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Spanking
All About Spanking
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Part 38 I settled into the raft behind Besty, the gentle current nudging us forward as her figure swayed with each shift of the river. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved—graceful, effortless, like she belonged to the water. The only downside? My swimsuit, still clinging like a second skin, refused to loosen its grip. Every ripple of the river seemed to remind me just how snug it had become. The river itself was a dream—mostly calm, with a few playful rapids that added just enough thrill to keep us alert. The full float took about six hours, winding through lush greenery, rocky outcrops, and quiet bends where the world seemed to pause. It was the kind of journey that invited reflection, laughter, and long stretches of silence that felt comfortable rather than empty. Our only real interruptions came courtesy of Besty’s bladder, which, judging by the frequency of her bathroom breaks, seemed to operate on toddler-sized capacity. Nearly every hour, she’d hop out with a sheepish grin and wade to shore, leaving me to guard the raft and sip warm juice while she disappeared behind a tree. Around midday, we stumbled upon a perfect spot for lunch—a sun-drenched patch of grass overlooking a wide bend in the river. The view was breathtaking: golden light dancing on the water, birds gliding overhead, and the distant hum of nature in full bloom. I began gathering our supplies, rustling foil and plastic, when I felt her gaze on my back. I turned, and there she was—beaming. Her smile was soft and radiant, like the sun itself had decided to settle on her face. Without saying a word, she stepped forward and gently took everything from my hands. Then, with quiet purpose, she began laying out the food on a blanket she’d already spread across the grass. Juice boxes, granola bars, sandwiches—all arranged with care. I was just about to sit down when she gently stopped me. Wait a second, she said with a smile. I paused, looking at her curiously. Did I forget something? She shook her head, still smiling. No. There was a warmth in her voice, a quiet knowing. “You like getting me ready for bed, don’t you?” she asked, her tone gentle but sure. She didn’t wait for an answer. “The way you rub in the ointment so carefully, sprinkle the baby powder just right… then pull the front of my diaper through my legs, pin it snugly, and finish with the plastic pants—” She paused, her eyes searching mine. “That’s your little ritual, isn’t it?” I felt the words catch in my throat. All I could do was nod, a soft “yes” barely escaping my lips. She leaned in, her voice gentle but certain. “You enjoy more than just helping, don’t you?” she said. “You like getting me into a diaper early each night, making sure everything’s just right. You notice the way I waddle when it’s soggy, and you smile.” Her eyes held mine, steady and warm. “You even watch when my mom helps me, don’t you? Not out of curiosity—but because it’s part of how you care.” I swallowed, heart thudding. “And when I wave goodnight, standing there in just a diaper, you look at me like I’m the center of your world.” You enjoy looking at me when the next morning comes and I am looking at you through our bedroom windows and I am just in my soggy nighttime diaper and showing you my little boobs. “Now, before you say anything else,” she said, her voice playful but steady, “just say yes.” I blinked, caught off guard. “I have a couple reasons why I know you like seeing me in a diaper,” she continued. “Remember when you told me that every time I poop myself, I rub the back of the diaper to see how big it is?” Her eyes held mine, teasing but sincere. “You notice that. You remember it. That’s not just observation—it’s attention. It means something to you.” Well, you always do the same thing—trying to hide your arousal after getting me ready for bed, but you're never very good at it. Same thing in the morning you try to hide your arousal then too, but most of the time you hand is just moving up and down on you hard on. To be honest with you I enjoy watching that. I could see it in your eyes during the ride—how much you were holding back. That suit of yours, stretched tight, looked ready to burst from everything it was trying to conceal. You’ve always been good at keeping up appearances, but today, I saw through it. Before we go any further, there’s something I need to say. I know how much you cherish those quiet moments—when our moms and I lie in the sun, letting nature wrap around us like a warm blanket. You’ve always watched from a distance, appreciating the peace, the freedom, the vulnerability. This morning, I told you that today was the day. And I meant it. For years, you’ve seen me raw—unguarded, exposed, trusting you with every part of me. But it’s been seven long years since I’ve seen you like that. Not just physically, but emotionally. Unfiltered. Honest. Free. That changes now. If you don’t let go of that suit—if you don’t show