Thursday, September 19, 2013

Feature: Picture Fiction

In this Picture Fiction, Craig wrote a story to a set of photos and Lizzie (without reading Craig's story) wrote of her own based on the same set of images.

The Closet After Dinner
She was in trouble. When he got home from work, he found out she hadn't done any of the things she had set out to do. None of the tasks she had outlined in her daily list that began with "If it pleases you sir, I will..." had been accomplished. Not a one. He walked around the loft with his phone in his hand, looking at the list she had sent him the night before, quickly realizing that item after item had been unattended to: textbooks from the class she taught were piled unopened on the dining room table, all the party dresses she had tried on for the cocktail party were strewn about on the living room floor...

"Becca!" he called out, exasperated. There was only silence. Martin knew she was here because her car was parked in her spot in the garage when he parked. Her keys to the building were hanging on the hook by the door. "Becca!" Nothing.

Martin hung the keys to his car on the hook next to hers and proceeded down the polished concrete floors toward the bedroom. He heard shuffling. Was she hiding? He found her in the walk-in closet, dancing with her headphones on. Her back was to him. She half-whispered/sang lyrics to herself. More clothes were strewn about on the floor. Martin stood in the doorway and just watched, waiting for her to turn around for maximum effect.

Finally she did.

She literally jumped at the sight of him, like a character in a cartoon. She yanked the earbuds out of her ears. "When did you get home?" she asked, glancing from the phone in his hand to the mess on the floor of the closet. "Long enough," he replied.

She came over and batted her eyes at him. "What would you like for dinner love?" He grabbed her by the wrist and took her to the vanity bench and threw her over his knee, furious. He began swatting her bottom instantly, no warm up, pulling up her dress to cover her cheeks with hard swats.

"You're in big trouble young lady," he hissed. With her still over his lap he produced his phone and read aloud: "Work on syllabus. Pick up and hang dresses. Wash car. Call mother. Go to farmer's market." She heard a huffy exhale in response. "Tell me young lady, what of those things did you accomplish today?"

There was a long silence. "None of it?"

"Is that a question?" he growled.

"No. No. I did none of it."

"What is the deal, Becca?" he asked, swatting her between words. "You knew you had to get your syllabus online before your students signed in tonight! The living room looks like a dry cleaner exploded and you didn't even drive your car today, did you?"

"No." Her voice was very quiet.

"So what did you do?"

"Um...I got this email from my favorite clothes store down the street saying there was a sale--see? I was going to save money! Anyway, I started trying things on to see what I needed for autumn and before too long, well...yeah."


"Uh. Yeah."

"So what's for dinner? What yummy things did you pick up at the farmer's market?"

"I, uh, didn't go. I've been in my closet all day." There was a long, long, oh so very long silence. Becca began to squirm.

"Get up," Martin ordered. She got off his lap, almost falling when he got up before she gained her balance. "Take off your dress and put your hands up in the doorway." She quickly did as he ordered, standing naked before him in the bathroom doorway. He ducked under her arm, moving to the closet to grab something--she could hear him rustling around in their "toy" chest, and returned, ducking again to face her. He had one arm behind his back.

"You need some focus, young lady. Something to help you remember what you yourself said you were going to do." He produced from behind him a thin cane of carbon fiber and a scratchy brown autumn turtleneck she loved. The cane she figured out quickly but the sweater? She was confused.

"Close your eyes."
“What were my instructions, little one?” he asked as they pulled into the garage after dinner.

She shifted in her seat, turning to look at him quizzically. She shook her head, just a bit, quickly back and forth.

Rather than clarify his question, the way she obviously wanted, he reached into his pocket for the remote hidden there. The flick of a button set the egg inside her pussy vibrating.

“Eek!” she yelped before squirming around in her seat. “I don’t know what you mean, sir!”

He watched her squirm, watching her unbridled response was nearly as much fun as watching her struggle at the restaurant. “I did warn you,” he said, finally.

“Oh!” she said she understood his earlier question, “You said you’d spank me if I wore panties to dinner. But you also said to put the vibrator in my purse...” She trailed off here, as he changed the intensity on the remote controlled vibrator.

“Paradox,” he said simply, “Or was it?”

She grinned at him. As much as she enjoyed paradox play, this hadn’t been a challenge. “But I *like* spankings,” she said in the sing-song voice of a standing joke between them.

“We shall see, little one. We shall see.”

He got out of the car and walked around to her side. He opened her door, took hold of her wrist and pulled her from the car. Without another word, he marched her into the house and deposited her in a corner.

