“And to think you have five more minutes of this before you’re done!” I seethed.
Which was true. I’d been, with a few breaks to allow her to plateau, been steadily blistering her ass cheeks for 25 minutes. Yes, I’d made a mental note as to when the first SMACK echoed that night. My telling her about the next 300 seconds of her life was two fold. It allowed me to stay in character, yet convey to Leigh critical information right as the scene was at its most intense. I never stopped spanking or said “yellow” or otherwise took away from the magic that we both had worked so hard to create. She now knew she only had five minutes of this torture left, which did wonders for her fight or flight reflex.
It’s the same as turning the last corner of the last lap of a mile race. Up until then your brain screams “STOP RUNNING YOU FUCK!” at your body. It has no idea how long this agony is going to continue. But when you can physically see the finish line that same brain, the one that has been holding reserve energy all along, says “Oh….OK. Here, have some more!” and you get a second wind in that you now know there will not just be an end but its in sight and will arrive soon.
The second reason I shared this tidbit with her was simple. It was fucking fun and sadistic.
“EhhhhHHHHHH!!!” she shrieked at the news, all the while the brush a virtual blur of CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK on her now cherry red ass. Her legs kicked in frantic response. Panting gobs of air were as violently sucked in her as I was beating on her. Oh how she whimpered! Saliva patterns covered the floor and wall courtesy of her wretched breathing. The palms of her hands stomped flat with what I assume was a primal urge to escape, perhaps fight off the inevitable. The unmistakable sound of nasal congestion was a welcome newcomer to this erotic symphony. Why?
That meant that tears had to be not far behind.
I picked up the intensity. It was now or never.
“Four more minutes!” I yelled. The excitement in the air was beyond static. The air around us felt liquid, lush, alive, surging with the heat of the moment.
“UhhhHHuhhhUHhhUhhhUhhhhHHHuHHH!!!” was the almost drowning acknowledgment. If she wasn’t in full involuntary reply yet she was damn fucking close.
I brought the brush down at a level six for about ten spanks before I heard a frantic, hoarse voice call out. Through raspy, sucking breaths Leigh rasped “No more with the brush!!!”
This wasn’t playing. Fuck, it wasn’t even Leigh’s voice, or at least any voice I had ever heard emitted from her. This was yellow, as in “You’re very close to red, Scot. Listen to me.”
I admit I contemplated ignoring her plea. But this is where it pays to know your submissive. It wasn’t an “Oh no, not three more minutes of this!” reaction, but more “You have driven me past my so thought limits but one more and I’ll scream red” alert.
What to do?
I dropped the brush.
And then, with my bare hand, tore into her ass at a level seven.
SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK as if my life depended on how many vicious blows I could deliver as fast as possible in the same place. Over. And over. And over.
Leigh made an initial “OoohhhhhhHHHHHHHHH”….and then got quiet.
Like death quiet.
“Two more minutes” I said sternly, with admitted concern over her sudden silence. The only sounds I could hear were, to me, what were the auto reflex my arm had become delivering welt after welt to her ass cheeks and my heart beating out of my chest from exertion and love.
Those two dominated what seemed like an eternity to me, but in hindsight were likely not even half a minute, if that.
That’s when I heard it.
One solitary, heaving, low pitched sob split the night like broken glass.
Wailing. Not hysterical, or even wrought with feeling. Just long, lush, wet sounds coming in a slow, staggered rhythm. Sad, soulful, mourning something.
Leigh was crying.
And not just crying. Sobbing. What to me felt like gobs of tears bursting out one after the other, the emotions she had kept dammed up now just flowed, freed at last.
I had broken her. And she had given me the gift of her tears, a gift I wanted so badly to share with her. It was beautiful. And I mean fucking beautiful. There are no words in the English vernacular to even begin to describe how precious that moment was.
Through this all my hand never stopped once. I still spanked her as ferociously as I had been.
“Breath” I calmly offered. “Only one more minute.”
My left hand massaged her lower back, letting her know that even as I rode her hard to the finish that it was all out of compassion. I owed her these next sixty seconds.
I was not privy to the entirety of her face, obviously. But I could see the better portion of the left side of it. The glistening cheek bones told me everything.
She earned the right to sob uncontrollably in silence, to savor each tear, just let herself be, flow, exist. And she did, with exquisite sounding tears that were deep, primal, free of cause. Just running in rivers down her pretty face between each beautiful sob.
And that’s how I broke Leigh. Or more appropriately how we did.
When the clock reached the bottom of the hour my hand stopped. Caresses. Touches. Soft strokes of her beyond abused backside, my other hand massaging her back. All the while she just laid there across my lap and cried without restriction.
“That’s my good girl” I said with a smile. I was so proud of her.
She glanced back at me, her face a destroyed wreck of runny mascara, tear soaked cheeks, swollen eyes, puffy and flushed skin….and meekly smiled.
Aside from when I lifted her veil before kissing her as my wife for the first time, she may have never looked more beautiful.