me the same openness I’ve shown you—then this part of us ends. No more rituals. No more trust. No more diapering. Because that act, as strange as it may seem to others, has always been about something deeper: care, connection, and vulnerability. So I’m asking you—drop the armor. Let me see you. The real you. I studied her face, scanning for even the slightest flicker of doubt. But there was none. The fire in her eyes burned with certainty—unwavering, bold. She wasn’t bluffing, and I knew it. So, the question hung in the air: Did I want to keep diapering Betsy or not? Well, judging by how fast I peeled off my suit—two seconds flat—I think that answer was loud and clear. The moment the last piece of fabric hit the floor, I looked up and saw her beaming. That smile—wide, radiant, and full of mischief—was bigger than I’d ever seen it before. It wasn’t just joy. It was triumph. It was connection. It was the kind of smile that said, Finally. She gazed at me with a quiet intensity, her voice low and deliberate. “You’ve touched me more than once,” she said. “Now it’s my turn to touch you.” Her hand didn’t hesitate—it moved with intention, not just to connect, but to claim. The sensation was electric, and despite thinking I’d already reached my limit, something in me responded even more. She smiled, a mix of pride and tenderness lighting her face. “I’m glad I’m the reason behind that,” she whispered. Then, without breaking eye contact, she added, “You’ll stay undressed until we finish lunch.” And just like that, she slipped out of her own clothes, joining me in that shared vulnerability. We sat down together, the midday sun casting soft shadows across our skin, the silence between us filled with something deeper than words. As we sat together over lunch, the sunlight danced across her face, but her gaze kept drifting downward, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. She leaned in, her voice low and teasing. “It’s… impressive,” she whispered, as she grabs ahold of my penis. The heat in her eyes making it impossible for me to stay composed. Then her tone shifted—quieter, more deliberate. “Please don’t comment on what I’m about to say,” she murmured. I nodded, sensing the weight behind her words. “Okay,” I said softly. She held my gaze for a moment longer, as if gathering courage. Whatever she was about to share, I knew it mattered. And I was ready to listen. She paused, took a breath, and then let the words come—soft, vulnerable, and full of truth. She told me that her deepest sense of peace comes in the quiet moments when I care for her. Not just the actions themselves, but the rhythm of them—the way I move with intention, the way I see her. She described it in detail: the gentle sweep of ointment across her skin, the delicate dusting of powder, the way I cradle her body and position her with care. Each motion, familiar and deliberate, wraps her in a cocoon of safety and warmth. It’s not just routine—it’s devotion. And that’s what she treasures most. Then she spoke of the final steps, the ones that seal everything in place. When the diaper is pinned securely, the plastic pants drawn up, and every edge of cloth tucked in just right, she said it feels like the world itself has settled. Like everything is exactly where it’s meant to be. In that moment, she feels whole. I love the quiet moments in the morning—when you're gently changing me out of a wet diaper, the world still hushed and soft. By the time you're done, the baby powder and ointment have been carefully wiped away, and the lingering scent of pee is replaced by something fresh and sweet. It makes me feel clean, comforted, and safe. And then there's the way you help me with my underwear afterward. I know I can do it myself, but your help means more than convenience. It’s the reassurance, the closeness, the quiet message that I’m cared for. That I matter. I hesitated, then added softly, “Please don’t tell our moms what I just said. If they find out, this—us—might be over.” She looked at me, her expression unreadable for a moment, then nodded gently. “We should get dressed and start heading home,” she said. She stood, reached for her string bikini, and handed it to me with a playful smile. “Help me?” she asked. I did my best, fumbling a little with the top, trying to get the straps just right. She laughed quietly, then bent down to pick up my swimsuit and held it out for me, steady and patient, so I could step into it. She slid it slowly past my knees, then paused. I glanced down; she met my gaze with a wicked smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief. Then, without a word, she leaned in just enough for her breath to brush against my skin—warm, deliberate, teasing. Her fingers lingered, not moving further, not retreating either. Just holding the moment between us like a secret. The silence stretched, thick with anticipation, until she finally whispered, “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” -
By Loveable_guy · Posted
