Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Our Shadow Lane Report, Part 2

Traditionally, Craig and I plan one “special” scene when we are going to Shadow Lane. When we first started playing together, this would have involved intricate negotiation, usually to try something new or different or push a particular limit. For this party, I had written Craig a story that inspired the scene he planned. Below you can read the story I wrote (on my side) and the scene as it took place on Craig’s side.

I’m sure you’ll notice significant differences, but the reason we’ve decided to share both is to show an example of how our “story negotiation” can work. I don’t like to write a SCRIPT for a scene. Instead, I like to write a story that gives Craig a glimpse of the headspace where my fantasies are at currently or to inspire a potential scene.

Our Scene (as told by Craig) A Little Story (as written by Lizzie)
Sunday, after breakfast, we enjoyed a littles scene. Lizzie dressed up quite pretty in braids, a black and white dress, frilly socks and shiny black leather shoes. I set her up in the living room with a sticker activity book and went to the bedroom to get organized. After a bit I called sternly for Lizzie to join me in the bedroom. She had purchased a copy of Cassandra's book, My First Spanking, an anthology, the day before and I used it as a prop for our scene.

"I found this under your bed when I was cleaning your messy room, young lady!" I scolded. "You read spanking stories?" Sheepishly Lizzie replied she had. "And it does it make you tingly down here?" I pointed between her legs. "Yes, Daddy." And so it began.

First, I took her across my knee to punish her for being such a naughty girl. I pulled out of hiding a leather nanny paddle, followed by Lizzie's (loved and dreaded) hair brush. After she was near tears and her bottom sufficiently reddened, I marched her into the bathroom and told her she was going to have to have an enema to "clean her out." She looked embarrassed and horrified.

I made a point of taking my time going through all the preparations getting the enema kit ready, then hung the bag and hose in the shower and then bent her over the bathtub and spanked her again. Then I grabbed her by the wrist to lead her into the shower.

I filled her with water, ordering her to keep it in, then marched her back to the bathroom where I spanked her again and then stood her in front of the mirror. I stood behind her and pressed myself against her bottom, then reached around and fingered her shaved pussy.

"Do those stories make you feel like this?" I growled, furiously rubbing her clit. "Yes, Daddy! Please stop!" I did not stop. I asked her why she wanted me to stop if it felt good. "I don't...I don't want to leak!" she said, clenching her cheeks together. "If you leak, you'll leak on my pants and then you will be in some rather serious trouble!" She cried and whimpered until she came, then I allowed her to go into the water closet to relieve herself.
“I don’t want to!”

He stared at her for a long moment. She was sitting on the floor, refusing, of all things, to make them drinks. She rolled over onto her stomach and hid her face in her arms. As negotiated tantrums go, this one was certainly a bit odd. But it was enough that he caught on.

He reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to her feet. Without a word, he marched into their bedroom and deposited her on the bed.

“The only reasonable explanation for my baby girl acting like this is that she’s sick,” he mused aloud, rummaging in the bedside drawer for the thermometer.

She wailed and hid her face again, burying it in the pillow. He ignored her and pulled down her pajama shorts. She squirmed to get away from him, but he held her in place with an arm around her hips.

“No, daddy!”

“You don’t get to tell me no, young lady. Hold still now.”

She stopped struggling against him, but she still wiggled when the thermometer slid into her bottom. He simply spread her cheeks in response, exposing the area to his gaze and causing her to settle right now. She pushed her face further into the pillow, embarrassed by this exposure.

“Perfectly normal,” he announced after a minute, “Which means someone needs a serious attitude adjustment.”

He lifted her hips, pulling her into an all fours position. “Scoot closer to the edge of the bed, little one. And turn so your feet are off the bed.”

She made a little sound of disagreement, but she did as she was told, adjusting so that her bottom was lifted and positioned as if begging for his attention.

“So smooth and white,” he said, stroking her bottom, “But not for long. Don’t you worry.”

She moaned and slipped her thumb into her mouth.
I stood there, arms crossed, watching her. She hid her face, embarrassed, as she released her water. When she was sufficiently empty I spanked her once more, then returned her to the shower and filled her again, spanked her again, then had her release in the toilet before spanking her again.

At last, she was shaking and in tears, so I put a plug into her bottom and bent her over the bathtub one last time, dropping my pants. "That little tingly pussy is mine," I said, ramming my cock into her and thrusting, feeling the bulb of the plug against my cock. A few minutes later I came hard, gently cleaned her up with a warm wash rag and, leaving the plug in her bottom, had her lie on the bed where I put a pair of pull-ups diapers on her.

I tucked her into bed, kissing her gently and telling her she was a good girl and that she was now forgiven for reading that "horrible smut." Lizzie took a short nap then.

After, we decided to head home a day early. I had been gone on business overseas for 10 days, had spent a night at home before leaving for Vegas and I really wanted to just get home and relax. Not to mention, the bumper-to-bumper drive from Vegas to LA on Monday from the holiday weekend was sure to be even worse because of construction on the Cajon Pass.

