Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
by Suzanne - December, 1998
Such fun to be entertaining again. What an exhilarating feeling -- being surrounded by people we know well and enjoy. We ought to do it more often. And yet... there are aren't enough hours in the day or days in life for all we want just from each other, so sparing time to have parties is just not at the top of my priority list anymore.
I look at you across the room. Ahhhh Matt. My heart lurches at the sight of you -- the reality of you. Mmmmm, what you do to me! Some part of my mind notes the fact of your effect on me with pure wonder. Like the rising of the sun at daybreak, my wanting you is an immutable reality. You look at me and the world falls away. You touch me and my bones melt. You reach for me and I am yours, entirely, with nothing held back. What a gift, then, that you want me too, for I cannot imagine ever getting enough of you. And what an unimaginable emptiness it would engender to look into your eyes and not see my own desire reflected there. But as it is, we, together, so perfectly matched, ahhh -- fulfillment beyond anything I could have imagined in the days before you came into my life.
With wry amusement I realize how typical it is that just a glimpse of you across the room can occasion so much emotion. It is, in fact, an example of the very thing I was just marveling at. But this is hardly the time or place for losing myself in thoughts of you. I shake off my reverie as a voice calls me back to the here and now. "Oh yes, Linda, what fun," I agree and we're off and laughing again.
Suddenly I find myself in both hostess and full party modes and there is little time for more than a loving glance in your direction when I happen to hear your laugh or note the sound of your voice as you emphasize a particular thought. Even now, though, there is an awareness in some part of my mind of missing you, of your being too far away and the wrongness of being out of physical touch. Each little nuance of you is so very dear to me... brings me so much pleasure. Hmm, I can't say, though, that I'm thrilled with what a similar effect your persona seems to be having on the leggy blonde who's been at your side every time I glance your way recently. "Who the heck is that?" I wonder, furrowing my brow in puzzlement just as you catch my eye.
I blush as you lift a cautionary eyebrow and quickly turn to the group in front of me once more. But as my stomach twists in trepidation, I know my recovery wasn't fast enough. Damn, I know better than to display that kind of possessive jealousy at my own party. But if I didn't know better before, I am sure to get a lesson in it soon. There is no way you'll let such a public lapse of self control and manners simply slide. The only question is when I'll be spanked, how hard and for how long.
Suddenly and for, perhaps, the first time ever, I'm in no hurry for our friends to go and leave us alone together. Maybe someone will even have to stay overnight. Several people really are drinking quite a lot. I focus exclusively on the group in front of me -- why, oh why, didn't I just do that before?
I castigate myself. Then I would just be facing the prospect of another wondrous night with you and savoring thoughts of the week-end to come... Oh sure, it might entail a trip across your lap now and again but just for the slow passionate kind of spankings that so stoke my fires. Not the kind that will leave me unable to sit and feel ever so much worse for the knowledge that it is fully deserved. I hate feeling I've been less than I could (and should) be, that I've disappointed you, let you down.
That will be the good thing about this spanking that I know is coming. Oh not at the time, the combination of guilt and sharp focused pain that comprise a punishment spanking are no fun to experience. And the anticipation already has me jittery. But at least there is no question that by the time you're finished, there'll be nothing to feel badly about anymore. All of my guilt and self-recrimination will be fully expunged. And I will arise fully open... fully yours... fully whole once again. But in the meantime, the question of where, when, and how are nearly all-consuming.
Suddenly I feel you beside me. Your lips brush my ear. To anyone watching it looks simply like a caress. But for me, the walls of my world close in around us until there is only the sound of your voice and the physical effect it has on me. And the words you speak cause frissons of excitement to ripple over my flesh and through my mind, "I want you in our bedroom closet -- in position -- in ten minutes. Wait for me."
My heart races and my mind goes numb as I absorb the full implications of what you've just said. I mean, I knew I was due to be spanked, and hard, but... "Now?" I manage to squeak, "Wh-what about..?" I look around in wordless consternation at the house filled with people.
"Ten minutes," you affirm, "It won't take long -- just enough to make sure you're fully focused on what's coming later."
I still can't quite believe this really is going to happen. "What if anyone hears?" I ask in trepidation.
You smile lovingly and smooth the furrow of worry from my brow with your thumb, "It's alright, sweetheart," you assure me, still speaking a low caress directly into my ear. "I'm going to spank you with something that's nearly silent. The only noise you need to worry about is your own, in reaction to it."
