Confessions of a Spanking Author

by Breanna Hayse

  "John, please, I'm sorry." I was going to start begging now because I knew that, in a matter of seconds, I wouldn't have much breath left. "I wasn't thinking. Please…"

  "Spell it."

  "F. Yeow!" My dogs, who are quite used to the noisy activities in the Hayse household, fled out of the bedroom.

  A second smack landed, this time catching my left sit spot. If you can imagine someone yelling out the letter U while simultaneously doing a somersault off the bed and trying to scramble under it, then you get the picture. He grabbed my earlobe and pulled me back into place.

  The letter C was cried out as I then tried to weasel to the other side of the bed, even though I knew that resistance was futile. It was followed by a K and another useless attempt at acrobatics.

  It is no secret that I suck at staying in position when I'm being spanked. John actually seems to enjoy watching me bounce, twist, wiggle and squirm because eventually it wears me out and he has full control once again. He pushed me over the edge of the bed and held me in place with his left hand centered firmly in the center of my back.

  "Six, Breanna Lynn. Why are you being punished?"

  "Because I'm insane."

  "Try again."

  "And defied you."

  "Getting warmer." The cane rubbed over my stinging ass as a warning of what was about to come.

  "Because I was disrespectful to you and snuck the drink when you went to the bathroom and then opened my big mouth afterwards."

  "That's more like it. Six, and if you move, I am doubling it."

  His hand prevented me from popping up like a Jack in the Box, but did nothing to stop me from doing this silly, useless little dance that us subs seems to believe relieves the sting of a cane stroke. One by one, that nasty thing bit into me and all I could do was wiggle and yell into the mattress.

  I swore off alcohol, credit cards, reality TV—Anything I could think of before that caning ended. When he finally stopped after what seemed to be hours, (I'm a drama queen when it comes to punishment and tend to exaggerate the time spent torturing me) he put the cane on the bed and went to hold me.

  I'm not one who likes aftercare. Just leave me alone and let me sulk for a while. I'm mad, damn it, and don't want to be touched, so it does not make for good conversation. He knows this too!

  "Next time I tell you something, you mind me. No more backtalk or being smart either. Have I made myself clear, young lady?"

  I could just shut my mouth. That would be the wise avenue at this point, right? My not so humble, but somewhat contrite 'yes, sir' continued with the honorific of: 'Oh great lord and master, guitar god of the universe, the one and only, Sir John Hayse?' With a prolonged bow.

  Not a good idea. So NOT a good idea. Thus we are brought back to the beginning, with my nose in the corner and wondering what alien life force took over my mind. I might never know…

  I am very happy John had a great birthday. Next year, however, we will stay at home. And NO more LIIT for me!

  Luvs,

  Bree

  Breanna Hayse

  "I write what I know. With few exceptions, my scenarios are pulled from either personal experience or observation. I've served overseas as an Intell Specialist in the USMC, work as a nurse, and have degrees in Biology (pre-med) and a masters in Psych. Specialty? Deviant behavior and alternative lifestyles, of course. I put all of this together and try to bring about a fun, unique and, hopefully, thought-provoking reading experience."

  http://www.breannahayse.com

  Don’t miss these exciting titles by Breanna Hayse and Blushing Books!

  The General’s Daughter Series:

  The Siren,

  Up A Notch

  Caught in the Net

  Aftercare

  Healing

  New Beginnings

  The Game Plan Series:

  The Game Plan

  Time Out

  Meeting Her Master

  Playing A Little

  Dare to Defy

  Painful Consequences

  Blindfolded

  The Reformer

  Two By Day, Three By Night

  Guardian Domination

  Cowboys Know Best

  Serendipity Ranch

  Lost and Found

  Captured and Conquered

  Naked and Defiant

  Piper’s Journey: Into Submission, Book One

  Over the Barrel

  Two Guardians for Little May

  Liars & Tigers (Are Bared…Oh My!)

