Moving Day!

Well, I got packed quicker than I thought. Rusty Nale has a new address. These doors on this blog will remain open for those who can't find their way.

However, my new lodging is at:

THE NEW ADVENTURES OF RUSTY NALE 2

OR

rustynale.com

Please don't forsake me - come to my new digs, and bring your friends ... there's room!

And, THANK YOU all for your patience and dedication. Always, Rusty!

BURNING WILLOW

BURNING WILLOW
Review and/or Purchase Your Copy of My New Book

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Taffeta

So, everyone's wondering - can Rusty actually write? Or does she just bitch about her ever-broken heart?

Here's an excerpt from my book that I have (finally) returned my attention to:

Taffeta

It’s after dark, and I arrive in the parking lot of the warehouse. It is empty, except for one lone light I can see from the lot. Hesitantly, I make my way through the unlocked door as Gio instructed me, and wander through the darkened building. At the end of the hall there is a light which tells me he’s there. I follow the light, and find myself in a large musty office. I can tell someone is standing in the corner in the dark, but my eyes won’t adjust to the light. He comes towards me, and I see he has a black hood over his head, and wears a beautiful blue silk suit. He does not speak, nor do I. We both know why I am there.


I have come to his office to be spanked.

A total stranger – we both are – and I have come here to allow him to spank me. What kind of an idiot am I? Gio arranged this and told me I had to do whatever this man desired. I told him I did not like the idea, but he kept insisting that if I trusted him, I would do whatever he asked.

The anonymous man takes my hand and leads me to the desk, and very gently bends me forward, and I rest on my elbows, waiting. He brushes the hair from my face and look away in defiance. His hand is on my rump, rubbing my plump behind through the fluffy taffeta skirt of my cocktail dress. I twist my ass a little nervously, but I can also feel his fingers creeping up through the layers of taffeta, lace and netting, resting on my warm behind, clad in sheer chiffon panties. I wish he would not do this. Why did I come here? I’m very uncomfortable.

Leaving formalities behind, he raises my skirt, draping it and all my petticoats over my shoulders, hiding my face, I can see nothing, but hear him moving behind me, and feel his warm fingers at the top edge of my panties. They’re going down, down, down, twisted around my ankles. Kneeling behind me, he makes me step out of them, stroking my thighs, my hips, and my buttocks. A shudder goes through me just in time to receive the first horrific WHACK! What the hell was that? I can’t see. I don’t know. WHACK! Oh, my God, what IS that???

And again, and again and again. I cry out and squirm, shifting from one foot to another. Oh, please, please don’t do this to me … oh. But, they continue, whack after whack. I think I could faint. Suddenly, as quick as they started, they stop. I am so relieved, I start to get up, but he shoves me back down onto the desk, and places next to my face the implement used to pummel my bottom. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see it is a large wooden ruler.

And then, the real spanking begins. His bare hand is solid and square upon my large globes, already burning in pain and shame, jiggling to no avail. I’m trying not to give him the satisfaction of my tears, but I choke them back, fully aware of how shameful I must look, presenting my bottom to a total stranger for punishment. Oh, please, sir, please don’t beat me so hard. The swats go on and on and on and on. I throw myself forward onto the desk, holding onto the other edge, babbling and blubbering. He spanks me relentlessly, so hard; I feel my knees go weak. In my misery, I cry out into the caverns of the warehouse, “Gio! Gio! Please, make him stop! Make him stop!”

“Why did you come here?” he growls. I don’t answer; trying to make out his voice, I shake my head through my tears. SMACK! “Willow. Why are you here?” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!

A shuddering mass, I sob, “So you can do this to me!”

“Why?”

“Giovanni said I had to.”

“No, why are you here?”

SMACK, SMACK.

“Because I need you to.” … SMACK, SMACK, SMACK! … “Ohhhh…”

SMACK.

“Need me to what?”

“I need you to spank me. I need to be spanked. I have to be spanked. I must. I’ve been horrid lately. I feel so guilty; so ashamed …” My tears are lost on you. The spanking is never ending. Finally, I collapse across the desk. I can smell the furniture polish; smell the ink from a ballpoint pen, my gardenia perfume, steaming from the crack above my blazing ass, and the same perfume on the ruler next to my nose.

Stroking my burning ass, you are whispering to me softly, telling me sweet things, cooing me like a baby, as I sob quietly into the blotter on the desk.

“Willow,” you groan into my neck …

“Ah, yes, yes,” I moan.

“Your bare bottom really deserves my belt, now, doesn’t it?”

