poeticdesires

Category: Spanking

  • Monday Evening Fun

    ~ erotica ~

    “Hi.”

    He’d just gotten home from work, his three piece suite wrinkled from his long day.

    He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me.  The short skirt of my strapless dress barely covered my ass.  My heels accentuated my rump even more so.

    I leaned up against the wall, glancing at him over my shoulder, a perfect view of my rear for his pleasure.  His eyes fell on my ass as I had hoped.

    He looked tired.  I knew he must’ve had a rough day; Mondays usually were.

    “Missed you while you were at work.”

    I purred my words, then swayed my ass to an imaginary beat.

    He put down his briefcase, not acknowledging my show, but his eyes never left my rump.

    I continued to pop my hips, moving my ass back and forth, back and forth.

    He took off his jacket, drapped it over his desk chair, his stare fixed on my rear.  His vest joined his jacket.

    I decided to be bolder.  I bent my knees, eased myself down towards the floor.  His eyes followed my ass.  Low to the ground, I began popping my ass up and down.

    I watched as he loosed his tie, unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

    “Did you miss me while you were at work?”

    He looked up at my face, making eye contact for the first time.

    “Yes,” he said.  “I did.”

    In a heartbeat, he had me.  He grabbed my hair and pulled me to standing.  I bobbled a bit, grabbing his arm.  He brought my face to his.  My eyes would not look away from his gaze.

    He took my previous place against the wall, leaning back and looking at me, his pet.

    He used his grip on my hair to pull me into him.  My hands found the wall for balance, but I didn’t need it.  My cheek rested on his right shoulder.  His right leg was against my crotch.

    His free hand reached down.  My skirt was already half up.  He pulled it the rest of the way, revealing my ass for his view.

    He gripped my right cheek, grinding my crotch against his leg.  I couldn’t help but sigh.  He squeezed my flesh, then rubbed my ass.

    This was my favorite part, the anticipation.  Waiting for the first strike.  Knowing what was coming.  I felt as my wetness soaked his slacks.

    The first smack was hard, the sound echoing through the room.  I gasped.  Most often he started with a few warm-up hits.  He hit again, then gripped my flesh.  My body responded, writhing against his leg.

    I decided to push a little more.  My hands slipped down the wall, onto his lower back, then onto his ass.  He smacked me again.  And again.  With each hit, I ground against his leg, gripped his ass, and pulled myself more onto him.

    My breathing increased.  Gasps no longer escaped my lips.  My sounds turned to moans as the tension in me grew.  Again and again, with each new hit, I panted my pleasure.

    He started grinding into me, writhing against my leg.  I could hear his pleasure build in his exertion.  His cock grew hard.  We both built towards crescendos.

    I started cursing, then begging him to let me cum.  He bent my head back, looked into eyes, a wry smile on his face.  He never stopped his cadence of hits.

    “On the fifth hit, all of which I will count, you can cum.  You know they will be the hardest.  I don’t make anything easy.  Easy is too boring for us.”

    I returned his grin.

    “Are you ready?”

    “Yes.”

    Hit. “One.

    Hit. “Two.

    Hit. “Three.

    Hit. “Four.”

    He stopped.

    His hand let go of my hair.

    He stood up straight, brought his leg out from my crotch.  He walked towards his closet, picked up his jacket and vest, and hung both up.

    “I.  I.”

    He looked back at me, his wry smile even bigger.  He pulled off his tie, hung it up too.

    “What?”  he said.  I stood there, dumbfounded and disappointed.

    I walked to my side of the bed as he continued to undress.  By the time I sat, he was down to his undershirt, boxers, and black socks, each disrobed article put away in the process.

    I turned away from him, kicked off my heels next to my end table, and pouted.

    He bounded across the bed.  His grip in my hair turned my body and pushed my face into our sheets.

    Hit.  “Five.”

    His cock entered me less than a breath after his final count left his lips.

    I came with him inside me, fucking me hard, the start of our Monday evening fun.

  • 25

    Marked

    ~ a story ~

    Birthdays are always fun at the house. Everyone gathers. We drink. We eat. We laugh. But, most importantly, we all enjoy the show.

    We have a little tradition amongst our friends, a rite of passage for each new year of life. One year, one person, one hit.

    The funny ones opt for the birthday spankings, the simplest form of our tradition. One-by-one our friends circulate, the birthday boy or girl stands in front, bent over, counting as hits land. There’s lots of laughter and everybody, including the birthday boy or girl, has a great time.

