Finely Disciplined Thoughts
An Erotic Story Collection
By
Ashlynn Kenzie
©2013 by Blushing Books® and Ashlynn Kenzie
Copyright © 2013 by Blushing Books® and Ashlynn Kenzie
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
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ABCD Graphics and Design
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is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Kenzie, Ashlynn
Finely Disciplined Thoughts
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-2504
Cover Art by Owlight Designs
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books’ or the author’s advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Table of Contents
A Christmas Lesson
Frozen in Time
She Said, He Said
In a Mirror
BOSS Meetings Get to the Bottom of the Matter
A New Position
A Pointed Cure for the Lie
A ‘Top’-rated Show
The Games People Play
Taking a Hand at Discipline
A Matter of Good Taste
In Line for Trouble
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A Christmas Lesson
Enlightenment was bathed in the soft glow of the Christmas tree. Finally.
But first, there was distress of a significant nature.
The liquor-fueled company party laughter that greeted Nika Hillman’s spot-on impersonation of the office old maid — an absent Margaret Smothers — was unrestrained and nearly universal. There was one somber face in the holiday crowd, however. It belonged to the man who would be taking the star of the show home when the official festivities were over. And Nika, catching a glimpse of his carefully controlled features, lost her party spirit in a heartbeat.
Longing to escape the very atmosphere she had created, the one that had suddenly turned brittle and faintly malicious, she realized there was nowhere else she wanted to go. Except, perhaps, to disappear into some time warp that would allow her to replay the last half hour of her life in an altogether different fashion.
She avoided Colin for another miserable hour, surprised and relieved that he did not purposefully march her out the door, and yet growing increasingly anxious for him to do that very thing. Something. Anything to break the tension that was building in her – the tension that sprang from the knowledge of just how he would deal with her behavior and the persistent question as to why she accepted his painful penalties and adored him still.
When he did approach her, he was soft-spoken and apparently congenial, bidding her co-workers the happiest of holidays and wrapping a supportive arm around her shoulders after he helped her with her coat. She read his private signals clearly, however. Time had neither mitigated his reaction nor altered her circumstances in the slightest.
The drive home would have been silent had she not turned on a CD of Christmas music as soon as he pulled their car onto the street from the club’s still-crowded parking lot. When she stole glances at his profile, it was perfectly serene. Only his index finger gently tapping the steering wheel hinted at his frame of mind. It was enough.
Her tummy went into free fall.
Colin neglected none of the simple, old-fashioned courtesies he insisted on affording her, even after a half decade of marriage: opening doors, stabilizing hand against her back, efficient and gentle assistance in ridding herself of her coat and purse. He calmly turned on lights in their living room, even the switch that set the Christmas tree shimmering, while she inched her way toward the stairs.
“You should be ashamed.”
He said it calmly. There was no deep disapproval in his voice. Only a simple observation.
She blinked back tears that were birthed by just such an emotion, but raised a defiant chin, knowing all the while exactly where this was headed.
“It would be a really bad idea for you to try to walk away from me,” he said at almost the same instant she began a move in precisely that direction.
So she turned toward him instead, bristling. “It was just a silly joke. You heard them all laughing. Everyone thought it was funny.”
“I wonder, would Miss Smothers have been amused?”
Nika felt the telltale shame-filled blush rise in her cheeks. Wearing such a face, there was nothing she could say in her own defense.
He held out his hand and waited patiently for her to take it. It was a move she could not make.
“You know what you deserve, Nika. Don’t you?” he prompted.
She frowned at her feet and shook her head slightly. Denial had yet to be effective, but it was an effort she could never resist.
“Then let me show you, little girl,” he said in a voice that was suddenly steel, and with a grip that pulled her along toward the couch in spite of her resistance.
Colin always began his educational sessions with instruction aimed at a discreetly covered seat of learning. His initial approach might have lulled a less experienced student into a false sense of security. Nika knew better. Even as she tumbled forward over his lap — her balance already off-center because of her stiletto heels, so that she was easy prey when he tugged on her arm — she knew she was not in for an easy lesson. The only ray of hope afforded her was that this exercise might be administered with his hand. She had snuck a quick look at his waist, even as he tugged her toward the couch, and realized he was wearing a braided fabric belt. And he had not fortified himself with any other implement before beginning his tutorial.
The first muffled licks absorbed less than a half-minute of his time, during which Colin hissed softly once as his fingers made contact with the metal buttons securing her hip pockets. She was silent during this introductory period, saving her energy for what she knew was coming, but the pair of them traded reactions as soon as he managed to fumble the snap and zipper loose at the front of her slacks and shimmy every vestige of protection to her knees. In the process, he also skimmed off the defensive weapons on her feet.
