Sunday, 19 January 2014

'Ebony Whole - Part 1' - Guest Fiction

Hello to everyone! I do apologise for the lack of posts over the last week. We were in the grip of a horrible heatwave and it made it hard to even think let alone slave over a hot computer monitor. I closed the shop up (it was too hot for anyone to even contemplate being naughty) and camped out at the Kennedy's for the week (they have a pool).

While this was happening I had a wonderful 4 part story sent to me by Gemma Smith (Gemma is new to writing, but not my blog, and was so inspired by my very good friend Mrs Ebony that she wrote a story based around the idea). It's in 4 parts and it took a lot of work on Gemma's behalf, so I hope you will all enjoy her debut story: Ebony Whole as much as I did. Please comment if you do, because we all like to receive feedback and encouragement.

The brush that inspired Nicole and the lady herself.

Part 1: Ebony Whole or Nicole Buys a Hairbrush

With their husbands watching the game this Saturday afternoon, Nicole Thompson and her best friend Julie Connik were enjoying a chat in Julie’s spacious and spotless kitchen, catching up on news, gossip, and other important goings-on while Julie introduced her to a new combination of wild sweet orange tea with a cran-raspberry tart.  Their peace was not to be undisturbed, however, though Nicole wasn’t surprised when Julie had to excuse herself to deal her teenage daughter Kendra.  What started as an out-of-earshot discussion quickly escalated to a clearly audible argument, albeit a very short-lived one.  Kendra was suddenly silent and Julie returned, taking a few deep breaths to restore her calm.  Moments later a greatly subdued Kendra appeared in the kitchen where the two women sat talking.

“I’m sorry, mom.  I didn’t mean to raise my voice like that,” the girl told her mother meekly.

“It’s okay, let’s just keep working on keeping things under control, okay?”

“I will, I promise.”  With that Kendra turned to the refrigerator, and poured herself a glass of milk before leaving the room.

Nicole was very impressed.  Kendra was a big, boisterous girl, a fullback on her school soccer team and, frankly, part leader, part bully on the field.  Like so many other adolescents she’d had difficulties going through puberty and Julie had weathered some spectacular arguments.  Nicole smiled at how Julie, tall and slender, and Steve, short and broad, had produced two such opposite daughters.  Jennifer, the older sister, was petite and slight, with a very timid disposition, liking individual sports (she had done gymnastics through middle school) and peace and quiet.  Kendra, on the other hand, had inherited her mother’s height and her father’s solid frame.  What was firm assertiveness in her mother and a loud, friendly confidence in her father made for a powerful combination that would take some taming if Kendra was to achieve the universal approval she seemed to constantly seek. In any case, the girl’s timorous apology had taken Nicole quite by surprise.

“Who’s Mrs Ebony?  A therapist?” she asked as she heard Kendra turn up the television.  She hadn’t been able to help overhearing something about an appointment.

“Who?  Oh.  That.” Julie replied with a hint of embarrassment.  “I’m afraid I don’t always keep my voice down as well as I’d like to think when we argue.  Sometimes that girl just sets me off.”

“No, no, you weren’t yelling but I couldn’t help but overhear.  And it sounded like the last word on the subject.”

“She’s not so much a who as a what.  You know about The Spank Shop, of course,” Julie explained as Nicole nodded.  Everyone in Clarkstown knew about The Spank Shop, it had become an institution in the brief time it had been open. Nicole had been already returned from college when that happened.  “You see, Aunty Andrea – that’s what everyone calls her – Aunty Andrea has a hairbrush that she calls Mrs Ebony.  And nobody wants an appointment with it, which is what I promised Kendra if she raised her voice at me.  You don’t use The Spank Shop, of course,” she continued, “but wait until you have kids of your own.”

“Oh no, I completely understand,” Nicole reassured her.

“It’s just, they take a lot of the emotions out of it, all the mother-daughter stuff.  It really works much better for us.  And now the mere mention of Mrs Ebony settles things down so quickly.  We haven’t been back in months.  Actually they do such good a job there, I wonder that they stay in business.”

“And this hairbrush is really that fearsome?  I can’t imagine.”

