Spanking stories part 2

Eris assures me that the first part of the spanking story was a) readable and b) hot so I have gone back to writing (the lack of comments had me panicking!). So here is part two...... I hope you enjoy

Part two: The Hostel

Ellie awoke to a keening sound, like the noise a wounded puppy makes. As her eyes focused, she realised she was in a room with several other women; all young, all partially naked, all dirty, all scared.

A tall blonde girl with an American accent stood up behind her and walked past her to the whimpering girl, shaking her roughly by the shoulder. “Enough, Maria. Jesus, I need to sleep and I can't do that with your whining all the time”. The frightened girl cowered from the American who let go of her shoulder with a disgusted sigh. The American turned and noticed Ellie for the first time. “Hey, you're awake. You speak English?” she queried in the slow, patronising tone often used to speak to foreigners.

Ellie nodded, her throat too raw to speak. Her face felt crusted and sore, her eyes puffy and bleary from the crying. The American girl tossed her a water bottle which she clumsily caught, downing it thirstily. She noticed her hands were no longer bound and she had been covered by a blanket which she clutched tightly to herself.

“Thank god” the American girl cried, throwing herself down heavily on the bed next to her. “Someone who can understand me. I'm sick of talking to myself”. Ellie looked away, embarrassed, as the girl's shift rode up and exposed her totally. The girl smiled to herself as she noticed the movement, shifting her legs so Ellie had a clearer view of her groin. “well, aren't you cute” she laughed. “they're going to love you”.

“Where am I? Who are they? What's happening?” The questions that had been flooding through Ellie's mind peppered the room like a machine gun.

“slow down, sweetheart, one at a time! You're in the delightful land of Romania. The playground of the rich, the toy of the infamous and they my sweet are your new owners. Long live capitalism, down with communism”. She toasted Ellie ironically with the water bottle and drank before resuming. “What's happening is that the rich and influential of this country, tired of the simpering country girls beaten into dull obedience by their loving parents, want fresh, 'enthusiastic', and most importantly, undamaged meat. That's you honey, in case you missed it. We were brought here, innocent as the newborn lamb – well, you were anyway – to cater for the needs of those who can pay. You my dear, are a slave. Congratulations. “ Some of the arrogance slipped from her face as she spoke and she sank back against the wall. “Get used to it sweetie pie, because you're here to stay.”

The fear began to well up within Ellie again, fuelled by the whimpering and sobbing noises coming from the other girls. She huddled herself up tighter under the blanket, shifting her weight to get more comfortable and crying out softly as she rested on her welted behind.

“Sore?” the american girl asked sympathetically. “well, that I might be able to help. Our masters are nothing if not considerate”. The ironic tone had returned to her voice as she leaned under the bed and pulled out a plastic tub. “Roll over and I'll put the salve on, that will reduce the pain and prevent and scarring”. Reluctant to show her nakedness to this girl, Ellie rolled on to her front slowly, trying to cover as much of herself as possible with the blanket. She could feel the American girl's amusement as she deftly pulled the blanket away, exposing Ellie fully to the room.

“Ouch! They must have been in a foul mood last night” she muttered as she began applying the salve thoroughly to the welts. Ellie began to feel the throbbing subside as the cold cream was applied gently, the tension ebbing slightly as she began to relax under the girl's expert ministrations. She began to drift, the absence of pain almost experienced as pleasure. She jerked back to herself as she felt the beginnings of a warm sensation, and realised that the girl's hand had moved to between her thighs. She pulled away so fast that the pain in her backside blossomed again.

“I can make it feel much better if you let me” the girl murmured. Ellie shifted herself even further away, pulling the blanket over the face so the girl couldn't see her blush. “You gotta love the English” she heard the girl say, laughing to herself as she walked back across the room.

Time passed. Ellie drifted in and out of sleep listlessly. She didn't have the energy to try and explore her environment, to try and escape. Despair held her under the blanket, pain pinned her to the bed.

Suddenly the room was full of shouting, wailing, pleading. She heard the door open and sounds of heavy plates being laid down on the floor. Feeding time at the zoo, she thought bitterly, burying her face further into the stinking mattress.

The cold air rushed in as the blanket was yanked off her, exposing her naked backside to the room. Hands pinned her down and she could hear the rough, accented tone of her captor in conversation with another woman, also Rumanian she guessed. His hands prodded at her welts, examining them, checking them over thoroughly. He patted her on the behind twice, hard, before letting her up. Swiftly she covered herself, turning her face to follow his movements around the room.

“You help her?” He was speaking to the American girl now.

“Of course, I'm a good girl” she responded. She spoke in a low, faux sexy voice, stepping forward and kissing him passionately. He stood stock still for a moment and then began to to paw at her, pulling at her shift. Suddenly, he cried out, swearing in his own language, and clutched his face. “you bitch!” he cried, pulling a long thin whip out of his belt and striking her across the breasts with it.