Out of many moments of distress on her discipline calendar, this was the one she tried hardest to block out: those few seconds when her bare bottom — fuller by a panty size than the first time he had seen it and more prone to jiggle embarrassingly beneath his punishing palm, no matter how intensely she clenched — was arched over his lap in pale, goose-bumped glory. Under other circumstances, she might welcome his closest attention to that portion of her anatomy, but it seemed an added humiliation that she now afforded him a more substantial and reactive target.
Sometimes it took Colin a while to work up to full steam. He was inclined to issue a few smacks, insert a lecture and resume activity. Tonight, however, he lit in immediately and only Nika’s increasingly vocal protests punctuated the sound he made with his furious palm.
She hugged his leg tightly with her right arm and tried to balance herself with a left-handed fist that pounded the floor inches below her face.
“No-o-o,” she moaned softly, and then sucked in a hiss as he seemed to take offense and made the next spanks stingier than before.
His silence unnerved her and made her own cries,
when they came, even louder to her ears.
She realized, suddenly, that he had slowed the rhythm and was issuing serious smacks to new territory — the outer edges of each cheek — which meant he had to bend further over her to make sure he was on target for the right side and then ease away from her to find the same spot on the left. Once he was satisfied with his range, however, he returned to the same areas for another slow, but sizzling, dozen spanks each.
Nika knew she was close to losing control and begging when her husband suddenly swooped his left arm under her and lifted, even as he straightened his right leg, effectively bringing her to her knees beside him. Her hands shifted automatically to provide comfort, but he caught her arms in one swift movement, stood up, and raised her to her feet with him.
“Go get the hairbrush, and you’d better move as fast as you can, missy.” He pointed to the stairs and punctuated his command with another smack across both cheeks.
“But I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry.” She was gasping, stumbling a little as she tried to move beyond range of his hand, but clearly hesitating to carry out his command.
“Let me make this easy for you, Nika. You can bring me the hairbrush tonight, or you can bring me the hairbrush tonight, my belt tomorrow night, the wooden spoon the next night, the paddle the next ...”
She shook her head frantically and, turning slightly sideways so as not to offer him an easy target, tried to push her slacks down and off so they would not impede her journey.
“Leave them,” Colin ordered. “I may want to entertain your office with a description of you duck-walking to get me that brush next Christmas.”
“I didn’t mean -”
He took a step toward her, and although she was not certain what the move might mean, she was unwilling to risk finding out. Shuffling as quickly as possible, she made her pitiful way toward the stairs and climbed them in what she knew, with deep humiliation, was comical fashion. If Colin made good on his threat, her predicament would be the stuff of office legend for years to come.
She finally gained the landing with relief and slip-slided her way hastily to their room, where she opened the drawer of his bedside table and took out the oval-backed brush made of sturdy ash. She squeezed her eyes tight shut for a moment, praying for reprieve she knew she did not deserve, but still yearned for.
Descending the stairs with her slacks and panties hampering her efforts was a riskier proposition than going up, and Colin showed his concern by meeting her half way and putting a supportive arm around her while she bent over and grabbed at her bunched-up pant legs. Nika knew better than to interpret his action as an indication of future mercy, however. Her lover dreaded the thought of her nursing broken bones or cuts or scrapes, but he never minded blisters dotting her bottom.
Back in the living room, he guided her to the couch and held out his hand for the brush. She delivered it, along with a salty tear that dripped on his fingers as they made the exchange.
“Look at me, Monika Jo,” he ordered, hefting the brush in his right hand and tilting her chin up with his left. “Do you suppose Miss Smothers has heard about your performance yet?”
She stared at him in horrified silence. “They wouldn’t — I m-mean, nobody c-could be that —”
“That cruel? Maybe not to her face. But she’ll hear about it, little girl. She’ll hear all about it. You weren’t the only person with an uncharitable soul there tonight.”
She wanted to die, remembering when Miss Smothers had brought her some small gift she had crocheted or the times she had covered for her when Nika slipped away a half hour early to be on time for a social occasion. Just last week, the spinster had left a simple bag of homemade cookies on her younger co-worker’s desk.
“You must have wanted to be the center of attention pretty badly tonight. You were willing to sacrifice someone who’s never done you any harm to be in the spotlight. You’re a better person than that, Monika Jo. I know your heart. You seem to have succeeded in ignoring it tonight, but that’s going to be hard to do for the next few days. You’re going to think about it every time you sit down. I can promise you that.”
And then she was back over his lap, but this time bent even further, so he had perfect access to almost every inch of her bottom. And the tiny crease that was still protected by the slight chubbiness of her cheeks where they joined her thighs yielded immediately. Colin simply spanned her buttocks with his left hand and scooped the soft, reddened flesh upward, while he smacked the brush across the pale, revealed crease repeatedly.
The upper part of Nika’s body flew up, leaving her almost horizontal across his lap for an instant, as she attempted to deal with the fiery pain of that shameful assault. Her arms waved frantically and the right one hovered bottomwards for an instant before Colin growled at her.