“No! No! Not the belt!” I squeal. I can feel him pry my cheeks apart, cool air caressing my pulsating anus. And, then I can hear the distinct sound of leather leaving belt loops; a quick flip and a snap in the air, and you’ve doubled the thick, worn leather, flashing across my burning bottom like a fiery snake. “Ohhhh, God! Please, please don’t do this to me.”

Who is he? Why would he do this to me? Why would Gio have him do this to me, and why am I allowing him to do this to me.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar sensation teases my virginal asshole. Even Gio has never taken me there, but this is foreign, cold and frightening. He slams it down on the desk next to me with the ruler, and I am in awe of its beauty. I recognize it as a butt plug, sterling silver and very ornate, designed so the raised engraving can be felt as it travels deeper into the receiving end of the bottom. No, not for me. I never agreed to anything like this. But, Gio said I had to do whatever this man wanted, and I was too far gone to retreat.

I could feel him begin to massage some type of greasy lubricant into my puckered ass, which kept closing up on him as he worked his dexterous fingers in and out of me. I involuntarily began to spread my legs, exposing my wilting cunt and opening my asshole for his exploration. And, then, I feel it cold, smooth and obtrusive, as he begins to work it slowly up my behind. Then he stops, his hand firmly placed on the small of my back.

“Willow, I want you to wiggle and push your ass back to receive this plug up your rectum. I’m not going to move; you take it in and suck it up your fat ass!” I don’t move, horrified at the request. “If you don’t follow instructions, you will be caned with a metal rod that’s right there on my chair.” I glance over and see it in plain sight. I’m so afraid, but I take a deep breath, and through my utmost shame and humility I begin to squirm my hips, rotating my big ass onto the waiting silver invader. “Push!” he urges, and I push, arching my back and working my behind so hard taking it deeper and deeper and deeper into my tormented bottom. I am so humiliated and humbled, I began to weep softly again, trying desperately to ignore the tingling going on deep between my pussy and ass. My pussy begins to seep warm honey profusely. “Nasty girl!” he quips, and to my surprise, takes a quick swipe at my ass with the rod. I shriek in pain and shock, and wait for the next swat, but it does not come.

One of his hands is buried in my soaking pussy, and he leans forward and kiss my tenderized bottom right where he just lashed me. Keeping his hand in my cunt, he leans in and sends his belt flying all over my defenseless bottom, being sure the target – in this case, the base of the silver plug buried up my backside – receives the end of the belt, sending it deeper into me with each lash. I stomp my feet furiously, arch my back, and feel the wetness between my legs begin to soak the inside of my thighs and his busy fingers. I am certain Gio is not aware this man is having his way with Gio’s own ass and cunt. Surely he would kill this man.

An ass whipping! Who ever thought I’d come to you, a grown woman, for an ass whipping. “I should do this to you in front of your friends,” he tells me, my legs spreading wider and wider, my bottom flopping every which way. I know he is enjoying the view and I’m ashamed he has aroused me. “You deserve to be whipped naked in front of them all. Let them see what a nasty slutty cunt you are.” Five more horrific lashes, and he stops, letting me breathe. But, of course, he is back with his teeth fastened to the back of my neck I am helpless, so helpless. Oh, when did Gio give me to him?

“Count these last 10 strokes, baby.” And they begin, with the ruler again. SMACK!

“Ugh … 1” SMACK!

“Two.” SMACK!

“Thr … three … oh, God, please, STOP!” SMACK!

SMACK, SMACK … right above my thighs where my garter belt meets my silk stockings. I scream in pain.

“How many, Willow?”

“Six…” My tears are inconsolable. He holds me, supporting me under my shoulders; my head falls back onto his chest, tears streaming down my face, my neck, into my cleavage. SMACK!

“Seven” In agony, my behind rises and falls, my cunt pounding against the edge of the desk, and I feel a hand creep to my breasts, pinching my hardened nipples through my dress. “Ohhh, ohhh, no, no …” SMACK! SMACK!

“Nine!” You start to count for me as I’m beyond speech, my backside pumping up and down, his hand holding my hot bottom tightly. “Ready, baby?” My breath is heavy and labored. And he delivers one fierce blow to my backside right across the crack, sending sharp bolts through my body. Kicking wildly, I try to climb the desk, but he holds me steady, still squeezing my nipples. I can’t stand this, and he flip me over onto my back; one hand on my clit, the other massaging my still writhing bottom. And quickly, very, very quickly, I cum. I can’t stop cumming. I cum all over his hand, all over his desk. I can’t stop. He’s mastered me, and he too, whomever he is, owned my ass.