    But this was my birthday. I wanted something a little different, something special. Still, it would be hard to choose my fate. Celine had an intense display for her twenty third year, twenty three slaps across the face. Taren was just as hardcore. He took twenty-nine punches to the face, stomach, and chest. Not many had the stomach to take a swing, or to watch, but we did anyway.

    For my twenty-five strokes, I wanted more meaning, more feeling. After all, it had been a big year for me. Meeting Daniel. Our recent engagement. And my promotion at work. I wanted to mark my years, and, I decided, mark myself.

    I sat on the chair in the middle of the room, the small table beside me. The tiny scalpels laid on a sterile sheet. Twenty-five cuts to mark my twenty-five years.

    Only three people had the stomach for what I asked them to do: Raquel, my oldest friend in life, Nance, the first person I met when I entered the public kink scene and who’d been my rock during my first difficult days, and Daniel, my love.

    The room grew quiet as soon as I sat down. Everyone knew what was about to happen. I made sure to warn the faint of heart to stay away, but everyone remained.

    My three stood behind me. Raquel was first.

    Before that night, Raquel and Daniel had learned the proper precautions to take from Nance who, among our friends, knew the most about (and presents on) blood play. He also explained to them what I wanted.

    Raquel’s area was my right shoulder blade. I spied her gloved hand in my periphery as she picked up her scalpel. It didn’t shake, not an inch. I could always rely on her to be strong. She cleaned her area, then placed her left hand on my back, steadying myself and herself.

    I felt the bite of the blade, the quick scratch of the first mark. Then the second, a little more pain now that my body knew what to expect. The third, as I felt a drop of blood form on the first. The fourth, as I felt the high begin. The fifth, slashing across all four, the hardest mark to take yet.

    I gritted my teeth as she worked, breathing, pushing through the pain. Her second set of five she placed beside her first, ticks marking off ten of my years. When Raquel finished, she disposed of her gloves in the waste bin and her scalpel in the sharps container. She came around to my front, knelt, and kissed my forehead. There were tears in her eyes and mine.

    Next up was Nance. His marks would be on my left shoulder blade. Just like Raquel, he made his slashes in my flesh, two sets of four upright ticks and their fifth slash across. Disposing of his gloves and scalpel, he too came to my front, knelt down, kissed my forehead, and joined the watching crowd.

    I could hear them breathing, but I didn’t dare look at them. For me to get through this, for me to truly feel the meaning and weight of this, I remained in myself and saw only my arms or the eyes of my closest friends.

    The last to mark me was my Daniel. His marks would be at the top of my back, just below the nape of my neck. As he worked, I thought about our year, thought about the first time I saw him across the room, walking into the lounge. I thought about that first eye contact, the way he made my heart flutter from twenty-five feet away. Our first kiss. Our first scene. Our first fuck.

    When Daniel finished his marks and disposed of his scalpel, he pulled out the jar from under the table. Slathering the mixture on my skin, it hurt more than creating the wounds. But it was necessary. I wanted to hold the cuts, wanted to be scarred by this.

    The scars were my years. The individuals who made them were my closest friends, the people who I held in my heart.

    On my body, I wear my days. In my flesh, I show my years, my life marked.

  • Ash Slut

    “Would you like to come to cigars after?” – Gray
    “Yes, but I’d need a ride.” – me
    “You have it.” – Symetrie

    “What are the seat belt laws in this state?” – me
    “Put it on.” – Gray

    The Meet & Greet ended at 10pm with the last few attendees walking out together, among them Inretrepida, Rough, myself, Gray, and Symetrie. With hugs and kisses and see you tomorrows, we parted.

    I felt like one of the cool kids as Symetrie drove myself and Gray to an after party, cigars at Scotty’s house.

    When we arrived, we found folks congregated in the backyard, sitting in a circle of camp chairs. I greeted Scotty with a big hug.

    “Hi. I crashed your party,” I said shyly, while pouting.
    “You are quite welcome.”

    As our trio settled into the assembled camp chairs, Scotty pulled a few more seats over to accommodate the small influx. Two were tall director style seats. I took one. Rough took the other, sitting to my left. Gray and Symetrie sat next to each other across the circle from me.