Already have the snow blower fueled up and in the garage. With the addition of sever icing added to our local forecast I'm thinking of bring the generator in from the barn now. Plus get some extra gas on hand just in case an extended power outage. With this kind of weather I may start suffering from PMS anytime now. For those that don't ride that's Parked Motorcycle Syndrome. What did you think I meant? -
No, I made that comment in hopes to get a facepalm from the author 😂 -
This is an adult story I'm writing for fun. hope you all like it. One problem with my writing i think is my pacing if y'all notice poor pacing here some advise on how to fix it would be appreciated. I don't write very often so I apologize in advance! Any ways Here WE GOOO Another one to choose. The void answers with silence. How many does this make? The void answers with silence. How long must this go on? The void answers with silence. Is this one a fool too? The void answers with silence. She must be… The void an- They all are… The voi- They are built that way. The- I’ll kill her. The void is silent… …I’m sorry … don’t leave…I can bare one more. … I haven’t forgotten…one more truth to be told…it’s just one more. The void answers in falsehood. Chapter 1 Chosen of the void Dark grey smoke swirled in the sky just above Alice. She watched it dance and coil inward before a rogue gust dragged her grey dancers away. She stared at the empty space they occupied for a long moment before taking another drag of her cigarette. The ember came close, sharing heat enough to make her index finger recoil a bit. These moments gave such a comfortable sense of control. All within her small purview was hers to dictate — where she stood and how long, who she spoke to, even the color of the sky was hers to paint. Long as she was back at work in 15, didn’t miss the meeting with her boss in 30, and only wanted to paint in grey… Alice learned to lean in and take refuge in these small reprieves. She made them big — big enough to gather herself and meet the world again. While not great having your shelter be made of literal cancer smoke, the ritual kept her grounded, in control. Twelve minutes to go, and she would enjoy every moment of— Woosh! The rapid wind blew her smoky haven away as the office door opened in front of her, revealing the silky brunette hair and frantic face of her overly caring coworker: Tahani. “Alice, the report you sent—” “I’m on break, Tahani,” Alice replied sharply. Harsh, she knew, but Tahani was easy. An angry response was usually enough to get her to leave. Tahani did have a hesitant look on her face, but it didn’t have the staying power Alice thought it would. “Your report yesterday was in...well it was bad. The rest of the team’s reports are all messed up now,” Tahani blurted; the ending sounded almost like one word she said it so fast. Alice’s uptake was slow, in contrast. This was her last break of the day, cut short, and now... “Let me guess,” Alice asked, a tinge of office bitch creeping into her voice, “they want me to stay late until it’s corrected.” Tahani looked to the ally street nervously and tucked herself behind the door a bit, only her eyes and eight chipmunking fingers visible now. “They… um… they want you to correct all of the reports affected…” Alice slowly brought her, last, half used-up cigarette to her mouth and breathed in deep. She looked to the sky before exhaling slowly, letting loose one last grey…no, wait…black? cloud onto the world. “Well, shit.” The scramble was intense. The foundational report she made had basically fed data to her team’s entire workday, each report compounding the issues in the next until it was all shit. She looked to Mike, her boss, through his office window — a short, soft-faced man with a wide frame and a suit that looked a little tight on him. He liked to loom there. A fact Alice normally found made him look lame, but today… today his deadpan stare bore right through her. A few hours later, Tahani approached her desk. Alice barely grunted an acknowledgment; there was too much to do if she wanted to be home before midnight. Tahani placed a cup of coffee on her desk, along with a lollipop. This gave Alice pause. She looked down at the items before looking back up to meet her gifter’s gaze. “I wrapped up corrections on the George and Cassidy cases. Sorry I can’t help anymore,” Tahani said, gesturing to the door clumsily. “My dog… so.” Alice was still. “What’s with the lollipop?” she asked, disinterested. “Oh, you didn’t finish your third smoke break today, so I thought this would help,” Tahani answered, hands locking together nervously. It was sweet, pointless, since candy couldn’t replace cigarettes as her preferred addiction, but Alice felt gratitude all the same. “Thanks,” she said genuinely. Tahani paused a moment before a huge smile broke her stillness. “Anytime!” she said, blushing. Alice felt a little bothered by the reaction. She knew she was the office bitch, but seeing such genuine joy for such basic gratitude probably meant she had some serious self-reflecting to do, if she could ever find the time. As Tahani left, Alice reached for her