Sunday, April 29, 2007

Hot Links

My list of Feeds that Feed Me (this refers, by the way if you don't know, to RSS feeds) is getting longer. There is so much rich and juicy stuff out there, each time I come across a new blog that turns me on I get, well, excited. And not just hot and wet excited. Excited that there's a community of people who can communicate and support each other, even if it's "lurkers", in affirming their desires.

How many women want to submit, fully, to their husbands or boyfriends? How many husbands want to bind and gag their wives? How many couples secretly want from the other what they could actually give and not know it? Blogs such as these listed can possibly, if stumbled across, open up peoples lives and allow them to be who they really are.

Being in the closet sexually, no matter what the predilection, is the most stifling existence. If these words of advice or stories or fantasies or journals can help even one person free themselves, then they've served a noble purpose.

I know they've helped me greatly to be more in touch with my desires and my needs. For that, I thank them all.

So, check them out. You never know what you'll learn (about yourself).

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

A Message

I haven't wanted to use this blog as a forum for politics, but I feel pretty strongly about the injustice being done to millions of people around the world (and, yes, right here in Gotham). We're spending BILLIONS of dollars on an unnecessary war when that money (ahem - MY money, at least in a small part) could be spent improving peoples lives.


Monday, April 23, 2007

Arms Length Away

Me: what was the dream?

Him: truthfully all i recall is taking u from behind, sweat glistening on your back and me pulling your hair as i finished inside of u

Me: that sounds awfully nice. i like hair pulling. i'll be thinking about that.

And that's how it usually goes. IM's back and forth about how hard he is (very, very as you can see below), how hot I am, and variations on method or orifice.

I'm not partial at all to cock shots. A photo of a phallus doesn't compel me to consider the rest of the body. I think they are a ridiculous portrayal of a disembodied appendage, not unlike a picture of an arm or a toe. Completely non-sexual. That's not to say I'm not sometimes impressed with certain measurement, but I need context to have a salivary reaction. But, for the photo below I have plenty of context and the reaction it produces is copious.

I haven't met this cock, nor the man it's attached to. But I have heard him. Oh yes, I have heard him. Breathing hard and fast, all pre-cum and description, my voice low and slow and encouraging towards a satisfying finale.

We are each others fantasies, in a way. Me, the older woman. He, the younger, way too much younger, man. A man with whom I would be flagrantly breaking my rule. And, so, we haven't. And, we may never. (Or we may...)

I have posted some erotic pictures here, but this is truly the most graphic and I have to admit, while seeing this picture drives me to distraction, I'm a little reluctant to post it. It feels a little too exposed. Exposing not only my friend, in all his hot and throbbing glory, but me. Exposing a vulnerability. Not just my desire for hard cock, but my modesty, I suppose. A last hold-out in my reluctance towards prurience.

He says I can say that it's, "yours and yours only". A sweet lie. Ownership of that toy of all toys would drag me to the depths of depravity. I'm not quite willing to go there.

Not yet.

Friday, April 20, 2007

First Date

“Is that what you like? Spanking?”

“Yes”, she whispered across the table.

He leaned in closer.

“Do you like a hard spanking? Swats that leave a nice, red bottom?”

“Yes”, she whispered again. Her heart was beating fast and loud and she could feel the moisture gathering in her panties. She had been looking down at the table, trying to focus on the salt and pepper shakers. But now, she looked up and found his eyes on her. When their eyes met a little smile, a devious smile, crossed his face.

“Shall I pull you across my lap when I administer this punishment?”

She nodded.

“Hmmm…That pretty skirt you’re wearing up around your hips, your panties dangling from one ankle.” He paused for a moment, seeming to be in deep thought. “I love the sound of my hand meeting a bare bottom. That slap rings in my ears sometimes when I least expect it.”

She could tell he was becoming aroused. With a deep breath he awoke from his reverie and leaned back in his chair.

