Friday, December 21, 2012

Happy Holidays

Well, another Holiday Season has arrived. And with that comes shopping, errands, tasks, family, company parties and more. Around the Black & Blue Estate we do things just a little more kinkily (is that a word?). we prepare for the holidays just think about the following:

You could be stuck at the office working late, out on business trips (like me) or simply piling up emails on your Blackberry while you're stuck in snowy traffic. Here in Los Angeles, Lizzie is busy at the Black & Blue Worldwide Blog Enterprises offices answering correspondance, responding to fan email, dealing with the Christian Coalition for Inappropriate Blog Use and more.

You could be baking in the kitchen taking care of any of a dozen cooking and baking holiday-related tasks, whether it's stuffing the bird (not a euphemism) or filling pastries with cream (okay, that one is!). At the Black & Blue Test Kitchens, Lizzie keeps things interesting making her own hot treats...

Or you could be simply surfing the internet for spanking blogs. Well, Lizzie isn't going to get very far this way, but you know what? I'm certainly looking forward to unwrapping that.

From both Lizzie and I we wish all of our newfound readers, viewers and far-flung kink friends a very Happy Holiday!

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Feature: Picture Fiction

In this feature Craig and Lizzie write separate stories based on one or more photos from their "library" of pictures (as opposed to photos shot specifically for a fictional story--an upcoming feature). For this edition, Craig selected the pictures and wrote his story. Lizzie wrote her story, using the same pictures and matching his story length.

10:00 Tease
Jean was shocked when the text came in:

He wasn’t supposed to even land until 10 pm! Jean was shocked that he would be at her quiet little cottage by 10 pm. He must’ve taken an earlier flight. Still, as Jean looked up at the clock on the wall of the pilates studio to see it was 8:24 and she had over 35 minutes to go, she would have to rush as soon as class was over. A feeling tingled in her belly. She felt her pussy tingle, too. What did he have in mind? What was this all about?

As soon as her pilates class let out she hurried to the car, drove home, sweat dripping from her brow, and let herself into the house, dropping the car keys on the placemat on the breakfast bar and headed into the bathroom. She started the bath, peeled her tight gym clothes off and ran back into the bathroom. As she prepared for her bath she did an inventory in her mind of the last few days. Had she does something wrong? Did he text her any indication that she was in trouble?

She nearly stumbled into the bath in her combination of excitement and trepidation. There, she luxuriated in the hot water, basking in how it felt on her muscles. She dried off a hand, reached up onto the bathroom sink, grabbed her smartphone and decided to shoot a few pictures for him. She’d text the pics to him so that when his plane landed they would be waiting for him. Perhaps that was appease him. Or make him more excited. Either way was good with Jean.
She dashed across the house, releasing a theatrical sigh of relief when she saw that the tub was completely full but not yet overflowing. She quickly turned the water off, eyeing the drain cover with a bit of speculation. She loved the deep baths it provided, but the frequent tub overflows it allowed were a problem.

She left the bathroom to finish folding her laundry. Then she noticed an unsorted pile of mail. An hour later, she ran across the house again - this time checking that her bath was still warm enough to consider getting into. The steaming water had cooled just enough that it was the perfect temperature. She stripped her clothes off, leaving an untidy bundle on the floor, and stepped into the tub.

She sank into the water with a delighted moan. Always a sensualist, or as Jay would say “a cat”, she luxuriated in the sensation of the hot water engulfing her skin as she sunk deeper. Her always cold hands provided a contrast as she ran them down her body, drinking in the heat and sensation.

Her hands warm and her week forgotten, she pushed herself up. She dried her hands and picked up her iPhone. After taking a set of pictures, she sank back into the water still holding her phone. She kept the phone above the water as she picked through the pictures to create a collage. A few more taps and the picture was on its way to Jay. She set her phone safely back on the counter and focused on her preparations.
Drying off, she looked at the clock. 9:52 pm. Good lord! She didn’t have much time! She pulled the plug in the tub, dried off, unclipped her hair to fall across her shoulders and practically ran into the bedroom to jump on it. She felt silly being so excited, but at the same time, she was glad she did because as she landed on the soft linens she heard the key in the front door jiggle the knob to the front door open. Jean’s pussy was tingling. Infuriatingly, he took his time to get to her.