My mouth goes dry at your words. Somehow there is a phenomenon in spanking implements that renders the ones that are quietest to use, hardest to take. I've forgotten the roomful of people and, in fact, everything but the invisible icy hands that seem to have gripped my bottom cheeks. "Wh-what is it?" I stammer.
You silence me with a finger in the center of my lips. "Eight minutes now, Suzanne, my sweet." I lean against you for a fleeting moment, hoping the feel of you will center me again and calm the thudding of my heart. You let me rest against you and I am swept up in the warmth of my love of you, my lust for you, just as I always am when you are near. Then you take me by the shoulders and move away a step, kissing my forehead before reminding me, "I want you waiting for me -- in position."
"Oh dear heaven, Matt," I think to myself. "It didn't have to be repeated." The fact is that the image conjured up by those words are all my mind can encompass now, all that I've been able to think of since you first uttered them.
Mindlessly, I circle the room, looking for anyone who appears to need something... Filling glasses here, replenishing an hors d'ouevre tray there. I am also trying to make my presence felt so that five minutes from now no one starts a question circulating as to where I am and why no one has seen me. Little do they know that my mind is already elsewhere, lost in the vision of my bottom bared as I wait for you, bent over the suit valet... naked cheeks so exposed, so open, so vulnerable. And always, ever so completely yours.
And since they cannot see the image as it's seared across my mind, I certainly don't want them glimpsing it in reality as they come in search of me because I'd already been acting strangely before disappearing. So I laugh and chat and make small talk, but am nearly unaware of it all. Thankfully, mindless though they are, my attentions are accepted and welcomed unquestioningly. Perfunctory as I know it to be, none of our friends seem to question the genuine nature of my smile.
And truly, why should they? The more closely people know us, the more genuine they know our happiness to be. I am just what I appear to be, a woman madly, rapturously, all-encompassingly in love with her husband, and secure in the knowledge of being fully adored in return. That's why this episode was so silly. I trust you wholly, implicitly. No matter what charms the blonde who seems so intrigued by you has to offer, I know that you will barely notice -- that your heart is mine and your attentions are mine. And I know how much you value it too.
God knows why my knee jerk reaction was so possessive. Perhaps it is just that I know so well how incredible you are, how impossible it would be for anyone else to find someone like you... to duplicate what we have. Most times that just makes me feel like basking in the glow of our good fortune. But there's no denying that I am exceedingly possessive of you, and that fact in concert with the length of time that had passed since I'd been in physical contact with you, made me lose my head.
How wonderful to know you'll always be here to help me find it... to keep me honest and sane and on track. And wonderful, most of all, to know you'll keep reclaiming me... over and over, assuaging any doubts, putting fears to rest before they can even take hold, and making me yours again and again. Who could imagine it would be possible for there to still be unplumbed depths? Certainly I never dreamed I could keep loving you more deeply, and profoundly, and dearly, and intensely with every passing day. But it is another of the great blessings and immutable facts of who we are, that even when we reach a plateau in one realm of our relationship, the others continue to deepen.
That profoundness -- and the extraordinary joy we take in it (and each other) -- is apparent even to those who only know us casually. We got the brass ring promised by song and stage. We are living the dream. And having been able to only dream it ourselves for such a long time, we are not in the least inclined to take it for granted. We value each nuance, each complementary thought process, every moment of total understanding and acceptance, all the common goals... and as if those great gifts weren't enough, there is the mind boggling way in which our desires mesh.
How would all these people react if they could see inside my head? What shock or disgust or horror would result from their knowledge of what I crave? And what would they think if they knew that in a few minutes, just feet from where they stand, this inordinately happy couple that we are, will share intimacies they can barely imagine? For it is undoubtedly an intimate act, this spanking that is between us. This part of me that no one else of our acquaintance can fathom is one you share completely. In fact, the more deeply held my fantasies, the more they mesh with yours. Things others would only tolerate, immerse you as thoroughly in joy as they now do me, since I can share them with you. Oh, I cannot deny always having enjoyed the spanking games I've played... but like the difference between a flashlight and full sun is the difference between playing them with a partner who simply enjoys the sexuality of the play, and one who craves the element of the game as intensely as I do myself.
So, since this IS so much my joy, my craving, and so much part and parcel of the intensity that is *us*... Why am I finding it hard to breathe, hard to swallow, hard to keep my heart from pounding its way out of my chest?
