Read Finely Disciplined Thoughts Online
Authors: Ashlynn Kenzie
Tags: #Erotic Fiction, #Romance, #BDSM, #Short Stories (Single Author)
Finely Disciplined Thoughts
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®,
a subsidiary of
ABCD Graphics and Design
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
The trademark Blushing Books®
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
BOSS Meetings Get to the Bottom of the Matter
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 —”