Jean glanced at the clock. It was 9:55.

She grabbed her phone again and, stretched across the bed, took a few more photos of her naked body and, a sly grin on her face, texted them to him. She nearly giggled when she heard his phone go off in the living room. She could hear that he had sat down, waiting for it to be 10 pm.
She dried off and wrapped the towel around her. She scooped up the bundle of clothing and picked up her phone. She clicked on her phone as she walked to the bedroom, seeing the text message from Jay that she hadn’t heard during her bath:

I am in a MEETING!

Just that suggestion that someone could have seen the picture set her body aflame. Heat pooled between her legs as she entered the bedroom. She tossed her clothes toward the hamper and dropped the towel in a perfect circle on the floor.

He didn't actually say not to send any more pictures, she thought as she slid into bed. She took another set of pictures, playing with the angles. She selected her favorites, created another collage, and sent the picture as her response. Then she waited impatiently for his reply.
She heard him chuckle from the other room and listened as his footsteps came down the short hallway to her bedroom door. “You are always so impatient,” he said, a smile on his own face. Jean looked back at him, a mixture of lust and fear crossing her features.

He pulled a black wood hairbrush from his back pocket, a find from a trip to Borneo. They had found the exotic handmade brush in a night market one sweltering night on vacation. “Turn over.” Jean did as she was told, the tingling and anticipation intensifying.

“You are a naughty little slut,” he said, setting his phone down on her nightstand where she could see. The photo from the bath was on the screen. “Sending dirty photos to me is very sweet, but one number off and you could expose yourself to a random stranger. You need to be taught a lesson.”

He stroked her bottom for a moment with his free hand, feeling the soft curve of her cheeks. Then, looking at the clock next to bed, he brought the back of the hairbrush down on her ass, striking hard enough to send the whack sound it made resonating throughout her small bedroom.

The red LED read: 10:00
Do you know what happens to naughty little girls who tease their lovers?

She considered the text for a moment, drinking in the threat before responding:
They get spanked?

And fucked. Spanked and fucked, pet.

She grinned at his response. That text promised the sort of night she had in mind.

I’ll be home in an hour, love. Don’t wear anything you want to wear again.

Her smile got even bigger. It took a bit of digging through several drawers of panties to find a pair that was suitably worn but still cute. The paper-thin cammi was easier, as she had a pile of clothes she had been intending to donate to charity. She slipped into the "disposable" clothing, wondering exactly what he had in mind.

Set out my implements for me. Everything. Don't edit.

She shivered a little at that. Surely he couldn't mean to use everything that had...she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on her remaining preparations. Setting out all their implements was a delicious reminder that sometimes, it was worth the gamble to tease him.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Red Bottom Weekend

After the Thanksgiving holiday, we had our first weekend alone at home. Craig decided to try one of Lizzie’s favorite fantasies - a red bottom weekend. A series of spankings, resulting in a red-hot bottom, wrapped around all our other activities.

Craig Lizzie
The day after Thanksgiving my kids headed off to spend the weekend with their mother, the first major holiday in which we did the divorced family thing. They were cool with it. But this meant, that for the first time in two months, Lizzie and I had the house to ourselves from Friday to Sunday. I was going to be certain to make it worthwhile. I sat on the ottoman and ordered Lizzie across my lap, giving her a great warm-up and a thorough OTK. By the end she was out of breath, red and grinning ear to ear.

More spankings ensued later that evening, but it was Saturday that I was looking forward to.

After a few spankings and a good, solid strapping during the day, we went to a wine bar and dinner, then returned home. Walking in the door I ordered Lizzie to take off her clothes and wait for me in the bedroom. She did as she was told. I told her to go to our stash of implements (dozens upon dozens) and select three that were her favorite and three that were her most despised. I told her if I suspected her of "going soft" on the three she hated that I would select three new ones instead. After much rummaging in the cedar trunk she produced six implements. I told her then we were going to have a "Hundreds Scene." The Hundreds Scene was something I had come up with some time ago. Simple in execution, really. Each implement is used 100 times.
For me, our weekend alone started when we dropped off my visiting nieces at the airport (Craig’s kids had left for their mom’s earlier). We walked up to the gate with the girls, who are 14 and 16. Craig told the gate attendant he had “two unaccompanied minors” flying. The woman looked at the the girls and I and said, “Which two?” I may look young, but seriously?

