I have been a wife and mother for over twenty years. Now I am becoming my husband's lover, too.
We owe it all to my fellow bloggers who gave me the courage to come out to my husband as a spanko.
I do feel like this is a New Beginning for us.

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Friday, March 25, 2016

Fantasy Friday - Resisting the Dive

What a wonderful day - I'm off school and I don't go back for ten whole days! It's not retirement, but it's as close as I'm going to get this week! We have a great story this week. It's from about 2009 and was written by Kaylynn. As you begin your holiday weekend I hope you'll enjoy...

Resisting the Dive

As her toes gripped the edge of the diving board, she used her imagination to visually bind and toss her family members off the high dive. They landed in various places, contingent on how pissed off they had made her. Their bullshit had no room in her brain as she focused on her intended movements mid air. She saw her brother taking another hit on his two foot bong – splat – throw him on the pool deck. She saw her dad glancing at her desperate text messages and replacing the cell in his pocket with no response – ashes in a bonfire. She saw her mom driving away from their dinnerless house to yet another AA meeting – liquefying mom she allowed her lame ass to trickle into the shower drain. Coach T’s dying….. She pictured hugging away his cancer. She swallowed hard. This was it, their last practice together came down to their simple favorite, a reverse layout.

She moved each foot individually, meticulously readjusting. It looked like she was crushing a cigarette butt on the edge of the board. The balls of her feet barely touching the fiberglass rough edge where her toes supported her 120 pounds of pure muscle. Her hair in a jet black pony tail looked like a severe line down her back. Her blue eyes shot through the concrete wall across the street as she stood in perfect stillness. Then with knees slightly bent… one… two …. three. She jumped high. Her waist bent with her feet pointed toward the ceiling. Jackknifing her body, her finger tips grazed the tips of her toes. She then laid back poker straight with plenty of time until her finger tips found the water. Barely making a splash her dive was enough to make a grown man cry.

Coach T was sitting on the bleachers, something he never did before his diagnosis. He did in fact shed a tear. Pancreatic cancer was going to bring an end to a career that would have otherwise ended with a possible Olympic contender. Rachael Villarubia was his pride and joy. He and his wife Cindy had never had children of their own. And now Cindy at 35 and Thomas age 47 were going to be parted by death after 17 years of a great marriage. Rachael knew he was headed to the hospital immediately afterward and wanted to make him smile.

“How’s that?” She beamed? She tried not to let her emotions find their way to the edges of her lips as she wiped away the slick water.

“You make me a prideful man Rach!”

“That’s my job!” She felt every bit the confident young woman he had helped her become.

Later that week she sat with him; she tried her best to be strong. It was beyond her how he plummeted so quickly. She felt she was living in a fog. She practiced at the pool going through the motions. One of the things Coach T insisted on was choosing for her the best replacement possible. He refused to let her fail her goals because of him. He was very weird and private about his decision which made Rachael have to trust. She hated the vulnerability associated with that issue. After her parent’s divorce and her mom’s trip to the ER she learned not to trust. It was easier that way. Depending on yourself came natural to her. But Coach T had been different. He was so dependable, so forgiving, so encouraging.

Sitting with him in the hospice part of the hospital she felt like she was under water. Her sense of hearing was shot and she could barely see in front of her. He kept trying to tell her everything would be OK. She kept looking through him like she was about to dive. Mentally she was feeling like she was diving into an empty pool. They had said their official goodbyes and she was numb to the core. Cindy handed her a tissue but she couldn’t even cry.

“Rach your new coach will meet you at the… at my funeral.” Rachael shook her head like he was speaking an entirely different language. She was furious that he was making this more real, more painful than it possibly could be.

“I want your word that you’ll respect him like you have me.” This couldn’t possibly be so fucking wrong. She wanted to spontaneously combust right there beside the hospital bed. She looked around and saw the nurse’s call button for emergencies and thought about requesting a straight jacket, a 250 pound escort and a room in the psyche ward with a bottle of Jack waiting for her. Her 22 year old mind wasn’t equipped to take this next connecting flight. She barely remembered kissing his cheek and turning slowly where she sat outside the door on the floor. Her head in her hands she watched the spots in the floor dance in front of her eyes.