I put the tray of food on the sideboard and make my way quickly, quietly, out of the room. On legs wobbly from knees gone weak, I climb the stairs to our room and close the door silently. The thick carpet muffles all sound as I cross to the closet and turn on the light before stepping in. This door too I close behind me, hoping beyond hope that you'll take the hint and employ the same precaution against prying eyes. The thought of someone else, anyone else, seeing me like this is terrifying in the extreme. Yet I know that that too would be a limit I would simply walk over if you decided it was what you wanted. Who of my long term acquaintances would believe my accepting acquiescence to your every desire? Who would understand the incredible fulfillment I find in giving myself to you?
Quickly I lift my dress over my head and slip it over a hanger. Over the top of my garters and stockings, I then slide my panties to my knees before leaning forward over the padded back of the chair. This piece of furniture sits here so innocuously. It could easily be here to make it easier to don one's shoes, but it is not. And each time I see it I am forcefully reminded of the many times it has held us as you hold me to you while I lay over your knee and spanked me so thoroughly or of the times, such as now when I have positioned myself over the back of it. I am excrutiatingly aware of the picture I present, the chair back just higher than the place at the top of my legs where I naturally bend, so in leaning over it I am stretched to my limit, my toes barely reaching the floor, and oh-so-completely-vulnerable as all my most private secrets are laid bare. Still the thought of anyone but you entering haunts some portion of my brain, but really, I am so totally focused on you, that nothing else registers more than in the background. And the idea of doing anything other than what you have ordained is unthinkable.
Suddenly, I know you are there, behind me. Though no glimpse is possible through the solid padded back of the chair, and though you have entered silently, there is a difference in the feel of the little room. Or perhaps it is really just the sound of your quickened breathing that has alerted me, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath at seeing me so displayed, so opened, so tractable to your whim and will. "Very good, Sweetheart," you breathe, and a shiver darts uncontrollably over my exposed skin at the sound. Your hands brush lightly over the orbs of my bottom and easily part my legs further to explore my warm moist folds and expose me even more. You step away from me to reach up and take a box from the shelf that spans the wall above your clothes. Even in that moment, I feel bereft, abandoned, and I shiver again.
Then, as you shake out the item you've removed to hang full length in front of you, the fleeting trembling comes to stay and I cannot control the tears that spring to my eyes. It feels as if this must be a nightmare, how could I ever have thought I wanted this... How will I ever even take this? A thin cord of braided leather snaps when you flex your wrist quickly, and I am jump at the sharpness of the sound. But even amidst the terror that twists my stomach and makes me clench my still-white cheeks in fear, I am aware of a familiar rushing, arcing shock of warmth between my legs as my lower lips engorge and become wet with an my arousal. I know you cannot help but see, exposed as you have made me, and this only adds to the aching I feel. Ahhh Matt, how I want you.
"Ten strokes now," you tell me with no room for negotiation or plea, "five straight up and down each side, all within a handspan of the cleft between your cheeks." I swallow convulsively even as you continue, "Reach your hands back to the sides and pull your cheeks apart. I want some of these stripes down the sides of the cleft."
I can hear a smile in your voice as you explain, "You'll feel those even as you stand and talk to people for the rest of the night, baby." Ahhh, my breath is unsteady but I marvel even now at how thorough you are, how completely you've thought this out, how well you know me. In feeling this later, I will come to fever pitch. There is no pain in the aftereffects for me, only bright, hot intensity of passion.
But the getting there... Ahh, the getting there is painful and all I feel right now is fear. You come around to stand in front of the chair and though I do not move, my eyes follow the leather strand in horror and fascination. The first stroke falls along the inside crest of my left cheek, burning sharper and sharper as the seconds build, straight down into the tender flesh near the curve to the inside of my thigh. I want to tell you that it will lick the entire length of my sex with ribbons of fire on the inside strokes at that length, but I am struck dumb. And so the stripes march on, closer and closer, biting more excruciatingly into the velvet softness of my inner thigh with each one and getting closer to my core. I am whimpering and breathing as hard and fast as when I am about to come, but still I cannot speak. Then, on the fifth stroke, the lash does exactly what I knew it must and I keen, a high pitched note of fear, of pain, of awakening.