“Can I ask you to do something for me? I realize we’ve just met and don’t know each other, but I feel comfortable with you and I hope you feel the same.” He paused here for a response and she nodded her head. Still unable to verbalize what was happening inside her.

He leaned in again, slowly.

“Would you spread your legs for me? Here, under the table. That’s all, just spread your legs. I’m not going to touch you under the table or ask you to do anything else. I just want to know you’re exposed to me.”

With that and a gasp, a fresh gush of fluid poured out of her clenching cunt. She paused for a moment thinking, this is a little crazy. I don’t know this guy from go. But this is so fucking hot. I have to do this. It’s not going to hurt anything. I even still have my panties on. Curious he didn’t ask me to remove them. Maybe that’s a turn on for him. This is a total turn on for me. God…

So under the table, with slow intention, she spread her legs apart, almost as far as they could comfortably go. This pulled her short skirt up her thighs, leaving her clad sex exposed. Just this simple gesture produced a thrill in her that translated immediately into a throb between her legs. He obviously could tell she had done it, maybe by her motion or maybe by the look on her face. Her lids became heavy, her mouth formed into a small o and she pulled in a breath, almost unnoticeable. He smiled and they quietly sat staring at each other with the knowledge that they were both extremely turned on. She could tell she was pleasing him, that he was satisfied with the result of his request and with her willingness to comply. This only added to her increasing excitement.

And then the waiter arrived with dessert and coffee. She looked up at him to see if he could sense anything, could tell something was going on. His obvious indifference to, what seemed to her, the palpable sexual tension at the table, relieved her. She was grateful they were sitting at a booth with a table cloth.

They drank their coffees and ate dessert, a piece of chocolate cake they had decided to share and made chit-chat. He talked about his work, she listened and responded with questions. He asked her about her work, her colleagues, projects. All the while the both of them distracted by the knowledge that her legs were still spread apart.

He watched as each piece of cake entered her mouth as if he was studying her technique. Committing to memory the way her lips closed around the fork. Even this, just the way he watched her eat, added to the growing intensity of her excitement. She began to wonder if she could orgasm just sitting there. She so longed to touch herself, it was close to unbearable.

There was a lull in the conversation and before she even knew what she was saying she quietly blurted out, “I’d like to touch myself.” They both knew this was a request. She was asking permission to masturbate right here in this restaurant.

His eyebrows flew up in surprise and he chuckled. “Would you?”, he said with somewhat sardonic amusement. “Right here in this restaurant? You’re that excited by simply spreading your legs for me?”

“Yes, I am.”, she said with a blush, embarrassed at what felt like an admission of being ‘easy’.

“I’m almost inclined to say no. To make you wait. But just the idea that you would take the risk is very exciting. Yes, please, go ahead.”

Before he had even finished the sentence her hand was off the table and between her legs. She slipped two fingers underneath her panties and pulled in a breath at both the feeling of pressure on her clit and amazement at how wet she was. Quietly, she began to rub, making slow circles on her very hard nub. He watched her face and the pleasure that crossed it as her fingers began their work.

“You’re very wet, aren’t you?”

“Yes, very. Very.”

“Will you do as I tell you?”

She nodded, grateful for his guidance and participation.

“You’re rubbing your clit now, yes?”

Again, another nod. Her eyes were beginning to close with the pleasure and her breathing was quickening.

“Open your eyes”, he said sternly. “Look at me, eyes on me.”

“Slip a finger inside your cunt. Just one. Good. Pull it out and push it in again quickly. Fuck yourself for me.”

After a brief moment, “Now another finger. Two fingers in your cunt, for me.”

She plunged her fingers in and out, going as deep as she could reach and as fast as she could without being obvious in her movements or noisy. She knew she was on the edge of moaning and had to consciously prevent this which distracted her from her task, but also made her aware of the ‘danger’ of being caught.

He watched as a flush rose up her cheeks, her mouth slack and moist and her breath almost giving her away.