The funeral itself was a wonderful tribute to Thomas Leonard McGuire’s 47 years of life. He was honored in a simple and touching mass that packed the echoing stone walls unlike any other parishioner before him. The country club seemed an unlikely and maybe to some irreverent choice to celebrate his life. But Cindy McGuire insisted his life represent just that, even after its unnatural end. And so there was an American version of a wake.

Rachael found herself in unfamiliar territory. For the past five days she refused to go back to the pool. Instead she ran miles and miles trying to clear her head and heart. It just didn’t feel right without Coach T. She could barely stand to face the facts, which stood before her with their wicked truths. For the first time in years she was seeing through the eyes of a sensitive young woman. She much preferred the familiar and comfortable view offered by an angry hyper focused post teen. But she entered the church and then country club feeling raw. She wanted to shake off the pain but couldn’t. Complicating matters she felt the eyes upon her. Outside of Thomas’ painfully early departure from earth and leaving Cindy the love of his life a widow, everyone talked quietly of Rachel’s tragedy. In typical fashion no one wanted to broach the obvious, at least not with her.

The mass had started at 2pm and the wake was well underway by 4 pm. Rachael had easily downed two long island ice teas and was feeling no pain given she had eaten practically nothing in days. Taking her third one with her she walked outside; she was tired of polite hellos and condolences. The unusually hot spring day allowed the outdoor patios to be in use giving way to the healing sunshine everyone needed. She didn’t know how she would have survived if it had been a cloudy or rainy day. Finding a private corner at the side of the patio, she welcomed the inability to not to hold back a huge stretch. She was alone and stretched long and hard like a waking cat with no worries. She like, Cindy, appreciated their kind words but needed some solitude to physically release the unbearable tension. This week had been a veritable hell. She felt herself walking through the days knowing a new definition of the word ‘tired’.

She tried not to guess who was to be her future coach. But she couldn’t help herself. There were several obvious choices. There was John Haughton who had been in semi retirement since last year. There was Rob Broadmore who in her opinion spread himself too thin. There were coaches she only knew of. She needed solid ground. She wanted to know but didn’t. She dreaded getting back to the pool but understood it was all the she lived for. Barely audible she groaned in frustration as she released down her from her last stretch. And with a child of an alcoholic’s reflex, she went to reach for her third long island iced tea that she had brought with her to keep her company. She closed her eyes relishing the taste of the insidious alcohol when she felt his eyes on her. Counter intuitively she kept her eyes closed as if he would go away given her deserved moment alone with her drink. God she was starting to feel like her mother!

She heard only the last step descend upon her as the leather sole ground into the slate patio. She opened her eyes only to see a hand about the size of her face pull her tea glass firmly from her slippery fingers. As she spun around to see who had the balls to be such a dick she heard the glass bottom hit the stone wall a bit too forcefully, just escaping breaking. She winced from seeing him as much as from the assumed breaking of the glass. While it never broke – what little composure she had left did.

Only a coach would be so presumptuous to treat someone like they owned them. Only a coach at his limits would sneak up and pull alcohol from her mouth unprovoked. Only a coach would stare you down like an assistant principal from military middle school. Except he wasn’t a coach – he was -in her mind, and by all acceptable standards - a dick.

Mark Rocca had been was coached by Coach T’s good friend who lived in London. Rachael had learned to detest his name by the age of 15. It was only brought up under the guise of Rachael’s need to correct her attitude. What she gleaned was that Mark was the ideal, the consummate, the fuckin’ perfect golden boy. Rachael let Coach put the idea in her head to strive for Mark’s sense of self control and maturity. He was always a step ahead of her, like an annoying older brother. Furthermore, how could she compete with centuries of overly proper English civility?

Now at age 29 he lived with the frustration of knowing he would and should have taken the gold had it not been for the drunk driver that had ruined his life. Two crushed discs at the L5 and S1 level ended his dreams. Great, just fucking great, now he could come back via Rachael to fulfill his angry uncompleted life. She promised herself she would visualize catapulting him off the spring dive and through the cinder blocks before she did her reverse 2 ½ somersault pike.