We arrived at home late evening Sunday night and relaxed with a pizza, thrilled to be home after having an amazing weekend with good friends at the very party we first met.

It's amazing some six and a half years later how much has changed, how far we've gone and how we still have a wonderful set of genuine friends that mean so much to us. Thank you all for being so great and being a part of our lives.
“We’ll start with a good, solid, paddling.”

She kicked her feet, but he ignored her as we went about getting out the paddle he wanted to use. He returned to her side, taking up the long, smooth, wooden paddle.

“Fifty of these. I want you to count them.” He ordered as he wrapped one arm loosely around her waist and tapped the paddle against her bottom with his other hand.

He swung the paddle hard. This wasn’t a warm up. He wanted to push her quickly into the scene, emphasizing her helplessness. And he wanted to challenge her with keeping the position.

She counted each swat carefully, grunting and moaning at each impact. After a dozen swats, she let the momentum push her out of position and she flopped onto the bed.

“Young lady! Get back up here.” He growled, waiting impatiently for her to push herself back up into position. He set the paddle against her bottom, “You can start the count over.”

“No, please daddy!”

He gave her bottom a swat. When she said nothing, he prompted, “Don’t you want that one to count?”

“One,” she forced the word out.

At thirty-eight, he paused and rubbed her bottom for a moment. “You know we’d be done now, right? If you’d been a good girl and stayed in position?”

She could only nod, tears already streaking her face.

“But you didn’t, did you?”

“No, daddy.”

He gave her bottom a squeeze, eliciting a squeal from her. “Hurts, does it?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Not nearly as much as it will before I’m finished with you, little one.”

She moaned and bit her thumb. His hand slid from her bottom to her back. “Okay. You stay in position and I’ll count. Don’t make me start over again!”

With each swat her bottom trembled, clenching and unclenching as she struggled to deal with the pain inflicted by the paddle. Her bottom was past red, having gone white in the areas of the heaviest impact. He knew there would be bruises tomorrow, but she would feel those bruises already.

With the last swat, he let her flop onto the bed for a few minutes while he gathered what he needed from the kitchen. But all too soon, he returned and urged her to her feet.

“Do you know what happens to naughty little girls?”

“They get spanked?” she asked, her voice still a little shaky from the paddling she had already gotten.

“That’s only the tip of the iceberg, little one. You’re getting a full attitude adjustment tonight.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her through the hall to the bathroom. There, he pushed her to face the wall and urged her down onto her knees.

“Hands behind your head,” he ordered, “And your nose against the wall. Be glad I haven’t given you a nickel to hold in place.”

He returned to the bedroom to get the enema kit. He settled into the routine of preparing to give her an enema, only glancing occasionally in the mirror to see her still in place on her knees behind him. He folded a towel and spread it on the floor. He pulled the stool from her vanity and set it in place beside the towel. Only when everything was ready did he return to her. She was shaking just a bit, with nerves or the after effects of the harsh paddling he had already given her.

“Come over here now, little one. I want you in the same position, but on the towel.”

She knelt on the towel, giving him a curious look over her shoulder.

“No, the position you were in on the bed.”

She sniffled and leaned forward onto her forearms. “Do you have to, Daddy?”

“Hush now, little one. You’re going to take all this water and get all the naughtiness right out of you.”

After two enemas, he gave her extra time to sit and let the water out while he cleaned up the enema kit.

“Get it all out,” he growled at her, knowing how futile the command was even as he gave it. “You’re not going to want to start over too many times on this next part.”

She watched him prepare a ginger plug with some horror, as “this next part” became apparent. He also retrieved his favorite cane, balancing it on the side of the bathtub.

“Let me clean you up, little one.”

Hesitantly, she bent over and let him use a wipe on her bottom. She’d already done the same, of course, but he carefully spread her cheeks and made sure the area was clean. She protested with a quiet, “But daddy!”

He ignored her complaints and bent her over the side of the bath tub. He slid the ginger plug into place, ignoring her whimpers at this intrusion. He picked up the cane.

Once everything was in place, he quietly explained the rules. Fifty strokes with the cane, which she would count. Once again, the count would restart if she got out of position or asked to use the toilet.

This made for a harsh, lengthy scene. As he expected, she had to request a couple breaks as the last of the water made its demand. Each time, he removed the ginger and shaved it slightly to expose a fresh layer for maximum burn. Each time, he insisted on cleaning her, exposing her clenching bottom hole to his inspection. By the time she made it to fifty, her bottom was a mass of welts covering the bruises from the earlier paddling. To say she was contrite would be an understatement.


  1. Wow, Very nice stories, It looks like the one on left was done and the one on the right is just a story, They are both very well written and some lovely pictures to go along with them.

    1. Thanks, Sue Stone. Yes, if you see our intro, you'll read that my side (on the left) is what actually transpired while on the right you'll read Lizzie's original story to me that inspired our scene.