Her laugh echoed around the room and he struck again and again, pausing only to wipe the blood from his lower lip where she had bitten him. The other women who entered with him, moved over to him and placed a restraining hand on his arm, pulling him backwards away from the girl.

“Bitch. You lucky. I not kill you. Master kill you when I tell him” he panted, holding a hand to his now swollen lip. He turned and stalked out of the room, the woman tailing after him,

Ellie got up and moved to the American girl who was by now lying on her back, making rasping noises as she tried to catch her breath. Her chest was welted and red, long stripes edged with a tinge of blood where they had struck across her nipples, her shift providing little protection against the thin whip. Ellie began trembling in sympathy, patting uselessly at the welling drops of blood. The girl looked almost drugged, her eyes rolled back, her breath shallow and gasping. Suddenly she began to laugh; an odd, humourless sound which terrified Ellie further. She shook herself, her eyes finally focusing and grabbed at Ellie's hand, pulling it away from the cuts. “They're fine, sweetie. I'm fine.” She sat up, shaking herself, repeating “I'm fine” as if by repeating it, it would sound true.

“Why did you do that? Why provoke him like that?” Ellie was almost as shocked by the girl's actions as by the savage punishment they incurred.

“Sometimes, you have to remind yourself you're not broken”. She turned to look Ellie in the eye. “You have to show them you are still a fighter”. She paused and gestured at the other girls, scrabbling over the food plates or cowering in the corners “or you end up like them”. She laughed bitterly; “ Don't worry, the Master likes a fighter – he won't kill me, just hurt me a bit. Well, probably a lot.” She shuddered, the fight leaving her abruptly and all humour draining from her face. She appeared to sag, leaning heavily into Ellie, who pulled a blanket from the bed and covered the two of them with it. “You don't mind do you?” the girl enquired, almost hesitantly, the predatory woman of earlier entirely gone now. Ellie cuddled further into her, one hand holding the blanket away from the girl's wounded chest. The girl's breathing began to slow, settling into a slow hypnotic rhythm. To Ellie's surprise, her eyelids also began to droop. The terror of the past two days draining her to a point where she once again felt exhausted. She slept.

Spanking stories

I run into the inevitable blogging dilemma; I either have time to write the blog, or to do things to blog about. Not both.

This leaves me with a dilemma. Once I get into writing, I enjoy it and want to carry on. When I stop, I lose momentum and its a struggle to get back. However, work life has kicked in and our kink life has been relegated behind domestic chores and work exhaustion for a bit.

So my solution? Attempt to write fantasy - attempt to write a spanking story. I've not done this before but I have had a fantasy, or rather an in depth series of fantasies, which could easily be translated into a novel or a series of short stories. This is my attempt to write the introduction. If it goes well and if people like it, I will attempt more.

Be nice, it's my first attempt!!!

The capture

She gasped for breath as the hood was ripped off but the gag in her mouth stopped her from being able to fill her lungs. Blinking slowly, she looked around the room, taking in the dripping wet walls, boarded up windows and rubbish piled up in the corners. Most overpowering was the smell; damp, decaying rubbish and urine. Oh god, the urine smell was coming from her.

Her chin was gripped and her head forced upwards so that she was staring into the eyes of the man who was holding her upright. He ripped the gag out of her mouth, filling her mouth with the coppery taste of her own blood. “You wash now” he intoned in broken English.

The words didn't make much sense – she felt like she was hearing him through a fog.

“Wash” he repeated, miming scrubbing actions for her benefit, dropping her to her knees in the process.

When she still didn't respond, he sighed and dragged her to her feet, got a handful of her hair and pulled her towards the door. She was sure she should have felt pain but she felt numb.

Where was she? She took a deep breath and talked herself through it. Ok, Ellie work it out. She was with someone who didn't speak much English and the writing on posters on the wall used the Cyrillic alphabet. Some suburb of London she didn't know? The sounds from outside were too quiet for that; she could hear birdsong and tractors, neither of which were common London sounds. She tried to recall how she might have got here – her last memory was of hailing a cab to get her home after a night out with her work colleagues. There were some vague recollections of a dark space, smells of oil and lots of vibration. Nothing clear, nothing she could make sense of. Had she been abducted? Was she having a nightmare?

Her thoughts were interrupted by being suddenly thrown up against the wall by her captor. They were in a shower room of sorts and she could hear the sounds of other girls in the background; talking, crying, screaming. She wished the feeling of numbness would stay with her as he grabbed her once more and began ripping at her clothes. She began to struggle, fight but her hands were bound and he was strong.

She could barely hear the“wash, dirty bitch” over her own rasping breath, but his intentions were clear. The shower was like needles of ice as he shoved her under. She gasped for breath but that just caused her to inhale the ice water. He laughed as she choked and spluttered, holding her firmly under as she tried to squirm away.