gifted cup of coffee, took a drink, cracked her knuckles, and got back to work. Grateful for just that little less she had to do. Her worst fears had come to pass. As she submitted the final report, Alice glanced at the clock above her cubicle, 1:21 AM, the red digits blinked back. Even the after-hours janitorial crew had long since gone. She slumped in her chair like a carpet draped out to dry, lazily tracking the upload bar as it crawled forward, each pixel a reminder of time’s agonizing march. God, she needed a smoke. Over the last few hours, her chemical dependence had attacked relentlessly, pulling her mind into opposing halves, each divorcing more of her will, leaving only the slow, torturous progress of that upload bar at the center of it all. Alice’s gaze lazily drifted down to the lollipop on her desk. Unceremoniously, she removed the plastic wrapping and popped it into her mouth. It wasn’t helpful: it was strawberry. Useless. Not that she wasn’t grateful, just that she was too tired to express any grace. Alice began swaying her feet, swiveling her office chair back and forth as she stared at Tahani’s saliva-slicked lollipop. She wished she could be addicted to Tahani’s candy instead, that it could alleviate each chemical deficiency her brain threw at her, but, unfortunately, she liked cigarettes too much. Candy just didn’t provide the buzz she was looking for. The Void answers… DING Alice nearly jumped from her chair as the computer proudly announced its job complete. She wasted no time clocking out and heading home. Fuck your report, she thought defiantly holding her middle fingers to Mike’s empty office. She threw her, lightly licked, lollipop into her trash can and left. Chapter 2: Your Lie, A Gift Alice awoke to a ringing permeating her room, instinct and half-sleep sending her lunging for her phone before she even opened her eyes. Her hand slapped her fingers at the glass screen on her bedside table a few times. After a few sloppy, blind attempts, Alice finally saw fit to provide some ocular reinforcement and opened her eyes. Her vision was a bit off, almost like a flare had gone off in front of her. It made her wince. The room must have been brighter than she thought… later than she thought? Blinking the flare effect away didn’t help much. Her vision still seemed dimmer. Even the colors appeared duller, almost grey, like they were slowly fading away. The ringing in the room pulled her back into the moment. Alice picked up her phone and attempted to finally make peace with her alarm. She might have to call in sick if this weird eye thing didn’t clear up, she thought, a little anxiety starting to stir in her chest. Alice held her phone in front of her now, but couldn’t make sense of what she was looking at. The time read 06:13… with no alarm ringing. She still had almost an hour before it should have gone off. she stared at it for a little while longer before slowly setting it down and bringing her hands over her ears. The alarm didn’t subside. The realization washed over her, almost literally, as with it came a flood of queasiness and nausea, like they had been waiting for her acknowledgement before crashing down in full-force. Her head felt loose on her neck as she swiveled and planted her feet on the floor. The momentum sent her forward, The floor felt further then it should have, flaring her nausea as she lurched and stumbled. She had to get to the bathroom, she thought. As Alice left her room, her nausea seemed to intensify. Each step grew wobblier than the last, forcing her to hold the wall the rest of the way. Just get to the bathroom, she thought, over and over like an obsessive mantra. It was as though every room in her mind was slowly closing until this last thought, this last room, was all she could focus on. Alice fell forward as she finally reached her destination. The sink groaned where it met the drywall. It was taller than she remembered, maybe? Cupping water into her hands, she splashed her face, but where she expected a cold refresh, she got only pins and needles. What’s happening to me? Was she drugged? Dying? She couldn’t tell. Looking up into the mirror didn’t help settle her: a completely black-and-white reflection stared back. Her red shower curtain, her green eyes, her blue bathroom walls—everything was just shades of grey. Alice’s legs began to wobble a bit, even her muscles were losing strength now, it seemed. She slowly lowered herself onto the bathroom floor. It couldn’t be avoided anymore. Honestly, she was surprised it had taken her this long to think about calling an ambulance. Her thinking just felt so… narrow. Alice reached into her pajama-bottom pocket: fabric. “Shit,” she slurred, kicking herself for not bringing her phone with her. Bracing herself on her hands and knees, Alice began the long crawl, an action that strangely eased her nausea a bit, toward her phone—a journey that ended before it even began. Alice stared in horror. The hallway that once led back to her room was gone, swallowed in shadow. It was as though an abyss had erased everything