The Shame In You : A Lust Diaries Short Story

The Shame In You : A Lust Diaries Short Story

"I don't get it. And it sounds like you don't either."

While out to lunch with her younger sister Mercedes, Yves admits that she likes being spanked and that Elijah is the one who usually delivers the spanking. Her sister challenges her to explain why and she is unable to, and that confuses her.

When she gets back to Elijah's place, they talk about it, and he explains to her that it's about passion and trust. Then he punishes her with a spanking for telling her sister about what they do in the privacy of their bedroom without talking to him first.

This is an erotic short written to illustrate the power dynamic developing between Yves and Elijah. 


I want to be inside your darkest everything.


I didn’t know how we got on this topic. I only wished I knew how to get off of it. This was not a conversation I ever dreamed of having with my conservative, morally upright baby sister. But somewhere between trying on designer shoes and ordering coffee with blueberry scones, the conversation took a sharp left and ended up at kinky sex—spanking, to be exact.

“Gah, it seems like everyone is into this kinky shit since that book came out. I don’t understand this fascination with spanking. What makes a woman let a man put his hands on her like that? He must be an abuser and she must be mentally unstable.”

“Who are you to make that kind of blanket judgment on people? There are plenty of men who aren’t abusers who spank and I’m positive that women who like to be spanked aren’t all mentally ill.”

Mercedes screwed her face into a frown and asked in a voice tinged with a hint of disgust, “And what would you know about it? Have you been spanked before?”

I stalled for a moment. Brought my coffee mug to my lips and took a deep swallow of the rich, dark brew.

“You have, haven’t you?” Mercedes accused with narrowed eyes.

Yes, I had been spanked. More than once in fact, but this wasn’t something I was willing to admit. At least not in this moment with my sister eyeing me warily as if I had somehow transformed into some crazed, sexual deviant.

“I dated a guy who was into it,” I admitted. A half-truth.

“Really? Who?”

“Does it matter?” 

Mercedes’ eyes widened. “It’s Elijah, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer but for Mercedes my silence was answer enough.

“Humph,” she grunted while shaking her head. “That just proves my point. You were in an abusive relationship for how long?”

That grunt and the subsequent judgmental statement should have pissed me off, but I was too busy thinking about Elijah’s hands. His big hands with the smooth, soft palms that he had used on me last night. I clenched my thighs together, remembering the sting of his hand meeting the sensitive skin at the curve under my buttocks--the sweet spot. And the sound…the ringing smack of his hand meeting my flesh as his voice hissed in my ear, “What are you doing so naked, you little slut?”

“I don’t get it.” My sister’s voice brought me back into the present. “How is that sexy?”

I shrugged again, squirming in my seat. Thinking of his hands had made me inconveniently aroused. “It just is,” I said then brought the coffee mug to my lips again.

“You probably deserve it,” my sister joked.

I laughed and then muttered into my coffee, “More than you know.”

Mercedes blushed and leaned in conspiratorially. “What does he spank you with?”

“His hand mostly. Sometimes a riding crop or a flogger if I need or want it.”

Coño,” she said shaking her head again. “I can’t imagine Elijah doing that. I don’t think I can ever look at him the same. ”

“Why? Nothing’s changed.”

“Except the fact that I now know he’s a sadist--”

“Don’t do that,” I warned. “Don’t make him into some sort of villain. He does those things to me because I want him to.”

“But why?”

I’ve never had to do this before so I launched into the scientific explanation. I blathered on about endorphins and how being spanked heightened every sensation making the slightest touch intensely erotic. Halfway through my explanation Mercedes rolled her eyes.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

She was right. I just wanted to give her something—anything—she would accept so she would shut up about it.

“Are you going to tell me truth? Why do you let him do this to you?”

“I told you I don’t let him do anything. I want him to.”

“But why?”

¡Por que yo no se por que! All right? I don’t know why. I just like it.”

Mercedes scoffed. “I don’t get it. And it sounds like you don’t either.”

My sister couldn’t resist trying to get in one last dig, but the implication that I didn’t know myself stuck in my craw. Mostly because it felt like there was some truth in it. Why couldn’t I come up with an explanation for my desire to be spanked? I loved being dominated by Elijah, and yes that conflicted with my history, but this was not something I discovered when he introduced me to the lifestyle. It was more likely that I’d always been this way. Mercedes’ cross examination made me second guess myself though. I was still worrying over this when I arrived at Elijah’s condo a few hours later.

Elijah was banging around in the kitchen when I came in, filling the space with warm, tasty, homey smells. I dropped my purchases at the door and followed my nose. It was a Friday night and sundown signaled the start of Shabbat. Elijah rarely went to Temple, but he did try to make an effort to keep the Sabbath holy. Shirtless with a dishtowel draped over his shoulder, he sampled whatever was in the pot then chased it with a swallow of beer. I stood in the doorway for a moment and watched him. My domesticated frat boy. There was something undeniably sexy about a man in the kitchen.