“I wash you then, lazy slut”. She could feel the stiff bristles of a brush scraping at her back, her arms, her breasts as he began to scrub at her. A smell of carbolic from the soap got into her mouth and nose as she began to gasp with the pain of the scrubbing, leaving her retching. She struggled, trying to get away from him, kicking out at him and his relentless hands. She felt his hands slap the back of her thighs as she span away – sharp, stinging on her now ice cold skin.

“Keep still, stupid bitch”. His hands slapped down again and again until she collapsed down onto her knees, screaming out with pain. He dragged her to her feet again, leaning her body weight into him. Dragging her knees apart, he continued to scrub at her with the stiff wooden brush, tearing at the soft skin of her inner thighs and between her legs. She sobbed over and over, choking on the water as it ran over her face, her nerve endings burning with the cold, with the almost mechanical scratching of the brush. She disappeared into the pain until she lost sight of where she was, who she was; all embarrassment gone, all fight gone.

The towel he handed her after the shower was rough and gritty which felt like sand paper to her reddened skin but she still rubbed herself dry gratefully, bringing life back to her ice numbed limbs. The backs of her thighs stung as she patted them dry and her knees began to tremble, barely holding her weight. He watched her impatiently, handing her a plain white shift when she was done. It was grubby and too small for her, barely covering anything but her torso but it warmed her a little, reducing her shivering to occasional tremors.

“Come” he muttered and headed off down the corridor. She stumbled after him; disobedience requiring more thought than she was capable of.

The room he shoved her into was very different from the room she had woken up in. A large log fire burned in the grate in the corner and there was furniture, shabby but once opulent. A man sat, brandy in hand, staring into the fire. He didn't look around as he uttered commands to her captor in a strange dialect. Her captor nodded briefly and withdrew from the room, shutting the door behind him. She stood, shivering on the edge of the room in silence; waiting.

The man swirled his brandy and then shrugged it down in one go. With a sigh he rose and walked towards her.

“English?” he asked, with the same heavily accented voice as her original captor

“Where am I? What's going on? Who are you? “the questions poured out of her, barely audible over her chattering teeth.

The blow across her cheek hurt more because she was unprepared than because of the strength of the impact. “Shhh” he intoned mildly, as he walked around her. Stunned, she stood in shivering silence, the fear mounting within her until it felt like a wave about to overwhelm her.

“Pretty” he murmured approvingly, “breasts too small, but buttocks tight”. She felt like cattle being assessed at a market as he poked and stroked at her skin, handling her in the same detached manner she had seen farmers use to manipulate a cow's hocks before buying. She tugged at the shift, trying to cover herself but this only served to expose more of her breasts – no matter which end she tugged, she revealed part of herself as there just wasn't enough fabric to cover her.

The crack of his hand across her buttocks was audible and she gasped involuntarily with the shock and pain. “Keep still” was his only response as she tried to pull away from him and his hands.

“Ah, English girls mark well. No spanking as child.” He smiled almost companionably at her as he examined the hand print on her bottom. His calm, detached manner was getting to her more than the aggression of the earlier man; at least she could predict him, understand him - this man was cold.

“Be good and things will be ok for you”. He pushed her lightly towards the chair and she fell forward, landing over the back so her bound hands were resting on the seat. She tried to get up but his hand pushed her back down, firmly holding her so her stomach was pressed into the scratchy leather and her buttocks were stuck up in the air.

The wave of fear broke like a tsunami when the first stroke landed. She didn't know what he was hitting her with but she heard the swish as it ran through the air, and the crack as it landed across the top of her already stinging buttocks. She heard a scream but it was only when the pain started to subside a little that she realised that the scream had been hers.

She could hear a quiet little chuckle from behind her as the second stroke landed, sending a line of fire just below the previous blow. The pain blossomed over the next few seconds until it felt like she had been cut with a knife before it finally began to subside. As she caught her breath a little, the next blow landed, and then the next and the next. The pattern continued; the blows in a slow steady pattern working their way over her buttocks and thighs until the lines could no longer be distinguished, the threads of fire merging into a bonfire of agony. Again, she began to detach from herself and see imagined she could see herself from on high, lying prostrate and vulnerable over the back of the chair. Her screaming subsided into retching and sobbing, her voice broken by the ferocity of the initial screams. Still he continued, stroke after stroke; cold, mechanical, precise.

After a lifetime, the strokes stopped. She lay unmoving bar the trembling, no more tears left, no energy to try to escape.

The man bent to examine her buttocks in depth, poking with one finger at the occasional welt and muttering to himself. He returned to his seat by the fire, ignoring her as he pored himself another brandy.

“Drink?” He offered up his brandy to her as she lay there. Her thirst overwhelming, she crawled towards him on her hands and knees until she collapsed at his feet. He handed her the brandy and she gulped it down, the burning pain in her throat a distraction from her throbbing backside.

“Good girl” he intoned almost fondly, patting her on the head like a well behaved dog. “Men will like. Sleep now, Mikov will return you to your room in a while”.

Obediently, she lay her head on the carpet and stared into the fire, exhaustion battling with pain, until, eventually, sleep took her.