    Introductions were made, cigars were lit, and fingers of whiskey poured. I sat back and relaxed, slightly sad that I had not brought my cigar supplies but happy to be in great company. (And also happy I wore a hoodie; it was a bit chilly.) With good conversation and cigar play happening all around, I was quite glad I’d made it to Minnesota.

    “Poetic.” A friend called to me. “Would you like to take some ash?”
    “Yes please.”

    I sat my glasses in my chair and scurried over. He instructed me to open my mouth. I cocked my head back and looked into his eyes. As he lightly rolled his ash onto my tongue, I closed my eyes, taking in the small amount of heat. I then opened my eyes, now looking into his, still holding his ash on my tongue and my mouth open for him to see.

    He then leaned down and kissed me, the ash mixing on our two tongues. He thanked me for my service. I thanked him for the privilege.

    Back in my seat, conversations continued. Then my friend had the wonderful idea of having his girl crawl around the circle, the flap on her footy pajamas down, her bare ass available for spanking. Everyone took their turn hitting her as she slowly circled around before again sitting at her Daddy’s feet.

    “Poetic, you should crawl over to me with your ass out,” said Gray. “And you should make an entrance.”

    Always eager to please, I left my hoodie on my seat, stepped outside of the circle, hiked up my skirt over my ass, got down on all fours, and made my entrance.

    After thanking my first two spankers, who were just to my right as I entered the circle, Rough stopped me, resting his boot on my ass.

    “Take a half step forward,” he instructed. I did. He then reared back and literally kicked my ass.
    “Thank you,” I said.

    I took my time around the circle, pausing for each new person, giving consent to those I had just met, and making sure to thank each and everyone who laid their hand on me.

    I quite enjoyed the compliments the assembled group gave about my rear as I slowly crawled towards Gray.

    Stopping in front of him, I rested on my knees, my mouth open and ready for his ash. He too rolled his ash into my mouth and had me hold it there for him to see. I loved the look on his face as I obediently waited til he gave me permission to eat it.

    As I continued around the circle, one new friend asked permission to squeeze my ass. I, of course, gave it. He quite admired my cheeks, firmly gripping the muscles. Once back at my chair, I sat down again.

    As conversation and play went on, I found myself turning to my left quite often to listen to comments… but also to admire the incredibly hot image of Rough with his super sexy boots and an impressive head of ash. I truly didn’t know what to focus on, which I suppose is why he didn’t notice my figurative drooling at first.

    But, finally, he did catch me staring at his cigar.

    “See something you like?” he asked.
    “You have a pretty piece of ash there.”
    “Would you like my ash?”
    “Yes please.”
    “On your knees.” My heart still flutters at the memory of hearing that.

    “Stick your tongue out.” I obeyed. I closed my eyes and he lightly touched his ash to my tongue.

    “Bite down.” I did so, piercing the top of the head of ash.

    “Open up.” I opened my mouth back up and opened my eyes, now holding his stare. He then allowed me to eat his ash, thanking me. And I thanked him.

    Sitting in my chair, there was one more piece of ash for me that night.

    Gray beckoned me over once more. Again I hiked up my skirt and slowly crawled towards him.

    “I want you on your back.”

    I flipped around, laid down on the grass, and straddled my legs in his lap, my cunt now right in front of him. With one perfect sweeping touch, Gray ashed onto my pussy.

    “Play with it.”

    I closed my eyes and rubbed my clit, feeling the ash on my sensitive nub, the sensation of the flecks against me. And then I felt Gray’s cigar in my pussy as he began fucking me with.

    “Cum.”

    Instantly my muscles tensed and delicious warmth pulsed from my abdomen. I writhed on the grass, cumming for him.

    My orgasm finished, Gray brought the cigar back to his lips, the tobacco now flavored for his enjoyment. He thanked me, I thanked him, and returned to my seat.

    With the night growing cooler still, the cigar circle soon disbanded. Hugs were given all around. Unfortunately some from the circle would not be able to attend the Grue, but could make it to Sunday pancakes or MN Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate.

    Symetrie and Gray gave me a ride back to The Naked House.

    As I crept into bed, I finally saw PrincessA. I briefly filled her in on my full and interesting day before we both passed out.

  • Tradition

    I pulled my gold fabric up over my ass, opting to not remove my toga. I had intricately placed my two pieces of long fabric and didn’t want to try to rearrange them. My diadem stayed put fine. My sandals and chainmail belt were not an issue. My golden wing earrings dangled from my ears. My outfit garnered multiple compliments throughout the evening.