"Shhh, sweetheart, shhh," you sooth me, your other hand warm and solid on my back, my side, my shoulder, "Half-way done." You begin the laddered stripes on the inner crest of my right cheek, and I feel myself jump in response. Again, you settle me, and the lash works its way in, inexorably, in identical mirror image, first to the tender flesh at the top of my inner thigh giving me the closest reminder of what I will feel when, once again it sears its way along the whole length of my swollen inner lips. And then, with the tenth falling, it is there again and nothing has prepared me. The noise bursts from my lips again, but once again you are there, with me in every move.
"Stand up, now" you say, and I hurry to obey, though it is almost mindless. I want your arms. I want your strength. I want the closeness and comfort of your body. You pull me against you and I am soothed. While my heart and breathing slow to normal rates, however, my cheeks are clenching rhythmically in an effort to still the burning left in the wake of your lash. But the clenching only intensifies the feelings, so I must force myself to stop the nearly involuntary reaction. There is no movement to still the awareness, nowhere to go to escape it.
You reach for my dress and ease it over my head, smoothing it into place over my hips. A full body tremor shakes me as you deliberately brush the fabric over the newly forming welts. I bend to pull up the panties that remain around my knees, but you shake your head. "Leave them off, my sweet," you tell me in a voice that, again, leaves no room for query or debate, but holds infinite love in its depths. Ahhh, what an uncontrollable passion I will be in, by the time our guests depart. Once again I marvel at your knowledge of me.
And then, before love, before worship, I know you will spank me again. I tremble, in anticipation this time, a sensation at the center of my being reminding me of the feel of your hand, cupped just enough to match my own curves and impart the fullest smack and yet hold me in a momentary caress at the same time. You are caressing those same curves now, keeping me under your hand as we turn to go and rejoin all those who know us, yet know nothing at all. The sensory input is overpowering. My sex is on fire; the lips so fully pouting I can feel a tangible difference, and my arousal so intense that my thighs feel slick to my stocking tops.
Suddenly I realize that in the silence that overtakes me in the nearness of a spanking, I haven't told you. I turn back eagerly. "It caught my, um, pussy," I stumble over the uncomfortable word, but feel a new surge of arousal in the acknowledgment. You smile and kiss me, deeply, tenderly, before turning me back toward the door and I wonder at your lack of surprise.
"Yessss," you say softly, your voice near my ear. "Number five and number ten... all the way along the length of your lips to your clit, I should think." I breathe in sharply the shock of your assurance, but then in the next moment a warm comfort settles over me. And with it, comes the familiar, nearly consuming, wave of adoration. Of course... how could it be otherwise? As with everything about me -- you knew.
by Suzanne - December, 1998
Such fun to be entertaining again. What an exhilarating feeling -- being surrounded by people we know well and enjoy. We ought to do it more often. And yet... there are aren't enough hours in the day or days in life for all we want just from each other, so sparing time to have parties is just not at the top of my priority list anymore.
I look at you across the room. Ahhhh Matt. My heart lurches at the sight of you -- the reality of you. Mmmmm, what you do to me! Some part of my mind notes the fact of your effect on me with pure wonder. Like the rising of the sun at daybreak, my wanting you is an immutable reality. You look at me and the world falls away. You touch me and my bones melt. You reach for me and I am yours, entirely, with nothing held back. What a gift, then, that you want me too, for I cannot imagine ever getting enough of you. And what an unimaginable emptiness it would engender to look into your eyes and not see my own desire reflected there. But as it is, we, together, so perfectly matched, ahhh -- fulfillment beyond anything I could have imagined in the days before you came into my life.
With wry amusement I realize how typical it is that just a glimpse of you across the room can occasion so much emotion. It is, in fact, an example of the very thing I was just marveling at. But this is hardly the time or place for losing myself in thoughts of you. I shake off my reverie as a voice calls me back to the here and now. "Oh yes, Linda, what fun," I agree and we're off and laughing again.
Suddenly I find myself in both hostess and full party modes and there is little time for more than a loving glance in your direction when I happen to hear your laugh or note the sound of your voice as you emphasize a particular thought. Even now, though, there is an awareness in some part of my mind of missing you, of your being too far away and the wrongness of being out of physical touch. Each little nuance of you is so very dear to me... brings me so much pleasure. Hmm, I can't say, though, that I'm thrilled with what a similar effect your persona seems to be having on the leggy blonde who's been at your side every time I glance your way recently. "Who the heck is that?" I wonder, furrowing my brow in puzzlement just as you catch my eye.