  King Dom Comes

  Little Lady Jane: The Adventures of Lady Jane, Book 1

  Strictland Academy: The Darkness Series, Book One

  Emma’s Corner: The Darkness Series, Book Two

  His Little Courtesan: The Adventures of Lady Jane, Book 2

  The Whip Master: Fifty Maids of Graye, Book One

  Moving a Little Heart

  A Little Wish Upon a Star

  One For Luck by Tabitha Black

  Sir Carter was something of a legend in the local BDSM scene. A former military man and professional Dom; there was nothing he hadn't done—or couldn't do. Now retired, he lives in a house in the leafy Australian suburbs, complete with swimming pool and dungeon, and he often hosts gatherings of like-minded people... those who love leather, pain and pleasure.

  When I was first introduced to the local scene, whenever 'Sir C's' name was mentioned, it seemed to be with a sort of hushed awe. He sometimes took girls in for training, had in fact lived for years with a veritable stable of pets, babygirls, slaves and/or submissives, but the constant was always his wife, whom he adores and whom he would never even contemplate leaving. His other girls came and went, but it wasn't unusual for Dominants to send their naughty subbies and babygirls to Sir C to be 'straightened out' or for training, sometimes even for weeks at a time. The stories I heard made my head spin. Where disobedient little boys and girls are told that Santa won't come if they don't behave, in our neck of the woods, the worst threat a submissive could hear was, "Be good, or I'll send you to see Sir Carter."

  While I wasn't new to BDSM, having had D/s and even M/s relationships myself, I was intimidated by the stories of what went on at some of the parties Sir C would throw at 'Chateau de Bru'al', as he'd christened his place. He was a true sadist and liked to play hard. Really, really hard.

  Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I first attended one of his barbeques and was greeted by a friendly, jovial, large man with a head of silver stubble, an enormous smile, and a broad Yorkshire accent, which decades in Australia still hadn't managed to get out of him. He looked like anyone's favourite uncle.

  "You must be Tabitha," he said, pulling me in close, kissing me full on the mouth and squeezing my backside appreciatively. "God, you're gorgeous."

  This is him? This is the guy everyone's so terrified of? Despite his size, there was nothing intimidating about him—indeed, he didn't look as though he could swat a fly, let alone cane his girls until they bled.

  "I've heard so much about you," I said, shyly. "Thank you for having me."

  "I haven't." He grinned and lowered his voice. "Yet."

  Over the following couple of years, I attended several parties at the Chateau with my new scene friends and my partner and Dominant, David. The events were always so much fun, and there was always plenty of play and laughter, and although I couldn't help but notice how Sir C's slaves were deferential towards him, I never witnessed anything I hadn't already seen dozens of times before at other BDSM events and clubs. I even learned how to serve him his favourite drink in the proper Gorean manner; his specific brand of whisky in his special glass, with three ice cubes, presented to him while kneeling. He has this way about him, a quiet authority... it makes anyone with submissive tendencies want to please him. No threats necessary.

  I had recently moved into a fully furnished, small apartment; the owners were travelling around the country for a year in a caravan but then coming back, so they'd left everything there. Glass furniture everywher
e; delicate vases, glass tables, white sofa—not a good place to invite anyone over for drinks, especially not to host a party where people will inevitably be getting naked and swinging implements around. So when my thirty-second birthday came up, I asked Sir Carter whether I could invite some people over to the Chateau for a barbeque. And, on the proviso that he be given the opportunity to approve the guest list, he agreed. He even offered David and me one of his multiple spare bedrooms, so we could both have a few drinks and not have to drive home that night.

  I don't know why it didn't occur to me beforehand that, in our world, a birthday almost always involves a spanking. I think I was too busy organizing; buying and preparing food, drinks, sending out invitations, deciding what I was going to wear. January is the hottest month in Australia and even when the guests had arrived, I was so busy rushing around between the kitchen and the pool area, dripping with sweat, that any form of play was the last thing on my mind.

