She lay perfectly still in the snow, even though the snow was biting into her bare thighs. But she wasn't done fighting, only regrouping. She felt his hands on her upper arms, pulling her up.
"Get inside, now."
She reached down to pull her jeans up, but was distracted by a stinging CRACK of his belt.
"Keep your jeans where they are. Inside."
In seconds the hot air of the living room met their faces in a rough and dry kiss. He went to work right away---kicked off his snowy shoes, scooped her cooperating figure up, deposited her on the couch, and began to systematically strip her.
"Are you going to check me for ticks or frostbite?" She quipped.
He did not reply.
When he was done, he man-handled her into the kitchen and the straight backed chair near the window. He pulled her shivering body over his lap. Each expletive that flew from her lips gave life to his resolve.
The palm of his hand landed hard and fast, peppering her squirming rump.
"Stop it, let me up!" She whined. "I'm cold still."
His left arm snaked tighter around her lower waist, and he sat taller in the chair, pulling her lower torso closer to his chest, and angling her head closer to the linoleum. It was the securing before the onslaught. Through her breasts and stomach, she felt the muscles in his thighs tighten. It was her cue to completely lose it, to cry, wail, plead. Maybe it would soften his resolve, if ever so slightly.
"I'm sorry!" She started. "Please, please, please---Owwww!"
His open palm connected with her thighs. Hard, and then again. And then again. Three times on the same sweet spot. Then three fast and powerful times on her other thigh. It was rhythmic, composed, created to bring about a certain reaction, a certain penance.
But to her there was not yet a meaning, only pure pain and the resulting anger. Anger at herself for bringing this upon herself. Anger at herself for letting him spank her, for wanting him to spank her.
He knew how she fought. With showy composure and a steely self-control at first. Then came the word- fighting. Then the real- fighting. It was only after these things were forced into submission could he reach the delicate part he loved most of all. The part that was more her than she would ever admit or want him to know.
"Owww, why do I have to be naked?" She complained between spanks in an loud whine. "Is this really what it takes to get you off?"
He moved his blows half an inch lower, increased the number of smacks to four in each spot.
"Because--Oww! Because we could easily find you something online, and I'm sure--OWW! Damn it!" She whimpered, kicking her legs a tiny bit and gasping out in a rushed string of words, "I'm sure there's some exceptionally violent stuff online. Just perfect for you. It'd-get-you-hot-really-fast! Ow!!" She wailed. "Ow, please, I'm sorry...." Her words digressed into a kind of whimpering mumble.
He continued smacking her thighs hard. Once in awhile he moved a whack or two upwards, to where the two rounds of her cheeks jiggled in response to his attentions. He did it for two reasons: because he liked to watch it jiggle and because the contrast of the pleasure-ful bottom-smacks only added to the sheer pain he was inflicting on her upper thighs.
He felt her body stiffen and attempt to roll away. With his free arm, he pressed her against him, hard, clasping her slim waist and hip-bone.He shifted her to his right so that her toes touched the ground. Then he slipped his right leg over her calves, pinning her between his legs. This was undeniably the most effective way to keep her where she needed to be.
Her body bucked, but he held on as he increased the hardness of the spanks. She was making no noise now, except for the occasional grunt as she attempted to break his hold on her wriggling body. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. His hand came down like a mechanical apparatus, something not attached to him. In fact, it did feel more like an implement than a part of him at this point.
He knew by her closed mouth that she was close, ever so close to that lovely place he wanted her.She had passed the outer stage--the you-can't-spank-me-hard-because-I'm-too-cute-funny-sexy-angry stage. She was in no-man's land right now, and she was trying to find her way out. He was intent on helping her. It could be seconds or minutes away. Still, there was the possibility that it could also take hours.
It was sooner this time then he had planned on.
She stopped fighting. Her body went almost limp in his arms. He spanked her several times more, then stopped. Her breathing was deep, slow, steady. It was time.