Spinning around refusing to look him again in the eyes, she began to walk away. And it wasn’t just some slinking out of the scenery exit. She took giant angry strides directly into the area of the patio where she had no clue was closed in with an iron gate. They gated it in hopes of keeping the drunkest of patrons from wandering from the patio into the governor’s drive, obstructing the flow of Jaguar traffic.

Watching her walk from where she had trapped herself back to the patio he studied her carefully. Not a word had been spoken between them. And yet he knew all he needed to know after watching her throughout the day. The one thing he hadn’t realized was her intense anger and impulsivity. She stomped away under the wisteria. It blossomed off ancient branches over the wide trellis. Mark saw dedication and commitment for the purpose of beauty. He was aware of his reluctance to take in the intent – the relaxation part of beauty. His hand went to his shirt collar and he swiped it down with his index finger hoping to relieve the sudden awareness of the pressure that choked his neck. The problem was that the source of the pressure couldn’t be relieved from the outside in.

She was in the parking lot fighting through the gleam off the car surfaces trying to remember where she had parked hers. He watched her but followed quietly. Even though she had had too much to drink she moved with jerky motions as if she’d taken amphetamines, not alcohol. Mark marveled at her energy level. It was presently directed toward escape. He sprinted across the lot at the sound of her car engine. She let the heat billow out of her lowered windows and sunroof. The air conditioning was blasting almost as loudly as the rock music. He gained advantage by her not hearing his approach. He reached in from the passenger’s side removed the keys from the ignition. The sound of silence was deafening to Rachael and she sat there trapped.

“Are your feelings of ……… I’ll say “surprise” overriding your obligation to say a proper goodbye to Cindy and Coach T’s family?” His English accent sent shivers down her spine. Foreign accents had always made her hot. But it was that and is intense green eyes that sent her over the visual edge. But she quickly looked away from him and sat still as if her presence would only be detected by movement. She stared ahead into the white washed stucco wall. Mark was underwhelmed with her 22 year old maturity. He knew she’d been through so much, but felt she should be accountable for so much more. She had honestly planned to compose herself and not drive. But she knew he would never believe her – not with his issues. Then she was pissed at herself for realizing she wanted to assure him she wasn’t behaving rudely and didn’t plan on driving drunk. He didn’t own her…. Not exactly.

“Think Rachael!!” his voice was firm and angry and too quiet. “Why would Coach T wait until now for you to know I’m your coach? You obviously have some control issues. Coach obviously thought your anger over his choice to make me your coach was going to cost him energy he didn’t have to give. Otherwise he would have told you before he died!” With teeth gritted he walked around to the driver’s side of the car.

Rachael blinked tears back that flooded and flowed through her eyes. She honestly didn’t have a clue as to why he’d not told her while he lived. She thought he hadn’t yet worked things out and didn’t want her to know that. Realizing that Coach T considered her unable to deal with and respect his choice, she attempted a futile grip in response to her remorse on the steering wheel. She was headed for a destination all right, but it was not a place she’d ever been before.

He crouched down to the driver’s side and rested both forearms on the window’s edge while he leaned into the car putting his lips close to her ear. His voice was very quiet. Had Rachael not been so hypervigilant she would have not been able to make out his almost inhuman growl that formulated words.

“Get your little ass out of the car…..Now. Say your goodbyes. Then you and I have some control issues to deal with.” Standing up he opened her door. Offering her his hand like some Victorian fop offering his arm for entrance onto the ballroom floor, Rachael peeled her eyes from the windshield. She stared at Mark like a girl who had strapped on some brass balls! Her looks didn’t quite match with her slowing tears falling off her chin and cheeks. Perhaps that is why Mark miraculously maintained his gentlemanly behavior despite her inability to reign herself in with her “I’ll kill-you-where-you-stand” looks. Foolishly she stayed in the front seat seated and glaring at him.

