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The Princess Treatment

CW: some anal play (can’t believe I had to write this, but you know how it goes)

“I’ll take care of that for you.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I – “

“I wasn’t asking.”

Noelle was taken aback by the woman’s abrupt tone. The Princess Treatment was a one of a kind spa treatment, with a heavy focus on pampering and being taken care of – essentially, being treated like a princess. To Noelle, that meant people doing whatever she wanted, not the other way around. The woman’s face was kind, and she was smiling, but offered little room for argument. So she relaxed herself and let the woman pull off her jacket. She hung it up on the otherwise empty coat rack, smoothing out the arms and adjusting it just so. 

The woman looked Noelle up and down for a minute before speaking. 

“My name is Mina, and I’ll be your lady in waiting today. I’m assuming this is your first time at the spa?”

“Yes, yes it is. So is there some kind of menu, or…”

Mina smiled privately before answering. “No, no menu per se. We kind of pride ourselves on knowing what’s best for you here. Why don’t you follow me into the next room.”

The spa seemed pretty empty. However, it was only 10 am – early for a Saturday, and Noelle had read good things. No one else was in the waiting room when she entered, not even a receptionist, but Mina popped up before Noelle could sit down. Since moving to the city for work two years ago, Noelle was determined to fit in. To her, that meant participating in everything considered cool and of the moment – especially if there was an air of exclusivity to it. She was looking for a way to unwind, she felt like all she did these days was work, and there was a lot of buzz around Destiny Spa. 

In reality, Noelle consistently slacked off at work. As long as she handed in her projects on time, Jen, her boss, didn’t give her a hard time. It didn’t hurt that her work was usually superb, even when the effort was put in at the last minute. This meant she got away with coming in late and leaving early, citing ‘doctors appointments and family emergencies’ (code for shopping trips and hair appointments.) Jen thought Noelle was talented, but spoiled and lacking in motivation. She had a soft spot for Noelle – she acted as her mentor in college when she was a senior, and she remembered Noelle as a gangly, awkward freshman before she upgraded her style and confidence. The two kept in touch, and after graduation Noelle interviewed for a position at Jen’s PR firm. Noelle looked up to Jen and she started out as an overachiever, until she figured out what she could get away with. This meant charming the right person in HR to not document her lateness, and regaling her other coworkers with stories of her dramatic personal life: 

  • her ex’s new girlfriend wouldn’t stop calling and showing up everywhere she was, because this woman was convinced that Noelle’s ex was still in love with her. Jen found that randomly changing locations and not keeping too consistent of a schedule (ie, starting work at 1pm every other Friday, and leaving early when ‘things felt off’) made things safer. 
  • a friend of a friend who had an amazing lead for a client, but the client was high profile and very private so they could only meet at this new restaurant opening downtown (he would be in disguise, of course, so the camera crew wouldn’t notice him) and Noelle had to leave early to get ready
  • her landlord broke into her apartment because he was secretly using her place to stash something illegal, but she couldn’t tell him she knew because her rent was heavily discounted, etc. 

In short, Noelle knew how to get her way, and didn’t hesitate to use it to her advantage. It meant skipping lines, heavy discounts, free entries, trips on her loved ones’ dimes, and she didn’t have any intention of giving it up. 

One day at work, Noelle was planning a spa visit for the weekend. She came across a link for something called The Princess Treatment. Intrigued, she called Destiny Spa to book an appointment. She hadn’t visited this particular spot but she knew that Jen went there on occasion, and was known to bribe clients with a gift certificate. 

Laura, the receptionist, informed Noelle that there was a waiting list about 30 people long, and no one got on the list without being referred by an existing client. But Noelle wasn’t above sweet talking her way around this. She cited the PR firm she worked for, promising some good press and a few discounts she could hook Laura up with personally, just based on her connections. 

Jen once warned her about making promises to companies, especially for personal gain. There were a few times Noelle over promised to get herself out of hot water with a client, or (more frequently) to impress them, and she had to go above and beyond to make it happen. Noelle presented these situations as a win-win – she got to challenge herself, and the client got what they wanted. But they were also a win for Noelle herself – she felt affirmed knowing that if she said all the right things, she could get her way. All she had to do was keep her cool. 

She stopped by the spa in person earlier that week to get a feel for the place. The waiting room was a thing of dreams. A plush velvet sofa, light pink walls, plenty of flowers and plants, low lighting supplied by sweet smelling candles in baroque candlesticks, and strategically placed lamps. In the leftmost corner of the room, there was a mahogany straight backed chair. Noelle thought the placement was odd, but she didn’t think too much of it. She wondered how she could convince Jen to let her decorate her office in a similar style, on the company’s dime.

Noelle dropped off a gift basket for Laura (courtesy of one of Jen’s clients, but Laura didn’t need to know that.) She thanked Laura again for helping her out, and picked up a brochure on her way out the door. The copy didn’t go into too much detail, but she knew that a little mystery was a genius marketing tool. 

“Have you ever wanted a day where you could get exactly what you deserve? To escape the demands of everyday life, to not have to make decisions? With the Princess Treatment, everything we do is for your own good. You’ll be assigned your own lady in waiting, who will anticipate and address all of your needs. This one of a kind experience is sure to be different from anything you’ve ever experienced. Prepare yourself for a day that you’ll never forget.” 

**********

“Everything I deserve”, Noelle whispered to herself as she followed Mina into the next room. She was brainstorming a way to convince her parents that today’s outing was some kind of medical procedure. She would tell them it was perfectly fine and that the whole thing was just a result of exhaustion. She paid for it herself because she didn’t want to worry them, but now that she was doing much better, maybe they could help her cover the costs just a little bit?

Mina took Noelle’s purse without asking and brought it over to a small cupboard. The room was much larger, but the aesthetic mirrored the waiting room. The lighting was brighter and there was a four poster bed in one corner of the room with nightstands at either end. A massage table was placed in the other end of the room, and an antique mahogany table next to it. There was also a steamer trunk, a large armoire, an oversized velvet armchair with a matching footstool and…a woman standing in one corner. 

“Um, who is she? Is this someone’s appointment?” Noelle was annoyed. It didn’t seem very professional to walk in during someone else’s treatment. The woman was standing with her hands folded behind her back. She wore leggings and a t- shirt, dressed rather plainly for such a nice place, Noelle noted, wrinkling her nose. She didn’t seem to react when they came in. Must be some weird meditation thing.

“Oh that’s Laura, our receptionist.” Mina answered. “Please remove all of your clothes and lay down on the massage table.” 

Noelle blinked. “Wait, I’m sorry – why is she…”

Mina forgot about this part. It’d been a while since they ended up with a new client, no thanks to Laura. Everyone else knew what to expect, and it made the day go by much smoother. First timers couldn’t even make their way on the list without a referral from an existing client. However, Mina decided to keep the appointment. She figured if Noelle was this determined to receive the princess treatment, she would make sure she got the full experience – and since Laura decided to bend the rules, part of her punishment would be attending to their newest “princess”. 

Laura knew better than to take bribes. Noelle wasn’t the first one to offer and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. The press offer was useless, Mina would turn down the interview – she didn’t have any trouble drumming up business. But a gift basket that included a certificate to a new restaurant downtown, and a designer wallet seemed better than just accepting cash (although Laura had taken a cash bribe before, but it was when they were first opening, and it was easier to cover her tracks). It felt more like a gift than anything else, and Noelle just sounded so sweet on the phone. She sealed the deal in person – Laura was entranced by Noelle’s warm smile and confident laugh – and the gift basket she snuck in certainly didn’t hurt. 

Now, standing in the corner, Laura regretted that she was charmed so easily. The day after Noelle’s appointment was confirmed, Mina received an email from Mrs. Danbury, a top client, saying she was happy to move her appointment, and she hoped Mina felt better soon. After searching the online calendar for confirmation, Mina confronted Laura who was immediately tearful, saying that Noelle was so eager, and she knew that the other woman wouldn’t mind. 

**********

“But did you think that I would mind?” Mina made a point to glance at the large ebony hairbrush on her desk before looking back at Laura. “Did you think that I would prefer to lie to one of my oldest clients? Better yet, did you honestly think that I would be okay with you lying on my behalf?”

Laura shifted in her seat. Mina had the gentlest voice and still managed to make Laura feel two inches tall. “Well, no ma’am.”

“Of course you didn’t think that. You are very intelligent and you know me better than that. So what did you think?”

“I just, I thought that…” Laura opened and closed her mouth, looking for the right words to say. She already knew what was going to happen, it was simply a matter of how bad it would be.

“You thought that you would get away with it.” Mina didn’t break eye contact. She noticed the tears welling up in Laura’s eyes. They would come down soon enough, she thought. “It seems you’ve gone too long without some attention from me. You’ll be joining us on Saturday, since you’re so eager for this Noelle to skip the line – I’ll let Anne know she doesn’t need to come in.”

Mina stood up, waiting for the younger woman to do the same. Laura sat for a while longer, trying to come up with something that would turn everything around, to prove it was just a big misunderstanding, but she couldn’t. It was her own fault. She didn’t think Mrs. Danbury would email Mina directly, but she hadn’t exactly figured out how she would explain a brand new client either. She stood up, waiting for Mina to replace her seat in the straight backed chair. Laura flung herself over Mina’s lap, and was rewarded with two sharp smacks to the back of her thighs. 

“Excuse me young lady! You know better than that. Stand back up!” 

Laura was hoping that they would skip this part, but she should’ve known that Mina wasn’t going to make this easy on her. She resisted the urge to rub her stinging thighs. She sighed, and stood in front of her.

“I’m sorry ma’am. Will you please punish me?”

Mina narrowed her eyes. “Punish you how, exactly? And for what?”

Laura shut her eyes, gripping the hem of her dress in frustration. Mina’s preferred form of correction was painful enough on its own, but she insisted that a proper punishment included acknowledging any wrongdoing before the spanking started, and recognizing what was going to happen. 

“Please spank my bare bottom with the hairbrush for lying to you ma’am. It was disrespectful and dishonest, and I am truly sorry.”

“Much better. And I would be happy to.” Laura moved closer to Mina, waiting for her to remove her skirt and panties before allowing her to lay back over her lap. On another day, Mina might have warmed Laura up with her hand, but Laura’s brazenness suggested that this wasn’t the first time this happened. She picked up the heavy hairbrush, and began spanking Laura with slow, but firm swats. They were going to be here for a while, Mina decided. 

“You know that Mrs. Danbury is a very important client. She’s brought in five of her friends over the past six months, and she’s a major reason why we’re so successful. If word gets out that my ‘being sick’ wasn’t real, what do you think would happen?”

“I- I’m sorry!” Laura cried, trying to steady herself. She’d only gotten a few swats so far, but already Mina had trapped Laura’s legs, and she knew it was going to get worse.