“Rub your clit, now. Imagine it’s my tongue,” he said, licking his lips obviously for a long moment so that she could see the tip.

“I’d like to crawl under this table, put my hands on your thighs and press my mouth hard up against your sopping wet pussy. Licking up all around your lips and your clit before plunging my long tongue into you. Deep into you, darting my tongue in and out before pulling out and focusing my attention on your clit. Flicking it lightly, then applying more pressure, just enough pressure to create the storm. Not faster, just a steady, quick rhythm and pressure, just as you’re doing now with your finger. So close, you are so close now…”

“Yes, yes”, she whispered, so close. Almost at the edge, then at the edge, the brink, the precipice that lasts for longer than a second before falling over into the whirlpool of throbbing, dripping ecstasy.

She let out a cry, louder than she wanted, but only the one, then released the rest of this blinding orgasm in only breath and a few small moans from her throat.

“Good, good”, he cooed at her. Pleased and encouraging. “So beautiful.”

As the sweet spasms slowed and her awareness of where she was returned she began, with some difficulty, to compose herself, pulling her right hand up to the table and smoothing her skirt down with the left. She hoped there wasn’t too much of a puddle on the seat or mark on the back of her skirt.

He reached over and took her hand into his two hands, wanting to feel the wetness from her cunt, wanting to smell her and know her scent. He pulled her hand up to his face and after a deep breath, taking in her aroma, he kissed her fingers, unobtrusively flicking his tongue to get a taste of her juice. Knowing his own release was not far away, standing up from this table would not be easily achieved.

In silence they smiled at one another, feeling connected to each other in their shared secret. She wondered if maybe this was the start of something. Obviously, they were on a very similar page.

And then the waiter came to the table. She thought, oh my God, he MUST smell that! This table reeks of sex! But, without any sign of recognition or shock, he blithely asked if they wanted anything else and left the check.

They looked at one another and burst out laughing. If they had pulled this off in public…

Yes, this was the beginning of something good.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Time = Creativity

I have two pieces in the works, but no time to work on either. It's frustrating and disappointing. I pray for either more hours in the day or more energy to throw at the hours I'm not working. I'm sorry to my small (but loyal?) following.

I also think were I being tied up and spanked with any kind of regularity (meaning, at all) my inspiration and energy level would both be enhanced. So, there's that.

In the meantime -

This is a pay site and I'm cheap, but if you're interested in Shibari you should check it out. Jane's Guide likes them, and that's always a good sign.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

And a little more...

In my travels on the web looking for fun and sexy pictures and images (and hot erotica) I found this:

It's not a photo, it's a drawing (digital, I imagine). I like the way the rope is tied, it's very elegant. It's a little too neat and she doesn't look nearly uncomfortable enough, but it's still pretty. I like the way it wraps around her waist and then gives almost a thong effect with the single rope under her belly button.

I found this at The Collar Purple . She has some interesting work. Some images of spanking and bondage and a whole super-hero and cartoon series. Of those, this is the best

Oh, don't complain so much Wilma!

Friday, April 13, 2007

A little something...

I've been having trouble with Part 2 of The Birthday Present. As Shon pointed out, the dynamics are tricky. They are indeed. So, while I work on this conundrum, or come up with something equally as delicious, I offer you this.

Which I found at Vintage Spanking Photos. Some of these are absolutely hilarious, really. I like this one for a couple of reasons. First, it really is kinda sexy, with the gag and all. Some of the vintage ones really aren't. And, it's Bettie Page getting spanked there, apparantly. Kinky, celebrity spanking. A celebrity we can be proud of.

I've had my mind on spanking, of late. I'm not sure why. It's not like I haven't thought of, or written about, spanking before, but the last week or so it's in the forefront of my mind and fantasies. I miss the sharp thwack as hand meets bottom, the feeling of satisfaction of the spanker, my mixed reaction of dismay and delight, and, of course, that delicious sting after.

