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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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Beloved
Naked and silent she felt the roughness of the newly-christened sheets beneath her, chafing against the sore tops of her legs.
"My darling girl. My beloved."
She felt the warmth and the sensation of his hand brushing over her skin, almost imperceptible, smoothing over the blush of her buttocks, the tender redness, the welts he had given her as she had bent and counted just a few minutes before, when he had pushed her into a secret space of stars which exploded and shone just for the two of them.
She moaned into the pillow, feeling the dryness in her mouth as she struggled to stay still, to stay quiet, to please him.
"What do you require me to do, sir?" she asked.
He smacked her bottom sharply.
"Did I give you permission to speak?"
She shook her head, mute and obedient. She felt the touch of his hand exploring her, over each buttock, between them, down the cleft to her pussy, which he ran a finger over, quickly, down the backs of her legs. His fingers felt gentle, loving, protective. She felt the wetness of his kiss as he moved up her legs and back on to her bottom, kissing each cane mark, running his tongue over the vivid purple track.
Then suddenly, again, she was shaking and struggling with pain as he started to slap the backs of her legs, over and over, so hard that she jolted forward on the bed with every contact between palm and thigh. The sound resounded in the room along with her cries, muffled by the pillow.
He stopped. He started to stroke her back.
"Good girl. Look at me."
She turned her head, her eyes wet with tears. She smiled, betraying her pleasure at what he had done to her. He kissed her face, her nose, her lips, nuzzling against her. She rubbed her head against his body. His little plaything, his little pet.
"I think you need more, don't you? Speak. What does my little girl need?"
He heard the words he knew he would hear, coming back to him from the depths of the bed, from the lovely girl with the ruby-red bottom and legs who lay, tempting and naked, face-down before him.
"Please punish me. I have been a bad girl."
He walked to the bed, picked up the hairbrush, and laid her down across his lap. Holding her across the waist he began to spank her with the hairbrush, hard, giving her what she both desired and deserved. Today he would bring her to tears of pain and pleasure, he would make her beg for mercy and yet hunger for more. The wood connected again and again with her bare bottom, already clearly marked from previous sessions, and the long, burning hand spanking he had given her when she had braced herself against the shower cubicle wall earlier. It had been wonderful to smack that shapely and smooth wet skin, and to watch her fighting the impulse to ask him to stop.
Now the hairbrush would have no mercy. He would beat her with it until she could bear no more, until her bottom bore the swollen purple patches of his mastery of her will and her spirit. He smiled to hear her usual protestations, 'please sir, please no more', knowing that unless she gave him the word, she was happy to continue this fascinating game.
"So beautiful," he said.
Now she lies sobbing in his strong arms, her vulnerability and her submission precious gifts that he holds dear as he nibbles her neck and her breasts, holds her fast against him, reaches behind her to cradle and pinch at her bottom, now almost unbearably sore for her, and burning hot to his touch.
"Speak to me, beloved," he says.
"I love you so much, sir. So very much," she says.
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Posted: 10:27 PM, Dec. 9, 2006 |
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