  After a little while, as I emerged for the zillionth time with another plate of food, Sir C barked at me. His voice immediately and always brought a hush to the table. He's just that sort of man. "Tabitha!"

  I stopped dead in my tracks, still holding the tray of meat for the barbeque, sweat trickling down between my breasts. "Yes, Sir?"

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  "G-getting meat for the b-barbeque, Sir," I stammered, aware that all eyes were on me.

  "I can see that, you dolt. I mean, why isn't anyone helping you?"

  I flushed. "Well, as this party was my idea, and I'm the host, it's only fair that I do the running around, surely? I want everyone to have a good time."

  "It's your birthday. Sit down."

  "But—"

  "Sit. The. Fuck. Down."

  Still gripping my stupid tray, I sank into the nearest seat.

  Sir C proceeded to give all twenty or so guests a thorough talking to for not helping me, and forbade me from doing anything else for the rest of the evening. As the meat had been the last thing to bring out, and a couple of the men there had already offered to grill it, I accepted a drink and tried not to feel guilty for sitting down while some of my friends took over the hosting part.

  After that, the party went wonderfully. I received some lovely and very unexpected gifts, and some of my friends had even organized a cake with candles. I was surrounded by many of my kinky peers and Sir C sat jovially at the head of the table, slowly drinking his whisky and telling his usual uproarious tales.

  Once everyone had eaten and had a few beverages, Sir Carter said something that made my heart stop.

  "I think it's time for Tabitha to receive her birthday spanking."

  I swallowed, hard. Despite having been at the Chateau countless times before, I'd never actually played with Sir C myself. He prefers to conduct his sessions in private.

  "Oh, Sir," I began, "I don't think that's necessary." Then I tried to cover up the fact that I'd just disagreed with him in front of everyone with a nervous laugh.

  It didn't work.

  He looked at me, meditatively. "I don't recall asking your opinion."

  Well, crap.

  I tried frantically to recall the birthday spanking I'd received the previous year. I had been at a different party, with lots and lots of people, and while a few of them were here now, many of them weren't. I had been unceremoniously upended over the lap of one of my good friends, affectionately known as Sonny, and, after giving me several breath-stealing swats, he'd announced loudly that it was my birthday, and now was the chance for anyone who was so inclined to give me a spank. No more than two per person.

  Forgive me, for I must digress for a moment here. I'm a masochist. Once I had been spanked in public at my first local event, I had somehow earned a reputation for being rather an extreme one, at that. I can take a lot of beating—on my butt, mind, not anywhere else—and apparently the level of severity I was able to endure was quite rare in our little corner of the world. The BDSM community is a small one and that's what I became famous for: being the girl with the cast-iron ass. Tops, Dominants and Sadists of both genders were lining up to have a go. However, as trust is so important, and I had a Dominant who carefully vetted who was allowed to play with me—and how—most of them were disappointed. Until I was over Sonny's lap that evening.

  Alpha males (and women) are a curious breed. They all seem to be very competitive. So while most birthday spankings I'd witnessed at events were always fun and playful, and I did indeed receive numerous gentle, fun smacks from fellow subs while over Sonny's broad lap, when one Dom decided to make the absolute most of his two allotted swats, spanking me as hard as he could, once on each bare, sizzling buttock, the rest of his ilk seemed to see it as a challenge. Long story short, before I was allowed back up, the sadistic men at the party were actually running up to put more force behind their two swats. As though they were bowling a cricket ball, rather than giving a girl her birthday spanks. What with about eighty people at the party, three quarters of whom had decided to 'have a go', even though they'd only been using their hands, I had a crimson, blazing bottom by the time it was over. Admittedly, turning around and sassing them by saying things like, "Have you had your turn yet? Only I didn't feel anything," probably didn't help.

  That memory came flooding back as I sat there, still clutching my glass of Jack Daniel's and Coke, watching Sir Carter's eyes narrow as he held my gaze.