“Hello, my love,” I cooed, sliding up behind him and slipping my arms around his waist.

He flinched. “Hello, cold hands.”

“Maybe I need you to warm them up for me.”

“Mmm…that I can do.”

I plunged my hands past his waistband and felt him come to life against my palms. “What ya makin’?” I asked.

“Red pepper soup, a chicken, some greens and a pretty amateur challah is in the oven.”

“Amateur or not, I’m sure it will be delicious.”

“I made enough to feed six. I thought Mercy and the girls would come home with you.”

“That was the plan, but I think I've had enough togetherness for today.”


I shrugged and moved away to retrieve two big bowls from the cabinet. “Yeah, she actually got kinda judge-y with me.”

Judge-y is not a word, Yves.”


“Good girl,” he said with a smile.

I rolled my eyes. This was an unfortunate side-effect of dating my editor. He was always correcting me. Always. Never mind that he had little to nothing to say about my work, but whenever I misspoke he couldn’t resist the urge to bring it to my attention.

“About what?” he asked.

“Well…we kinda ended up talking about kinky sex.”

Elijah really laughed then. “You’re kidding?”

“I wish that I was. And trust me, it’s the last thing I wanted to talk about.”

“That must have been uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable is an understatement.”

“How did you get on that topic?”

“I don’t know. She said something about how mainstream it had become lately, you know, since that book. Then the judgmental questions started.”

“Questions? About kink in general or about you?”

I made myself busy, setting the table and placing the silverware. “General stuff at first.”

The tone of his voice was husky and menacing when he asked, “What did you tell her?”

“What makes you think I told her something?” I countered, defensive.

“You’re acting squirrelly. Look at me, Yvie.”

I turned around and met his eyes.

“What did you tell her?”

“I may have told her that you spank me,” I blurted in a rush.

The hand stirring the soup stilled for a moment. “Hm,” he grunted then began to stir again.

“Well, before I told her, she was being super judgmental,” I said rushing to cover my own ass. “She said it had nothing to do with sex and that people who were into it were twisted and mentally unstable.”

“So that’s when you decide to tell her I turn you over my knee and spank that gorgeous ass of yours until it’s nice and rosy?”

My clit immediately pulsed to life at the suggestion of a spanking. My ass was still sore from last night, but that didn’t keep me from hoping he’d do it again.

“Well, I didn’t use those words exactly.”

He smirked and held out of those big hands of his for one the bowls I had retrieved from the cabinet. “And what did she have to say to that?”

“She said she couldn’t imagine you doing that. Said she wouldn't be able to look at you the same. Of course, I had to defend you.”

He shrugged. “She shouldn’t be able to imagine me doing it. I take that as a compliment.”

“You’re missing the point--”

“No, I think you are.”

I arched a brow at him. “How do you mean?”

Elijah grimaced at my poor grammar, but really, he should get used to it. English was my second language. Third if I included my South Philly vernacular.

“I don’t think that’s what upset you.”

“You’re right. That isn’t what upset me.”

“So what was it?”

I watched him fill the bowls then took them over to the table which he had already set with candles and silverware for Shabbat. He followed behind me with gorgeously browned challah. My stomach rumbled in anticipation.

“Yvie,” he said in that stern way that made all of me go liquid. “What upset you?”


He cupped the back of my neck with his hand. The feel of his cool, smooth palm against my heated, sensitive skin relaxed me.

“She kept saying over and over. I don’t get it, I don’t get it. Even after I explained it to her. Then she accused me of not getting it either.”

Elijah hummed thoughtfully while rubbing the back of my neck. My shoulders sagged and my head rolled forward. “And because you couldn’t explain to her why you liked it, you’re wondering if there is something wrong with you?”

“Yes,” I admitted reluctantly.

Elijah turned me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “Nothing is wrong with you, sweetness.”

“But why can’t I--”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he reiterated, quieting me. His hand slipped lower to palm my ass. “Would you like me to tell you why you like getting spanked by me?”

Of course he knew. Elijah knew all of the things I hid from every other man I had slept with. Surely he could explain the real purpose behind my need to be spanked in a way I could understand.

“You’re worried that Cesar broke you. You’ve already told me as much. It’s pointless to deny that he is part of it.”

Cesar…everything always came back to Cesar. Would I ever be free of him?

“But…” Elijah cuffed my chin, tipping it up until my eyes met his. “It has more to do with me. Maybe that’s arrogance, but I think it’s true. You trust me. But I had to earn it, right?”

I nodded. He kissed the tip of my nose.

“That’s what it’s about, sweetness. Trust.”