    The group had provided a chair for the spankees to lean on. Hoop had already had her licks. Her birthday was the day before mine, so it seemed fitting. I had waited patiently on some stairs above, ushering people down in the room for the show.

    And then it was my turn.

    But my spanking could not be simple. Is my life ever simple?

    There was the tradition set the year before: DeepEnd’s hockey stick enjoyed the honor of #29 and the one for good luck. LadyAisha wanted to get a comparison from me with her pool cue stick, so she claimed #27 & #28. N3rddom brought his cricket bat and wanted equal treatment; he would swing #25 & #26. Big Sis wanted to go first; she would be #1-#3.

    The room was dark, save for the two lamps at opposite ends shining blue light, and the porn I’d set up on a projector at the far end of the entertainment area. The positioning was a brilliant idea; you could look into the room and see the fucking all the way from kitchen.

    It seemed fitting that my ass was about to get abused in our Family Room.

    Big Sis started, smacking each side once and finishing with both hands on her third. After her a stream of friends, new and old, stepped up for their turn. I was thankful SkinnyBitch gave me a reprieve; she merely punched my ass, a bit of thuddy pleasure in an ocean of stingy pain. Others, however, enjoyed their lashing, enjoyed my yelps, enjoyed making me hurt. My ass was thoroughly warmed up before the experiment started.

    Throughout the love fest, I was very happy I was leaning on a chair, but never so much as when the big boy toys came out.

    N3rddom stepped up holding his godawful cricket bat. His first blow utilized the stingy side. I counted out the number, 25, a tear gliding down my cheek. His next blow switched to the thuddy side, but my ass was too raw to register the difference, 26.

    LadyAisha stepped up, her pool cue in hand. She swung, connecting mostly on my right cheek. It was thuddy burny, a sensation I had not felt before. Again I collapsed into the chair and called out the count, 27. She repeated her swing, now with my knowledge of how much it would hurt; 28.

    As the affair had gone on, DeepEnd had loomed at the top of the small set of stairs leading down to the Family Room, observing our revelry. Now it was his turn.

    The crowd parted as he stepped down and approached my ass. I braced myself, assuming he’d follow his normal pattern: 1, 2, 3Hit! Instead he took a back swing and landed his blow, no countdown. I screamed out my count, 29!, and then pipped about keeping to pattern.

    “Everyone, on the count of three, yell Happy Birthday to Kristen. One, Two, Three. Happy Birthday!” At least he stuck to pattern on the last one.

    My ass was more than warm. When I glided my fingertips over my rump, I could feel the bruises and bumps that had formed from my abuse.

    There were hugs, and later photos (check my Tumblr or Twitter feed), my analysis of the comparison of the big boy toys, a conversation about odd impact implements, and my dumb ass volunteering to be a demo bottom for their uses, eventually.

    Happy Belated 29th to me.

  • Abduction part 3

    “Whatever someone has done to you, they can do it again.”
    “Oh shit.”

    With my knowledge that Gray was indeed a part of my abduction team, the possibilities for pain, restraints, and all kinds of meanness increased exponentially. My level of dread for what was to come skyrocketed.

    As the truck traveled, we passed over the uneven terrain of the camp. I had no idea where we were going.

    When we stopped, I was pushed out of the truck onto the ground. I heard Murphy ahead of me and felt him tug on my chains, pulling me forward. I was to walk the rest of the way to my fate.

    My Hello Kitty bag was still slung over my shoulder, a dangling dead weight as I was marched along.

    My dress was in tatters, barely clinging to my body. Another bra had been destroyed (but, since Gray had ripped one of my bras before, technically it was allowed).

    The terrain was a little rocky but mostly muddy; I guessed we were in the woods.

    When we finally stopped, I felt a log under me as Murphy dragged me onto it. My legs straddled the large piece of wood. I was pushed down onto my stomach. My dress was ripped still more, exposing my back and backside.

    My captors started with spankings. At first it was Slut’s big blue cock smacking my ass playfully. Soon, though, Murphy had a better idea.

    I knew Big Bro’s love of firing squads, having experienced the Hitachi Firing Squad last year at Rope Camp. He suggested the entire team participate in a spanking fire squad. So many hands stung my body all over my back and ass. I screamed and tried to wiggle away. Of course, there was no getting away.