So, maybe my goal right now is to find a spanker. A boyfriend would be nice, but in the meantime...

Monday, April 9, 2007

The Birthday Present

Master has suggested that a friend of his would like to join us to play sometime. I ask which friend and he’s reticent to tell me.

“I think that should be a surprise”, he says.

I am not enthusiastic about this surprise as there are, of course, friends of Master’s I do not like and would not like fucking me. I make some complaining noise and generally say that this could be a limit, but I get the withering look and realize that this is just a battle I’m not going to win and maybe it doesn’t matter anyway.

“Look, pet, even if it’s someone you’re not happy about, and trust me, that’s not the case, I will be there with you the entire time. Not a moment, not a second will pass that this guy will be with you without me there. I wouldn’t allow it. I may be generous, but I’m also protective of my property.”

Saturday comes and Master announces that his friend is coming over that night for fun. It’s his, the friends, birthday, apparently. I’m to be his present, of sorts. Lovely.

At 6:30 I’m told to go to the bedroom and prepare. Master has laid out on the bed what he’d like me to wear and tells me to dress and return. On the bed I find new, purple thigh highs. They’re a beautiful color, so dark almost black, but tinted enough to be purple. Also, a matching push-up bra which stops just under my nipples. I braid my hair, apply some makeup and slip on the heels left at the foot of the bed.

“I knew that color would look good against your dark skin”, he says, “lovely. Perfect.”

The doorbell rings and Master answers it, leaving me standing in the living room waiting. In walks Nathan and I am both relieved and appalled. Relieved that he’s not the brutish Karl or the crude Matt, but appalled that it’s Nathan. He’s the most sensitive, shy, unassuming person I’ve ever met. He’s a sweetheart and we’ve had on many occasions heartfelt, close conversations about our lives. I didn’t even know he knew how Master and I lived and wonder if he does even now. As he enters the room he looks at me and I can see he is a little embarrassed to see me this way, but I can also see he is excited. His eyes sparkle as they take in my outfit, my exposed nipples, my waxed cunt. I feel exposed and a little nervous about how this will go.

“Have some wine, Nate”, says Master and nods to me to pour them some. I pour two glasses and hand it to them as they sit on the couch. As I bend towards Nathan to hand him his glass I see that he can’t take his eyes off my tits. Despite my embarrassment at his seeing me this way, my nipples begin to harden. Dammit!

I go back to stand by the drinks table and Master and Nate talk a little while about work and mutual friends, but Nate’s gaze keeps returning to me. Master notices this and, with a little smile and looking my way, says, “She’s lovely isn’t she? Perfect.” I look at him and see the love in his eyes and am suddenly completely comfortable. I remember his words the other day reminding me that he is and always will be in control and I know this will be fine.

“Go over to her, Nathan. You can touch her, kiss her, if you want. Don’t be shy. She wants it. Don’t you, pet?”

“Yes,” I say, trying to sounds convincing, “Happy Birthday, Nathan.”

The 2 glasses of wine he’s had has given him a bit of courage and he approaches me with some false bravado, I think, but I can also see the desire in his eye. In front of me he tentatively reaches out a hand and gently runs a finger down the side of my face, along my jaw line. His hand runs down my neck towards my cleavage and with the backs of his fingers he grazes first one nipple, then the other, immediately making them rise. He does this over and over and I find it to be very erotic. Here is another man, a friend, touching me, looking at me lustfully, while the love of my life watches in approval and excitement. I’m thoroughly aroused.

Nathan looks up from my chest into my eyes and kisses my lips long and soft, parting my lips with his tongue, sweet from the wine. After a while his tongue becomes more insistent, swirling faster around my tongue, pushing deeper into my mouth. He pushes his body up to mine and putting his arm around my back, runs his hand down the curve of my buttocks. Pressed against me I can feel his erection pressing into my belly.