“That’s not what I asked, is it?” Mina quickened her pace, watching color bloom on Laura’s round bottom. She knew Laura’s primary concerns were getting caught and forfeiting her weekend plans. “What did you think would happen?” she repeated, punctuating each word with a swat.

“I…I didn’t think you would find out, or I thought she would email me instead. I don’t know!” She squealed as Mina picked up the pace once again, focusing on the undercurve of Laura’s bottom and her upper thighs.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Mina paused briefly to shift Laura further over her lap, ignoring her cries of protest. Laura had a tendency to flail about during her spanking, and Mina was determined to ensure she received every bit of her punishment. Leniency was a thing of Laura’s past, and she didn’t want her falling back into bad habits. She resumed the spanking, increasing the tempo once again. Laura had only just begun to cry in earnest, so they still had a long way to go. “You are going to write Mrs. Danbury an email, explaining that this was just a misunderstanding. You will then reschedule her for a date that works best for her, not you. I don’t care if it means you have to cancel plans again, you know better. As a further apology, please let her know that her next three sessions will be heavily discounted. Those discounts will be coming out of your paycheck, of course – but you don’t need to tell her that.”

**********

“Wait. Why is she standing in the corner there?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you knew! She’ll be helping with your session today. She’s your second lady in waiting, so she’ll be assisting me.”

Noelle paused. This seemed weird, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself by asking too many questions. What if Destiny Spa was one of those places where if you didn’t do or say the right thing you wouldn’t be allowed back, and ended up on some kind of blacklist? She’d heard of salons like that – they were set on cultivating a particular ‘vibe’ and you had to be the right type of client just to get a consultation. Not worth the risk, she thought. She’d already figured out how to make her parents pay for it, so it’s not like she’d be out any money if she decided not to come back. Plus Laura seemed perfectly content, and once again, Mina didn’t leave any room for questions.

“Oh yes! Sorry, I just forgot.”

“Of course you did. Now. Please remove all of your clothing and lie down on the exam table. We just need to do a quick checkup before we can proceed with today’s services.”

Noelle sat down, slowly removing her boots. She took her time delicately undoing the laces, slower than she would if she were alone. Mina stood a few feet away, not looking away from Noelle once. She knew that ladies in waiting were used to following princesses around and waiting on them hand and foot, so it wasn’t exactly unrealistic, just odd. She was less interested in recreating actual medieval experiences, and more interested in the pampering part. But she appreciated the commitment. 

Mina was losing patience. She knew it didn’t take Noelle two minutes to remove her socks. Her intake form didn’t indicate any conditions that would slow her down, and she could sense the woman’s hesitance. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

“Oh dear, those jeans are awfully tight. Why don’t I help you with those?” Before Noelle knew what was happening, Mina was unbuttoning Noelle’s jeans which were, in fact, pretty tight. But that’s none of her business! Noelle thought.

“Um! I can do that myself!”

“Nonsense, sweetie. I’m here to take care of you. You work so hard. Just relax and let me take care of everything you need.” After removing Noelle’s jeans, she proceeded to remove her underwear. She tapped the back of her ankles, signaling for her to step out of her pants. She folded her clothes neatly and placed it on the end table, and without provocation, unbuttoned Noelle’s blouse, then removed her bra. Most times, Noelle wasn’t shy about nudity in settings like these. She didn’t blink twice stepping into steam rooms, and didn’t hesitate to hold a conversation in her gym’s locker room. This was different. She felt small, and embarrassed.

Noelle couldn’t resist trying to cover herself up, but her efforts were in vain. Mina put the rest of Noelle’s things in the cupboard, then grabbed her wrist, moving her arm away from her chest, and led her to the massage table. Noelle released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding in. A massage would settle her nerves a bit.

“Please lie down on your stomach, and lift your bottom slightly.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Please lie on your stomach, and lift your bottom slightly. If you kneel a bit, you can get a better lift.”

“I’d rather you concentrate on my neck and shoulders first? I don’t need a wax right now.” Noelle was feeling less bewildered, and more irritated. She wanted to relax, and she was tired of being bossed around. 

“Miss Noelle, this is for your own good. We will provide you with a massage later, but right now we need to make sure you’re well enough to receive the full treatment. We want you at your best.” Mina offered a smile, trying not to appear too eager. Noelle was one of the most spoiled clients she’d had in a while, and she was looking forward to addressing all of her concerns. She pulled out a pair of latex gloves from the end table. 

Noelle frowned but complied, crouching on the table so that her bottom stuck up in the air. She wondered about getting a refund and spending the day shopping instead when she felt a gloved finger probe her bottom. 

“What the hell!!” 

“Please settle down. We need to take your temperature and this is the best way to get an accurate reading.” Mina pried Noelle’s legs apart before placing a hand on the small of her back as she applied petroleum jelly to her bottom hole.. “This might feel mildly intrusive, but I promise it won’t hurt a bit.” She held her finger there for a minute before inserting a thermometer. 

“Certainly you’ve had this treatment before? Most spas are adding this to their repertoire.”

“Oh, of course.” Noelle said, wincing at the intrusion. It wasn’t painful, she reasoned, just embarrassing. She tried to relax and looked at Laura, still in the corner. 

Mina walked over to Laura and spoke to her in a hushed tone. The woman exited without acknowledging Noelle’s presence. 

“Just a minute more!” Mina said cheerfully. She busied herself about the room, smoothing imaginary wrinkles on the bed, and walking in and out of the bathroom. 

Noelle counted the seconds in her head. She was ready to get this over with, but knowing she had to wait on Mina to remove the thermometer made her squirm. She couldn’t tell what was worse – waiting to have it taken out, or knowing that she couldn’t do it on her own. 

It certainly felt longer than a minute for Noelle. Laura entered, dressed in a lavender tunic and pants that matched Mina’s, and joined her at the massage table. 

“Laura, would you mind?” 

Laura nodded, pressing a hand on the small of Noelle’s back while Mina fiddled with the thermometer. 

“Just want to make sure we get the most accurate reading.” Mina smiled, knowing that Noelle couldn’t see her. 

Noelle shifted her bottom from side to side, her movements steadied by Laura’s hand. The thermometer didn’t hurt, but she wasn’t used to the intrusion. Once she settled down, Mina removed the thermometer.

“Ah. Here we are, You’re perfectly healthy. Well we can proceed with the rest of the treatment.”

“Ugh. Finally!” Noelle groaned. She sat up and glared at Laura, who looked down, avoiding eye contact. “Okay so I really want to start off with a facial, then maybe we can go on to one of those seaweed treatments, oh, and do you guys have champagne?”

Mina picked up a clipboard from the end table, and flipped through a few papers before adding a note.

“So I think based on your intake form so far, you could use an aromatherapy bath to start. No alcohol for you. You can have peppermint tea or sparkling water.”

“Based on – “ 

“You seem tense, and alcohol dehydrates you. You were also very fussy during your temperature reading. We want you to feel your best, and I think after an aromatherapy bath, a nice massage would do wonders for you.”

“Oh. Well. That doesn’t sound bad.” Noelle attempted to cover herself up on the table. Mina nodded at Laura, and she rushed over to bring Noelle a large, fluffy robe. 

“Of course not! Our spa tub has multiple jets, and we’re going to add mineral oils, some salts, and a gentle  cleansing gel. After you soak for a little while, we will do an exfoliation treatment. I think a peel would be too harsh for you.” 

Noelle nodded. This was more like it. The whole “temperature check” thing felt weird, but so many people swore by this place. She wasn’t about to miss out on bragging rights. 

“Laura will prepare the bath for you. If you need to use the facilities, you can use the other bathroom to the left.” 

**********

Noelle looked around the room. The bathroom featured a vanity style mirror and table, with a matching chair. There were sprawling plants and flowers lining the windowsills, and the tub, as promised, was oversized with multiple jets. Laura stood next to the tub with her hands clasped, waiting for Noelle to enter.

“Please let me know if the temperature is up to par, miss.” 

Noelle nodded, and hung her bathrobe on a nearby hook. She dipped her toe in cautiously before fully settling in. 

“It’s perfect. If you have any magazines, that would be great, but otherwise I’m fine.” She leaned back, moving closer to the edge. “Is there a bell or something I can ring when I’m ready for you to get me?”

“Actually, I’ll be helping you in the bath. You will soak for a while, then Mina and I will return in about fifteen minutes.”

“What?”

Laura pretended not to hear, and left the room. Noelle wasn’t charming enough, and a gift basket wasn’t enough of a reward for her to lose her Saturday. Or her ability to sit comfortably. 

Noelle frowned and leaned back into the tub. Whatever, she thought. The bath smelled incredible and Mina was right, her back was tense. She closed her eyes, enjoying the stream of water pressure against her joints. She was halfway asleep when Laura and Mina opened the door. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough soaking for now!” Mina reentered, now wearing an apron and holding a thick, long handled bathbrush. “Time to exfoliate!” 

Noelle rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t you give me about five more minutes?”

“We couldn’t, unfortunately. We’re here to take care of what you need – if we let you soak too long, you’d wrinkle up! And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Well, I guess not…”

Mina didn’t wait for further affirmation. Instead, she busied herself adding cleansing gel to the bristles and kneeling over to the tub to bathe Noelle. Laura situated herself next to her, scooping body scrub onto her fingers and gently rubbing Noelle’s back. 

“I think I can..I…” Noelle wasn’t sure how to react. Being bathed seemed a little childish, but she felt even sillier protesting. Mina didn’t bother with instructions. She moved Noelle about as she needed – lifting her arms out of the way, holding her hair up with one hand as she washed her ears and neck. She eventually switched the bathbrush for a softer washcloth, moving her focus to Noelle’s breasts. She felt heat rising in her cheeks, and tried to move about, but neither Mina nor Laura stopped bathing the woman. Mina kept her movements gentle, but admonished Noelle for moving around too much.

“Be still, please. We’re here to take care of you. All you have to do is let us.” She nodded at Laura, who rinsed the remnants of soap from Noelle’s back before reaching over and grabbing her ankles. Before Noelle knew what was happening, her legs were lifted and Mina was washing her bottom. Noelle attempted to kick, but Laura kept a firm grip. She didn’t stop squirming until Mina set the washcloth down and gave her a firm smack.

“Hey!” 

“Darling, I know this is your first time but certainly your reference informed you about our policies and methods?” 

Noelle paused. She didn’t have a real reference – she forgot about that. While she doubted there would be any repercussions from the spa – after all, she was already mid way through her treatment – the thought of swallowing what was left of her pride and admitting she had no idea what she was getting herself into was too much for her to bear. So she closed her eyes, and inhaled before answering.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry – I’m just tired. That’s..why I was looking forward to this treatment for so long!”

Mina gave Laura a knowing look before focusing back on Noelle. “Of course, dear. I’m sure you work so hard and you really needed this time to unwind. I know it isn’t easy. But the treatment works best when you relax and let us take charge. Can you do that for me?”