    They turned me around on the log, pulled off my hood, and Slut’s big blue cock was now in my mouth. Murphy gripped my hair and bobbed my head back and forth on Slut’s strap-on, encouraging my efforts.

    There was yet still more abuse to my ass. Punches, for which Slut drew targets before her and others inflicted their blows. A cricket bat, who strokes were at first wickedly stingy. But then N3rddom (I’m assuming it was him since I know he owns a cricket bat) turned the implement and began giving me thuddy hits. Those strokes were but a small respite as next out came a cane; more stingy pain eliciting my cries.

    Again I tried to crawl away. Instead they just flipped me over, my back now on the log. Apparently one side was cooked enough. It was time for the front.

  • Temptation

    “She has an unfair advantage because she’s British.” – Gray
    “I’m going to write a letter!” – Slut

    I knew going in just how to act to get my way. I used the smile, the down turned head, the quiet eagerness to lure her in. I dropped into little mode, the fifteen year old girl inside of me wanting something I knew I couldn’t ask for.

    She was obviously interested in me, brushing against my skin, eyeing me up and down. She held rope, which I wanted on me. And she wanted to do the thing I couldn’t ask for.

    And when she asked me about it, I told her how much I liked it. I told her how I moaned and squirmed, and how I like it hard and soft. She seemed to like that.

    Soon her rope was over my wrists, and I was over her knee. I loved the sound of her hand meeting my ass, loved being in someone else’s control.

    But then my Master caught us.

    I groveled at his feet, tried to calm him down. He yelled at her, blaming her. When he asked me what happened, I told him I never said she could spank me, only that I really liked it.

    My Master yelled some more. I stayed at my place on the floor.

    I felt bad for the lady, felt bad that she had to suffer the anger of my Master, but I kept my mouth shut like a good little slave, except that night I wasn’t one.

    ~

    I love Gray’s Apocalytakink class. I especially love it when I’m prompted to act in his scenarios.

    For this particular ideration, I was to lure an unsuspecting Top into playing with me in a way that was specifically forbidden by my Master. Unfortuantely, Slut was chosen as the Top.

    When she spanked me, Gray burst into the scene, acting as my Master, yelling at Slut for crossing a line she did not know existed. True to form, she stayed calm and tried to pivot the conversation.

    The goal of this exercise was to have the class think about consent, explicit versus implied, as well as ways of “How To Not Be A Dick When A Dick Is In Your Face.”

    By staying calm and not letting the argument escalate, I think Slut handled herself brilliantly.

    And, after the scenario ended, I apologized profusely. Afterall, no one can resist my temptations. [/sarcasm]

  • Can’t Let Go

    ~a poem~

    There’s just something
    About the smell of his leathers,
    The engulfing aroma,
    When he is near,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In his stare,
    His eyes fixed
    On me,
    Seeing me
    Through to my bones,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In the way he squeezes
    My hips,
    Digging into my flesh,
    And the final
    Bite of his nails
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In how he pulls my hair,
    Craning my neck back,
    Guiding me anywhere,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In his worship of my ass,
    Caressing my cheeks,
    And the crack!
    Of his spanks,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    About when he fingers my clit,
    Teasing me mercilessly,
    Til I beg him for release,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    About when I ride him,
    My legs straddling his thighs,
    Feeling like I’m
    Being fucked
    Even when I’m
    On top,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something
    In his kisses,
    His raw, passionate,
    Yearning kisses,
    Enveloping, unrelenting,
    Never ending kisses,
    That I can’t let go.

    There’s just something about him,
    Dark dominant him,
    My Daddy,
    My Master,
    My love,
    That I can’t let go.

    And there’s just something about me,
    How I feel when I’m with him,
    Of him,
    For him,
    Only his,
    That I desperately can’t let him go.

  • Reprieve

    ~erotica~

    “Belt, paddle, or hand?”

    I had to choose.

    “Belt.”

    If I’d chosen his hand, I thought he would’ve felt the pain as well, but possibly resented me for it, as if I were trying to punish him for the mistake I made. If I’d chosen a paddle, I thought he would’ve eventually tired from the strokes, but only after I was beyond black and blue. At least with the belt, I thought he would tire some as he pummeled my ass.

    He pulled his belt off of his dress pants, sat on the bed, and waited. I made sure to not look at him; I was already in enough trouble.

    “Come here.”