  "I'm all sweaty and gross," I protested weakly. "I was running around, it's hot, I wouldn't want—"

  "Go and have a shower. You can use the one in Jane's room. You've got five minutes."

  A strange, whimpering sound came from somewhere deep in my throat. For a split-second, I considered arguing my case. Then I remembered where I was and bit my tongue.

  "Oh, and Tabitha?"

  "Y-yes, Sir?"

  "Don't bother putting your panties back on."

  I downed my drink in two gulps, wishing it had been stronger, wishing I'd had more. Then, in his wife's shower (she was away on business), I gave myself a stern talking to.

  You silly girl. You don't go and ask to have your birthday party at 'Chateau de Bru'al'—not if you don't want a birthday spanking. Idiot. How could you have forgotten what happened last year? And that wasn't even your party!

  As the deliciously cool water sluiced away the sweat, I began to take deep breaths and try to think more clearly. This isn't a proper session. It's your birthday. It's a party. Those people out there, as much as some of them are sadistic and experts at wielding nasty things like canes and paddles, they're also your friends. David is here. No-one's going to hurt you. Sir Carter loves a mind-fuck. Once you've gone back out there, he'll probably just bend you over the back of the couch and give you a few playful, gentle(ish) swats. No big deal.

  I almost had myself convinced. Until I re-emerged outside, to the entertainment area by the pool where everyone was gathered, still laughing, drinking and joking. I went straight over to David.

  "You'll look after me, won't you, Sir?"

  He chuckled. "I don't know why you're so worried. You know everyone here; you've already been spanked by most—if not all—of them, and I'm here. I'll be watching the whole time. And you have a safeword. Not that you've ever used it. You're too fucking stubborn."

  I shuddered. I hadn't even considered that this might be something I'd need a safeword for. After all, it was birthday spanks. Fun. Playful. Right? "Do you think I'll be allowed a cigarette before we start this?"

  He kissed the top of my head. "Of course."

  "Besides," I muttered, "Sir C hasn't spanked me before. It's him I'm worried about."

  "Well, stop it."

  All too soon, Sir Carter spoke. "Tabitha. When you've finished that, I want you to into the dungeon and take off that skirt."

  "J-just my skirt?"

  "And your top. You do have gorgeous boobs. We all enjoy perving on them."

  As I hurried to obey, I couldn't help but marvel at how accustomed I had grown to being nake
d at events. There wasn't a guest in the house who hadn't already seen me in all my unclothed glory. The first time David had taken me to a club, a mere year and a half prior, I'd been so shy I'd requested that we play in a private room. And we had. But now... well, being naked was the least of my worries. The fact that I was being sent to the dungeon and ordered to strip, for example, was far greater cause for concern. What happened to being bent playfully over the sofa?

  No sooner had I folded my clothes neatly in the corner and tried unsuccessfully to slow my racing pulse, than David and another Dom arrived; the majority of the other party attendees hot on their heels.

  Without further ado, I found cuffs being placed on my wrists… which were then secured together to one of the many hooks on the wall, leaving me standing, my back to the room, naked and, as always, aroused despite—or perhaps because of—my fear.

  "Where's Sir Carter?" I whispered to David.

  "He's still sitting out there. I think he's having a cigar and finishing his whisky."

  It's all right for some.

  Then David produced a blindfold.

  "What the—"

  "Shush," he said, tying it around my head with practiced ease. "Be glad I'm not gagging you."

  As he checked that I really was effectively blind, I realized that I was relieved Sir C had elected to remain outside with the others. For one thing, it meant that he wouldn't be participating in this spanking. And for another, it also meant that not everyone was here now, standing in the dungeon, getting ready to spank me—or watch me getting it. Some of them would still be out there with him.

  "Here's what's going to happen," David said. "Those of us who want to are allowed to give you thirty-three spanks—or strokes—with the implement of our choice, or with our hand."

  "What?" I squeaked. "What happened to two each?"

  "There were far more people at last year's party. It's only a handful of us taking part this time. Besides, you're a maso. You can handle it."