“Big — mistake, — little — girl. Don’t — even — think — about — doing — that.” His threat was punctuated by the fiercest smacks yet, from left to right and back again, repeatedly, while she howled, but withdrew her arm and wrapped it around his leg once more.
He shifted his hand then, allowing her bottom to jiggle back into place in a move that made him smile briefly before he undertook a new line of attack. He leaned toward her and palmed the outer edge of her right cheek, pushing inward and creating a high-rise target for the unforgiving brush that reduced her to ineffectual kicks and broken pleas. When he was satisfied that the crown was thoroughly blistered, he shifted her cheek outward and offered her a half dozen heated smacks along the walls of the fleshy cleft shielding her most private of places.
Nika had one moment of horrified silence as she realized what he was doing, and then she tried desperately to wrench herself out of his grasp.
“Not there!” she screamed, pounding his leg, but nothing she did had the slightest effect on his plans.
“Anywhere I decide Nika, and as many as I decide. And what I’ve decided is, we’re not through here until your sweet little bottom is redder and hotter than I’ve ever seen it. Want a status report?” he asked, almost conversationally.
“N-n-no! Pl-please. Oh! Oh!” she sobbed.
His response was to reverse course, lean back and treat the left side of her bottom to identical ministration, with identical results.
The ash wood brush popped and smacked her rapidly swelling and reddening flesh repeatedly, until Nika was reduced to simply howling and shuddering her way through the torture he visited on her defenseless bottom.
He resumed random smacks all over the tempting territory positioned so perfectly for punishment when she suddenly went limp across his lap with a misery-laden moan.
Colin wiped the sweat from his brow with the wrist of the hand that had been wielding the brush and then lowered the instrument of correction to rest quietly across her punished crowns. His left hand gently rubbed the rest of her well-spanked bottom cheeks.
After a moment, he turned her over and gathered her to his chest. Nika fought him for an instant and then sank into his arms, raising her own to circle his neck and burying her face beneath his chin.
“You’re my good girl, but you made a really bad choice tonight. You know that, don’t you?” he asked softly.
She nodded miserably, snuffling into his shirt.
“ ... h-hate m-me?” she whispered brokenly.
“Never, ever. Nothing is worth more to me than you are, sweetie. That’s why I can’t let you be anything less than the best you can be. But wearing you out has worn me out, little girl. I don’t want to do this again. Ever.” He gave her a moment and then pulled back so he could look into her eyes. “Promise me I won’t have to.”
“I promise. I’m so s-sor-ry,” she said, hiccupping sobs breaking her voice.
“I know you are, baby, I know you are. Now you need some time to think about how to fix this, and how to fight that life-of-the-party demon next time. Go on, now. You know where you need to be.”
Nika wanted to plead with him to keep holding her, although there was no way to
keep some part of her blistered bottom from making unhappy contact with his lap, but she knew her husband well enough to know there would be a severe penalty to pay if she failed to obey, no matter how pitiful her current state.
As soon as he felt her body shift in response to his directive, Colin helped her rise. Her slacks and panties had long since disappeared as she sought to escape the punishing smacks of the brush, but the condition of her swollen and aching nether regions still made her progress to the corner a torturous journey.
She felt him step behind her as she faced the corner and leaned her forehead wearily against the intersecting walls. He wrapped his arms around her, and even though she moaned as his hard thighs, encased in new khakis, made contact with her tender flesh, she desperately wanted him to keep holding her. Desperately needed affirmation that he still loved her, no matter how horrible she had been.
As though reading her mind, he pressed soft kisses into the back of her neck and murmured in her ear.
“I love you, Nika. I always will. I love every perfect, naughty, beautiful, blistered inch of you, inside and out. You’re the best thing in my life. That’s why it hurts so much when you act as though you’re less than that.”
And then he left her.
For a while, she simply fought the almost overwhelming urge to offer herself comfort by splaying her fingers across her bright red cheeks and rubbing frantically. Then the familiar post-punishment fatigue set in. Stress told on other parts of her body, as well.
As she raised her head to shift her stance slightly, the glow of the Christmas tree on the other side of the room caught her attention. And suddenly she was 10 years old again at Christmas. A very, very naughty 10-year-old.
Armed with the newfound knowledge that Santa Claus amounted to a lovely legend, Nika wasted no time in sharing the information that elevated her to the level of the grown-up world with her 5-year-old sister. Andee was entirely disdainful of such heresy to begin with, so Nika redoubled her efforts to convince the little girl of the fact. She was sure of her success, and horrified by the results, when the preschooler burst into disappointed tears. Not until that moment had she considered the potentially disastrous consequences of her actions. But one look at her mother’s face when Andee finished sobbing out the cause of her distress let the big sister in the family know she had blundered badly.
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