When we got home, we had our first opportunity to enjoy the empty house. And by enjoy, I mean I went over Craig’s lap on the ottoman, where he spanked me breathless. Our OTK scenes are a simple, intimate favorite of mine.

We took advantage of the empty house during the day - a lovely strapping and scattered spankings throughout the day. Craig had made plans for a date night. We went window shopping, to a wine bar, and out to dinner.

When we got home, Craig sent me to the bedroom. He instructed me to strip and pick out three implements I liked and three implements I didn’t like for a hundreds scene. Now a hundreds scene is something I “love to hate.” With some implements, Craig loves to strike the exact same place fifty times before moving to the other check and hitting one place fifty times. With others, Craig will use different techniques for each set of one hundred strokes.
I started off with the hand—something she hadn't expected—slapping her bare bottom 100 times. I then moved onto something she liked, my long natural leather stop. 100 strokes. From there it was time for something she didn't like, my little "black hornet" leather paddle. Stingy! After 100 smacks with that I moved back to something she liked, her thick leather custom-made paddle. Her bottom well warmed up, I really gave it my all. She was slipping into subspace, moaning and dropping her head, her hair flopping down across her face. I'd have to stop and pull her hair back to look at her face and check in. Occasional sips of water helped her along.

What Lizzie hadn't known was I had planned in advance to combine two of her favorite scenes into one. She loves our Hundreds Scenes. She also loves paradox play. So having her get the implements was a bit of a paradox in itself. Part was into the Hundreds Scene I also asked her, randomly, what number we were on. To her credit, she had been counting, but her count was off. I told her for each wrong answer she'd get a point. Each point had a value that went toward a "bonus punishment." She moaned at this news, hanging her head further in consternation. I kept asking her for counts at random times as the scene played out further.

This went on with a big wood hairbrush-style paddle and then my "travel cane," a short OTK length bamboo cane. I had her stand upright for this (also giving her a chance to stretch from her hands-on-the-bedframe position) and spread her legs. I took the cane and rapidly wagged it back and forth against her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to her pussy. This drives her crazy, I know. It's very painful to her. The faster I go and the harder I go the more on the edge it makes her. But 100 strokes at that pace went quickly and we moved on to the next implement, my new London Tanner strap (so new it still had the tag on it, as seen in this photo). Lizzie loves the strap, so that was 100 strokes she enjoyed, though she was quickly getting played out. She was deep in subspace.

I laid her on the bed to finish. By the time we were done I had delivered 700 strokes with hand and six other implements. Throughout she had correctly counted a few times (reducing the "bonus" punishments) and had added others. By the end, she had a count of five.

"Now, as part of our paradox play, you have to guess: does 'five' mean you get five bonus punishment strokes or ten strokes per five, meaning 50?" She moaned in frustration in her haze. But she thought about it. Hard. "Five?" she asked timidly. "You are correct." I could see her visibly relax on the soft comforter. "But you know, I'm pretty sure you didn't select one of your most despised implements when you picked your six." She moaned again—caught! "Did you think I didn't notice?" She really didn't have an answer for that. She was without words, dreamy and spent.

I went back to the chest and pulled the dreaded foam V-crop. I wagged it under her nose. "See? Now you get five final strokes of this!" And with that I rapped her bottom firmly five times with the thick heavy foam crop.

And with that, the scene was done.

I poured Lizzie a hot bath, added some epsom salts, and then poured her into the tub, staying in the bathroom to keep an eye on her. She was dizzy, a limp noodle.

The next day her bottom was a splotchy, solid bruise.
I stripped quickly and knelt down in front of the cedar chest in our walk-in closet. One of my big projects since moving has been transforming my cedar chest (a family heirloom) into a storage solution for our overabundance of implements. I’m actually really excited about the system I finally came up with, but it wasn’t completed at this time. So picking the implements took a great deal of rummaging around.