He leaves me there lying across the desk, my legs spread, exposing my dripping cunt to the world. I cannot breathe, cannot move; afraid to move. It’s dark and I’m frightened, and I begin to tremble. How will I get out of there? Where am I even? I can hear my trembling heart in the darkness and cover my face with my hands as I shamefully begin to cry softly. How could Gio do this to me? Why? And, why oh why did I respond to this stranger so easily.

Suddenly, I am embraced by the familiar, soothing scent of cedar and cinnamon. Gio is near me, and in the darkness I reach for him, unknowing where he is. Instantly, I am gathered up in his arms as he kisses my face over and over again. “You were a good girl; baby … a good girl … a very good girl.”

Annoyances

At what age does a man begin to learn basic manners? No, it's not going to be a man-bashing session, because I know women can be just as guilty of treating others in a not-so-shabby-chic-manner ...

Being at a stage in my life when I am feeling ultimately vulnerable, fragile and weakened, I try to protect myself, nurturing myself, gently, while my torn wings heal. I've met a man - I've met a couple of men - within the last six weeks, and (because they've both behaved the same way) I'm going to generalize them together into one man here - just for the sake of editorializing this post.

Met him on a dating site - we talked, wrote and seemed to like each other very much ... he suddenly had something side-swipe his world and he suddenly stopped communicating with me - although he remained actively on the site ... he swore he was interested, and begged my forgiveness - could we try again?

... REMEMBER, I am really talking about 2 different men, so, if "you're" reading this - don't be so vain thinking I mean you ...

I said I don't know - hurt me once - I might try to understand why you've done what you've done - hurt me twice - then fuck you! It's as simple as that ... There is no 3rd chance - no 3 strikes you're out - it's only twice - you're lucky.

So, here's the thing - he says, Yes, I'm serious - I'd like another chance; I'd like to actually get to know you ... I asked him if he was aware of my erotic tastes and he says yes - he's visited this blog, and he knows ... but, when I mention it to him more specifically, he is taken back somewhat - he has no clue what I'm talking about until I (gently) tell him about me ... So, what part of this blog does not say that I am sexually submissive? Putting that aside, he's a sweetheart, and I decide I still like him, and yeah, I'd like to try again too ...

But, I want to start over; back to square one - the emails, and later a possible visit ... though, I did calculate our time lost into the equasion - maybe we could meet sooner. However, I did beg him to please not take me on any other trips; don't ignore me; don't keep me in the dark; don't toy with or waste my time; don't promise me what you have no intention or capability of delivering. He said he would never treat me that way again ... of course he said that ... He'd call me the next day, and we'd set our plans in motion ...

Of course he didn't call ... duh! ... Of course he was online ... Of course he didn't have the manners or common courtesy to say, 'hey, I changed my mind; or hey, I'm busy right now; I'll get back to you later ...' Just more of the same bullshit from before.

Third strike - third chance? Um, remember my rules - I don't think in terms of 3's.

He said, another guy - one of his "g's" - said to beware of me because I'm on the site all the time. WTF? What's THAT supposed to mean - that I'm a Site Whore? I don't know; but he immediately said, (and this is the other half of the alter ego talking) that me being onsite all the time made me a player. Hmm, I'm flattered.

I'm not talking about teenagers, or 20, 30 or even 40 year old boys ... I'm talking grown men in their 50's ... Five decades is enough to learn basic manners, courtesy and being gentle and kind to one another ... you would think.

Would I consider having either spank me - in love or war? Hell no! If I can't trust you with my heart, what makes you think I'll turn my ass over to you too?

Sunday, April 25, 2010

And so it goes ...

I've had many well wishers offer me wonderful greetings regarding my "new beau," who happens to not be my new beau anymore ... So, what else is new? I think I've got this huge magnet attached to the back of my ass that attracts men who profess their undying love to me as their lives fly out of control before their eyes.

NEWS FLASH! One cannot love or try to love someone else when you've got issues and demons plaguing your every move. You may mean well, with all good intentions, but if you cannot love - or even like yourself - you're totally incapable of giving to others. And this is sad, because everyone deserves love and to be loved and to give love ... But, you also need to be prepared to receive love first. Have you ever met someone who does not know how to take kindness? They can't accept a compliment, or a gift - no matter how simple the gift or the gesture? Yet, these are the people who want to do it all for you, and then when it becomes too overwhelming for them, they bail and wail and cause all hell to break loose.
I am certain you aren't following my rant here ... I'm just thinking out loud. But, my search does continue for my perfect dom-love ... However, in the meantime, my adventures will continue to guide me -- magnet be damned!