Noelle shook her head in agreement, loosening her grip on the edge of the tub. She was surprised, but didn’t protest when Laura spread her legs so that Mina could wash between them. She took her time, making her way up the right thigh, then the left, before gently rubbing just centimeters above Noelle’s clit. 

“Okay. I think we’re all set.” 

Mina and Laura helped Noelle step out of the tub. Noelle reached for her bathrobe, but Mina pulled it out of her way.

“We’ll help you dry off.” She smiled. Laura pulled a large towel from the shelf, and dried Noelle off, pausing to repeat at sections Mina silently pointed at, indicating that Laura hadn’t done a good enough job. Noelle almost felt sorry for Laura – it seemed like she was being tested and being the second ‘lady in waiting’ was hard work. 

After drying off, Noelle was allowed to dress back in her robe – not by herself, of course. She didn’t even flinch when Mina insisted on holding her hand as they walked to the room. She noticed the sheets on the massage table had been replaced, and there was a bottle of massage oil on the table next to it. Finally some normal pampering. She reasoned that nothing that bad happened to her, and all the other quirks were just part of the treatment. The bath was kinda nice – maybe next time they can turn off the jets and add fresh rose petals, she thought as Mina led her past the massage table and to the large bed on the other side of the room. 

“Oh that’s sweet, but I don’t need a nap.” Noelle giggled. They were really committed to this whole ‘for your own good’ thing. The bed did look pretty cozy – minus the stack of pillows in the center. 

“Oh don’t worry – you might change your mind after your massage, but this is just something else special. We find some of our more…overworked clients respond well to physical motivation. Why don’t you lie over the stack of pillows right there.” Mina’s tone mirrored the one Noelle first heard that morning – sweet, but with an edge she couldn’t quite place. Every other time Mina spoke, she was gentle, comforting even – but this was different. Noelle sighed, stopping to let Laura remove her robe. This was the last time she chose a place just based on internet buzz. She lay face down over the pillows, feeling self conscious as the position caused her bottom to stick up higher in the air. This better not be another temperature thing, she thought to herself. 

“Please place your arms in front of you.” Mina instructed. She walked over to the armoire, pulling out a long brown leather strap. She nodded to Laura, who walked to the opposite side of the bed, and kneeled down next to Noelle.

“This is going to be a little difficult, but it’s part of what makes the treatment so exciting. Traditionally, the ladies in waiting took on a number of roles, including confidant, teacher, advisor and nurse. They were expected to not only keep the princess happy, but to prepare her as needed. Princesses weren’t expected to do much on their own. Essentially, the ladies had to anticipate the princess’s needs as much as possible. Sometimes that meant thinking outside the box. For instance, there was one famous princess who carried around a lot of guilt. She wasn’t cut out for royalty, you see, so she would just get into things that we would call brave or heroic now, but at the time were frowned upon. She would sneak out at night for horse rides, wander the town by herself. She had a whipping girl to take her punishments, but she felt so badly that she had her ladies in waiting repeat the punishments for her in private. Sure, it sounds unusual, but after a while she became so comfortable with her attendants that she didn’t even have to misbehave. They just knew what she needed, and when. So even when she protested, they knew everything they dished out was for the princess’s own good.”

Noelle’s emotions during Mina’s speech ranged from boredom, to confusion, to annoyance.

“That’s very nice Mona, but-”

“Excuse me, it’s Mina.” Mina narrowed her eyes.

“Sorry Mo- Mina. Mina, that’s a very nice story and probably somewhat historically accurate but I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“As I said before, everything we do here is for your own good. And we find that some of our more overworked, challenging – excuse me, challenged – clients respond well to more unusual methods.” Without further explanation, Mina swung the strap, smiling with satisfaction as the leather made contact with Noelle’s full bottom. 

Noelle attempted to jump up, but Laura held her in place, placing one hand on the small of her back and using her other hand to secure her wrists. 

“Shh – it’s okay. I know it hurts, but it’ll be over before you know it.” Laura rubbed circles on her back, attempting to calm Noelle as she shifted around, trying to shake off the pain. 

“Certainly your reference mentioned this, right dear? I thought you knew?” Mina didn’t wait for a response before swinging the strap again, and again. With more regular clients, Mina had a pre-set number of strokes in mind, typically ranging from 15-30. She had a feeling with Noelle that wouldn’t be enough. So she strapped the woman in earnest, ignoring her cries and whines, while Laura did her best to hold her in place. She squirmed and kicked as much as she could, but none of it phased them.

Mina slowed down, moving her focus to Noelle’s upper thighs. Eventually Noelle shifted her upper body closer to Laura for comfort, and rested her legs, even as Mina continued the strapping. Once Noelle was still enough for Mina’s liking, she stopped.

“Now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Mina crouched down next to Noelle on the opposite side of the bed. She reached for a napkin from the end table and wiped the tears from Noelle’s face. Laura left and quickly returned with a cool, wet washcloth and a hand towel. She placed the washcloth on top of Noelle’s bottom and left it there for just under a minute, before gently rubbing it against her upper thighs, using her other hand to trace the faint marks left by the strap. She nudged Noelle’s legs apart, taking the damp washcloth to rub her folds before drying her off.

Noelle felt herself blush at Laura’s touch, but she did her best not to move around. Instead, she let Mina cradle her head and stroke her hair. Laura left once again, returning with a jar of lotion to rub on Noelle’s bottom. 

Noelle was still trying to wrap her head around what happened. After all, people got all sorts of injections and skin treatments that were pretty painful – just in a different way. She remembered the first time she truly suffered for beauty. She got her legs waxed after reading an article in a magazine claiming it was more effective than shaving. She was miserable the entire time, but took great pride in putting on a mini skirt and showing off to her friends the next day, who were both impressed and jealous of Noelle’s bravery. “It didn’t hurt at all! I barely felt it.”, she lied. Since then, she’d reasoned her way around a number of uncomfortable things that she figured were just different methods of self improvement.

“How about that massage?” Mina asked. 

“Oh – yes please!” For a moment, Noelle wondered if this was a trick, but Mina and Laura led her to the massage table. Both women took turns massaging Noelle. They paid close attention to her reactions, adjusting pressure as needed, and calming her down as they rubbed her swollen bottom and thighs. Noelle felt more relaxed than she had in weeks. She fell asleep at the end of her massage, and Mina decided to let her rest for a while longer. When she woke up, Mina helped her get dressed while Laura retrieved the rest of her belongings. 

“So are you feeling better, princess?” 

Noelle found herself returning Mina’s smile. “I feel…fantastic. Thank you.”, she said earnestly. 

“You’re most welcome. We’ll be in touch soon to schedule your next appointment,” Mina grinned. 

Noelle blushed, but didn’t argue as the women walked her to the door. 

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Tears, revisited

Once upon a time, tears were the expectation. Before I entered the spanking scene, I thought this was what a successful punishment looked like. I’d read stories where misbehavior was met with unrelenting punishment by way of spanking, resulting in tears.

In my daily life, I’m embarrassed by crying. It’s something that I’ve worked on, and I can tell you that an upside to living in a major city means you can cry in public and no one will bat an eye. I’ve cried in subways, walking down the street, in taxis, all of it is normal. 

During spanking? Not so much. The first time I did it, there wasn’t a strong connection, but I knew I had permission to. I don’t recall the spanking as being particularly intense or overwhelming, and it wasn’t punitive, but it was what he wanted, and so I did. I wonder if I just tapped into a certain degree of submission, or if having the permission was enough. The second and/or third time, I remember feeling frustrated. The spankings were semi public, and were much harsher than expected, a large penance for a mistake I’d made. I don’t look back on those particularly fondly – while I like to be embarrassed, I realize under the wrong conditions I just feel slightly ashamed.

I think when the end result is shame, there’s a responsibility to put someone back together. And it’s not just about aftercare, it’s more about acknowledgment – like oh, this is something I created – as opposed to boredom, apathy, or confusion – all emotions that I picked up on during the aforementioned scenes. I do wonder about what that looks like – I know we all have different expectations. I recognize now I was ashamed because I knew that my mistakes at the time were trivial, (genuine mistakes, not intentional shenanigans) but the tops I’d played with were committed to making a show, so I wasn’t prepared for the intensity. It felt unfair, (and not in the hot way that things can sometimes be a little unfair.)

I used to think of crying as coming apart, but under better circumstances I view it as another method of becoming whole. I recognize that part of my anxiety comes from being an overly sensitive child that would cry at ridiculous things. I could feel others’ frustration around it, and that only made me feel worse. I have more compassion for younger me – I didn’t know how to best express my frustrations, and I still hold understanding for the adults around me – my reactions to trivial things on top of their everyday stress must have been exhausting. 

So where does that put me now? There are times when tears are just based on pain alone, but that’s even more rare. I don’t get to tears often. When I do it’s typically due to remorse, a release of guilt, or receiving affirmations I didn’t know I needed. Occasionally, it’s the result of helplessness due to the pain. But this doesn’t happen very often. That brings me to my initial point: I thought that pain would be enough. Typically now there’s more at stake, most commonly: the dread of punishment, the guilt of disappointing someone. When the spanking is more ‘just because’ or if the scene is more of a ‘funishment’, the innate desire changes my brain’s wiring. Regardless, when it’s positive and what I needed, I try to welcome tears. I’ve had instances when felt catharsis during the scene and enjoyed the tears, but looked back and worried that it was too much. I recognize now that this isn’t fair to me, that some reactions are beyond our control and that it’s just what my body needed to do.

Overall, I see tears now as a positive thing. I’m more intentional with who I play with and what I accept, so I know that I can trust myself to let go when I need to. I’m thankful for the positive experiences I’ve had, and continue to have. I was spanked recently and cried a lot, and I hope that my tears were received as a type of currency. There wasn’t a specific reason, initially, for the spanking. It more served of a reminder: that you are not in charge. (Which is confusing to someone like me, who literally knows everything.)

I spend a great deal of time organizing events – it takes up a significant portion of my time in the scene. I love bringing people together – the community has taught me so much about myself and how I relate to other people. I believe that we are our best selves when we have the opportunity to connect and remind each other that we’re not alone. There’s a lot of moving parts required to make a party happen. I’m grateful for the opportunity to take care of people, but I would be lying if I said that sometimes it can be difficult to decompress and make time for myself, especially when balancing the stress of everyday life with organizing.

In this moment, I didn’t have to figure out what was next, or solve any problems. All I had to do was feel – and the hairbrush made it easy to do so. I felt warm, and taken care of, and I welcomed an opportunity to get out of my head. It amazes me that after years and years of this thing we do, I can still feel renewed, to find new ways to let go. 