I’m aware of Master when I feel the pain of my left nipple being pinched. Pinched and twisted and turned. With Nathan’s tongue in my mouth I cry out and moan from the pain. Nathan pulls back and watches as Master tortures my nipples. I think he’s a little appalled at the degree of pain to which I’m subjected, but also excited. Master looks at Nathan and nods, encouraging him to do the same. He puts a hand out to the free nipple and pinches, not even close to as hard as Master.

“Harder, Nathan. She wants it harder. She likes it, you see. She wants the pain. Don’t you, pet?”

“Yes,”, I breathe.

I sense an inward shrug and suddenly the nipple under Nathan’s control is being pinched and pulled and even as I cry out with pain, I’m impressed that he can get on board so quickly.

“Good, Nathan, good. Now, let’s try something else, eh? On your knees, pet. Display yourself for us, please.”

I walk to the middle of the living room and obediently get on all fours, my legs spread as wide as possible without collapsing and then bend my head forward to the ground, pushing my ass way up. I am open and exposed to them, my ass and swollen, wet sex. I hear a little gasp from Nathan and wonder if it’s from shock or excitement, or both.
“Go on, Nathan. You can have her. You can do what you want to her. See how wet she is, she’s excited by this. Think how good it’ll feel to take her.” Master encourages Nathan as he walks him forward towards me.

“Take your clothes off. That will help you relax. I’ll take mine off, too.”

Coming around to the side that my face rests on the ground, Master looks at me and smiles a smile of pleasure. He’s pleased with my obedience and I think that for that look of contentment, I would do almost anything. I watch as he undresses and relish the moment his cock, semi-erect is freed from his briefs. I may be his, body and soul, but I also know that that cock belongs to me.

To be continued....

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Erotic Sculpture

My insomnia has brought me to the website of Leigh Heppell who creates some lovely bronze sculptures in the U.K.
In the right column I've posted a picture of one of his pieces that I think is quite lovely.
Check him out.

In Paradise, some advertising is free. It's Eve's prerogative.

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

Kink Test

Here's the Kink Test.

Thanks to Madame X for sending us to this fun test. Some of the questions are a little lame, but mostly it's fun.

I scored 703.

What's your score?

The Eye of the Storm that is My Sexlife

Warning: The following entry is not a story. It's just me.

This seems to have gone the way of all things internet – ADD, lose interest and move onto something new, too busy to pick up the phone or drop you a note, really just disinterested disappeared. *sigh*

It’s so discouraging. And exhausting. I am finally tired of it all. I didn’t think this day would come. I thought my libido would keep me aloft, floating from fuck to fuck, then “real” dating in the hopes of something genuine (with some fucking to keep me satisfied in between).

But, really, now I’m tired of it all. The searching on sites, kink and vanilla, for someone who’s words and face appeal. Sending a note, maybe getting one back. Then, back and forth with that, then on to “real” e-mail, then maybe a phone call or two, then a coffee or a drink, then what? Whatever – a fuck or two, maybe a date or two more, then oblivion.

Am I less randy and ready to go? Oh no. If only. It would make this so much less of a let down. I still, everyday, wake up and spend the day with that slight edge of a tingle in my cunt. Tingle isn’t quite the right word, though. It’s more of a tension, a sweet tension, a slight pulling of the lips. Maybe that’s a swelling. A dampness, always. I could, at any time, masturbate, and often do in the middle of the day, and again at night.

But, it’s this I’m also sick of. Bored with my own hands and toys. While fun, and satisfying (for a minute) it cannot compare to the real thing. A real, pulsing, hot cock plunging in and out of me in all the various orifices possible. Nothing can compare to that.

And then, of course, there’s the rest of it that can only come from someone with a shared predilection. The rope, the clips, the spanking, the degradation. Again, there’s only so much I can make up in my head (well, actually, I guess it’s endless with the help of my friends here in the blogosphere). I want someone else’s fantasies imposed on me. I want to be made to indulge someone in his wildest dream and then become, in his mind, associated with that dream as the person who made it come true. That would turn me on more than anything I can make up in my dirty, slutty mind.