On another note, I have put my original novel on hold in lieu of a new and improved version - PLEASE keep your eyes open and I promise, lovers, to give you some sweet tidbits very soon!

Ciao!

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Say What?

I've met a new love! And I am in love! And he is in love! At long last ...

So, the number one question is -- This wonderful man; is he a dominant soul? No, in truth, he is not dominant, but he is definitely an alpha male, and he can definitely handle me.

This has proven to be a perfect union so far. Very soon after we met, I disclosed to him my desire to be sexually submissive - and moreover, I wanted to be sexually submissive to him. No, he did not run for the hills as I thought he would, but he was quietly intrigued. His interest rose and I told him more.

I believe he's been here to visit my blog, but he and I have not really consumated a spanking relationship - yet - although he did feel fit to show me a swat or two the first time we were intimate. Quite impressive - he's done this before. He never said that he hasn't, nor has he said that he has. But, it felt like he had.

A funny thing happened the other evening. We scheduled a play date and visited a local hotel for the evening; just for a getaway. Our relationship is very affectionate and playful, and I was just getting comfortable when he reached over to a nightstand and pulled out - of all things - a fly swatter! Please know, I have never been to a hotel room that had a fly swatter in it before.

My love asked me if I wished him to sterilize it first, and I could not imagine what fly would care whether his executioner sterilized the fly swatter or not. I was quite amused until I realized what he intended to do with it. Before I could answer, I received three sharp cracks to my bottom without warning. It did not hurt that much, but the surprise of it all was highly erotic to me - He held it poised over my backside a moment or two longer and I closed my eyes in anticipation of the next onslaught, but it never came.

He looked thoughtful as he placed it back in the drawer, before making wild lucious love to me. How odd that was? I think he's feeling his way around me.

I'm tickled pink!

Friday, January 8, 2010

A Different Kind of Hurt; The Kind That Comes From Within


So yes, dears, I have been absent a long while. I'm sorry, but life happens and I've had some inner struggles as well as serious family issues I had to tend to. But I have returned, because there's no place like home, and where else can I vent, question and scream at the top of my lungs without judgment?

In answer to some (silly nillies') question, no, I have not been spanked lately. Nor have I found anyone worthy of spanking me. But, worse than that, I feel as if I've been spanked in the heart.

If you did not know, I've been divorced for less than a year after a 17 year marriage that was more platonic than anything else. Upon the eve of my 55th year, I wanted to fulfill my desire to be in a spanking relationship - not so much as a sub, but well, just to meet my needs as a spankee in a loving, playful relationship.

Well, I'd pretty much given up on finding that; I met more wannabees and fake asses than anything, or men who wanted more - much more. So, I had decided to just go ahead and focus on (hopefully) meeting someone for a vanilla relationship and forget all my dreaming. And I did. A few. But my problem is, I can't keep my mouth shut, and I always tell them about my desires - and that either leads to a quick departure or someone trying to convert me. These acts only make me realize all the more that I really do have to have some level of spanking in my life, if anything, to keep my mind in check; it's therapeutic - screaming on a keyboard is nothing like letting it go beneath the sharp sting of a paddle ...

But, I met him. I'd met him some time ago online and we became friends. But he was elusive and sometimes I'd hear from him, sometimes not ... but I always liked him. Then we re-met again recently, and became very close ... I think we did ... he said we did, and I trusted him. Plans were made to get together and things seemed to be going well. I began to ignore my other suitors, did not return phone calls, emails, or the rare box of Christmas candy that came in the mail. My heart was shanghaied in an instant.

Funny, isn't it, when you decide to finally settle down and focus on one partner, when out of the blue, they all come out of the woodwork - all of those that you longed for so long ago, but they never had the patience or would give you the time of day. So they fuck up their lives, run to the arms of another, and want you to fix it ... My grandmother, a God- fearing righteous woman, would have had a genteel answer for this. She would have simply said, "Fuck-Em!"

So, why is it hurting me so deeply? Why does my heart ache like a sickeningly stupid school girl's? Why does this still happen at this point in life?

I believed when I first divorced, that meeting a man of a certain age would be simple and enjoyable. Who knew they all had these weird agendas? Either they had been married to the same woman all of their adult lives, and were newly divorced or widowed, and they wanted to make up for lost time - sow some oats that have long gone rancid - believing that the 20 year old celluloid cupie doll came with brains and wants him?

Am I ranting today in this new year? Hell yes! It's my fucking blog!