spanksgiving day (redux)

Serafina recently wrote up a description of our Spanksgiving Day celebration, and while it's wonderful, it should be said that my own version of those events carries a significantly different tone and flavor.  Please consider her's to be the sliced turkey for your Spanksgiving day festivities, and mine to be the cranberry relish you serve alongside . . . 

I spent the last summer looking for places to act out various outdoor BDSM styled fantasy scenarios that I dream. Wildlife management areas and remote river access points being among my favorites. Although they are heavily used during part of the year, they usually offer solitude at other times, as long as you have a plan of where and when to go.


Yesterday, while most folks were sliding up to the table with relatives to eat too much food, I bundled up my slave/wife, Serafina, into my truck and headed off to find outdoor adventure. We started hiking at one area, a state park, looking to end up along a secluded stream bank where we'd be free from prying eyes, just 30 or 40 yards from what is usually a heavily traveled trail.

It was close to 60 degrees out, comfortably warm for me, perhaps a little chilly for what would be a mostly disrobed Serafina (who I planed to drape over a convenient log,) but nothing that a good warming of her ass wouldn't be able to overcome. It started raining, and Serafina looked at me, asking with her eyes if the rain storm would spare her bottom it's ordeal. I growled lightly in response that she'd be wet when I was done with her anyway, so a little rain wasn't going to even slow me down.

I think she whimpered a little . . .

Then I heard children's voices.

Fuck! Fuck FUCK FUCK!

I may be a dominant and a sadist, I may keep my wife as a slave, I may even have rape and abduction fantasies, but I don't ever condone involving children in any way, even peripherally in a manner where they might accidentally witness, or overhear, BDSM play.
When the kids (along with dogs and finally parents in tow) eventually came around the rock ledge where we were standing, sheltered from the rainfall, I gave them a hearty hello, their dogs a friendly scratch, and their parents a polite nod. Then I took Serafina in hand, and led her back to the truck.

Who the hell takes their kiddos to a fucking park on Spanskgiving day?

So I drove another half hour down the road, conversing politely with my slave/wife as I drove. She may be slave, but she is far from being mere chattel, Serafina is delightfully knowledgeable and experienced in a variety of different subjects, herbalist, master gardener, artist, musician, cook and hostess.

During a pause in our conversation, I think to myself that in a different lifetime she would have made a beautiful courtesan, an exclusive escort for the vastly wealthy, the kind of woman who would satisfy he elite intellectually and serve on their arm at galas and events before servicing them in the bedroom afterward. I also think to myself that I am a very lucky man, to have captivated and enslaved such a beautiful creature.

Then, with little ado, but much navigation along backroads (where we rarely saw a soul, just a coule of cars and one man walking down the middle of the road in the mist) we arrived at an alternate destination, a remote river access point along the Mississippi .

I took my slave/wife by the hand one more time, and led her down a faint trail that paralleled the river. I’m a large man, 6' tall, while Serafina is just 5'2", so if I decide to set a good pace, it feels as though I’m almost pulling her along, her stride is much shorter than mine, and she has to push herself to keep up. That’s the way I want it, I want her breathless before we even start.

Then is see what I’m looking for, a downed log - solid and secure, that I can drape my slave over for her spanking.

In a quiet but firm voice, my face vary close to hers (invading her space) as I held her close in front of me, I told Serafina to pull her pants down to her ankles and drape herself over the log. She looked at the damp wood for a moment, realizing that the recent rain wasn’t going to make her ordeal any more comfortable, and then quietly complied with my command.

I got out my camera, and calmly told her I was going to record the event for all my online friends.