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Greenridge III, or Halloween Part II

Read Parts I and II

Everyone wants a safety net. Someone to fall back on when things aren’t going according to plan. You can’t let them know your intentions; but if you’re lucky they already know. Sometimes they’re holding you for the same thing. 

************

“Is this like a sacrifice sort of thing?” 

“What? Jesus! Emma, how much has she had to drink?”

“Only two!”

Renee ripped off the blindfold, using her other hand to hold my chin and look me in the eyes. Her definition of a sobriety check, I guess. My question wasn’t that outlandish, but I was impressed with my ability to throw Renee off. I didn’t have time to piece together where we were – Renee and Emma whisked me away pretty quickly. 

I figured it was an initiation thing. Janice’s aunt couldn’t give her too many details, but she told her to “be ready for anything”. An internet deep dive taught Janice and I that if you made it to the Halloween party, it was a sure bet that you were being considered. If you could survive the test, you were in.  

“Okay. You’re fine. You’ll need your eyes for this part anyway.”

I still heard music, so I knew we were in the same house. I just wasn’t sure where. I prefer to wander at parties, familiarizing myself with bathrooms, exits, the kitchen, etc, but Emma kept us close by, so I spent most of the party so far standing in what I assumed was the living room. We must have been about 200 feet away? Emma opened a door that led us down a dark corridor, and we walked for another three minutes before reaching a staircase. We walked downstairs, with Emma behind me and Renee in front. She didn’t look back to make sure we were following. Maybe she just trusted Emma that much, or maybe she knew my curiosity would outweigh any sense of danger. I admired her confidence either way. 

The room (most likely a basement) was clear of furniture except for a single wooden table and four straight back chairs, two on each side. There were four candles in the center of the table. Before I could take in more, Emma put my blindfold back on. 

“Next time give me a little more notice” Emma whispered, sounding irritated. 

“Notice for what?” Renee hissed. “You didn’t have to do anything except hang out for a bit. Looked like you two were having fun, by the way. She hasn’t been accepted yet.” 

“I know.” Someone grazed my fingertips. “I just-”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get started.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a sacrifice thing?” I couldn’t see, but I certainly felt Renee’s eyes narrowing in on me. It was less amusing the second time around, but I couldn’t stay silent. It was easier to pretend that I wasn’t intrigued by the Diamond Club. If and when I was rejected, brushing it off would look more natural. 

I was pulled a few inches away by the arm. “Sit.” My movements were slow and deliberate; in case I was being set up to fall, but I was in a chair. Before I could open my mouth again, I heard the distinct sound of wood hitting bare flesh.

Five weeks prior, I wouldn’t have recognized it, but when Miss Sterling punished me, all I could think about was the sound, and who else could hear me. Well, that and how much it hurt. 

“That’s one.” 

“One what-”

“Again.” I heard another smack, this time followed by a small cry. 

“We haven’t even started yet. In case you haven’t figured it out – don’t speak anymore unless directed to. When you are allowed to speak, you will do so with respect – no more snarky comments. We expect to hear ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am’ when appropriate – but don’t plan on using the second one much. Is that understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good girl. Let’s get started.”

************

I figured if I couldn’t speak, I could at least fidget a little bit. But soon my wrists were bound. I sat in silence while Renee and Emma whispered to one another for about five minutes. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. For a moment I suspected they were just mumbling gibberish, but they were too impassioned. Finally, Renee spoke.

“Cynthia Dawson. Do you know what the Diamond Club is?”

“Y-yes ma’am”, I stammered.

“Tell us,then.”

I wasn’t expecting a quiz, but I’m nothing if not prepared. 

“Yes ma’am. The Diamond Club is an elite members only social group, open exclusively for women attending Greenridge University.”

Renee’s stilettos clacked against the wood as she walked further away from me.

“Very good. Do you think you deserve to be a member?”

“Well -”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Hmm. Okay. What about Janice? Does she deserve it?”

“Yes, absolutely! She – “ Another swat, and this one seemed harder.

“It’s yes ma’am, or no ma’am.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yes ma,am, what?”

What indeed, I thought. But I felt bad for whoever was being spanked.

“Yes ma’am, Janice deserves to be a diamond.”

“Oh wow! You hear that, Janice? Cynthia doesn’t have it out for you after all!”

Wait…what the fuck? Another swat, and this time I heard a much more strangled cry.

“Well, it seemed like she didn’t a second ago. Hey ruby, learn to keep your thoughts private, hon.” I forgot Emma was in the room. 

“For the last time,” I flinched hearing Renee move behind me, “It is yes ma’am or no ma’am. Understood?”

She took off my blindfold and stood in front of me, searching my face. For a split second, I wondered if she wasn’t as sure of herself as she seemed. She lifted my chin with her index finger and stared. I thought better of it. 

“Yes ma’am.”

I watched her walk away to the corner of the room, where Emma stood, holding a hairbrush. Janice stood perfectly still, facing the wall, with her hands folded behind her back. Her costume was already revealing, but it’d been adjusted so that her bottom stuck out even more, revealing faint bruises. I was nervous for her, but I knew how much she wanted this. 

Emma brushed her fingers against Janice’s bottom for a moment before giving her a quick smack with her hand. 

“I think she could use a break.”

************

“What exactly is your problem?!” 

I was mildly surprised – we’d been standing in silence for at least fifteen minutes. Janice was instructed not to leave the corner, so she stood there, immobile, with her hands behind her back. I stood at the corner opposite of her, decidedly less poised. Before they left, Renee and Emma fussed over my posture. I wasn’t sure if it was correct or if they’d just given up, but they told us not to move and left without saying where they were going. 

“What do you mean-”

“Shhh!” The irony of Janice telling me to be quiet wasn’t lost on me. Not because she initiated the conversation, but because her “whisper” was the same volume as her speaking voice. “They might hear you. I mean are you trying to ruin my chances of getting in?”

“I’m not! I swear I’m not. I just don’t know about this stuff, but I haven’t really done anything wrong?”

“Okay but I don’t want to look like we don’t have it together. I want us to both get in, but I know you don’t want it that bad.”

But I did. I wanted a new start at Greenridge. Maybe I wasn’t as brave as Janice, but I’d made it this far. 

“I’m sorry, really I am. I’ll make sure you get in.” 

Before Janice could respond, the door opened. 

“Alright Rubies. You may turn around.” 

Renee and Emma stood at the front of the room, 

“The four candles at the table represent the four pillars of the Diamond Club. One for strength, one for community, one for leadership, and one for discipline.” Sensing our hesitation at the last pillar, Renee continued. 

“This isn’t like typical sorority bullshit. We do not consider ourselves a sorority, really, no matter what people brand it as. We’re not here to sit up and braid your hair, or make you embarrass yourself in front of guys for entertainment. You can do that on your own time. The Diamonds go back to a generation of women who didn’t have as much freedom as we do now. But they knew they wanted more. They wanted to learn and explore the world, they wanted to speak out against injustice, and not just ones that affected them. They knew they couldn’t accomplish this on their own. For every good day, there were five bad ones. They depended on each other for support, because there is power in numbers.”

There was a slight “daughters of the witches you couldn’t burn” element to the speech, but I was inspired nonetheless. 

“They fought to learn about things of substance.  Coming from money didn’t mean much – women had no agency whatsoever. A century ago if you weren’t married off early, Greenridge was your best bet. It was a glorified finishing school. This place was known for the “Greenridge Guarantee” – that all women would get married within six months of graduation. You think things are strict now? Imagine being told what to read, how to dress, how to think.”

 “They got the same punishments as we do- well, as you guys do.” Renee let out a snicker before continuing. “But worse. If you questioned things too much, not only were you punished, but they would make an example out of you. Think cornertime is embarrassing? Try serving cornertime with your bare bottom on display at a social. Your potential suitors watching, commenting on your posture and positioning, debating with each other whether you were worth the “work”. If they slipped the headmistress a high enough bribe, or just caught her in a good mood, they could even discipline you themselves, just for kicks.”

Renee paused and glanced at Emma, who gave her a quick nod. Emma cleared her throat. “You both have so much more to learn – not just about our history, but about yourselves. Over the next few weeks, you will learn about each of the pillars. Tonight will be your first lesson – we will explore the pillar of strength.”

Renee pulled out two of the chairs on one side of the table before sitting down. Emma sat in the other chair before gesturing with her finger for us to follow. She sat her bag down next to her and pulled out two thick wooden hairbrushes and passed one to Renee. I bent over Emma’s knee, and Renee positioned Janice over her knee so that we faced each other. 

I’d forgotten how much it actually hurt to be spanked. Janice had much more than I did, but she was taking it in stride. Too much stride, actually. While Renee paddled her bottom with the hairbrush, Janice whimpered, and would kick every now and then. Emma had only given me about fifteen swats and I was howling and trying with all my might to throw myself off her lap.

We were holding hands – Janice had a steel grip on mine. They didn’t have to explain this one to me, we were playing the most humiliating – and painful – game of chicken. No one stopped until one of us said so, or until Renee and Emma got tired. I was trying, really I was. Emma made sure the brush scalded the undercurve of my bottom, and then my thighs, before working her way back up. Between Renee and Emma, the rhythm was erratic, so we couldn’t be lulled under a specific pattern. 

I was ready to let go, but even with tears streaming down her face, Janice locked eyes with me and shook her head. I wasn’t sure if ending it meant we were eliminated, if we were technically in, or if they were just pushing us as far as they could, but they stopped abruptly. 

“Alright. You two did pretty well.” 

I let go of Janice’s hands and reached back to rub before Emma grabbed my wrist.

“Not yet, little Ruby. You may both stand up. We understand that you are new, but going forward any time you are disciplined, you will be expected to say “thank you for my lesson, ma’am.” Emma helped me right myself. My legs were shaky; I still hadn’t figured out the trick to  gracefully standing up after being spanked. She used her thumb to wipe a stray tear from my face. 

Janice and I locked eyes. I felt a surge of pride, and I’d bet anything that she felt the same. 

“Thank you for my lesson, ma’am.” 

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Filling in the Blanks

For a dear friend that recently passed.

Sometimes I think I wish I knew just how bad it got, or that it would be. Before the last time I thought he was doing well. He still looked like himself. 

I would’ve came around more. Two and a half hours by train isn’t bad. I miss his humor, his curiosity, his calming presence. 

I imagine that he would’ve told me not to dwell on it; that regret isn’t worth my time. That’s a big part of what grief is – filling in the blanks when we can’t get the answers. 

Yesterday I attended a celebration of life. Getting there was…chaotic to say the least, but I made it thanks to some good friends. Another blank for me to fill in – I think he would’ve appreciated this story. 

I met so many people. Whether they were his family or close friends, their stories had the same message – that he was an incredible person. One of the most remarkable things about the scene is the opportunities we get to meet people we never would’ve met otherwise. I think about this especially now as I remember him. He was an amazing friend to so many.  