“You’ve never been spanked with one, I assume,” Julie said with a smile.  “It truly is evil.  Hard, heavy – black, of course. Kay’s only had it once and that was plenty.  If I’d actually had to make the appointment she’d still be in here, begging and crying at my knees.”

“Honestly?” Nicole asked.  She couldn’t imagine the powerful teenager ever crying.  She’d seen her take (as well as give) some vicious fouls on the field.

“Not literally at my knees, maybe, but begging and crying and dragging her heels all the way out to the car,” Julie guaranteed her.  “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”

Nicole put particular effort into imagining it; she felt she had a vested interest.  The fact was, while she didn’t frequent The Spank Shop, she was no stranger to spankings, even as an adult.  Fortunately for her when it came to discipline spankings she served in the delivery role while her husband Justin provided the target (she herself had clear limits as the recipient which did not extend to discipline or any more than mild pain).  While it was mostly play between the two of them, often very exciting play, she had enjoyed the few times they’d tried to create real discipline scenes.  Those had largely stopped and she realized it might be because she hadn’t been satisfied that she was delivering the “unwanted” spanking that she had promised, despite using a leather-covered paddle with solid wood beneath.  Maybe if she had a “Mrs Ebony” she could go back to occasional “real discipline” scenes, she mused.  While she had some doubts on a couple of fronts, like how Justin would take the prospect of “unwanted” spankings and whether they’d be too hard or not hard enough, based solely on her body’s reaction to the prospect of “catching” him and “dealing with it” it was clear that she needed to pursue it.  Nicole squirmed a bit in her seat out of self-consciousness exactly as if she'd recently met Mrs Ebony herself.

As the women’s visit went on to other topics for awhile Nicole found herself distracted.  As it came time for the match to be over Nicole took her leave and returned home, still thoughtful.  Justin was pleased to find her in such an amorous mood upon her return and remarked that she should visit with Julie more often.

"Let me grab a shower," she told him.  Slipping out of her navy sweats and a pale blue polo she soon reappeared, wrapped in a large fluffy towel.  "As clean as clean can be," she proclaimed and Justin was up off the couch, half following, half marching her to the bedroom to verify that her description was accurate.  He didn't mention tasting anything amiss.

"The forecast for today is late afternoon showers," she smiled to herself later, drifting. 


Nicole supposed that she and her husband got involved in spanking in the “usual” way, if there was such a thing; her as the “naughty schoolgirl” in a white blouse, short skirt and white panties, lectured and threatened for getting caught smoking.  She had laughed, it was such a cliché.  When Justin had pronounced, “You need a spanking!" he had fired the word off like a missile, making her laugh again, which was not helped by his “No giggling!” directive.  What followed was a rather silly amount of “please, sir, not my skirt!”, many mild slaps on her bottom, “oh I’ll die of shame!” as her panties came down, more slaps and an, ahem, enormous turn-on for both of them.
Her bottom didn’t lack for natural padding and during future scenes she’d usually ask for “one of the hard ones” as Justin slowly (very slowly, it seemed) ratcheted up the intensity.  Then she switched to asking for “one of the long ones.”  He learned pretty quickly to give a dream spanking, firm without too much sting, low right at the lowest curve of her bottom, rhythmic and predictable.  It provided the ideal mix of relaxation and excitement and left her anxious to have him inside her.

Nicole quickly graduated from schoolgirl offenses of gum-chewing and “sass” to the only-slightly-older charges of inappropriate dress, excessive cleavage (largely exaggerated) and other “displays of low moral character.”  The only fly in the ointment was when Justin tried to include real-life issues, mostly when she'd forgotten something or hadn't gotten something done.  When Nicole was in agreement these spankings put her in a very submissive mood; despite her desire for him afterward she’d use her mouth and bask in the reflected glory of his pleasure.  But when she didn’t fully go along with it, or wasn’t in the mood, she felt as if he was criticizing, attacking, and attempting to control her.  Unable to get into it, she found that these spankings hurt and she would usually end the scene as quickly as possible with the better times not causing a fight.  It didn’t take too many of these for the couple to figure out that they needed to keep reality out of this game.

