“Three hard ones. Are you ready?” he asked, but mainly announced.
I took a deep breath in between the swats he had been giving me with the crop knowing they were coming – those hard swats that will take my breath away and test how well my endorphins were working by pushing that pleasure-pain barrier.
The sound of those three hard strikes to my ass intermingled with the music playing throughout the house.
On all fours, I moved and squirmed at bit after the third strike. I felt his hand on my ass, caressing the marks he had just left. The contrast of temperatures – between his hand and my ass – made me realize just how warm he had made it. Between his hand, that evil wooden spoon and the crop, the heat was radiating off of it. I didn’t need to see how red it was as I could feel it.
The sting of those three hard strikes faded as he stroked them – rubbing them a bit. I felt his mouth on them – kissing them, but knew his teeth weren’t far behind. I gasped as he bit at the marks he had left. A different kind of sensation than the ones he had just given me.
And when he pulled away, I knew those first three hard ones were just the start. He swung the crop once more – covering my ass and upper thighs with lighter strikes.
“Three more hard ones. Are you ready?” he warned me again.
Ready or not, was my answer in my head, the answer that was no where near making it to my lips as I was turning the momentary pain into the pleasure I craved – giving me that release I craved even more – a release only pain could give me.
The sound of the crop cutting through the air and hitting my ass once again filled the room.
This time, the hard ones were followed by lighter strikes. With no real pause, he used his words to soothe this time, “That’s my good grrrl.”
I moaned and squirmed.
And he responded with more hard ones.
Earning me more stripes.