    With my head bent down, I slowly walked over, finding my place standing at his side. A hand on my back guided me over his knee. My forearms rested on his thigh. I turned my head towards the front of the room. At least this way my tears wouldn’t stain his pants.

    “Do you know why you are being punished?”
    “Yes.”
    “Tell me.”
    “Because I forgot about my assignment. Because I did not do as you asked. Because I was a naughty girl.”
    “Tell me, why did you forget?”
    “Work. My other errands. And family commitments… It all bunched together, and in my eagerness to help everyone, get everything done, my mind lapsed, forgetting my assignment.”
    “Are you sorry for what you did?”
    “Oh god yes! All I want to do is go back in time and do as you told me. But I can’t do that. So I have to be punished.”
    “Oh, my girl. Such a sweet girl.”

    He stroked my hair softly, gently. The hand that held his belt caressed my ass.

    “You are a good girl, just forgetful.”
    “Very forgetful.”

    Even I could hear the pout in my voice.

    “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. From now on, you will carry around a small little planner. When you leave me, you will write down notes and your weekly assignment. This week, and only this week, you will get a reprieve.”
    “Really!?!”

    I half jumped out of his lap, a huge smile on my face, beaming at him.

    “I said you would get a reprieve, not go unpunished.”

    A hand on my back quickly pushed me down again.

    “Seven days you forgot your assignment, so I will give you seven strokes, a far cry from the lashing I had planned.”
    “Thank you, thank you so for my reprieve.”
    “Well, most everyone deserves a second chance. Are you ready?”
    “Yes, always as you wish.”

    Crack! Lashing was quite the appropriate term as I felt the bite of the leather into my flesh. Through gritted teeth, I counted. “One.”

    Crack! It was as if a quick searing pain licked across my ass. “Two.”

    Crack! Like the flick of a snake’s tongue made of fire. “Three.”

    Crack! As before, I had my head turned away from him. And tears did indeed graze down my face. “Four.”

    Crack! As they slowly ran, their final home was his carpeted floor, falling from my face like raindrops. “Five.”

    Crack! I imagined them seeping into the fibers of the carpet, spreading like tiny fingers through the multitude of fuzz. “Six.”

    Crack! And for a brief moment, I wondered what it was like to be a teardrop. “Seven.”

    His hands lifted me; I pivoted, sitting in his lap gingerly. He brushed away my tears with his thumb, pushed my hair back off my face, and kissed me sweetly.

    “That’s my good girl. Now, what are you going to remember for next week?”
    “My assignment and a pocket planner.”
    “Good.”

    He held me, rocking me slowly; I sunk into his arms, having endured my reprieve, this time.

  • Warm Up

    ~erotica~

    He wore his riding boots, worn from age and experience, his chaps, laced up the sides and closed in the back with black parachord, his leather jacket, with snaps instead of a zipper, and his leather gloves, which more often than not massaged the back of my mouth. No other garment graced his frame.

    I, naturally, wore nothing.

    I knelt before him, arms behind my back, eyes down as instructed. I drunk in the image of his boots, the smell of his leathers wafting all around me. I resisted the urge to lick my lips, knowing soon I would have the pleasure of tasting his leathers.

    I heard the hard jangle, then saw in my periphery the small length of chain held in his hand. He stepped forward, bent over me, and secured my wrists behind my back with the click of the lock taken from his jacket pocket.

    As he worked, for less than a minute, I nuzzled his chaps with my cheek and felt his cock in my hair. It was well on its way to standing at attention.

    He stepped back, gripped my locks, and pulled my head up. I got to look into his eyes. Like his lips, his eyes were smiling widely.

    “What a naughty girl; I thought you were suppose to be my good girl.”

    I smiled back, then tried to kiss him. He, of course, pulled away. Then I pouted.

    He let go of my hair, flinging my head away, and stepped back. My gaze returned down, looking at, drinking in, his boots.

    “Stand up.”

    Rocking back on my heels, I ascended.

    “Turn around.” I did.

    “Spread your legs wide.” I did.

    “Bend over.” Uh oh. I did.

    I knew what was to come next.

    “Such a naughty girl deserves her spanking early.”

    Early spankings were hard spankings. Early spankings meant a red ass for days.

    I bent my knees slightly, rested my wrists on my lower back, and tried to relax yet brace myself for what was to come. He was going to wallop me but good.

    At first I felt the gentlest of caresses on my right cheek, soft and sensual, a mean tease. And then came the smack, the loud crack, the painful stingy blow. My body rocked forward, but I did not fall.