Sometime during all this Nicole proposed that they try having her spank him.  It was partly how much she enjoyed having him spank her and wanting to return the favor, so to speak; it was partly in joking self-defense when he had said she needed to be spanked for something (“Me?!?  How about you, you’re the one who needs to be spanked!”); it was partly that he had a great butt.  Without saying so, they pretty well worked out that he needed to be spanked “for being a smart ass” (which was actually all the time) and dropped the whole “naughty” side of things.

Having had an adverse reaction to playing with real-life issues, Nicole was hesitant to try the same on Justin and would have avoided it forever if that had been possible.  But he could be such a pest at times!  And not always stop, even when she was sick of it!  It was just such a occasion that particularly started it.  Justin was being silly – so silly, too silly, trying to make everything he said rhyme as if he was a white rapper or a guy trying – unsuccessfully – to write nursery rhymes.  Meanwhile she was trying to plan the week’s dinner menus.  Long after she’d had enough she told him, “You’d better stop that or I’ll give you a real spanking.”

He did stop, instantly.  “Really?” he asked.

Hesitant to genuinely threaten him, or commit to trying (he was much bigger and stronger), or saying she would and having to back down when he objected too much, or simply interrupting what she was doing when she was trying to finish it, she growled “You don’t want to find out.”  Content with the fact that he didn’t go into some kind of “Really real?” wordplay, she let it drop.  For the moment.

Nicole figured that if Justin was interested he’d bring up the subject again, and soon, since he wasn’t known for his patience.  If he didn’t, she’d forget about it.  But she couldn’t deny that giving him a truly excellent smacking when he was acting that way would be far more than satisfying.  The thought of it gave her a warm liquid-y feeling and she kept an ear cocked for any more on the subject.

Things never go the way you plan them and this was no exception.  First he didn’t bring it up again right away and second, when he did (kind of), he didn’t do it properly.  Nicole had imagined him asking straight out “would you really give me a real spanking?  How real?  How do you know I wouldn’t want to find out?”  This last question was a fair one because whenever she play-spanked him (as she now considered it to be) he obviously enjoyed it “immensely.” 

Instead, he brought it up much more obliquely, making her take the lead, which was not how she was accustomed to being around him.  She had been concentrating on, and scowling at, some simple task that wasn’t going her way and had proclaimed herself “about ready to give up.”

“At least I’m not rhyming everything at the moment,” he said.

She gave him her best fake-scowl.  Since she’d already been scowling, it should have looked pretty darn convincing.  “That’s because you don’t want a spanking,” she informed him.

“How do you know I don’t?” he clowned.  She half-expected him to pull his pants down right there.

“Because I know the spanking you’d be about to get,” she warned.  He gave her a questioning look, saying nothing. “And it’d be a real one.”

“Well… um… you’re the boss,” he claimed, sort of out of nowhere.

“That’s right, I am,” she agreed, even if she had no basis for this. “Glad you recognize that.  And no warning next time.”

“You mean….?”

“That’s right – you need it, you get it.  Got it?”

“Uh huh, got it.  Yes, ma’am.”

Nicole figured that had all been clear enough.


In the days that followed her "kitchen discussion" Nicole didn’t exactly imagine spanking Justin when he did something wrong or, more accurately, when a problem occurred that she might hold him accountable for, maybe choosing a restaurant with a ridiculously long wait or suggesting a movie that turned out to be terrible (things she had previously considered spanking him for, smiling as she thought of it).  Nor did she truly itch to spank him when he was in one of his silly, overly-cheery, annoyingly happy moods.  Sure, there were times she could have done without him singing popular songs with his own lyrics but those instances never synced up with the times she was focusing on and struggling with something, times she might have been sincerely tempted to say “That’s IT, mister!  Now you’re going to get it, and good!”  Whether she wasn’t getting into these moods lately or he had 
actually learned to steer clear of them, it simply hadn’t come up.

