The Dreaming Begins

About ten years ago, I wrote and published some fan fiction. About two weeks ago, I had a moment of inspiration and decided to rewrite said fan fiction as a spanking novel. I spent two hours redoing the outline (which was about 7000 words by itself), and then jumped right in and started writing the novel.

Most of it is going to be very similar to the actual fan fiction, although I’ll be stripping out the licensed media tie-in and replacing it with an original story and original characters. (Look hard enough and you’ll figure out what the fandom was, but I think I changed enough.) And, of course, I’ll be making the non-explicit sex scenes much more explicit, and there will be a lot more spanking involved.

The first new scene I wrote for this story, tentatively called Dreaming of How it Was Going to Be (I hate the capitalization rules so I might change it) because that’s what the fan fiction story was called, is a self-spanking scene. Take a look.

Referring to a printout he’d made in his office, Graham set up a circle of protection before mixing a small quantity of his blood with red paint and drawing a series of runes on the floor. He lit candles and placed them on the points of a pentagram — the ritual didn’t call for one, but he’d seen enough of them to know it helped. Finally, he combined four different types of herbs in a bag of sand — the silicon acted as a conductor — and set the bag on the floor.

Then came the hardest part. Graham took off his shoes, socks, jeans, and shorts, and took a medium-sized paddle out of his backpack. Ideally, the spell should have been done with someone spanking him as he cast it, but there was no one he could trust with magic this powerful, this impactful.

No. He’d have to do it himself.

Graham had been spanked to increase the power of his castings on numerous occasions — some witches and wizards were tops, and some were bottoms; Graham was a bottom. He was one of the big guns; his pain tolerance was quite high, and when the coven needed major firepower, they called on him and Jean-Paul — the wizard who dished out the spankings to Graham’s bare backside. The only reason he hadn’t been on the plane was that his passport had expired and he’d forgotten to get it renewed.

Graham rubbed the varnished wood of the paddle on his bare ass before clenching his teeth and swinging as hard as he could. The whack! of impact echoed around the walls of the deep oubliette, and a bloom of pain spread across Graham’s backside. It wasn’t as hard as Jean-Paul went — the angle was wrong, and Graham had never been a spanker himself so he wasn’t very good at it — but it would be enough. He’d just have to power through.

The paddle landed on Graham’s ass again and again, the heat building in his skin. It was similar to Jean-Paul’s paddlings, although because he knew he was doing it to himself Graham couldn’t really go as hard as he knew he should.

Once his arm started to tire, Graham switched hands and continued the paddling, slamming the implement as hard as he could against his own backside. He started to sweat, his face flushing, and to his surprise there was enough blood left to go downward, to get him erect. Usually, after the castings, after everything, Jean-Paul and Graham would go back to his room and fuck; both men were bisexual, but the spanking turned them on and they would take comfort and pleasure from each other. It was to the point where the reaction was almost conditioned: Graham would get spanked, and he would get hard, because he knew what would be coming next.

Not this time, though. And, if this worked, not ever again.

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