Mark was the oldest. He had three younger sisters with whom he remained quite close. He knew how to be gentle and directive. Sighing heavily he carefully gripped her left arm with his right hand and with his left he placed it under her same elbow. Lifting her out carefully, Rachael was smart enough to exit her car. Standing she used the excuse of smoothing out her dress in order to get Mark to release her arm. Breathing in she attempted deep calming breathes but managed only short crisp ones as she squared her shoulders and started her walk back to the wake. Once inside Mark deceptively placed his hand on her shoulder with a look of kindness. He had dug deep within himself to convince and assure the family that his physical closeness came from a place of comfort and kindness. But the unconscious and occasional squeezing of his fingertips kept Rachael exceedingly aware of her recalcitrant heart.

He had to hand it to her. She could easily run for political office or join a community theatre because she was on her best behavior. Apparently she did have some ability to act her age. Rachael would come to understand that he was in charge of getting her to the Olympics. There would be no acting if she expected to learn under his instruction. He knew tonight would be the beginning of some very long lifetime lessons. He wondered if she had a clue how such behavior would be handled in England. He highly doubted it.

“I need to use the restroom” she announced, giving him scant acknowledgement. She didn’t wait for any reaction. She veered away from the exit and hurrying up the stairs she managed to lose his hand from her shoulder shrugging it off at last. She hated him with every fiber in her being. Her teeth were clenched and she swung the door open to the restroom with such force, she surprised herself. She cared for herself then rested upon the couch with the intent of napping. She was even more tired if that was humanly possible. Her eyes closed as she settled into a goose down pillow with the softest scarlet silk.

At least she knew better than to ignore him completely Mark thought, sensing a win. She was at least explaining where she was headed. If she had true insight she’d escape out the window he outwardly chuckled. Out in the shining marble foyer the mood was somber compared to the room with the bar, where most were gathered. A shocked small boy hearing Mark dare to chuckle, craned his head backward while walking with his dad to see who dared laugh. He’d obviously been schooled severely before entering the country club about proper behavior.

Mark sat on the cushioned and tasseled pillows. He chuckled again. She’d need a pillow for awhile after he was done with her. Funny he’d only spanked during sex, never having time to develop relationships to the next level. But he longed to use his natural commanding skills for a true disciplinary spanking. He rehearsed exactly the steps he’d take once she walked down the stairs. He looked up and frowned, she was obviously taking her time.

He almost felt guilty agreeing with Tom that he was the perfect guy to coach Rachael. Tom had explained to Mark her constant need to challenge authority. While he could lovingly redirect her, she was getting too old to be so challenging. And she may not move quickly enough to the next level needed to make the Olympic cut. Tom had known she had the skills, she was just afraid to use them all. It was almost as if she held back purposefully thinking she didn’t deserve to achieve. She made it clear she didn’t trust life itself.

Mark quickly realized her personality would totally benefit from his almost military autocratic mindset. He leaned back and his body language exuded ownership and dominance. He was a welcomed visual to the women exiting the occasion who were ready to think again about the living. What a better confirmation of life than to consider procreation. Mark definitely had that look about him that inspired women to consider such thoughts. And the smiles he received while sitting there the fifteen minutes awaiting Rachael’s passive aggressive tantrum proved it. He had a fleeting visual of her using the fire escape with her dress hiked well above her thighs for mobility. Soon he thought, soon. He almost wanted to see how long she thought she could keep him waiting.

His heart beat a little faster as he walked up the stairs to the elaborate women’s restroom. He waltzed right in and sat down next to Rachael on the extra long coach meant for a diva with one sided pillows.  Rachael was curled into a fetal position and looked like an angel sleeping. Mark’s dominant heart wanted to soar. Opportunities like this never came so easy. He listened for anyone using the room for its original design. One woman was washing her hands in the adjoining section and looked confused and amused at his presence upon her leaving. He guessed it wasn’t the first time she’d seen a young man and woman using that couch for its intended design. Of course she would’ve shown Rachael an entirely sympathetic look had she known Mark’s intent for the couch.

Rachael quickly woke from her very brief rest when she heard the deadbolt click loudly. Her eyes bolted open very wide and she whipped her head to see her danger. She quickly sat tucking her knees up under her and leaned back into the couch for protection.

