I promised you this, too. So as I lift you from the floor with a hand in your hair and one between your legs, propelling you roughly to the bed, not quite letting you get your balance, not quite letting you lose it, then holding you still as I sit, before pulling you down you over my lap, the thumping in your chest is from the excitement of knowing what’s about to happen.
I can feel your weight against the erection in my open trousers, I know you can feel it there, I know that the wriggling against it isn’t just you struggling before your spanking, it’s deliberate.
I like the wriggling. I’m going to make you wriggle.
I reach for your wrists, and hold them behind your back in my left hand. Pressing down with it, using my right to pull your skirt back to your waist, hooking my fingers into the back of your knickers and pulling them roughly down to your thighs, tearing just a little.
So beautiful. Your lovely bottom raised and ready for my hand. Your wet cunt framed by your thighs, pouting needily at me.
From being on the floor to being over my lap, your pale smooth bottom exposed and vulnerable, has taken seconds. The first spank on your bottom happening so quickly. But I’m sure those wriggles are deliberate. I’ll be spanking that awareness out of you.
You gasp with that first sting of my palm on your bottom. Again before you can fully draw breath. Each contact hard on the last, each met with another gasp, another wriggle.
You feel me stroke you, feeling the warmth of your skin, the heat of the spanking radiating from you.
“Please, Mister, Don’t stop,”
The catch 22. It’s for me to decide, but you earn more correction by asking.
I lift you from my lap, standing together, I pull your mouth to mine for another kiss before finding my grip on your dress and tearing it open, ripping it from you, letting it fall to the floor.
You stand proudly as I step back to admire what I find beneath. The basque you’d hinted at enclosing the beautiful body I can’t wait to reveal. But not yet.
Steering you back to the bed, you obediently comply as I kneel you on it and push your shoulders and face down onto the soft duvet. Your bottom raised, naked and needy for more. Presented. I hadn’t thought I’d use my belt this first time for you, but I know now that you want it.
Standing off to one side, I raise my hands, the buckle and end held firmly in my right hand, doubling the strap, the leather heavier, less flexible through wear than my brown belt. My left hand holding the loop high, then releasing it.
Swinging the long black belt back-hand onto the precious skin of your bottom, tender and pale on one side, pink on the other from my hand.
Your gasps louder, as the belt makes contact across you, a longer pause as I raise my hands again, long enough to enjoy the sight of your beautiful cunt, wet, pulsing, framed by your thighs again, each glimpse a reminder of how much I want to push my hard cock inside it, make it open for me. But with each crack of my firm belt you want more. Wide red welts rise from your soft skin, the edges of the belt cutting in, leaving dark marks. The purple bruising beginning to show, to deepen even before I’ve stopped.
All you know is the sensation, the impact, all I hear is you begging for it not to stop, but me knowing it must, that you don’t realise how this will feel later as you sit to drive home, or tomorrow in the office. But both of us feeling the deep satisfaction of a bond forged in the sound and fury of leather on skin.
A bond we’ll make stronger with your body still kneeling, yielding for me as I push inside you.
© Charles Rochester 2016