Breaking Leigh Act VII

(To read Breaking Leigh Act IAct IIAct IIIAct IV , Act V or Act VI)

She only wears The Panties™ when we scene.

By anyone’s standards not the sexiest of undergarments. They just about cover her entire ass in an opalescent white cocoon of satin. The cotton crotch offers some definition to the rear view. They are, by all accounts, boring. Simple. Innocent.

Which is exactly why they are, without question, one of the fucking sexiest things I ever get to see her in. For all the same reasons they are not enticing they are unnervingly so.

They call to mind the innocence of youth, of when a young girl’s thoughts start to muddy from virgin white to darker hues. When fingers over that cotton crouch hint at naughty treasures hiding below. The dilemma of invading the sanctity of the waistband with slender digits while the bedroom door is locked after school, before Mom or Dad get home. Those initial awkward probings of soft, smooth folds and their neighbors. What will become one of the most valuable lessons she will ever learn.

How to pleasure herself.

And when that is mastered (ironic choice of words) the ability to make herself orgasm, which upon successful passing of that test ensures advanced study every single opportunity she gets.

And for a boy, who is going through his own version of prisoner interrogation himself on an almost hourly basis, it will be an accidental glimpse of the same type of panties that will, at that moment of his young life, be the most erotic experience he likely has had. It will fuel weeks or months of masturbation.

Fast forward a few decades (or more) and the same fucking plain white panties, when stretched tautly across the glowing red ass of a hot redhead lying over your knee, still have the same fucking effect on grown up boys.

The feel is exquisite. So smooth. Not a dimple, line, an iota of any imperfection. Women who are self-conscious about their backsides (which would be all of you) should take heed at the way these simple panties make every ass perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.

I love how the waist and thigh bands just barely dig into the flesh, creating simple furrows that beg for fingers to slip beneath their elasticity and, like that first time, play with what treasures hide within their satin confines.

Or, as the case may be, also be the recipient of hundreds of stinging blows from the stiff hand of the person spanking those hidden cheeks.

“EeehhhHHHH!!” Leigh howled as the steady rhythm of SMACKS were replaced with far more shrill, intense and sharper CRACKS against her throbbing ass.

Just like over her plaid skirt, the ritual repeated anew. A single circular rub of each cheek, then CRACK with a firm hand, to the next cheek, rub, CRACK.

Again. And again. Massaged, spanked, about a four as far as force.

“If CRACK I’ve CRACK told CRACK you CRACK once CRACK I’ve CRACK told you CRACK a thousand CRUNK (fuck, missed the sweet spot) times CRACK not CRACK (that’s better) to CRACK not CRACK fucking CRACK play CRACK with the CRACK toys CRACK without CRACK permission!”

Leigh squirmed, whimpered, made that lovely “MmmmhhMMMM!!” sound I adore, all the while her breath grew ragged and deeper. Her legs did a pathetic butterfly stroke. It was fucking beautiful how every aspect of her fought the inevitable. I loved it.

“BUT I DIDN’T!!!!” she CRACK yelled at CRACK me CRACK!

Oh, attitude? I see…

This warranted a reply via one of my favorite techniques – spanking the same ass cheek without interruption. I’ll usually do ten or twenty blows in a row on the same fucking spot. No chance for it to even remotely recover. So instead of the same volume over and over, this turned the volume (and pain) up exponentially with each spank. The heat and sting became their own fuel for more of each other. They ate each other, then cannibalistically danced over the targeted cheek and her psyche in an almost primal blood lust.

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK by now she started to breathe faster CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK her one ass cheek was growing cast iron skillet hot CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK she began to focus breathe CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK made that high-pitched whimper all shrill and sexy CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK at which point she was almost rigid with pain.

Then the same on the other cheek. Immediately.

Once I had her fucking attention again, it was time for a break. Let her think about that while she leveled off at the new altitude of subspace ascent I blistered her into. Soft massages. Gentle voice. Her focused breathing slowed down as we came back together as Sir and doll. The eye of the hurricane.

Then right back to every other. No break. And harder. At least a five. Building a brand new fire from the embers of the last one, each inferno hotter than before. Each stroke of my increasingly faster, more violent hand firmer, harder, more viscous in intent.

Again. And again.

You spank an ass like you temper steel. Heat, forge, strike, cool, heat hotter, forge hotter, strike harder, cool. Repeat until the fucker is glowing cherry red.

One more time we did this, with the last of them easily a six in effort. CRACK became CRACK! 

Again. And again.

Until she zenithed. When her shaking body language and outright frantic screams conveyed she was there.

That’s when I become her Sir. I earn my fucking respect right there when she is twisting on the edge of the knife fight that Doubt and Trust are having inside her. When she hears the bastard Doubt whisper “Maybe….”

“Breathe….” is all I said, maybe “Focus….”. More her coach than a sadomasochist.

I wanted her to break new ground, establish higher thresholds, be able to take and enjoy more of everything she had worked so hard for.

“Breathe…”

And she did. And she broke through into the abyss, one she had never been to before.

I neglected to mention that, all the while, my hand had become an Instrument of Ass Destruction. I fucking beat her ass cheeks with a fervor the whole time I coached her up, monitoring her for when it was time to…

…stop.

Think its easy Dominating someone? Fuck. You. Its work.

Both of our hearts were racing. My hand stung like a mother fucker, but nowhere near what Leigh’s ass cheeks must have felt like. With some graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate I’m fairly certain I could have toasted S’Mores off her ass. The carb reload would have done us both some good.

“Good girl” I whispered between breaths as my hand massaged those scorched white panties. I could literally feel Leigh’s pulse coursing up  through my fingertips as they danced across the warm satin, now a sea of candlelit hued tranquility.

She cleared her throat, raspy air filled the silence only broken by the sound of a whirring ceiling fan, two racing pulses and countless horny crickets who were privy to the audio portion of all of this. The irony of their lovelorn chirps against the countless CRACKS of just not even a minute early was almost poetic.

chirp…chirp

“You were very good,” I wryly stated. “You handled that very well. Good girl.”

A huff of appreciation was her reply, a long exhale, then silence.

chirp….chirp

Only one thing left to do.

Those naughty panties were in the way, and they needed to come off.

Breaking Leigh Act VIII

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24 responses to “Breaking Leigh Act VII

  1. I freaking LOVE your writing. So very much. How you manage to be so damn Dom sexy in one line and hilarious is the next line is beyond me.
    I can’t wait for more!

    • Its more about the spanking than any reasons. Leigh is admittedly against spanking as a form of discipline or humiliation. She likes to be spanked, as she said, “for the sake of spanking.”

  2. “You spank an ass like you temper steel.”

    THAT, my friend, is one of the clearest statements I’ve ever seen written on the subject.

    Hell to the Yeah. Very nice.

    • Its true. Too hot too fast and its brittle as old bones. Too cool too slow and its dull and lifeless. But done right it will touch the sky or slice a man in two with a single swipe.

  3. Pingback: Please Sir, May I Have Some More? « deviant wench

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