    “What number was that?”
    “One Daddy.”
    “Have you forgotten all your manners today?”
    “No Daddy.”

    A smack graced my left ass cheek.

    “Two Daddy. Thank you Daddy.”
    “Now that is my good girl.”

    All further hits would receive equal courtesies.

    “Three Daddy. Thank you Daddy. Four Daddy. Thank you Daddy.”

    Before hit five, he slipped his left arm across my chest, bracing my body. As I knew they would be, his hits grew harder.

    “Five Daddy. Thank you Daddy. Six Daddy. Thank you Daddy.”

    The tears came easily, sliding down my face and dotting the carpeted floor. My voice produced a lilt; I couldn’t stop my words from sounding stunted.

    “Se-ven Dad-dy. Tha-ank you Dad-dy. Ei-ight Dad-dy. Tha-ank you Dad-dy.”

    He took two steps, positioning his body in front of me. My shoulder rested against his hip. I leaned into his body. With both hands, as hard as he could, he smacked both of my cheeks at once.

    “Nine! Daddy. Thank you Daddy.”

    My voice was now a drawl-like wail. I sobbed as I leaned against him.

    I still had one more to go.

    Again, with both hands, his palms came down on my cheeks as hard as he could muster.

    “Ten! Dad-dee…” He dung his nails into my ass, scratching the raw flesh and elongating my speech. His nails ran up my back, up my arms, and dug into my shoulders. Gripping down, he lifted my frame back to standing up.

    Looking into his eyes, I finished.

    “Thank you Daddy.”
    “That’s my good girl.”

    He lightly kissed my forehead, my nose, and then my lips.

    My ass burned, sore and sensitive to the touch.
     
    I knew this was only our warm up.

  • Left

    ~erotica~

    What are you doing tonight?
    Meh. Nothing. Why?
    I need you inside me.

    I decided, for that night, I wouldn’t care.

    For tonight, he didn’t have a girlfriend. For tonight, I didn’t have a wife. For tonight, his dick was all that mattered.

    As soon as he opened the door, my hands were at his belt. He managed to close it before I exposed him to any snooping neighbors.

    Immediately I was on my knees sucking him off.

    “What, no hello?”

    I ignored his humour. Tonight wasn’t about conversation. It wasn’t about our long talks about nothing, our non-flirting, or the way he ignored my desire for eye contact. Tonight was about his cock inside me.

    Soon he was hard, his hand behind my head guiding my mouth.

    “Fuck, I missed your mouth.”

    With a last lazy lick up his shaft, I stood, my body leaning into his, his back pressed against the wall.

    “My mouth missed your cock. Well my mouth, and other various parts of my body.”

    I stroked him, massaging him hard, keeping him up. It wouldn’t do to have him…relax.

    He tried to kiss me, but I shied away. He attempted again. And again. I kept him at bay.

    “Still such a fucking tease.”
    “Still such a fucking pussy.”

    I kissed him hard, shoving my tongue down his throat, letting him taste his cock still on my breath. His hands slipped into my jeans, gripped my ass, and eased a finger to where I wanted him most.

    “There is the asshole I so love to fuck. Did it miss me too?”
    “It missed you most.”

    He bit my neck. My hand reflexively squeezed his cock harder.

    “I think my ass is ready for you, and you are most certainly ready for it.”

    Gripping my hips, he pushed me back against his couch. Flinging me around, he slid his hands around my waist and unzipped. Pulling down my jeans, he followed the path of the fabric. Kneeling, I felt his lips on my cheeks. Separating them, he licked and licked my asshole, getting me good and wet for him.

    I heard the condom wrapper ripe, then felt his cock’s head press against my hole.

    And then he was inside me. With a deep sigh, I relished the familiar feel of his cock so far in me. He fucked me hard against his couch. I pushed back, always wanting more of him.

    Sweaty, breathing heavy, we fucked like we had so many times before: rough, grunting thrusts mixed with over-the-back kisses, ass smacks, and my hands on his ass pulling him into me.

    And when we came together, we both bit into the other’s flesh, marking what was ours.

    Finished, I pulled up my jeans and left. He started to say something, but I departed before his sentence ended.

    I didn’t want to look at him, hug or kiss him. I didn’t want to say goodbye. I couldn’t say goodbye. Because I knew I wouldn’t have had the strength to have left.