’ve been told); still, I wanted to wish you all the best holidays, filled with laughs and love and cuddles and happiness. I wish for you to be able to wrap up the end of this last year with a nice, satisfied smile (or at least a patient, slightly resigned one if it was the sort of year that tested your survival) and to be ready to welcome the new one with hope twinkling in your eyes.

I for one will try to embrace the fresh start with a more hopeful, more positive attitude; I’ll keep fighting hard for what I want, growing and challenging myself daily; I’ll try to complain less and laugh more often; to be a good friend and maybe, just maybe, I’ll try to be kinder to myself sometimes.

I’m not going to promise I will try to be a good girl, for that’s something I have absolutely no intention to commit to. Besides, why would I, when I already am a good girl!?

So, once again, I wish you all a beautiful, happy ending and I wish you an even better beginning. You deserve it, no matter how good or bad you were this year. Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t we?

With this (and with the promise I’m working on stories in hope they DO make it out of my drawer, possibly soon enough to be apart of Alyx’s Christmas Gift Exchange) I’m saying bye for now.

Ps. please, notice that my name is not appearing on the nice list because it’s already noted under Santa’s arm for 2018. But, hey, the good thing is, I have a whole year to…steal that list and swap the Nice-Naughty labels!