more then a few feet away from her. “Waah… dah ffuhh… is dis!?” she mumbled through her clumsy mouth. A new thought consumed her deteriorating mind: get out. Find help. Alice turned around quickly, too quickly. The rapid motion sent her dry-heaving for a moment before she could collect herself. She was lucky, maybe. The front door hadn’t yet been consumed by the black fog swallowing her house. On shaky knees, she began her slow push toward the door, toward the outside, toward help. No sun, no warmth lay beyond the door. The world outside, only a few feet out, was in shadow, as if she were sailing on night itself, a starless sea. The patio was her boundary. Occasionally this… void… gave rise to misshapen human anatomy, the kind of likeness one might mistake in a drifting cloud—just a resemblance of something familiar. The almost-people gathered. They may have even spoken, but the ringing was too loud to make out any words. Nothing cut through that awful ringing except the crying. Who’s crying? Me, Alice thought, before gathering a breath and wailing. The dark, spaghetti-like faces morphed. Some looked shocked. Some fizzled into existence with an annoyed expression before fading back into shadow. But most looked worried. Alice couldn’t spare a thought for the shadowy creatures. Her frustrated, furious wails were strangely refreshing, the first sound she had heard since she woke up this morning. Did she wake up this morning? She cried louder, mourning her senses, her control, maybe even herself. In all this shadow, in all this dark, before all these misshapen creatures, Alice just sat and waited. Not that she could do much else, she thought. She attempted to move her legs, but they only shook in place, useless. A movement interrupted Alice’s self-wallowing. She looked up lazily. One of the shadow creatures was pushing through the others, heading straight for her. Alice would have felt afraid, but she was so tired. The monster made of restless black spaghetti approached from, what felt like, the edge of the world. As it drew closer, it began to come into focus. The process was gradual. First, the cloud of shadow around its feet thinned, revealing sneakers. Legs wrapped in grey jeans, then a sweatered torso followed. Finally, the face came into view: pretty, smooth, and wearing an annoyed, angry expression. Alice’s eyes widened. It was Tahani. She came close and started speaking. Alice stared for a moment, unable to make out a single sound. Tahani seemed passionate. Angry. Not her usual self. Her face blurred in the tears forming on Alice’s own. Tahani paused, looking a little surprised, before speaking again, softer. She drew closer and kneeled next to Alice. Alice scooted forward with all the force her diminished body could manage and wrapped her arms around Tahani. With all the fear and uncertainty the day had wrought, all the confusion, finally something familiar—someone she knew—was here. Her body sobbed its frustration into Tahani’s shoulder. She felt Tahani’s arms hesitate for a long moment before finally embracing her. Tahani held her for a few minutes, rubbing her back and whispering words that were inaudible through the ringing. At one point she pulled away and looked Alice in the eyes. She looked serious before asking another question Alice couldn’t hear. Then another. Alice tried to tell her what was wrong—everything—from her failing muscles to her eyes. It didn’t even surprise her to discover her mouth wasn’t really working anymore either. Alice felt cold again, she missed the embrace, she wished for another hug. She looked longingly at Tahani’s shoulder, her safe spot, she thought. One to want, One to Give Tahani had a look like she understood. She reached into her purse and pulled out a thin red metal container. Alice blinked at it, confused. Her mouth watered for some reason, but what concerned her far more was the color. Since she’d woken up, the world had been completely devoid of it. But not this. Not this little metal box. Tahani opened it, though the lid blocked whatever was inside from Alice’s view. Alice tried to shuffle a little, to see its bounty, but Tahani gave her a look that stopped her cold. It was a sad look—the kind you give a wounded animal. Alice watched as Tahani fiddled with some kind of latch inside the box, finally producing… a cigarette? No—wait. It looked strange. It was shorter than an average cigarette by a good two inches, the ends were a little bulbous, and the whole thing seemed stiff, almost like it was made of chalk. She saw Tahani mouth, “Say ahhh.” It was like she was in a trance. Alice opened her mouth, letting Tahani bring the white part of the strange cigarette to her tongue. Strawberry? Alice thought, before her whole world exploded. -
ANNOUNCEMENT: a twenty-sixth tranche, consisting of scenes 75-77, is now up and running on the STORIES page of the site. Once again, comments have been removed to enable readers to enjoy the story without interruption. The balance of season 2 will follow.
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