In the wee hours of the night, I was speaking to a friend about my anxiety and other stressors and she pointed out that I hadn’t really taken time to grieve. I don’t know how to, and in retrospect, I haven’t really had the time – so much has happened in such a short time that I couldn’t catch my breath. I realize now, as I’m writing this in my phone, fingers digging into my skin (a trick I learned to combat crying in public) that I forgot how to do this too, to breathe easier. Another thing to figure out. 

He was always looking for solutions. A way to make things better, to make sure everything, and everyone was okay. He was relentless in his quest for joy and that’s something I hope – I plan, to carry with me everyday. 

Daylight savings ended, so the sun was still out when I came home. I took time to enjoy the sunset. I came home to the smell of fresh flowers – he found good in so many things, I’m so many people. I’d like to hold on to that feeling for him. 


P.S. If you know him, and you know me, you’ll know the reason behind the picture. 

Greenridge II, or Halloween Part I

note: yes it’s literally been over a year, but I have a blog update in the form of a story. Read part one here.


You can’t tell anyone you want to fit in. That’s the thing about being cool – when you want it too much it ruins the whole thing. Even when there’s the occasional paradigm shift and the passé becomes chic, you can’t get too comfortable. When you’re too free, when you’re not watching your back…

“Boo!”

I screamed and jumped out of my seat, nearly knocking over my laptop. Janice knows I hate when people sneak up behind me, but to her it’s peak comedy. “It’s spooky season!” She yelled at a volume unacceptable before noon. I hate the term ‘spooky season’ more than jumpscares, but her face was pure joy, and I relaxed in spite of myself. Janice placed a cup of coffee next to me. She’s easy to forgive.

My roommate of over a month, Janice Elinger and I bonded after she fell for a similar scheme as me. Her mentor convinced her to stay out late for a trip to a club in the city.  I learned that getting hazed is a rite of passage for everyone, regardless of your interest in the Diamond Club. 

Janice’s paternal aunt, Patricia, is a Diamond Club member. She attended Greenridge in the 70s. Growing up, Janice visited Patricia during holidays, and she said it was always the highlight of her year. Patricia spoiled her with lavish gifts, and as she got older, told Janice enough stories about Greenridge to inspire her to attend. She dropped some hints and basic information about the Diamond Club, but members are forbidden from sharing club secrets with non members. Apparently that extends to family. And since neither me or Janice were even members – I don’t even know if we were under consideration, or if Renee just wanted to be a bitch – we probably already knew more than we should.

“So what do you think it’s going to be?” Janice wondered, pulling up a chair next to me.  I was slouched over my desk, attempting to finish a history essay well before the deadline. Ever since I got caught coming in after curfew, I was focused on laying low. My  grades came first, followed by finding a normal club to join. 

The Diamond Club is one of Greenridge’s worst kept secrets. It’s said that members are chosen before they even enter their first class, and the first sign of entry is typically some kind of prank. But it was tricky; Diamond Club members were notorious for roping freshmen into pranks with no intention of ever initiating them. Even if you were lucky enough to be considered as a Ruby (their term for freshman recruits) the first prank was just the beginning. 

My prank was a two parter. To this day, Renee still won’t tell me how she did it. But it started with the student handbook. It came to my house early July, long after I’d confirmed my acceptance and memorized the brochures. I came home from a shift at Frostys, the local ice cream shop, and it was waiting for me on the kitchen table. I grabbed the large envelope once I saw it and ran straight to my room, only half greeting my parents.  

The handbook didn’t say anything about corporal punishment. I did, however, get everything I needed to know about the demerit system. Three demerits in a semester and you could end up on probation. There were also different levels – level one demerits for offenses like breaking curfew by 30 minutes or less. Level two was for curfew violations of more than 30 minutes, and underage drinking. Level three was more serious: illicit drugs, fighting, academic dishonesty. But nothing about corporal punishment.

The day after my spanking, I got a copy of the real thing. I didn’t have to ask; Miss Sterling left one outside my door. There was a whole section on discipline. Nothing about intensity, just a brief overview of what might be used (I noted the phrase “including but not limited to”), and a reminder that signing our acceptance letter meant accepting punishments. 

Diamond Club members have connections everywhere on campus. The deans, some of the teachers… Even in the admissions office. I think this is how they managed to switch the handbook. They did it to Janice too. Most freshmen are too embarrassed to talk about it, but they figure if you’re gonna bring it up with anyone, it’s going to be your roommate. 

Greenridge doesn’t allow you to choose your roommate. One of their mottos is “fate is a natural consequence on the road of responsibility.” This quote is listed prior to the section on roommates, which states “barring any major issues, you will have the same roommate throughout your duration at Greenridge.”  In other words, dealing with roommate assignments every semester is too much time and drama. It’s hard to say if they were just ahead of the curve in cutting down bureaucratic processes, or at the end of the day, everyone will cut corners when they can. Every freshman gets a ‘Senior Scout’ – kind of like a mentor – and that’s usually how upper class Club members find their recruits. 

Unlike other sororities where you actively work to be recruited, The Diamond Club just chooses you. There’s no audition, no pleading your case, you’re either under consideration or not. They don’t like to classify themselves as a sorority, but it’s the same concept. All women, well connected. Exclusivity is their bread and butter, and you can’t prove your worth without being embarrassed. 

************

Janice is used to spanking. She spent summers with her maternal cousins Lindsey and Sarah who were always dragging her into trouble. And while she didn’t get spanked at home – her parents were much too busy for that sort of thing – Aunt Terry and Uncle Brandon were instructed to treat her as one of their own. 

Janice told me in detail what used to happen, including this summer, right before college.  They went skinny dipping with some local boys, who snuck off with their clothes and managed to tip off their parents. At least that’s what Janice thinks – she still isn’t sure how they found them. They all had to pick and cut their own switches. Janice was inconsolable at the time, primarily because she thought she’d reached the age where this wouldn’t even be a possibility. Lindsey and Sarah felt sorry for her (and themselves) but they were pros at this point. Lindsey even tried to tell Aunt Terry it wasn’t Janice’s fault, but she wouldn’t hear of it; she was a willing participant. Janice’s protests – “that she was too old, she was about to be in college, for Christ’s sake” – didn’t help her case. 

She was humiliated and very sorry at the time, but now she told these stories with a sense of pride. “In a weird way, it’s like they were preparing me for this.” 

I felt a little guilty about the lack of grace I had during my own spanking, but unlike Janice, I didn’t have anyone to prepare me.

*********

“Hello? Anybody home?” I shook myself out of my thoughts, realizing Janice was talking to me.

“Huh? Sorry I didn’t hear you.” Janice frowned for a millisecond before closing my laptop. 

“Hey!”

“I said what do you think it’s going to be?” She leaned closer to me, moving my homework out of reach. “The Diamond Club always has something major planned right around Halloween. That’s usually when they end up choosing the Rubies.”

I picked up my coffee, closing my eyes at the first sip. Why couldn’t she take a hint? “I don’t know. It’s none of my business.” 

“Are you still upset about what happened? It’s been three weeks!” 

Correction: It had been four weeks since ‘the incident’. When I confronted Renee about it, she just laughed it off. “So what?” she said, filing her nails at her desk. “I didn’t make you do anything! Besides, you had fun that night, didn’t you?”

I did have fun. I got several phone numbers that night. Guys were buying me drinks left and right. But it wasn’t just that – I felt like I belonged. Renee and her posse formed a circle around me while I danced (three tequila shots later), she scared off creeps who got too close, and said “it’s yours now, anyway” when I fussed about someone spilling a drink on my dress. 

After the spanking from Ms. Sterling – well, I was embarrassed, for sure. But I felt better after. Calm, resolved. Even if I thought I could get away with it, why was I willing to break curfew before I’d even taken my first class? It wasn’t very responsible, and I worked so hard to get here. 

I looked up at Janice. I knew she was eager for me to join the club with her. Having a friend experience initiation with you would make things ten times easier, I’m sure. And I did really like her. I sighed. 

“I guess not. But we don’t know if that was part of initiation or just a prank?”

Janice’s eyes brightened. “You’re right. We don’t! But they never do things that involved if they’re not at least considering you. So you have to make nice with Renee, if you haven’t already.”

For the past week, I’d toyed with the idea of leaving the dress Renee lent me in shreds in front of her door. I mean, she said it was mine. I don’t know how much she would care. I also didn’t know what she was capable of. We hadn’t spoken since I stormed out of her room the day after the incident. What was there to say? I did have fun, and it’s true – she didn’t make me break the rules. But it wasn’t like she was reaching out. That part was up to me.

Meanwhile, I was trying to focus on joining something lowkey. Something prestigious like the newspaper, that would look good on my resume. They didn’t let freshmen in, but keeping up my grades was essential if I even wanted a chance.

If I was honest with myself – I wanted more out of college than just work. I didn’t want to risk getting demerits or being punished with Miss Sterling again. But surely I could make time for some kind of fun? I was in college after all, and I made such a big deal about leaving home and coming here. I needed better stories to tell when I visited home other than ‘my dorm mom put me over her knee and spanked me with a hairbrush for missing curfew.’ There were other sororities on campus, but they didn’t really feel like my thing. 

“I’ll ask Renee if she wants to meet later. But no promises.” Janice squealed – again, way too loud for what time of day it was – but I smiled back at her. I suppose I could offer moral support without getting myself into trouble.

*****************

“I’m not sure about this.” 

I get the societal expectation for women to be ‘sexy’ on Halloween. I really do. But I wished I wasn’t a walking cliché. I didn’t have anything good in my closet but Janice came through with a French maid costume.

“What are you unsure about? You look hot as hell.” Janice was dressed as some superhero (unclear which one, honestly I think she made it up) but it involved a latex bodysuit. She had sophistication and a little bit of mystery. Meanwhile, my bottom was barely covered and if I moved the wrong way, I might end up with a nip slip. “Besides, you know the dress code!” 

Come dressed hot enough to kill, the text read.

 I managed to make nice with Renee. She didn’t respond to my text asking to meet up, but I ran into her at the campus coffee shop. Renee greeted me like we were old friends, without acknowledging my reaching out. She didn’t apologize, but I said I overreacted and admitted that I had fun. 

“That’s the Ruby spirit!” She gleamed. Renee was clearly used to getting what she wanted. “Finally. That’s all in the past. Let’s get you a latte. My treat. Oh! And what are you doing next weekend?”  

Now, Janice and I were in our dorm room, waiting for texts confirming the address for tonight’s party. She was right – they always have something big planned for Halloween, and this year it was an off campus party. Turns out this is standard. I was ready to change my mind when the text came through – about 45 minutes away. Later I would learn they chose something far enough away so in case anything happened, no one would make connections to Greenridge.