I pushed her black lace panties down off of her ass, told my slave how cute she looked, pants around her ankles, panties pulled down, breathlessly waiting for her spanking. Her only reply was a whimper. I took some more pictures. Then I began to redden her ass. I love floggers and paddles; canes, straps, and belts; all the various traditional forms of discipline and punishment associated with BDSM and sadomasochism. I have a pair of skin tight motorcycle cop gloves that are great for spanking too, powerful imagery and powerful feelings for my slave to be manhandled by hands encased in sexy leather. But, there really is something special about the feeling and intimacy that comes with a bare handed spanking. Normally I like to take my time, to savor each and every blow I deliver to a woman’s ass when I want to deliver a powerful spanking, but I also know that it’s very effective to alter my patterns as a dominant, it keeps my slave guessing, it keeps things fresh. So, there was nothing slow and languid about this spanking, there was no massage oil rubbed into the aching cheeks during a brief respite, there was no quiet interaction or intimacy. There were just grunts and groans, whimpers and moans, as I spanked Serafina hard and fast. I did take a break (or two) to take pictures, and trace the outline of the hand prints that appeared on her flesh. When I reached down briefly to tickle her clit, she responded with a grateful, “Thank you, Master!” I returned to reddening her ass. I rained sharp blows down upon my slave's ass, eliciting sharp intakes of her breath, grunts, groans, whimpers and finally the words, “Mercy, Master!” This is the way I allow Serafina to signal me that she is at the edge of what she can endure. I call it a “soft safe word” because it won’t stop a scene, it won’t even necessarily stop what I’m doing, it simply lets me know that to go farther would bring about real and severe distress. Now I think I’ve already “outed” myself here as a bit of a sadist in addition to being a dominant. That means that saying “mercy” just once doesn’t always stop me with Serafina, creating the strong sensations that elicit the plea satisfies the sadist, while the actual begging the sensations can elicit certainly do something for the dom inside me. I didn’t make poor Serafina beg this day, just hearing that single plea for mercy satisfied me. I wasn’t feeling like being exposed here for too long was a very good idea. This particular river access sits in the “shadow” of a large power plant, and while I knew that we were concealed from the views of anyone who might be on the river or in the parking lot, I also knew that we might be giving a good show to a couple of guys in a watch tower that was added to the power plant after 9-11. As I unzipped my pants, I asked my slave/wife if she remembered me pointing out the guard tower as we drove around the perimeter of the plant before we arrived at the river access. She said; “Yes, Master!” immediately. The I watched as she slowly realized the implications of what I had said. I watched her body tense as she realized she might have been putting on a lewd show for a pair of bored and lonely guards on Thanksgiving. I listed to her whimper, saw her shiver, and then succumbed to the the drama of the situation and the charms exposed before me. Yes, I fucked my slave there in the woods, thrusting myself in with one strong sure push, then enjoying the warmth of her reddened ass against my crotch as I pushed in balls deep. Knowing what I like a woman to do, Serafina pushed back hard against me, impaling herself on my throbbing cock. Then I told her to close her eyes. I began to spin a story to my slave as I used her from behind. Telling her that the guards were driving down to investigate. As she whimpered and moaned underneath me, I told Serafina how they were going to line up behind me, waiting for their turn to use her when I was done. I felt a shudder go through her entire body, a lovely sensation for me, when embedded deeply inside. I called her slut, saying I could feel that she wanted to be used like that. She whimpered again, a higher pitched desperate whine followed. She was afraid of where my story might go, she was afraid I might make her live it out someday. As I fucked her deeply, grinding against her before pulling out to the tip, thrusting in again to the hilt. I called her whore, continuing to slap her the side of her ass as I drove in and out of her, telling her to move her hips, to clench her cunt. I felt her shiver underneath me again. Knowing my property well, I knew that between the shiver and the rhythmic grasping of her cunt, that she was close to orgasm. While Serafina is trained to only cum on command, to always ask permission before allowing herself that pleasure, I wanted there to be no mistake about my intent. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I said, growling in her ear. She knew exactly what I meant, her whimpers and shivers now turning to grunts and shudders. She ground against me with moves worthy of a porn star, fucking just like the names I was calling her. At that point, I allowed myself to get lost in the pleasure my slave can provide. I can no longer recall the words I said, the names I used, the actions I made. Ultimately, I took my pleasure inside my property, pulling out to wipe the last dribbles across her ass. I stepped back, admiring the red glow of her pale flesh, as well as the obvious signs of her recent use, just now starting to drip down her backside. I told her to stay still and wait for me while I took more pictures, evidence of her use for online friends. When I was satisfied that I’d documented the ultimate results our Spanksgiving Day celebration, and that she’d been left just a little longer than I needed for that purpose, left bent over a damp log, well spanked and well used, I told her to stand up. I chided my slut for being such a brazen whore, for standing there exposed in the woods for anyone who wandered by to see. Then I did allow her the modesty of pulling up her panties and pants, not however, allowing her to wipe or clean up the mess I’d made on her ass. “You’ll wear that with pride, just like the whore you are,” I said. “Yes, Master,” she replied.