Fidgeting is just nervous squirming. And squirming drive me insane.
I’m blessed that Leigh is, of the four S’s a woman is in bed (Squealer, Squirmer, Screamer, Squirter) a rare quinella of all four, with an emphasis on the Squealer-Squirmer. The Squirter is an add-on to those, which is followed by the Screamer.
But the squirms get me. And her barely plaid skirt covered ass was doing just that over my seated lap.
She was adjusting herself, getting in a comfortable enough position to stay in for quite a while. For it was going to take that long to build the fire in her ass cheeks to a cherry red glow worthy of tears of joyous pain. She moved forward a little, placed her hands on the floor, wiggled her hips back and forth to find that indent where her soft parts dovetailed into my increasingly harder ones.
With a cessation of movement she told me without saying a word that she was ready.
My eyes soaked up the vision sprawled across my lap. The back of her head was still within arm’s reach if I so desired, her auburn tresses more amber in hue from the warm glow of candlelight. How that tight white sweater smoothed out the arch of her lower back, the delicious curve that it is ramping majestically into a sea of short plaid pleats that acted like naughty waves crashing against the white cliffs of Bendover.
Her milky thighs (I adore her pale skin) flowed down from these arched heights into those hot as fuck white knee socks, which like the sweater almost had a soft peach hue thanks to the grotto of candles we lit in memory of what was to become of her backside. The Mary Janes were primarily visible for their heels only, but I could hear them clickity clack the wooden floor.
All in all a masterpiece of faux innocence. And it was all for my taking.
“What the fuck am I going to have to do to you to make you understand?” was my invitation to the remainder of the evening as my right hand-made slow circles over her slightly taut ass.
The scruff sound of wool on white satin panties was symphonic. Over and over I traced small patterns on her ass. Exploring the sweep of the nearest of the offered cheeks (the left one), allowing my fingers to hug its smooth curvature, dipping into the valley that separated it from its naughty twin sister across the way. Then, without ever leaving touch of that plaid skirt exploring the other one as well. A tactile calm before the storm.
Leigh’s breathing grew deeper, more pronounced. I’m sure some of that had to do with the position she was in. I’m also sure some of that had to do with the position she put me as a result of needing to be disciplined for her “teasing” our “neighbor” Mr. Hardwood.
I should also point out that, as much as I was enjoying not just the sights and sounds of this schoolgirl feast, that my hand was also establishing exactly where the curve of her ass cheeks broke above her thighs. This is the sweet spot. This is where I need to be a kinky Robin Hood and hit the bulls-eye a few thousand times in a row.
That’s not an exaggeration, mind you. Leigh and I read stories, blog posts, watch videos and see spanking sessions that, in total, might have a hundred some spanks total, if that.
Leigh requires and deserves better than that. She is not into sharp, sudden, striking pain. And for the lucky son of a bitch who gets to use their hand on such rich canvas of arched skin I often wonder “What’s the rush?” It’s like having a multi-course gourmet meal and wolfing it down in huge bites. Why even bother?
No, my Leigh can take a few thousand blows in a good scene no problem. I’ll spend hundreds just warming her up….literally.
Others may argue against our views but why start with, on a scale of 0 (love tap) to 10 (intent to injure) at level 7 or 8? This does not allow for the blood to surge to the afflicted area in a steady stream of endorphin and dopamine pumping torrents. Plus its hard work. Patience…
Think of it this way – would you start your car in the dead of single digit January temps and immediately punch the gas to 5000RPMs? Then why would you do the same to a lovely set of buttocks?
So, with my strike zone established via the extended exploration and teasing of her ass cheeks, I placed my left hand on the small of her back while raising my right hand off her skirt no more than 18″ at the most. Keeping it firm, steady, like a paddle, no gaps in the fingers, my wrist tight….
…I brought it down hard and flat on the underside of her nearest ass cheek.
Leigh jumped at the first blow. Even through a wool skirt and silk panties it was good sting, almost a 5. My hand then traversed over to the right side, the one furthest from me. After making a solitary circular motion with it
No, that’s not a typo. It received the same blow in the same place, only that in it more of a reach the flat of my hand strikes it at a different angle. I made a mental note as to where and how the blow was delivered and received. I wanted the evening to sound like a blind man was spanking her and could, via just sound , strike the same place again and again and again.
She whimpered some, so pathetic in her pouting.
A slow circle of her near cheek, SMACK, same on the right cheek, SMACK. that’s better. The pace is slow, a few seconds SMACK between each spank deliberately and on SMACK purpose. Often it’s not the pain but the SMACK anticipation, the trepidation, that’s fucking sweet. Plus SMACK I need to pace not just her but myself. It would SMACK serve neither of us if my shoulder grew tired from SMACK too much energy so early in the SMACK evening.
She and I have SMACK at least another 30 minutes of SMACK this…