I blush as you lift a cautionary eyebrow and quickly turn to the group in front of me once more. But as my stomach twists in trepidation, I know my recovery wasn't fast enough. Damn, I know better than to display that kind of possessive jealousy at my own party. But if I didn't know better before, I am sure to get a lesson in it soon. There is no way you'll let such a public lapse of self control and manners simply slide. The only question is when I'll be spanked, how hard and for how long.
Suddenly and for, perhaps, the first time ever, I'm in no hurry for our friends to go and leave us alone together. Maybe someone will even have to stay overnight. Several people really are drinking quite a lot. I focus exclusively on the group in front of me -- why, oh why, didn't I just do that before?
I castigate myself. Then I would just be facing the prospect of another wondrous night with you and savoring thoughts of the week-end to come... Oh sure, it might entail a trip across your lap now and again but just for the slow passionate kind of spankings that so stoke my fires. Not the kind that will leave me unable to sit and feel ever so much worse for the knowledge that it is fully deserved. I hate feeling I've been less than I could (and should) be, that I've disappointed you, let you down.
That will be the good thing about this spanking that I know is coming. Oh not at the time, the combination of guilt and sharp focused pain that comprise a punishment spanking are no fun to experience. And the anticipation already has me jittery. But at least there is no question that by the time you're finished, there'll be nothing to feel badly about anymore. All of my guilt and self-recrimination will be fully expunged. And I will arise fully open... fully yours... fully whole once again. But in the meantime, the question of where, when, and how are nearly all-consuming.
Suddenly I feel you beside me. Your lips brush my ear. To anyone watching it looks simply like a caress. But for me, the walls of my world close in around us until there is only the sound of your voice and the physical effect it has on me. And the words you speak cause frissons of excitement to ripple over my flesh and through my mind, "I want you in our bedroom closet -- in position -- in ten minutes. Wait for me."
My heart races and my mind goes numb as I absorb the full implications of what you've just said. I mean, I knew I was due to be spanked, and hard, but... "Now?" I manage to squeak, "Wh-what about..?" I look around in wordless consternation at the house filled with people.
"Ten minutes," you affirm, "It won't take long -- just enough to make sure you're fully focused on what's coming later."
I still can't quite believe this really is going to happen. "What if anyone hears?" I ask in trepidation.
You smile lovingly and smooth the furrow of worry from my brow with your thumb, "It's alright, sweetheart," you assure me, still speaking a low caress directly into my ear. "I'm going to spank you with something that's nearly silent. The only noise you need to worry about is your own, in reaction to it."
My mouth goes dry at your words. Somehow there is a phenomenon in spanking implements that renders the ones that are quietest to use, hardest to take. I've forgotten the roomful of people and, in fact, everything but the invisible icy hands that seem to have gripped my bottom cheeks. "Wh-what is it?" I stammer.
You silence me with a finger in the center of my lips. "Eight minutes now, Suzanne, my sweet." I lean against you for a fleeting moment, hoping the feel of you will center me again and calm the thudding of my heart. You let me rest against you and I am swept up in the warmth of my love of you, my lust for you, just as I always am when you are near. Then you take me by the shoulders and move away a step, kissing my forehead before reminding me, "I want you waiting for me -- in position."
"Oh dear heaven, Matt," I think to myself. "It didn't have to be repeated." The fact is that the image conjured up by those words are all my mind can encompass now, all that I've been able to think of since you first uttered them.
Mindlessly, I circle the room, looking for anyone who appears to need something... Filling glasses here, replenishing an hors d'ouevre tray there. I am also trying to make my presence felt so that five minutes from now no one starts a question circulating as to where I am and why no one has seen me. Little do they know that my mind is already elsewhere, lost in the vision of my bottom bared as I wait for you, bent over the suit valet... naked cheeks so exposed, so open, so vulnerable. And always, ever so completely yours.
And since they cannot see the image as it's seared across my mind, I certainly don't want them glimpsing it in reality as they come in search of me because I'd already been acting strangely before disappearing. So I laugh and chat and make small talk, but am nearly unaware of it all. Thankfully, mindless though they are, my attentions are accepted and welcomed unquestioningly. Perfunctory as I know it to be, none of our friends seem to question the genuine nature of my smile.