We found a workaround for the curfew issue. It turns out you could sign yourself out of the dorm for 24-48 hours. A lot of girls did this to visit their significant others (freshmen were not allowed overnight guests of any gender), but it was also a go to for less scandalous endeavors, like visiting family. Janice had spare keys to Patricia’s house less than thirty minutes away, so we decided to stay there for the night.

 I asked Ms. Sterling once about why we (particularly freshmen) had such strict rules when we were all technically adults. She pointed out that for most new students, it was their first time with any sort of real freedom. Even the students with absent parents who didn’t know what they were up to half the time thrived best with the promise of accountability, she mused.

And while we were expected to occasionally slip up, having guidelines prevented us from going too far. So yes, there was a curfew, but instead of 10 pm like it might be at home, they had until midnight. 

“Considering you are all well below the legal drinking  age, I think that’s pretty generous.” She’d said. 

I didn’t bother telling her that up until a month ago, I had zero use for a curfew. 

*********

Our cab driver did a double take before dropping us off. “Do I have the right address?” he wondered, swiping through his app. The house was three stories high, with chipping paint on the outside. The grass in the front yard was over three feet high and patchy in other spots. There weren’t houses on either side, just a concrete lot. It was as if someone had plucked this house here by mistake. No one stood outside, but I heard music playing and voices of people fighting to be heard over the base. 

I was prepared for another prank – like no one we knew would be there, but we were greeted by Emma, a junior I met a few weeks ago, once we made it to the front door. She was dressed in the most complicated piece of lingerie I’d ever seen, with elaborate fairy wings. I felt underdressed, but she smiled at us both. “Welcome!” 

*********

Exactly one hour and two fruity drinks later, I was feeling much more relaxed. I hadn’t seen Renee, and I’d lost track of Janice, but Emma and I were becoming fast friends. She grew up about thirty minutes away from my hometown – right outside Indianapolis. She attended Greenridge on a volleyball scholarship, a rarity considering we weren’t known for our athletics. “Just one of those pesky extracurriculars that actually paid off”, she said with a wink. “Do you want another one? These are kind of my specialty.”

I should say that before Greenridge, before the party about a month ago – I’d consumed alcohol exactly once. Half a beer the night of graduation. It wasn’t about legality or rule following so much as I was afraid of doing something stupid. Despite the claims peddled by most anti drug programs, I wasn’t under constant pressure. Most people didn’t even casually offer on the rare occasion I went to a party in high school – they knew I was either already the designated driver, or they figured I would say no. Emma didn’t care either way, but I didn’t want to say no to her. I felt a cool hand on my shoulder. 

“She can have another one later. Maybe. It’s time.” 

It took my brain twenty seconds to recognize Renee’s voice, but I was already mid scream.  

***********

“We take care of each other here.” 

I was trying to keep my cool. Four? Maybe five? Minutes before, I was enjoying the party with Emma before Renee snuck up on me. She didn’t flinch when I screamed, but she was visibly annoyed. No one else seemed to notice – it was as if they made a point not to pay attention to what was going on. I didn’t know a lot of people, but Janice – before she disappeared – pointed out some Diamond Club members, and their significant others. There was also a huge fraternity crowd from neighboring schools.

Internally, I debated whether the music was that loud that no one heard me scream (disturbing) or if everyone else was just that much more sophisticated than I was that they knew I was overreacting (embarrassing). Renee didn’t give me much time to consider.

“Well if you’re done with…whatever that was, you can come with me” Renee sighed and pulled a blindfold over my face, while Emma held both of my hands. “You’re going to be just fine”, Emma whispered. Somehow, I believed her.

Read Part III here.

Greenridge I

*all characters are at least eighteen years of age

“That doesn’t happen here. Not anymore, anyway.”

Cynthia Dawson smoothed out imaginary wrinkles on her skirt before taking a sip of her mint lemonade. Overpriced lemonade, she noted, wincing internally, but she had to get something. She knew the drill at this point. Sarah Baker, yet another wide eyed freshman recruit (otherwise known as “Rubies” amongst upperclassmen) sat across from her at the school café, where Cynthia put on her most convincing act: the unbothered yet in-the-know Senior Scout. Technically she was still a junior in terms of classes, but the term “senior scout” was widespread before juniors were officially allowed to assist with initiation. 

Greenridge University was one of the top private colleges in the area. Graduates went on to be biochemists, Pulitzer winning authors, doctors…but all that status came with a price. Not that they had a choice, but most would say corporal punishment was worth it. People didn’t like to talk about it, but If you looked hard enough, you could see the signs. Leftover mascara tracks, squirming during class lectures, overhearing “it’s okay I’ll stand” during lunch, answered with knowing smirks and sympathetic murmurs. 

But the Rubies didn’t know this. Even the most jaded ones found ways to ask during Orientation Week. Is it true? I’m not scared. Not like it would be my first time. Sarah wanted to know if it was true: that if you were even just a minute late to class, you had to stand in the corner until the end of class, and afterwards the professor might paddle you. 

Cynthia heard it all. And she knew the rules. As far as the Rubies were concerned, corporal punishment was just an outdated tradition. Hazing in the sororities could mean a swat or two, but nothing serious. And even that was frowned upon, she said with a well-practiced serious face. 

“And let’s keep that between us. The administration has been keeping a close eye on the sororities, it’s like they’re ready to make an example out of us.”

She needed more, something to play into the girl’s ego. 

“I know I can trust you. I can tell you’re more mature.” 

Three years ago, a similar line worked on her. 

~~~~

“Freshman have a strict curfew of midnight, are you not aware of that, Ms. Dawson?”

It was 2 am and Mrs. Sterling was sitting in the common room of her dorm. Her tone wasn’t unkind, almost knowing. 

Cynthia knew that she had a 2 am curfew, but Renee, her senior scout, told her they weren’t really enforced, especially where Ms. Sterling was concerned. 

She remembered the low whistle Renee let out when she showed her class schedule and dorm assignments, telling her who was a stickler for the rules, who let you get out of class early…

“Mrs. Sterling?” Renee playfully slapped her arm. “Some girls have all the luck.”

“Why, what’s she like?” Cynthia wanted to pretend to be cool, but Renee was so easy going, she felt like she didn’t have to fake it. They were strolling through the garden, slow enough for her to sneak pictures for back home without being too obvious. 

Greenridge was famous for its garden. The manicured lawns and neat rows of flowers required more upkeep. At least once a month, it would be closed off for a private event, the hosts looking to impress prospective clients, couples (often graduates of Greenridge) wanting to show off. And Greenridge was happy to have them, as long as they were willing to pay the hefty rental fees. 

Cynthia gawked at the biggest azaleas she’d ever seen, missing Renee’s brief eye roll.

 “Oh she’s a kitten! She’s like 27 and gorgeous! Left her job as a secretary to come here as a dorm mother. Literally most nights she’s either in bed watching reality tv by 11 – she’s like a tv blogger or something – and she gets so wrapped up in her little shows that she doesn’t even care what you’re doing.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously girl. Just don’t like, smoke or drink in your room, or come in obviously drunk. But if you’re coming home an hour or two past curfew, no one will bat an eye.”

Cynthia didn’t have a curfew growing up. Going out on a school night, save some special occasion, was unheard of. On the weekends, she spent more time picking up her drunk friends than actually partying. Midnight seemed like a luxury to her, not that she would admit this. She watched Renee scroll through Instagram, her perfectly manicured fingers tap tapping until she found what she was looking for: catmama0707’s page.

“Who’s this?” Cynthia held Renee’s phone as if it was made of glass, slowly scrolling. A pretty woman in her late 20s who loved knitting, Real Housewives memes, and cats? Could’ve been any girl she went to school with in about ten years, she thought, shuddering. 

“That’s Ms. Sterling! She’s really into the whole granny chic trend, if you can’t tell.” Renee said, taking her phone back. “She’s like the most DGAF of anyone on this campus, even the students.” She sat on an empty bench, taking a tube of lipgloss out of her bag and applying a fresh coat. 

 “She literally took this job because of the free housing after her boyfriend dumped her, not to mention the other million perks. Jessica – I mean, Ms. Sterling – is like…a glorified babysitter. Anyway.” Renee paused, making sure she had Cynthia’s full attention. “You don’t have to worry. You might be a freshman, but you’re so much more mature than the other girls. I can tell.”

~~~~

Cynthia expected hazing. She was naive, sure, but not so naive to think that it wouldn’t happen. That’s why she snorted when Ms. Sterling said it: 

“I know you might think that because you’re on your own, away from your parents, that there aren’t rules to follow anymore. That’s not the case, little girl. For the next four years, we expect you to be on the straight and narrow just like you would at home. And if you choose not to follow the rules, you can expect consequences.” 

“Is something funny?” 

She didn’t think she laughed, but maybe her face broke out into a smile. That happened when she was nervous, and often she didn’t even realize it. 

“N-no…it’s just that, well I thought-“

“You thought you could stroll in here two hours past curfew and nothing would happen? Did you read your handbook?”

Cover to cover, at least once a day, everyday for a month leading up to move in day, Cynthia thought. Ms. Sterling narrowed her eyes. 

“Well yeah! But I thought…I just…it got late.”

“Well. Ms. Sterling finally stood up. She was shorter than Cynthia , but Cynthia felt about two inches tall. “If you think that you will be exempt from consequences just because you’re new, you are sorely mistaken.” She picked up an ebony hairbrush from the table. “I’ll make this as quick as possible because it’s late and everyone else is sleeping, but we have a lot more to discuss. Be in my office at 9 am sharp.”

Cynthia froze in place. She didn’t quite know what was happening. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t. 

“Over my knee. Now.”

“But you can’t!”

Ms. Sterling raised an eyebrow. She was already annoyed at having to stay up. She knew at least one of the girls was going to break the curfew rule. That one was the easiest, she thought.  But she didn’t expect it to be a) during orientation week and b) two whole hours. She was tired, but she intended to get her point across. 

“If I have to come get you…”

Cynthia walked over to Ms. Sterling – waddled was more like it. She’d borrowed a pair of Renee’s heels, and it turns out 6 hours and a minute right up to her first ever spanking was the comfort limit.

“You can take those off.” 

Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief, balancing herself against the sofa frame as she carefully removed the heels. They were more expensive than anything she’d ever owned – no, even looked at. Maybe Renee confused Ms. Dawson with another dorm mother? Renee seemed like she smoked a lot, sometimes that can happen – but she wouldn’t trick her on purpose. Right? She said that whole ‘corporal punishment’ thing was bogus.

 “Just a dumb rumor parents tell their kids so they don’t go crazy the first year.” Renee said, rolling her eyes.

And maybe Ms. Sterling wasn’t all that bad. After all, she sensed Cynthia’s discomfort…

“I don’t have all evening, Ms. Dawson.” Jessica Sterling interrupted the girl’s thoughts. She couldn’t care less if Cynthia’s feet hurt or not – but she’d been kicked too many times before, usually by girls that had never been spanked. If I had a dollar for every flying Loubiton, she mused. 