No, the times that Nicole dreamed of hauling him over her knee and blistering his buns was when he was right.  Justin was right a lot; he was smart and had a great memory for everything from concepts to trivia (only excluding, apparently, a song’s proper lyrics).  All the same, at times he was right when he had no reason to be, times when there was no way he should know where something – a store, a screwdriver – was located, but he did.  Okay, he had a great sense of direction, but even so, it was infuriating.  It wasn’t that he lorded it over her; he’d couch it in all the right words with “let’s try this” or “maybe we should check” that.  But every time Justin pulled the correct answer out of seemingly thin air, Nicole wished that once, just once, he’d be wrong.

Nicole wasn’t even sure how she’d put the two together – the path from “wrong” to “spanked” (or “getting spanked”) wasn’t all that clear in her mind.  Maybe he’d been a bit too insistent, maybe it had wasted a lot of their time (hopefully it wouldn’t be a mistake that cost them a lot of money), maybe it made him miss a deadline?  In any case, she began to imagine him doing something – and her paddling him good – and enjoying it.  Was that evil?  Maybe so, but she couldn’t ignore the warmth she felt each time she pictured it. 

Things on the computer were the worst.  It was as if he could look at a program or web page he’d never seen before and say “click here” or “try this” and it would work for him, even when she’d pulled her hair out over it.  Now, however, she sort of enjoyed the little images in her head when he said that sort of thing, figuring that someday it would turn into a golden opportunity.

To prepare for that opportunity, Nicole had gotten on line and found a paddle she was willing to use (at a price she was willing to pay).  The paddle she chose was wood, sturdy but not too thick or heavy, small enough to use with Justin over her knee, since she knew how much she, or they, liked that position, and covered in leather to take away a little of the sting while leaving all of the sore.  Plus, it would supposedly be safer.  She convinced herself that the “gentler” surface would let her use it longer and be stricter in the long run, but she knew that in truth she was a little more comfortable that she wouldn’t do any serious or long-term damage.  When it arrived she was glad she’d made that selection.  It appeared to be fearsome enough as it was, without the cover she might not have been willing to use it.  Also upon its arrival she was extremely anxious to use it but didn’t have a reason handy.  She decided against suggesting it for play because she wanted to surprise him and she wanted to use it “seriously” (as she preferred to think of it.  Didn’t that sound better than “long and hard?”)

Much as Nicole mentally enjoyed her little schemes to catch and correct Justin – first verbally, then corporally – that wasn’t what brought the paddle out of its hiding place in the space beneath her nightstand.  And it wasn’t ill-timed silliness or his being a smart-aleck.  It was a good old-fashioned argument. 

Nicole’s day had been hectic and she hadn’t been in the best of moods to start with.   Grabbing a chance to run by the store she’d finally replaced some guest towels before they had company the upcoming Saturday evening, towels she and Justin had discussed replacing for weeks (if not months) without him forming an opinion.  Now that the towels were on the rack, he suddenly seemed positive that they were not the best choice – not that he intended to do anything about it, like exchanging them. 

“Don’t you always tell me that if some other choice was so much better we would have chosen it a long time ago?” Nicole asked him, repeating one of his frequent mantras.

“I didn’t say the other ones were 'so much better,' I just said we hadn’t decided,” he insisted.

“They’re here, you don’t want to take them back, can we just drop it?”

“We can drop it.  All I'm saying is that if we go with blue when we paint in there, we’ll be getting new ones again.”

“Got it, Justin.  As long as we’re dropping it,” Nicole assured him as she stalked into the kitchen.

Following her, he persisted.  “It’s fine with me, I didn’t want to go with blue anyway.”

Nicole glared at him.  Could you give me some space, she thought – jeez!  “If we go with blue, we’ll get new towels.”

“New-new,” he clarified needlessly.

Giving him the slip, Nicole managed to make her way into the bedroom.  That man!  He’s just lucky I didn’t lose my temper.  I SO do not have the time or patience for this today.  What does it take to get him to just stop?  As she said this to herself an idea came to her, the idea of what an excellent opportunity this would be to test and demonstrate her little surprise purchase.  Instantly her aggravation and bad mood evaporated.  Oh, this is going to be good. So what if dinner’s a little late?  Or a lot?

Returning to the kitchen Nicole struggled to suppress a smile.  “Okay,” she announced, “I’ll take them back and get the florals we looked at.” 