But, alas, he is beyond reach until I can muster up some energy or, at the least, become so distracted by my insistent cunt that unless I get fucked I will be financially affected by my inability to work.

Or, maybe, I just need a drink and a smoke and to chill the fuck out. Until tomorrow, anyway, when it starts all over again.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

Blame it on the Cat

As I walk in the door I sense immediately something’s wrong. It’s too quiet. And not a peaceful quiet.. I call out, “Hello?” but he doesn’t answer. I assume he’s not home and that I’m being paranoid and breathe an inaudible sigh of relief.

After putting my bag on the table and taking off my boots, I wander to the kitchen for a drink of water and try to figure out what on earth I’ll make for dinner. He’s sick of ordering all the time and wants me to cook more. I’m not a great cook and don’t really enjoy it, but I’m trying. I stand for far too long staring into the open refrigerator willing something to jump out at me and say, “Cook me!”. I remember there’s some chicken in the freezer. I take it out and put it in the fridge to thaw some. I’ll nuke it later to thaw completely before I cook it. That out of the way, I wander into the living room with my glass of water in one hand and the mail in the other.

One moment I’m looking at the mail, and the next it’s on the floor at my feet. Because as I look up there he is sitting in “his” chair, silently, patiently, with that evil smirk on his face and all I can think as my mind clenches up like a fist is, “Uh-oh.” Our eyes meet, his with smug satisfaction, mine with abject fear.

“Welcome home,” he says in a deceivingly pleasant voice.

“Hi,” I croak out.

“How was your day?”

“Oh, um, not too bad. Busy. How was yours?”

Neither of us has moved as we continue on with this banal conversation for what feels like an eternity. I’m frozen in my spot like a statue. He’s comfortable in his chair, legs crossed, hands placidly clasped in his lap.

“Come over here,” he says. Almost as if it’s a request, but I know full well it is not. I move closer to his chair and as I approach he uncrosses his legs and spreads them apart. This indicates to me I’m to stand between them.

Once I’m in place and he’s looking up at me, my eyes averted downward, but not looking at him, he begins to explain why I am, as I suspected the moment I saw him, in trouble.

“Here’s something interesting”, he begins, “when I got home today there was a message on the machine from Ernie. He wanted to mention that before he left for work today, as he was passing the house, he noticed our garage door was open, but no cars were around. He pulled into the driveway and, assuming we had just left it open by accident when leaving for work, he kindly closed it so no-one would be tempted to come in and steal anything. He’s a lovely neighbor, Ernie. Too bad all our neighbors aren’t like him, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mentally I’m kicking and cursing myself for stupidly forgetting to close the door.
“I was running a bit late because I had to give Kit her meds,” I say. “I almost forgot, I was half way out the door when I remembered and ran back in and gave them to her. The vet was adamant that she have them everyday or the infection would take longer to heal. Then I ran out and sped off so I wouldn’t be late for work and must have forgotten to close the door. I’m sorry. Ernie is very conscientious.”

This is a perfectly reasonable explanation, I think. But, I know that there’s no help here. At least this is not THAT bad. I mean, he can’t think something like this would deserve a really bad punishment. So, while I’m nervous, anxious that what’s to come will be bad, I also realize that from the moment I realized I’d done something wrong, I began to get excited. The warm, dark space between my legs was getting damp.

“Well,” he says, “that is a perfectly reasonable explanation.” I think, no good can come from the fact that he’s just said exactly what I was thinking.

“Come closer to me.” I move up a few inches. “Take your pants off, please.” I pull my pants down and off my legs, fold them neatly and put them on the floor beside me. I stand back up and for a moment he just looks at me. Quietly, but I’m interpreting this as menacing.