“Lift your skirt up,” he growled, “Show me those panties you like so much.”

Leaving her there, the egg still vibrating within her, he went to their bedroom to collect his implements. When he returned, he slowly placed each weapon on the coffee table.

Tap, tap. The sound of wood on wood as he set down a paddle.

Tap, tap. Another wooden paddle.

Click, click. The higher pitched sound of a cane clicking against the wooden table.

Tap, click. The Kent hairbrush, balanced so that it practically gave a spanking on its own.

Finally, he pulled out the remote, switched the vibrator out, and set the remote on the table with a plastic-click. He called her over, watching her expression as she took in his plans. This collection promised a harsh scene, but her eyes sparkled with excitement and challenge.

He took her over his lap after seating himself on the sofa. He used the hairbrush first, but without the lightness that would make it a warm-up. She was soon squirming and kicking her feet.

“Up,” he ordered, pushing her up and standing up himself. “I want you bent over the back of the sofa.”

Now she faced the coffee table with its promise of paddle and cane. He no more than got her in position before he exchanged the hairbrush for the lighter of the two paddles. Even over her panties, the paddle bit into her bottom.

He exchanged the lighter paddle for the heavier one, watching her face as he swapped the implements. This paddle was even harder for her to take. She pleaded with him to stop.

But he did not heed her pleas. He focused the hardest swats on her panty covered bottom, but he did not neglect her thighs in his assault. He kept his pace steady, watching as she gave herself over to the pain.

Finally, he did stop, but only to order her back into the corner.

“Skirt up, little one. I think I like those panties better with the glow of red beneath them.”

Once again, he played with the remote as she stood in the corner. But this time, he watched her carefully. Each time she made the slightest movement, he ordered her to be still. He changed the intensity, forcing her to squirm so that he could chide her.
He caned her breasts, harshly. making geometric marks around her aureolas. She cried out in pain with each strike, the thin cane inflicting sting after sting. Slowly, painful red welts began to rise from her creamy skin.

"Turn around," he ordered. She did as he commanded, whimpering at what was to come. Unbeknownst to her, he had put a wood hairbrush in his back pocket and he silently placed the cane aside and began to assault her bottom with the back of the hairbrush. He struck her hard, again and again, until she began to cry.

"I'm sorry!" she sobbed. "I...I got distracted! I'll finish my syllabus tonight and get it online! I'll take care of the rest tomorrow, I promise! I'm sorry!"

He smacked her a few more times for good measure.
“Come here,” he growled, tired of watching her squirm in the corner as he played with the remote. “We aren’t nearly finished yet,” he added.

He pulled her dress over her head. Leaving her arms in the sleeves, he pulled the dress behind her and wrapped the dress around her partially bound wrists. He pushed her against a wall, her arms trapped behind her, completing his impromptu bondage.

Her breasts thrust out at him, the perfect offering to his cane. He retrieved the implement from the table and set it against one breast.

“Don’t move,” he ordered.

He pulled back the cane and struck her breast sharply, raising a welt. He lifted the cane and struck the other breast, falling into an easy, slow rhythm.
He stood back and looked at her bottom. "I hoped you learned your lesson."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now pick up those clothes and hang them up! I'm going out for pizza." As he began to walk out of the room he stopped and turned back, "Oh, and put on that sweater. No bra. You're to wear it until tomorrow morning. I'm sure that scratchy wool will remind your breasts just what a naughty girl you were." He handed her the cane and hairbrush and walked out of the room.

She slipped the sweater on. As promised, it scratched and hurt her sensitive breasts with every move. And then she began to pick up her clothes on the floor...
He pulled her to his chest, her welted breasts pressing against his shirt. He held her for a moment before whispering, “We aren’t finished yet, little one.”

He pulled her away from the wall and removed her dress and panties. Once again, he pulled her over his lap on the sofa. This time, the painful welts on her breasts kept her from squirming as he applied the hairbrush. She wept and begged him to stop, but he continued until he was satisfied.

Only when her bottom bore the round marks of the brush did he stand her up and announce, “But I like you better without panties.”


  1. I love both of your stories! Very creative idea to work off of the pictures. You always paint quite a descriptive picture with your writing, actual pictures included or not.

    1. Thanks, Lea. Glad you enjoy the stories. We aim to please.

    2. Thank you, Lea! It's always interesting for me to write off one of Craig's "sets" - he wrote the story, I scrambled it so I had the length but not the words, and I had the pictures to work with. It's a challenge to write to a similar length, but without reading his story. This time we ended up with very different stories from the pictures, which I think is particularly fun.