As she expected, Justin came in from their home office/den to re-engage and, also as she expected, immediately changed sides.  “I didn’t say you should take them back.  We don’t know that we want the flower ones long-term either and I thought you were sick of olive and purple.”

“If I’m not going to exchange them then the ones I got are perfect,” she claimed simply.  This was another of Justin’s philosophies, though he often said it in jest.  This time Nicole headed for the bedroom a lot more slowly, making sure she’d be followed.

“Not perfect, maybe,” Justin called after her before pursuing.  “I’m sure they’ll be fine.  I just wanted to be sure we’d looked at this from all the angles we needed to.”

“Are you sure now?” Nicole asked, circling the bed, feeling like a hunter stalking her prey, even if she could be better described as leading a lamb to slaughter.  “Have we examined every angle?”

“Under the circumstances I suppose we have.  I just thought we’d choose a paint color first.”

“And I just thought I’d asked you to drop it.  Asked you nicely, even.  And since you couldn’t, I’m now asking you to drop your pants.”  Kneeling and reaching under her nightstand Nicole withdrew her new paddle.  “Or did you want to wait for me to demand that you do?”

Gratifyingly, Justin’s jaw dropped about to the floor.  “Where’d you get that?” he asked, incredulous and probably a bit intimidated.  “Small enough to use over her knee” didn’t translate to all that small, especially when you’re talking about a paddle.

“On line.  Now get over here,” was her simple response.  Any more and her voice might betray her nervous excitement.  She was glad to see that Justin had opened his trousers and was holding them up for the short trip to her side.


“No buts.  I told you – you need one, you get one.  No warning.”  His pants had come down and his manhood up.  The paddle on the bed beside her, Nicole peeled his underwear down over that particular “obstruction” and forced herself not to smile (or giggle).  “And you need one,” she said, attempting to sound stern.  She could swear it went up another notch.

They’d played often enough that they were both familiar with the position required and Justin soon found himself in it.  Any misgivings Nicole may have had were quickly disappearing with Justin’s meek compliance.  She paused for a moment to admire her husband’s muscular buns positioned for her to discipline, to silently acknowledge the extent of his excitement, and a final moment to acknowledge her own which at the least matched his.  I should probably start with my hand, she thought, even as she picked up and raised the paddle.

"Ouch!  Oh, jeez!" Justin exclaimed as the leather cover met his pale cheeks.

"Hold still, you!" Nicole commanded, the words coming easily as she imagined herself as the wife who needed to change her husband's attitude, how that woman would act and would sound.  "That was just the first of many, young man!"  With that she rained smacks on his rapidly-reddening rear as he struggled to stay on her lap.  Clearly it was an effort on his part.  She could feel that between them his excitement had ebbed.  As he tried to straighten his legs she tapped the backs lightly.  "Down," she instructed him.  Using this as a gauge she tried to keep the swats hard enough to make him make an effort.  She could tell by how tense all his muscles were that he was feeling it strongly despite not asking her to stop.  Soon she was swinging very hard, the paddle connecting with a most satisfying "SMACK!"

"Sometimes," she began, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the swats and the position, "I am not in the mood," all the while maintaining the steady, solid correction, "to debate – everything – endlessly.  And usually – I tell you – when I'm not."  Suddenly realizing what a thorough paddling she'd delivered, she figured she should stop.  Justin continued to jerk and vibrate across her lap as his gasps slowly returned to panting.

“The next time I tell you to drop it, you had better have a darn good reason if you choose to keep after it.  Otherwise I know what to do about it – and I will.”  She didn’t threaten to make it worse, since she wasn’t sure she would.  Her remark "that was only the first of many" stuck in her mind.

"Now stand up, baby," she suggested, his buttocks a bright, hot red.  Rising with a slow "whew," Justin's hands hovered, tempted to rub out a bit of the soreness.  "Give them here," she commanded him, taking each hand in one of her own.  Was it only a minute before he was every bit as ready as when she'd started?


  1. Off to a great start. You've very nicely set up the Spank Shop/Clarkstown context and I like the mix of him/her, play/discipline.

    1. Thank you very much for the comment, Brenli. I am sure Gemma will be delighted. Welcome to The Spank Shop, dear.