We sat down to the Shabbat dinner. Elijah coached me through the prayers and rituals, though I had a difficult time working my tongue around the Hebrew recitations. Afterward, he ordered me to sit still and enjoy my wine while he cleared the table. When the last dish was dry he came to me and took my wineglass out of my hands.

“Hey! I’m not finished!”

“You’re done.” He pulled me up to my feet. “Take your clothes off.”

“Right here?” I nodded toward the big picture window overlooking the bridge. Traffic was dense and slow. Evening commuters would have an unobstructed view into the kitchen.

Elijah arched an eyebrow at me. “Have you suddenly become shy?”

A smirk twitched the corner of my mouth. “No,” I said then pulled off my sweater.

He walked away, finishing off my wine before placing the glass in the sink. Behind him, I unzipped my wool pencil skirt, unhooked my bra and discarded it. By the time I shimmied out of my panties I was trembling.

Unsure of what to do next, I stood quietly with my hands linked behind my back. This must have been the right thing to do because when Elijah turned toward me again he drew up short and he clenched his jaw. His eyes, noticeably darker, scanned every inch of my naked flesh. That look always made my skin feel raw and prickly. A feeling only his touch could soothe. I fought the urge to fidget.

Elijah took small steps to cover to distance between us, bare feet making sticky sounds on the tiled kitchen floor. By the time he loomed over me I was damn near panting. His hand found the nape of my neck and the small of my back. Both places felt like they were meant to be held, cradled by him.

“I’m surprised your sister didn’t ask the most obvious question,” he said with a sly smile.

“What’s that?”

“Why do I like it?

Well, hell. I’d never really considered it myself. “Why do you like it?”

His sly smile turned wicked and his hand drifted down to my ass. “Sometimes I like to handle you that way. Knowing you’re mine and that you’ll let me do what I want with your body is kind of...empowering.” He massaged the back of my neck and I melted into him even more. “Sometimes you need it. You get so overwhelmed and exhausted that you can’t function and you need me to take control. I love being able to do that for you. I love knowing I can give you a bit of clarity. Sometimes I do it because I know you’re afraid to be vulnerable. You can’t let yourself feel things because you’re afraid of them so you need me to beat it out of you.” He said the last part with a playful, dark chuckle. “And then just fucking deserve it.”

I didn’t get a chance to react. The hand on the back of my neck spun me around and pinned me like a butterfly to the big picture window. The temperature outside was somewhere in the realm of 32 degrees--in other words--the glass was fucking freezing against my bare belly and the tight pearls of my nipples. But none of that registered after he landed the first stinging smack on my left ass cheek.

“Jesus....fuck!” I gasped, totally caught off guard.

“Put your hands on the glass and tip your pretty ass up for me,” he instructed.

I pressed my hands to the glass, spread my fingers wide for balance and stability while arcing my back to present my ass. He swept his hand down my spine, pausing at the small of my back to make the arc deeper. The subsequent hum of satisfaction made me flush with pride.

“You’ve got some marks from last night,” he said while palming each of my buttocks alternately. “Are you sore?”

“A little...”

His hand dove between the cleft of my cheeks to find my pussy. I was wet...but I knew I would be wetter by the time he was through. He must have had the same thought because the next thing he said struck fear in me.

“Let’s see if we can change that.”

The next smack brought me right up on my tip toes. He usually started off slow, warmed me up before he launched right in to a steady rhythm that had my ass blazing. I half way expected that warm up. Especially since he had already spanked me last night. But the moment he started in on me I knew this wasn’t going to be a playful spanking to get me in the mood. This was clearly punishment...but for what? What the fuck did I do?

I started out whining but soon I was crying and dancing on the balls of my feet trying to get away from him. My ass felt like it had doubled in size and was glowing red-hot like a coal. could he keep hitting me so hard without hurting his hand?

“Quit squirming,” he growled.

He wasn’t saying it to be cruel. It was for my own safety. One of those blows could easily land wrong with me wiggling around and I could end up really and truly hurt. But it was hard to remember when my ass was on fire and he was spanking me so mercilessly.

Just when I thought I would break he stopped. I gasped and sagged against the glass, thankful now for it’s coolness. His hands smoothed over skin welted and pebbled from his punishment.

“You like to shock people,” he murmured.

I tried to perk up and listen.

“You’re damn good at it, too.” His hand delved between my cheeks again. Played around my backend until I squirmed away which earned me another smack. “You especially pride yourself on flaunting your sexuality in front of your family because you know it flies in the face of their conservative ideals. You love to make them uncomfortable.”

I couldn’t disagree. It was all true. Hell, my career as a sex blogger was born out of my rebellion against my conservative catholic upbringing. What was his point?

“But when Mercy cornered you today, challenging you in a way that made you feel uncomfortable, you decided to throw me under the bus.”

“What? I didn’t--”


“Fuck!” I cursed, dancing on the balls of my feet again.

“Did I ask you to speak? I’m talking here.”