“Pull your panties down to your ankles.” I do this and once I’m standing again, he puts his right foot between my ankles and nudges my feet about 18 inches apart. Enough so that my thighs aren’t touching and he has a clear view of my increasingly swollen vulva. For what feels like hours he just looks at me. He looks at my cunt. I wonder if he can see, like stop-gap photography, how excited I’m becoming by his gaze. How puffy and wet and hot my pussy continues to get with each passing minute.

With his head tilted to one side a bit and his gaze still intent on my crotch, he licks his lips and says, “I love how I can see your lips hanging down. They’re big, your lips. Big and dark and luscious, and I like how I can see them. Spread your legs a bit wider for me.”

I do so with a little gasp of excitement. His stare has made me so wet I wonder if I am literally dripping. With my legs spread wider he sits forward in his chair, still looking, watching my cunt. Almost like he’s watching TV and waiting for the next part of the plot to unfold.

He speaks and his voice is thick with desire and excitement and I see the evidence of this in the bulge in his slacks.

“Touch yourself. Slowly, put your middle finger first down to your opening, making your finger wet, and then pull it up to your clit and masturbate.”

With tremendous relief I follow his instructions to the letter. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, I think. The moment my finger touches my cunt an involuntary moan escapes my throat. My finger, slick and covered with juice, begins to make slow concentric circles on my clit. My eyes close as I feel the sensation, the pleasure, of finally being allowed to attend to my desire. I slowly massage my clit, making sure not to speed up and get too close.

“Stop.” This is said quietly and slowly, but firmly. I reluctantly pull my hand away and let it rest at my side. Then, with a motion so fast and smooth it’s barely conceivable, I am across his lap, my wet sex pressed firmly against his thigh and my ass exposed.

His right hand gently rubs my cheeks, warming them, enjoying them. He does this for a while and then quickly drops his finger between my legs and enters me, fast and deep, but not hard. With just 2 fingers he rhythmically fucks me. My legs spread automatically and I push my ass up to force him to go deeper into me. He fucks me with such skill and knowledge, I am quickly close to coming. He knows this and stops. Pulling his fingers out he swiftly smacks my ass 3 times in succession on each cheek - high, low, thigh; high, low, thigh. Hard, punishing, stinging smacks. The sound of them echoes in the room and when he’s done he takes a moment, just a few seconds, to watch as his finger marks appear.

Then he repeats the series 2 more times, each time a little harder than the last. With each swat I cry out with tears streaming down my face. At the end of the course, he rests, just a moment, and then again, plunges his fingers into my molten, dripping cunt. Pushing me, driving me to the brink of release, and again stops and begins another series of the spanking.

I lose count how many times he puts me through the progression of spanking and fucking and spanking and fucking. I can’t tell how many orgasms I’ve found and lost and found again, only to feel it denied again and again and again and replaced with resounding, unrelenting pain and burn.

Until they are one and the same, the pleasure and the pain are no different one from the other and I crave them both, and hate them both. And he’s no longer separate from me, punishing and cruel and denying. We’re connected now in a way that is necessary and exquisite.

And his fingers, now 4 of them, are massaging my cervix and reaching into me, pushing me in places that only these fingers know to go and this time they aren’t stopping and this time I’m so close and I know there is no more denial, there is no more punishment, and like a wave crashing over me my cunt clenches and spasms around these fingers and my body convulses and my voice cries out in the ecstasy. His face is now close to mine, his hot breath and lips close to my ear, “Good girl. Such a good girl.”

New tears spring from my eyes, tears of undying release and relief and my body of it’s own curls up towards him, into him and his arms wrap around me, envelop me and hold me and I’m at home and at peace. And we rest like this for some time.

After a short while in this sublime state, with laughter in his voice and a smile in his eyes as he gazes down at me, a lump on his lap, he says, “Now, I know you won’t leave the garage door open again, will you my love?”

“Of course not”, I say with a gleam in my eye.