“EhhhhHHHH!” Leigh pouted through pursed lips as my hand commenced a slow, steady assault on her ass cheeks, spirit and pride one spank at a time.
I adore this sound. Fucking love it. I only hear it when she is feebly protesting something being done to, in, on or with her person that her inner good girl detests, yet the inner cock slut craves. Its one of my favorite things about Dominating her.
Sorry, my apologies. Before you read any further, engrave this pattern into your mind’s eye, or rather ear:
Now, as you read, keep this beat (bad spanking joke) in mind. For as I paint the picture, it’s frame is having that sound delivered to its arched oh so seductively over my knee’s ass.
Now where was I? Oh yes…
Leigh is a dichotomy. She loves to be disciplined this way. Fuck, she loves to have any variety of kinky, sadistic, perverted things done to, on, in and with her. It allows her to enjoy being forced. I’m honestly not sure what she gets off on more – the physical acts themselves, or the mental and spiritual domination of her body, mind and soul.
She fights. Not with fists and punches but with herself. She hates admitting it, but she loves to be forced to do things good girls don’t do. Submission is her way to explore this aspect of her sexuality. When I dominate her it’s not really “her” that is there. She is, but she isn’t. I’m “forcing” her to do whatever the fuck I want, so she can justify to her “self” that it’s not her willingly, but rather me making her against her will (with safe words, of course).
I love it. I fucking love watching her come unravelled. To feel her inner conflict, fan its flames, talk to her. Actually talk at her. Call her every sort of foul, insulting word. Use her for my sadistic pleasure.
You’re still keeping that SMACK rhythm going, right?
Her breathing got more and more ragged, deeper with each methodical SMACK. Squirming like a 3 year old after cake and ice cream. This is the descent, the beginning of her journey. It was actually, from the sounds and reactions she had, the roughest part. The dopamine and endorphins hadn’t had nearly enough time to pool, to flush her system all floaty and full of pretty colors.
No, this was pain and it was rough. And she loved it.
The amount of force I used per SMACK (keep that aforementioned rhythm up, don’t stop) is what I would call on a scale of 1-10 a solid 4 to 5. Over and over and over my hand SMACKED her SMACK ass SMACK cheeks.
“You just SMACK couldn’t resist playing SMACK with that big ol’ plug, couldn’t SMACK you?” I asked, cold as ice. No emotion. None needed. Stayed in character, plus to be honest I was so into what was going on I didn’t need any cues to do so. And it allowed me to toss another log on the forced fire inside her.
“HmmmmMMMM!” was about the best she could manage as my hand took a break from the blows and massaged her very noticeably warmer rump.
These little interludes allowed me to talk, feed other aspects of the scene, give my rotator cuffs a rest, give her a chance to base camp at whatever level she is at, catch her breath. Most of all it allows blood and the like to return to the area being spanked.
Stroking, or more like it stoking, her ass, I kept up the verbal barrage.
“I get so fucking tired of this Leigh. I work, I come home, and this is what I come home to – a horny lil’ slut who doesn’t understand no means no,” groping her ass cheeks one at a time for seconds on end.
“I didn’t do it!” she gritted back at me, full of feigned scorn and mock anger.
Damn, that was pretty convincing. If I didn’t know better I’d swear she is actually starting to believe all of this.
And with that tossed in my face like a glass of fuck you, the spanking recommenced. You will need to up the imagined force to 5 and the pace to SMACK…………….SMACK…………….SMACK…………….SMACK.
With the first blow she yelped. The cruel reality of the interlude now reared its ugly head in that her ass cheeks were once more flush with blood, blood capable of fueling the raw nerve endings with pain reception anew.
“I SMACK DON’T SMACK FUCKING SMACK BELIEVE SMACK YOU!” was my angered reply. And I was, to a degree.
Her breath immediately hurried its pace. Whimpering, squirming, the occasional gasp, that eye-rolling “EhhhhHHHH!” I adore, a “Stop!!” added here and there, all the while my right hand delivered spank after spank to the same spots on both ass cheeks.
Now it was time to get her over the hump. The frequency became SMACK…..SMACK…..SMACK…..SMACK, basically a spank a second easy. And harder.
Again. And again. Listening to her. She’s getting quieter. Time to “peek in” and remind her:
“Breathe….” is all I said.
And with that, I hear it. The Breath™. The one I have been waiting for. I’m still wailing away on her ass, but she has finally broken the sound barrier, if you will.
She has started what will be her flight into subspace with a single, long, slow deep breath, full of focus and determination. I can feel it.
I surged with satisfaction at her, for her, with her as well as for me.
Faster and faster, a staccato pace now. Her breathing grew frenetic, her spirit started to wail slowly, building louder….louder…..almost……there……so close…..
…and then, when I knew from monitoring all these markers (not easy Dominating someone, is it now?) she had reached a personal red line inside…I took her at least 10 seconds past it.
And with that my hand stopped. She was a panting mess, disheveled in a fit of sweet pain. Her ass was almost hot to the touch, even through the woolen plaid skirt. Massaging it was fun. She gasped in long deep breaths as I grasped in long, firm squeezes each cheek.
“Good girl…” I offered.
She said nothing in return as my hand continued its gentle massage.
“You made it through the first part very well.” A pause for effect, then “We’ll see how you do without….”
And as I spoke, I slowly raised the hem of the plaid skirt to her waist, inch by fucking inch, taking my own sweet time to reveal a pair of almost opalescent white panties firmly stretched over her delicious ass. They practically shimmered in the candlelight.
“…this in the way.”
Her “eeeehhhhHHHH!” was exquisite as she braced for the return of my hand and the pain, but no longer with the skirt to protect her.
I raised my hand and smiled…