Cynthia stretched herself over Ms. Sterling’s lap, unsure what to do. Ms. Sterling paused for a moment, then yanked the dress up over Cynthia’s bottom. The dress (a strapless metallic number, courtesy of Renee) wasn’t particularly long to begin with, but Cynthia blushed nevertheless. She felt more vulnerable, knowing that there wasn’t anything underneath.   

She didn’t have much time for embarrassment, as Ms. Sterling quickly got to work with the hairbrush. Cynthia had never been spanked before, save a few playful swats from boyfriends, but she knew people that were. Even though a tiny voice in the back of her mind wondered if this was a test, she couldn’t access the stubborn streak in her, the one that begged her to be brave, the one that told her she could get through anything. She felt a stray tear pass before the first swat even came.  

~~~

“Just go commando”, Renee said eight hours earlier, watching Cynthia fuss over panty lines. 

After their stroll in the garden, Renee invited Cynthia back to her dorm. They watched reruns of their favorite sitcoms, pausing between episodes to make small talk – mostly initiated by Renee. Cynthia answered every question with ease, still not feeling a hundred percent comfortable, but much more relaxed.

 When Alice, Renee’s roommate, came in and told them about a party, Cynthia thought that was her cue to leave, but Renee and Alice insisted she stay. Cynthia felt honored by the invite, but nothing she owned would fit the unwritten dress code – sleek minidresses and minuscule tops with designer jeans. She was relieved when Renee offered to let her borrow something, as if she knew Cynthia hadn’t prepared for such things.  

~~~

Ms. Sterling didn’t care who was familiar with spanking. She just knew that this young lady had broken curfew by two whole hours. Something she expected from a senior, or maybe a junior that had gotten a little too comfortable. Not a freshman, and certainly not the first week. She got to work on Cynthia’s sit spots, taking care to lift each cheek so that the under curve of her round bottom got just as much attention as the rest. 

Cynthia was in tears after the first ten, and after twenty she was sobbing. Ms. Sterling took brief pauses to lecture and survey her work, but Cynthia was in too much pain to focus. She’d lost count of how many swats – initially she tried to guess some kind of pattern, or lucky number that would make it stop – around 60 she gave up. 

It took a few minutes for Cynthia to calm herself down. Ms. Sterling was patient. Her comforting noises coupled with gentle back rubs confused Cynthia, but she didn’t complain. At some point she’d grabbed a pillow to muffle herself. Despite her distress, she still managed to be self conscious. She felt it even more now, glancing at the tag. Even the common room was decorated impeccably – from the oversized pink velvet couch and antique rugs, to the wall art and the flat screen TV. Cynthia remembered the first time she walked through this room, wondering if she would ever fit in. 

It wasn’t just about money. Everyone at Greenridge seemed so sure of themselves, like they didn’t have to agonize over saying the right thing, or how to fit in, they just were. She longed for that feeling, the sense that she belonged. 

As she lay over Ms. Sterling’s lap, she realized she finally felt at home. 

“Thank you”, Cynthia whispered.

“You’re welcome, sweet girl.“

Going Forward.

I am intentionally writing this here because I need my thoughts to exist in a place other than the kink social media black hole that is Fetlife. If you have any questions about who the person is I am referencing, please do not hesitate to ask.

I’m not part of the old guard. 

A lot of shit gets attributed to the “old guard”. Frankly, if I was a member of the old guard who’d been doing the work for ages I’d be a little embarrassed. 

I’ve been in the scene about nine? Ten years? And I understand that things have changed. That once upon a time two men playing together was frowned upon. That two women, even something that in a lot of circles is a male crowd pleaser, was taboo. No one was asking what your pronouns were. That parties were once a lot whiter, and a lot older, that before a lot of people didn’t speak up. They just disappeared. 

I’ve said before – in both public and private, that the scene is merely a microcosm of our society. Our weird rituals and tendencies aside, we have a lot of the same problems the rest of the world does. They don’t go away because we share a fetish. People might break your heart. They might be careless. Maybe they’re mean, maybe they’re selfish. 

Maybe they’re misogynistic and racist with zero consequences. 

Visible progress comes and goes the same way – we’re not at the same place we were twenty years ago, sure. But when you look at where we are now, are you satisfied? I’m not. 

This is pretty much for those wondering “how did we get here”. For those reminiscing about the good ole days – it’s easy. Someone reached their breaking point. Glad I could clear that up for you.

This is for the people who were directly hurt. You didn’t deserve this. It’s not your fault. 

My intent isn’t to lay out every microagression that’s ever been hurled at me since joining the scene. If you’re reading recent fetlife posts, you know who is being referenced: A prominent party organizer from the midwest who throws both his own national parties and assists in the planning of others. I don’t have a personal story to share. He was always friendly to me. We even played a few times. I have been in his home. Which is why I feel particularly sick. I wonder did everyone know? 

I didn’t think he was perfect. There was a time when I thought he was much more pure – I’d seen and heard about his fund raising efforts, how he was always organizing. I don’t really remember where it started – but eventually I woke up, or people around me did. It was disappointing but I heard that he could be shallow, misogynistic.  Not in depth the way that other people have shared, more in the “locker room talk” sort of way. That sometimes his ego got the best of him. That he could be a bit of a dick. And I didn’t like it – but I brushed it away. I spoke about this to someone recently, how I treated the parties like a brand. Take Amazon for example. You know the owner kind of sucks, but it’s super convenient. The convenience in this case was seeing my friends who all lived in different parts of the country. I wasn’t there to spend time with him, and I didn’t have to do anything other than be cordial, pay my party fee, and have a good time. 

I wonder if the idea that some people were a little misogynistic seemed like a given, considering that we are in a community binded by physical acts. 

Fast forward to the past couple of months. Stories of mistreatment from multiple former partners. Fat shaming, belittling, manipulation. Finding out that he used a racial slur about a supposed friend. That he called his cleaning lady a nigger, that he used these terms regularly. Said black people were less intelligent. Talked about playing with plus size women as ‘pity play’ – something to get out of the way early on in the party. Knew that a friend had violated the consent of multiple women. Gave this person a slap on the wrist, then went on to elect this person as a staff member at his parties. That he gets a little drunk and says a few racist things.

I’ve been in this person’s house. I worry that the mistreatment of women may be explained away now that he is married, that he is not that person anymore, that he has grown. That he has “learned so much.”

No one is perfect. But why do we have to wait for people to be taught. I can accept the obligatory statuses from white people realizing what microagressions they commit on a regular basis without realizing? What is the explanation for saying black people are intellectually inferior? What is the explanation for the slurs, including the creative ones he made up to use in mixed company? What is the explanation for listening to victims share their trauma, only for their abusers to be invited back again and again.

I’ve said before that people deserve parties, they deserve community where they can be their best selves and engage with like minded individuals. And they do. They also deserve safety, both emotional and physical. They deserve to attend an event without the fear that they won’t see a person who abused them attending with them, or worse, organizing. They deserve to go to a party and not think “I wonder if I’m one of the people this host called a nigger”. He claims he didn’t say this, but as he has directly admitted to using another racial slur, and repeated other things out of context, I have my doubts. If seeing this written out makes you feel uncomfortable, good.

Because this is also for the people who knew what was happening and didn’t speak up. You can’t undo the damage, but your actions going forward will make a difference. Don’t let yourself be a safe haven for racism, for misogyny, for abuse. Enough accepting the bare minimum. We have a long way to go. 

Illustrations of Shame

CW:sexual assault

*Note: I started writing this over a month ago, hence the time changes. It’s fine. It’s going to be a hit, but you need to relax.

1.

I know people that won’t even say the word. I’ve (mostly) made peace with it but there are times when I’m afraid there will be a dictionary in front of me, when I’ll be forced to recite definitions. Or someone will just say it and look at me with a blank stare, waiting for me to combust.

Don’t worry. I know that this is ridiculous and irrational but isn’t that part of having a fetish?

I grew up with a lot of shame. Not enough to stop me from exploring online or even to be brazen enough to ask for it every now and then. But afterwards. I remember telling myself that this was the last time, that I would just blow through this phase. Spoiler alert: I did not.

One aspect of being a spanko that is so common and I can’t help but wonder why: looking up the word in the dictionary. What did we think was going to happen? Were we just manifesting before it became a wellness trend?

One of my theories is that this our solution to not having access to stories or porn. Even the way that I would read the dictionary entry was like how I would read spanking stories on the family computer: I would open multiple tabs, ready to switch over to MySpace or a livestream of grass growing to avoid suspicion. With the dictionary, I found myself ready to slip over to a completely different letter. Z – that’s much less…zuspicious. E? Q, even. Just get me out of the letter S. Never heard of her.

Everyone talks about whether or not you used the dictionary but not enough people talk about shame? Did you have it?

If you don’t, tell me – what is it like to be God’s favorite? If you do, tell me how bad yours was? How long did your quitting phase (I’m never going to think/read/masturbate about this thing ever again) last?

I think I’ve regressed. Not significantly. I’ve done a decent job at compartmentalizing. I’m also incredibly grateful to be part of the generation I am now – say what you will about social media, but it’s made it possible that if you don’t have a quirk, or a weird thing that you’re into, somethings wrong. Kinks are the norm, but not too normal. Just normal enough now that vanilla* people with large followings can talk about what kinks they’ve developed as a result of their upbringing, and no one bats an eye. “Daddy” has entered the lexicon – there’s a popular podcast titled “Call Her Daddy” (how many times have I said this in reference to myself?)

I think this is an overall good thing;  kink is an important factor in the broad conversation of sex positivity. 

The pandemic changed how we all interacted with each other, and kink was no exception to this. I found myself reading erotica more often. I was used to reading my friends’ stories, but I found myself down the rabbit hole of things I don’t want to admit I find hot. Suddenly I was deleting my browsing history, something no one else would have access to. Then came the fear about how it would feel to experience play again.

A few months ago, I was able to start seeing friends locally, and while there was some initial shyness, I was able to get into the swing of things again.

I found myself jerked back in early July, when I slipped on the stairs in my building and fractured my ankle. About a month after surgery and an incredibly stressful hospital visit, I’m slowly healing, and feeling terribly conflicted.

I’m so fortunate to have assistance as needed, but I’m annoyed that just as I felt things were blooming again, I missed so many social opportunities again. I’m looking forward to a party the weekend of Labor Day, but I’m nervous – it feels like every insecurity I’ve ever had has found a way to rear its ugly head. 

(Unwanted) loss of autonomy has a way of fucking things up. I don’t want to be treated any differently, but it feels unreasonable to say this when I don’t feel the same way I used to. And even saying this sounds silly, but one tiny slip managed to impact my life in a way I didn’t think was possible. 