Leave it up to a country club to think of everything for the convenience of its hedonistic patrons. He doubted Rachael knew her ears and her bottom were about to “get a beating”. Standing over her he loved this feeling. It was almost predatory in nature. He put his hands on his hips and stared at her thinking. Rachael was completely on edge wondering what cutting words he’d have for her next. Obviously some private lecture about her “control issues” she heard his sexy English accent run through her memory.

“This is actually a better place than the back of your small car.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Better for WHAT!” She was confused and pissed. And as he saw her overconfident nature concerning their communication, he knew it was time.

“This.” And with one quick movement he unceremoniously pushed her over his lap and with much strength and skill he began to offer her unsolicited and unwavering verbal and physical “facts” about exactly who was in control. He reminded her to use some of her own control; otherwise she’d be very embarrassed. As her shock began to wear off due to the ever increasing pain, she had the self preservation skills to try to push herself off his lap. He surprised her by standing her up. She was almost more shocked that he allowed her to rise when she pushed, than the fact that the spanking occurred. She had endured about eight very hard whacks with his very muscular arms and large hands. She hurt bad and rubbed herself while trying to back away toward the door.

She looked completely out of her element and he relished it. She opened her mouth because she wanted to flood his ears with creative and lasting swear words that would cause him to never ever touch her again. Maybe she hoped he would leave her like everyone else had, proving she wasn’t worth sticking around for. But all that happened was Rachael’s mouth opened seeking words that couldn’t describe her shock and anger. Mark couldn’t wait for the next phase of his lesson. Before she found sound to accompany her opened mouth he commanded the unthinkable.

“Lift your dress up and back over my lap NOW. It’s time you learn a little respect!” Her self-preservation was as scrambled as her composure. Brushing aside her hair from her eyes, she was caught between running immediately or feigning cooperation and then running. Never for a second did she consider listening to his demands! Mark infuriated her, especially after putting her over his knee. She closed her eyes for a second longer than a normal blink then turned away from Mark.

Needing time to think which he wouldn’t give her, she felt steam rolled and trapped. Really nothing had changed for her these last two months. Except now she had to accept Mark as her fuckin’ disciplinarian and coach. She felt her anger tipping the scales again against her situation. She had to do something. She could scream and then he’d tell everyone he spanked her ass. That would be an Enquirer article waiting to happen. They could post it along with all the other coaches who’ve spanked their gymnasts – fucking perfect. She could be the brat of the spring board! Last minute female thinking launched her into high level manipulative pleading and sympathy. It was her only chance. Slim given his off-the-charts arrogance but it was all she had.

“Why are you doing this to me? I’ve been through so much. I don’t deserve this. You’re being so mean and unfair. And you never even gave me a chance. You just ripped the drink from my hand. Nobody from my family even stayed after the service. And I don’t even know you.” It was then that she should’ve stopped because her eyes narrowed after the word “you”. They both knew she lied. She knew all she needed to know about Mark. Coach T had made her promise she would give him carte blanche respect knowing he was able to take her to her goals. She knew him to be stellar in his diving career. She understood that he was intense and worthy especially after his recovery. She thought of why his career was cut short and she understood how she’d really screwed up walking to her car two ice teas in a half hour.

She quickly flashed to her mother’s continuous warnings of her family’s ability to produce addicts. Hell she was addicted to her sport truth be told! All these thoughts echoed quickly through her head as she heard her whiny voice echoing through the bathroom.

He never changed his impatient expression. Bargaining was not ever going to happen. What was going to happen was what he had in his head. And if he saw her going to the Olympics, she knew it would happen. But first she knew they had to get through this moment.

“It’s time to give it up Rachael. All of it, your insecurity, your anger, your fear of failure, your inability to accept change, the thoughts that life’s unfair – and most importantly any thoughts that I’m not in control! Believe me you’ll feel better after this is over with. It’s time.”

“But I don’t want….” Her pleading sounded so sad.