He breathed deeper too, rested his hand on the curve of her cheeks, then moved up and around in a soothing caress.
Then her brought his hand down lightly on both cheeks. "Get up please." She moved to obey and he steadied her. Yes, the look on her face was right. It was time.
He scooped up his abandoned belt. "Follow me, my love."
In their bedroom he positioned her over the foot of the bed. "Try your hardest to keep this position. Do it for me. Feet stay on the floor."
"Yes, Sir." She breathed.
"Good Girl."
After about 5 hard belt strokes, he asked, "Why did you lie?"
"I don't know, Sir." Her voice was small, muffled.
He gave her 5 more, harder this time. She bit back a scream. "I'm going to ask you again, love, and I'm not going to stop until you give me an answer besides that one. You have to know of some reason, even if it's only a partial one."
She began to sob into the bed. "Because..." but the rest of her words were muffled and broken by the tears. He dropped down onto the bed and tangled his hand into her hair. "Shhhh...shhhhh... I need you to talk to me. Here, sit up."
She wiped at her nose, and searched his face with bleary eyes. "It was because I was afraid you wouldn't like the truth."
"I always like the truth."
"Only because I lie."
He brought her mouth to his and kissed it hungrily. "That makes no sense."
She kissed him back and then let out a long shuddering sigh. "Can I have a nap, please?"
He looked at her a bit apologetically. "No. No, I'm afraid not. You may, however, stand in that corner over there and think about what you've just said to me. Then we're going to talk more about this."
She slowly stretched and got to her feet. "You just want to cash in on your bet," She grumbled. "You still don't get that I like this."
"Oh I get that." He smiled. "I get that. Hands on your head."
The moment was passed. The process would have to be repeated. But it was alright. He had all night.
"Get inside, now."
She reached down to pull her jeans up, but was distracted by a stinging CRACK of his belt.
"Keep your jeans where they are. Inside."
In seconds the hot air of the living room met their faces in a rough and dry kiss. He went to work right away---kicked off his snowy shoes, scooped her cooperating figure up, deposited her on the couch, and began to systematically strip her.
"Are you going to check me for ticks or frostbite?" She quipped.
He did not reply.
When he was done, he man-handled her into the kitchen and the straight backed chair near the window. He pulled her shivering body over his lap. Each expletive that flew from her lips gave life to his resolve.
The palm of his hand landed hard and fast, peppering her squirming rump.
"Stop it, let me up!" She whined. "I'm cold still."
His left arm snaked tighter around her lower waist, and he sat taller in the chair, pulling her lower torso closer to his chest, and angling her head closer to the linoleum. It was the securing before the onslaught. Through her breasts and stomach, she felt the muscles in his thighs tighten. It was her cue to completely lose it, to cry, wail, plead. Maybe it would soften his resolve, if ever so slightly.
"I'm sorry!" She started. "Please, please, please---Owwww!"
His open palm connected with her thighs. Hard, and then again. And then again. Three times on the same sweet spot. Then three fast and powerful times on her other thigh. It was rhythmic, composed, created to bring about a certain reaction, a certain penance.
But to her there was not yet a meaning, only pure pain and the resulting anger. Anger at herself for bringing this upon herself. Anger at herself for letting him spank her, for wanting him to spank her.
He knew how she fought. With showy composure and a steely self-control at first. Then came the word- fighting. Then the real- fighting. It was only after these things were forced into submission could he reach the delicate part he loved most of all. The part that was more her than she would ever admit or want him to know.
"Owww, why do I have to be naked?" She complained between spanks in an loud whine. "Is this really what it takes to get you off?"
He moved his blows half an inch lower, increased the number of smacks to four in each spot.
"Because--Oww! Because we could easily find you something online, and I'm sure--OWW! Damn it!" She whimpered, kicking her legs a tiny bit and gasping out in a rushed string of words, "I'm sure there's some exceptionally violent stuff online. Just perfect for you. It'd-get-you-hot-really-fast! Ow!!" She wailed. "Ow, please, I'm sorry...." Her words digressed into a kind of whimpering mumble.