I spoke about this with a friend of mine, who gently suggested that I may have to talk to people about what is and isn’t okay in terms of play (my nightmare). Although this didn’t stop me from asking a physical therapist if it was still okay to be spanked. Looking back, I’m appalled. Not so much my nerve but the way that I asked.  

 I’m always thinking about vulnerability in reference to my spanking fetish, because it’s at the center of what does it for me. Allowing yourself to be taken care of/taking care of someone else, in a manner that requires pain. Initially, I thought that this would be hard because I’d be forced to exercise vulnerability in a way that isn’t sexy, or fun – just necessary if I still want to do this thing we do. And it turns out, I do.

My friends have shown me compassion and love that sometimes I can’t even fully express gratitude for. Even in some small ways that they probably aren’t even aware of. I’ll never be rid of my fetish, no matter how many times I delete my browsing history. But community is what keeps me going. And…when we play safely, negotiation is always a part of the game. Consent is never advertised as sexy, but when you know what makes your play partner tick, and just how to use their bodies – that’s exciting.

It feels morally superior to admit that things could be worse, and to acknowledge the privilege that I do have.

Despite navigating rules that wouldn’t have been present elsewhere, or ones that wouldn’t have come with accountability, I realize that my spanking fetish has granted me a specific type of freedom. Even when I’m being punished. I’m attracted to the understanding we all have, that if you push hard enough in a certain direction, or even just veer off course for a moment, that someone will spank you. Or that you have the responsibility to spank someone else. There’s negotiation, discussion of limits, but ultimately everyone has the same goal. 

After eight or so years, I grew accustomed to navigating these spaces with a certain lightness. In the physical sense – hello, 2 am mischief fueled excursions to the parking lot of a hotel.

I can take slight joy in knowing that when I do tell people how to handle me, that I can take an active role in getting my needs met, that there is still a level of submission in this. But I don’t want gentleness, I’ve realized – and in the time that I’m playing, I have to ask someone to take care of me, while simultaneously waiting to be hurt. 

It seems like a paradox, but then I realize, this is what I’ve been doing all along. 

Sometimes it feels like im preparing to share a secret. I remember, on the days when my kink was heaviest on my mind, there was this fear that everyone knew. Like if they looked at me long enough, they’d see everything I fantasized. 

But then what? 

*vanilla to me, as far as I know 

2.

I wrote this before my trip – the delay in publishing was due to a combination of nerves, stress and also the possibility that I might back out last minute. I didn’t. With the help of one of my best friends, I made my way through the airport and eventually to the hotel. Armed with a knee scooter and crutches, I found myself taking frequent breaks. These breaks gave way to questions -some of which were expected (courtesy of partygoers/friends I don’t regularly keep up with) and some were not (random vanilla people who decided to spend their Labor Day weekend at that hotel). I learned that some people have a level of comfort with strangers that I will never, ever have.

But! In spite of the questions, and the occasional frustration at my lack of mobility, I had a wonderful time. The pace of this event felt slower – there were less familiar faces. I spent a great chunk of time either in the suite I shared with friends, or my neighbors. And while this was partially due to literally not being able to get around easily, I found that even in this large space, I needed familiarity.

I found comfort in knowing that in spite of what it took to get me throughout the party, no one found it weird. People waited with me in the hallways, two of my friends helped pushed me in an office chair, another friend took my knee scooter to a gas station to inflate a flat tire. I don’t know if they realize how much these moments meant to me. After a year and a half of uncertainty, I had reassurance – you belong here, this makes sense.

It’s been more than eight years since I joined the scene, but I still need to reminded. And there’s no shame in that.

I forgot what it was like to immerse myself in my fetish this way, in a way that feels like only we can. Spanko culture is not without its faults – in the past month and a half, multiple brave women have shared stories of harm they experienced in the scene. While some of the stories have been hard to stomach, I think we’re long overdue for a reckoning. There’s so much that has to change, and we cannot make these changes until we acknowledge what people have experienced, and in turn, acknowledge the factors that allowed their abusers to frequent the scene without consequences.

3.

There’s a lot of “what comes next” going around. It’s a valid question, especially as events are kind of hit or miss now – the majority of the pressure has been on party organizers. My fellow Cheeksters (can I call them that? Is that just the worst?) and I spent time editing our policies, and I know other parties are doing the same. While a lot of the incidents mentioned happened at private events, I think that organizers tend to set the tone: when you hold an event, you’re saying, these people here are okay. This is a safe place to be. And when you allow guests that have violated consent, you say, this doesn’t matter.

I was assaulted before I even knew what a ‘scene’ was. It took me years to realize that was what happened to me. I remember a time when I didn’t want to admit that I could have a negative experience in relation to my sexuality, before I even fully explored my spanking fetish. I was, or I wanted to be confident, and brave, and in control. I felt embarrassed, even when I told my friends. I couldn’t help but think this was my fault. I wanted to change the narrative, to paint it as a colorful anecdote. But I was too ashamed, and I locked it away.

I’ve spent the past few weeks forcing myself to ignore the triggers that pop up – it didn’t feel like the right time to tune out. I realize now that this wasn’t healthy, but I also wasn’t in a constant state of discomfort. I realize now that trauma tends to build up, even underneath a good shield. Sometimes when you’re ready to acknowledge it, you’ve already been consumed.

But I know better now – I’m taking things day by day, allowing myself to take breaks as long as I need. I’ll turn off my phone, delete apps. I’ll reach out to people when I need to. It’s tempting to shut people out, but I know that things won’t get better that way.

Loneliness seems mandatory when you heal. It comes in waves, in spite of knowing you aren’t the first person to experience something. However, it doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t have to shut everyone out and give way to fear, to shame. 

In an ideal world, no one would have experienced what they did. But we don’t get better by wishing for redos and centering regret. 

I’ve felt encouragement just by seeing people support each other, in acknowledging the bravery it takes to come forward. And even though every interaction isn’t perfect, we gain strength in having the hard conversations. 

One of the things that that kept me going was answering the question of is this (this scene, the community) worthwhile, and if so, what makes it worth it. I felt disappointment as new stories came to light – was this something I wanted to be a part of? It was especially hard realizing that some of these were open secrets – that meant acknowledging the work that went into covering them up. People who needed protection the most couldn’t get it, or they didn’t feel comfortable seeking it. I haven’t been shy about criticizing the scene. I’ve said it before: loving something means wanting it to be it to be better. 

However there’s a question of whether or not it can get there. I think it can. But we have to do the work, even when it’s frustrating or uncomfortable. And we have to give ourselves room to process – we can’t function minus emotion but we can’t rely solely upon it either. I’m working on that balance. We need to center empathy as we ask ourselves what steps we can take to improve. People deserve and need community, and it will exist even if we’re not doing our best. It still boggles my mind that there were other people that relied solely the ‘S’ columns of Encyclopedia Britannica, that thumbed through dictionaries. And regardless of what that looks like for the next generation (a Google search, perhaps?) they’ll be just as surprised, and just as thankful when they find more people like them.  

Paddle and Circumstance

Do you believe in fate?

I’m only asking because I keep thinking if I had done something different, we wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be here. Bent over the desk, waiting for the paddle. Gripping the desk so hard I’m scared the wood might splinter in my hands. 

You, on the other hand, seem unfazed. You answer at the right time – saying yes ma’am and no sir when appropriate, but you’ve locked eyes with me and made silly faces. Rolled your eyes. Glanced at your wrist, pretending to check your watch. 

I know better. After this you will ask me to attend to your bruises. I will – tracing them with my index finger as I have before. Making soothing sounds as you hiss once the lotion touches your inflamed skin. You will curl up in my arms, seeking comfort – but this time I’ll need you just as much. 

I can’t say no to you. You’d never take advantage of this – not on purpose at least. The paddle crashes down a fifth time, a sixth, a seventh. She probably thinks I’m being brave, but really a cry is stuck in my throat. On the eighth swat a stray tear escapes and falls centimeters away from you. I’m ashamed, but when she aims for the crease between my bottom and thighs, shame is the last thing on my mind. 

It’s your turn. I haven’t been granted permission to move just yet, so I’m just waiting. She asked you a question, but you didn’t answer the right way.  

“I beg your pardon?”

Your eyes meet mine and I plead with you, I beg you to stop. I’m always impressed, you don’t have to try any harder. But even when you roll your eyes and snort, I see it. One swat. Then another. Then another. She’s not even taking breaks. I open my mouth to protest, but I feel a hand on my shoulder. 

“Don’t“, he says gently. 

Your hand grips mine, and I don’t know who reached out first, where you start, or where I begin. I remember the day we met – I told you it felt like I was always waiting my turn for something big to happen. Since then, you’ve taken me on so many adventures. 

There was that night we went to the border and watched the sun rise. The private beach you took me to. Then there’s the usual fanfare. Parties in abandoned warehouses, strangers’ homes. I always felt safe. Like even if something bad were to happen, we would only feel it for a moment. 

You’ve finally given up your bravado.

“Stop! Please! I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!“

She remains unfazed. She says that you think you are now, but she says that you’ve been here so many times and you don’t seem to learn. That she’s done taking your word for it, and that she will finish when she thinks you’ve truly had enough. 

My bottom feels so swollen, and as ridiculous as I felt wearing a thong earlier (I was hoping you might see it), I’m currently thankful that nothing is touching my bottom. 

You’re sobbing now, and I want to take care of you. I want to jump up and put myself in your place. We’ve done worse things, much naughtier than skipping school, I want to say. It’s one measly little class and we didn’t miss anything. It was all my idea. The words build up and retreat just as quickly. 

What if you’d sent that text five minutes later? What if she caught traffic on her way to the school? What if she had a bad day and decided not to show up on campus and surprise you. What if I hadn’t seen him that morning, then he wouldn’t be expecting me. What if, what if. 

Her pacing starts to slow, but the intensity does not. This isn’t the first time you’ve been paddled, but it’s the first time you’ve let go with an audience. I bet you don’t think so, but you’ve never looked stronger to me, more powerful. 

So when I open my mouth again to protest, to tell her to stop, I swallow my guilt instead. I wait. We’re exactly where we deserve to be. 

The Night Light Spanking Stories

There’s just something about the holidays – even when you’re not super celebratory, you need a little something to pass the time, right? Especially in times like these, when we’re a little bit more starved for companionship and play. My dear (and prettiest) friend Gracie who runs The Night Light called on a bunch of peeps to share holiday themed spanking stories. They’re all wonderful – we’re lucky to call this group of wildly talented spankos friends. There’s some great bits including some hairbrush related trickery and mall nostalgia. And there’s one by yours truly about someone who stretched the holiday decoration budget a bit too far. I imagine this one to be in the same universe as this story, but from the top’s POV.

I could go on and on about all the gems there, including an embarrassing f/f nail biter about a woman who gets too competitive about a white elephant type game but you’re gonna have to read them all yourself.

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