His hand went between my legs, splitting my slick lips and fingering my clit.

“I’m only just getting to know your family. There are already so many differences—race, religion, economic status.” He plunged two fingers inside of me and I groaned with want. “And you’ve added another...” I backed into his hand sinking those fingers deeper, wanting some release after the punishment he’d given me. “One that will seem a million times worse than any of the others.” His lips were suddenly at my ear, whispering viciously, “Did you ever think this was something I didn’t want them to know about me? That I’d want to keep it private?”

Shit...Oh, shit. The thought had never occurred to me. This was what I had done wrong. “Elijah, I--”

“I guess I understand why you did it. As much as you claim to be comfortable with your sexuality, you’re still a little ashamed of it. The shame in you made you do it. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s no one’s business what we do inside these walls. I trusted you to understand that. But if you didn’t understand it before, you will now.” One of his hands covered my mouth, silencing me, holding me in place. The other unleashed fucking hell.

If I thought he was punishing me before, it was clear to me I’d never known what punishment was. His hand felt as heavy and thick as a wood paddle and it covered my entire back end. My ass the backs of my legs, my goddamn pussy--caught his blows. I begged and sobbed behind his hand. The moment he peeled his fingers away my cries of pleasepleaseplease echoed in the quiet the kitchen.

I caught his movement in my peripheral vision a second before I heard the soft rustle of his lounge pants dropping to the floor. My face, tearstained and sticking to the now warm glass, split into a grin when his hands grabbed my waist and his cock found my center like a divining rod.

Yesss...” I groaned as he sank into me.

He smacked me hard again but the pain was absorbed by the pleasure of his deep strokes. “God, woman. You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am...I am. I’m so fucking lucky.”

And I felt even luckier when his hand skimmed down my lower belly to find my clit. He dropped a kiss between my shoulder blades then curled around me, bending my spine, making it impossible not to feel every inch of him.

“Mmmm...fuck,” he cursed softly into my hair.

He pulled away and I chanced a look at him over my shoulder. The sly smile had returned to his lips while he focused on the place where our bodies came together. He slowed his pace. A soft gasp parted his lips with every withdrawal, hinting at how close he was to coming apart. I flexed around him, gripping his cock tight with my pussy. That earned me a good hard smack that made me yelp.

“Just can’t fucking behave, can you?”

He withdrew so abruptly that I gasped at the emptiness. A fist twined into my hair and wheeled me around until my ripe ass bumped against the kitchen table. With one hand between my breasts he pushed me down until I lay flat on my back on the table top.

“Put your feet up on the table.”

When I did he curled his hands around my knees and slowly pushed them apart until all of me was exposed to him.

“Yvie, you are so fucking perfect,” he breathed then dropped down to his knees and put his mouth between my legs.

A short while ago we sat across from each other at this table, perfectly tame, eating challah and soup, and I watched his lips pucker as he sipped red wine. Those same lips wrapped around my clit while his fingers pushed inside of me, easily finding the bundle of nerves against the roof of my flushed pussy.

“Eli,” I moaned, grabbing a handful of his hair.

“Come on, baby...” he encouraged, then dragged his tongue over my clit.

My back arched off the table. The welts and bruises woke up on my ass but, I didn’t give a damn. God, I loved his mouth. And what he was doing with his fingers promised to obliterate me if he kept it up.

I should have known he wouldn’t.

But what he did next....

His fingers slipped out of me then the same hand, with four extended fingers he slapped my pussy.

My clit already felt as big and hard and that one tiny slap made me come, yowling like an alleycat. The contractions were scary strong and I couldn’t help looking down the length of me to watch the reactions of my own body. My hips were hovering a good foot above the table top. I had absolutely no control over the way my pussy fucked into the empty air. My hands had somehow found my breasts and I tugged at my own nipples, intensifying the spasms between my legs. Elijah watched me for a moment before he grabbed both my hips and arrowed right into me, causing another wave of convulsions. I moaned and clung to him as he banged his cock into me. His hands came down and around my sore ass and lifted me off the table top. From there all I could do was hold on while he drew me up and down his length. I locked my ankles at the small of his back and helped him maintain the pace when I felt him faltering.

In this moment, with him coming and chanting my name, I realized the real reason why I liked to be spanked. Yes, it was about trust, but this moment, this inexplicable thing between us was what I craved most. This passion. Love was easy enough. Lust, too. But this...this singular and perfect thing I have never had it with any other man. This was I what seeking in every man I used once then threw away. The first time was usually like this but I’d never had that same intensity the second time around. Not until Elijah.

Sweat-sticky and spent, I lay under him, wishing for a redo of my conversation with my sister. Now I knew exactly what to say when she said she didn’t get it.

“Passion...” I panted on his parted lips. “It’s about passion.”

Back to blog

Leave a comment