“Now means now, dress up and you over, if you’re not doing what I asked before I finish this sentence than you don’t deserve any medal and have wasted years of your life.” Mark’s smile was broad as she thrust her dress up and flung herself back on top of his lap and covered her face with her hands well before he finished his sentence. Almost as important was his success in having her obey him, was the fact that her ass was beyond gorgeous and framed in a black lace thong. He had never spanked another athlete. He had no idea how he would ever keep from falling for this girl. There were definitely occurrences of athletes and coaches dating and married to each other. Who else did they have the chance to meet? The intimacy level was off the charts with this level of training. Tom knew exactly what he was doing, Mark could see that now. And admired him even more knowing he’d had Rachael under his wings for years.

“What?” Mark said leaning his head closer to hers responding to the tiniest sound he thought possible to detect.

“Please don’t spank me too hard” he could barely make out the second time it made its debut from her lips.

“Rachael, what’s going to happen is going to happen. You’ve got control over only so much and this isn’t one of those things. I suggest you spend your efforts thinking about how to avoid this happening again before the week’s over with!”

“What!!” she shrieked at the audacity. It was timed perfectly with the palm of his hand beginning his coaching career with Rachael. She didn’t have but two seconds to think about how exposed, embarrassed and totally flaming hot her ass felt before he started to deliver with hideous precision and geographical repetition, the spanking of a lifetime which fell like cinders resting on the bottom of her cheeks. Her hands no longer covered her face but reached backwards as she twisted her body to stop him about stroke number five.

“No honey, you’re not even close to being finished.” SMACK!!! “You’d better adjust quickly because the more you struggle the longer you stay!” SMACK!!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!!!! ….. This continued for over five very painful minutes, until she finally gave over to him. And he had to hand it to her, she could take it. His hand was out of practice and was feeling the heat as she gave it up. He lightened up just a bit for the last ten that had her bright pink and tender hearted. It was all he could do not to guide her over to the sinks and take her from behind! He would get what he wanted, eventually. He would have to work for it first! For now he’d settle for seeing her marks and watching her wince as her suit rode up and down at practice tomorrow!

Rachael couldn’t believe how she felt about Mark now. Protected and his. She could feel the heavy wetness on the bottom of her thong that made her wish he’d do her right there on the couch. Her ass was so hot and it made her totally want him inside her. She had never felt like this before and was wishing she could use his handkerchief to wipe herself because her thong was never going to absorb all that moisture. Her thin dress would give her away and she felt more panic knowing Mark would see her wet than Mark seeing her ass! She felt this when shifting on his thighs hoping he’d get the hint it was time to let her up. He had to see how wet she was! She couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t letting her up. She just laid there unable to do anything but wait on his next move. His right hand was heavy and hot pressed into the small of her back. His left hand was comforting holding her in place on her left shoulder. It was then that she caught just a glimpse of an unexpected freedom. And she felt content for the first time in a long time. Her peaceful sighs were comfort and contrast to the sexually charged moment. Both wondered how they could resist one another tomorrow.


Kaylynn, once again you've written a terrific story. If you're out there, be in touch.

I love hosting Fantasy Friday – it allows me to meet and get to know so many people but I am not getting many stories. At this moment the cupboard is bare and I am just hoping there are some of you out there that are writing. Fantasy Friday is up to all of you. Please send any stories to elisspeaks@yahoo.com


  1. PK, this was a great story! Please thank Kaylynn for us. What a wonderful kick-off to a Fantasy Friday. Have a lovely holiday and enjoy yourself.



  2. KayLynn's stories are amazing, thanks for posting this one.
    Have a happy Easter PK, make the most of your time off.
    Rosie xx

  3. Wonderful story KayLynn! PK I know I'm not the best writer, but I have a story I'm working on. Not sure when I will finish! Lol
    Please people Write a story!

  4. I really enjoy your stories KayLynn. Thanks.

    Thank you PK. Enjoy your time away from school. Happy Easter.


  5. Thank you for sharing your story, Kaylynn. Would love to read more.

    Have a wonderful time out of school, PK!

    Hugs and blessings...Cat

  6. Wonderful story thank you Kaylynn. Please write again. Have a lovely break from school Pk and Happy Easter to you and your family.
    Hugs Lindy