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This blog showcases spanking fetish stories and poetry; plus some other random thoughts and ideas, written by a thirty-something female switch.
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Rose Garden
It was dark when she opened her eyes, although from the sounds around and outside she knew it was day. The blindfold blocked her view and disoriented her, making her believe that it was the dead of night.
She was still wearing the white silk gown and the panties she had put on for him last night, when they had lain in each other's arms all through those post-midnight hours when the world belonged to the cats and the owls. She snuggled up to the warmth of his body, the slow, methodical wheeze of his breathing as he slept.
Now he picked her up and carried her in his arms like a baby, close to him, protected, warm, safe, trusted.
"Where are you taking me?" she whispered.
"Hush, little one. Trust me."
She always did. Through the doors they went, she in his arms, close to his body, close to the smell of him and the pitter-patter of his heartbeat.
He sat down, holding her, cradling her. His mouth sought hers, hungry, soothing, searching, and she responded, feeling protected and loved.
They were outside. She could feel the warm air circling her, the caress of the sun's rays. The scent of the roses enveloped her senses.
And now she was flipped over his lap, lying across him. She gasped just a little as he raised her dress and the whisper of warm air touched the backs of her legs.
"Pretty little doll," he said.
She closed her eyes, still cocooned in blackness, listening to the sounds of distant children playing, of lawnmowers cutting grassy lawns, of traffic.
He stroked her legs, slowly, carefully, lovingly, with gentle hands, down to her feet, over them, and up again.
She felt happy and scared at the same time. Loved but so submissive in the hands of this man who held her and touched her.
She wriggled to help him as he pulled down her panties, starting to stroke and knead her bare bottom, flushed by the warm air and the sunshine.
She moaned as she felt herself getting wetter and more excited, feeling the warmth of his hand against her, slowly exploring and rubbing.
"I think this lovely bottom needs a good spanking, don't you?"
She buried her head against him, into the side of his thigh. She counted and built up the strength she knew she was going to need.
"Yes sir, please."
Soon the summer garden was filled with sound of hard smacks and whimpering cries as he held her fast and spanked her bottom to a ruby red blush, stopping now and then to touch and stroke her, to tease and tickle her, to lay his hand down against her hot skin.
She could hear the birds singing and could feel the material of his trousers as she lay close against his legs, sensing the strength of his body.
With iron hands he gave her the hardest, yet most erotic, spanking she had ever had from him. He dipped down and nibbled at her ears and neck, rubbed her back, rubbed her pussy, ran his fingernails over her feet.
She clung to him as she reached her climax, shuddering and buckling against him, squealing with happiness as he smacked her into her special space and out again.
"Oh God ... oh darling, that was wonderful," she smiled as she huddled against him, small and vulnerable, conquered and content.
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Posted: 10:25 PM, Dec. 9, 2006 |
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