He continued smacking her thighs hard. Once in awhile he moved a whack or two upwards, to where the two rounds of her cheeks jiggled in response to his attentions. He did it for two reasons: because he liked to watch it jiggle and because the contrast of the pleasure-ful bottom-smacks only added to the sheer pain he was inflicting on her upper thighs.
He felt her body stiffen and attempt to roll away. With his free arm, he pressed her against him, hard, clasping her slim waist and hip-bone.He shifted her to his right so that her toes touched the ground. Then he slipped his right leg over her calves, pinning her between his legs. This was undeniably the most effective way to keep her where she needed to be.
Her body bucked, but he held on as he increased the hardness of the spanks. She was making no noise now, except for the occasional grunt as she attempted to break his hold on her wriggling body. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. His hand came down like a mechanical apparatus, something not attached to him. In fact, it did feel more like an implement than a part of him at this point.
He knew by her closed mouth that she was close, ever so close to that lovely place he wanted her.She had passed the outer stage--the you-can't-spank-me-hard-because-I'm-too-cute-funny-sexy-angry stage. She was in no-man's land right now, and she was trying to find her way out. He was intent on helping her. It could be seconds or minutes away. Still, there was the possibility that it could also take hours.
It was sooner this time then he had planned on.
She stopped fighting. Her body went almost limp in his arms. He spanked her several times more, then stopped. Her breathing was deep, slow, steady. It was time.
He breathed deeper too, rested his hand on the curve of her cheeks, then moved up and around in a soothing caress.
Then her brought his hand down lightly on both cheeks. "Get up please." She moved to obey and he steadied her. Yes, the look on her face was right. It was time.
He scooped up his abandoned belt. "Follow me, my love."
In their bedroom he positioned her over the foot of the bed. "Try your hardest to keep this position. Do it for me. Feet stay on the floor."
"Yes, Sir." She breathed.
"Good Girl."
After about 5 hard belt strokes, he asked, "Why did you lie?"
"I don't know, Sir." Her voice was small, muffled.
He gave her 5 more, harder this time. She bit back a scream. "I'm going to ask you again, love, and I'm not going to stop until you give me an answer besides that one. You have to know of some reason, even if it's only a partial one."
She began to sob into the bed. "Because..." but the rest of her words were muffled and broken by the tears. He dropped down onto the bed and tangled his hand into her hair. "Shhhh...shhhhh... I need you to talk to me. Here, sit up."
She wiped at her nose, and searched his face with bleary eyes. "It was because I was afraid you wouldn't like the truth."
"I always like the truth."
"Only because I lie."
He brought her mouth to his and kissed it hungrily. "That makes no sense."
She kissed him back and then let out a long shuddering sigh. "Can I have a nap, please?"
He looked at her a bit apologetically. "No. No, I'm afraid not. You may, however, stand in that corner over there and think about what you've just said to me. Then we're going to talk more about this."
She slowly stretched and got to her feet. "You just want to cash in on your bet," She grumbled. "You still don't get that I like this."
"Oh I get that." He smiled. "I get that. Hands on your head."
The moment was passed. The process would have to be repeated. But it was alright. He had all night.
Lovely, Bonnie-jo, lovely. I understand what you meant when you said earlier that you liked the beginning and middle so much you weren't sure you could end it well, but you seem to be doing a pretty darned good job here!
ReplyDeleteI think one of the reasons I like this one is it hits so many of my personal buttons. My husband just does not get my need to be a brat, or to test him, which means we don't have many scenes like the above. He DOES get just how much I like WIITWD. But I'm not sure just how much HE likes it for himself, versus how much he likes that I like it, my reactions and responses.
Thank you, Elissa! :) I ended up rather liking it too.
ReplyDeleteIt hits my personal buttons too....the dude is pretty near perfect. And I have never run yet either. ;)