So I was spanking Beth last night. It had been a long 4th of July, made longer by the air conditioning dying. I had wanted to spank her all day long but it was just too hot and sticky. Around 10 at night, it had cooled down enough to actually enjoy some skin on skin contact.
Thirty minutes of butt-whooping later, her ass was baby blanket pink. Beth was bent over her bed, her wrists bound behind her back with my purple cuffs. Her hair was a tangled mess because I kept pulling it. She was grinding against the bed, partially because I told her to and partially because her hips had their own commands. Her knees shook a little during the last series of spanks I gave her so I gave her a moment to recover.
I grab her hair and lifted her face off the bed. “Want me to keep going?” I asked.
“Yes,” she purred.
“Then ask for it,” I said.
It was like pulling the cork out of a bottle. Words spilled out with a rush of emotion. Beth begged me to keep going. She pleaded with me to hurt her. She called me by name to do terrible things to her ass. It all came out in a torrent of desire, subservience and masochism. The last thing in the world she wanted was for me to stop, and the thing she wanted most was for me to be the one to do it to her.
I shoved her face back down into the bed. My knees were shaking now. Her words ricocheted inside my head, setting off so many good feelings I couldn’t keep track of them all. I felt mean, I felt good, I felt powerful, I felt sexy, I felt benevolent, I felt skilled, I felt adored, I felt feared and I felt alive. Her begging was better than any orgasm could have been.
I picked up the mean black paddle and gave her exactly what she deserved.