Choosing the implements also presented a huge paradox. I knew that Craig would not be pleased if I picked six implements I loved and tried to pass three off as implements I hated. But there are a few things I simply couldn’t face having used in a hundreds scene: primarily that awful rubber crop. I actually had it out with five other implements, but decided I couldn’t do it. As I was putting the crop back in the cedar chest and pulling out Craig’s travel cane as a replacement, Craig walked into the closet.

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” he growled at me as he walked past, making it obvious he had seen my substitution.

I hesitated, opening the cedar chest again and trying to find the courage to pull out the rubber crop. But Craig scooped the six implements up and said, “Too late, you’ve made your choice.”

With that ominous statement, he spread the implements on the bed and had me bend over at the end of the bed. He started with his hand and moved through the implements. I’m sure his description of the scene itself is better than anything I could come up with; I tend to lose myself in our heavy scenes.

It hurt...duh...but I floated away. Annoyingly, Craig kept asking me what number we were on. I cannot keep count during a scene like this. And he didn’t helpfullly stop on “typical” numbers - no 25 or 50; he would stop on 32 or some such nonsense.

He kept track of my mistaken counts. The few times I got the number right, he would remove one of the points. Thank goodness he didn’t want me to keep track of that too - I might have lost my mind.

I do clearly remember when he used the travel cane between my legs. That hurts so, so much. When he stopped and asked how many that was, even with how painful it was, I guessed 50. He’d given me the entire set of 100 without pause. I got another point, but at least he was finished with that awful cane!

We ended the hundreds scene with five “bonus” points, despite my best efforts at counting properly. Craig moved me onto the bed; I was pretty much incapable of independent movement by that point. I sprawled out on the bed, uncertain what those five mistakes would bring.

Craig got out the horrible rubber crop and showed it to me. He traced my body with the hard edge of the crop, along my arms and across my back.

“Does ‘five’ mean you get five strokes with this? Or fifty?”

I squirmed on the bed, unwilling to answer. He repeated the question, teasing my body with the horrible promise of the crop.

“Five?” I asked, finally deciding that was the safer answer - if he was giving me fifty, any penalty for being wrong would hardly register; but I didn’t want him to think I wanted fifty!

I sunk into the bed when he agreed. I was so relieved that the burning strikes barely registered in my mind, though I’m sure my body responded.
Even though she was sore, I subjected Lizzie to a few more light spankings during the day. Sunday evening, as Lizzie and were preparing dinner and awaiting the return of my kids, I gave her yet another spanking, this one a bit harder, and used some pervertables from the kitchen. As a goof, I pulled out the large wood pizza peel from the cupboard over the oven. A solid (and loud!) strike and Lizzie nearly jumped to the ceiling. Another strike! And another! On the last, the entire board split in two, right down the middle! Now, I've broken a couple implements on Erica's atomic bottom and I've broken at least one cane on Lizzie's hearty hide, but nothing as robust (or as large!) as that pizza peel!

For the next two days, whenever we sat down together or got into the car, Lizzie would groan and fidget. "How's the bottom?" I asked. Her eyes aglow, she would turn to me and say, "Just fine!"

Lizzie had written me a story called "Red Bottom Weekend" ages ago. In it, a couple living together had a weekend of on-again, off-again spankings to the point the poor bottom never recovered. It was one of her biggest fantasies. I think we got close Thanksgiving weekend to our first ever Red Bottom Weekend.
Craig finished the scene with another of my fantasies - he ran a bath, added epsom salts, and helped me into the bath. He brought me a glass of water and stayed with me while I luxuriated in the hot water. He helped me out of the tub and dried me off. It’s a silly, almost vanilla desire, being taken care of that way - but I love it.

Throughout the weekend, Craig gave me several more spankings. I love being surprised by little spankings, especially when my bottom is tender enough that a few swats can really make an impact. I moaned theatrically every time I sat down and sometimes pouted at Craig, but he took that all in stride. He knows I love it, and I know he loves knowing I can still feel his efforts.

The most memorable of those little spankings, of course, is when Craig broke the pizza shovel on my butt. He was spanking me with it in the kitchen when the wood broke in half. He set aside one half and used the other to continue his spanking. We took a fun picture with the broken “implement”. Remarkably, none of the kids noticed that the missing item from the kitchen and none of them have mentioned the metal replacement.

I had a wonderful Red Bottom Weekend. I look forward to doing it again (and again and again).