And truly, why should they? The more closely people know us, the more genuine they know our happiness to be. I am just what I appear to be, a woman madly, rapturously, all-encompassingly in love with her husband, and secure in the knowledge of being fully adored in return. That's why this episode was so silly. I trust you wholly, implicitly. No matter what charms the blonde who seems so intrigued by you has to offer, I know that you will barely notice -- that your heart is mine and your attentions are mine. And I know how much you value it too.
God knows why my knee jerk reaction was so possessive. Perhaps it is just that I know so well how incredible you are, how impossible it would be for anyone else to find someone like you... to duplicate what we have. Most times that just makes me feel like basking in the glow of our good fortune. But there's no denying that I am exceedingly possessive of you, and that fact in concert with the length of time that had passed since I'd been in physical contact with you, made me lose my head.
How wonderful to know you'll always be here to help me find it... to keep me honest and sane and on track. And wonderful, most of all, to know you'll keep reclaiming me... over and over, assuaging any doubts, putting fears to rest before they can even take hold, and making me yours again and again. Who could imagine it would be possible for there to still be unplumbed depths? Certainly I never dreamed I could keep loving you more deeply, and profoundly, and dearly, and intensely with every passing day. But it is another of the great blessings and immutable facts of who we are, that even when we reach a plateau in one realm of our relationship, the others continue to deepen.
That profoundness -- and the extraordinary joy we take in it (and each other) -- is apparent even to those who only know us casually. We got the brass ring promised by song and stage. We are living the dream. And having been able to only dream it ourselves for such a long time, we are not in the least inclined to take it for granted. We value each nuance, each complementary thought process, every moment of total understanding and acceptance, all the common goals... and as if those great gifts weren't enough, there is the mind boggling way in which our desires mesh.
How would all these people react if they could see inside my head? What shock or disgust or horror would result from their knowledge of what I crave? And what would they think if they knew that in a few minutes, just feet from where they stand, this inordinately happy couple that we are, will share intimacies they can barely imagine? For it is undoubtedly an intimate act, this spanking that is between us. This part of me that no one else of our acquaintance can fathom is one you share completely. In fact, the more deeply held my fantasies, the more they mesh with yours. Things others would only tolerate, immerse you as thoroughly in joy as they now do me, since I can share them with you. Oh, I cannot deny always having enjoyed the spanking games I've played... but like the difference between a flashlight and full sun is the difference between playing them with a partner who simply enjoys the sexuality of the play, and one who craves the element of the game as intensely as I do myself.
So, since this IS so much my joy, my craving, and so much part and parcel of the intensity that is *us*... Why am I finding it hard to breathe, hard to swallow, hard to keep my heart from pounding its way out of my chest?
I put the tray of food on the sideboard and make my way quickly, quietly, out of the room. On legs wobbly from knees gone weak, I climb the stairs to our room and close the door silently. The thick carpet muffles all sound as I cross to the closet and turn on the light before stepping in. This door too I close behind me, hoping beyond hope that you'll take the hint and employ the same precaution against prying eyes. The thought of someone else, anyone else, seeing me like this is terrifying in the extreme. Yet I know that that too would be a limit I would simply walk over if you decided it was what you wanted. Who of my long term acquaintances would believe my accepting acquiescence to your every desire? Who would understand the incredible fulfillment I find in giving myself to you?
Quickly I lift my dress over my head and slip it over a hanger. Over the top of my garters and stockings, I then slide my panties to my knees before leaning forward over the padded back of the chair. This piece of furniture sits here so innocuously. It could easily be here to make it easier to don one's shoes, but it is not. And each time I see it I am forcefully reminded of the many times it has held us as you hold me to you while I lay over your knee and spanked me so thoroughly or of the times, such as now when I have positioned myself over the back of it. I am excrutiatingly aware of the picture I present, the chair back just higher than the place at the top of my legs where I naturally bend, so in leaning over it I am stretched to my limit, my toes barely reaching the floor, and oh-so-completely-vulnerable as all my most private secrets are laid bare. Still the thought of anyone but you entering haunts some portion of my brain, but really, I am so totally focused on you, that nothing else registers more than in the background. And the idea of doing anything other than what you have ordained is unthinkable.
Suddenly, I know you are there, behind me. Though no glimpse is possible through the solid padded back of the chair, and though you have entered silently, there is a difference in the feel of the little room. Or perhaps it is really just the sound of your quickened breathing that has alerted me, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath at seeing me so displayed, so opened, so tractable to your whim and will. "Very good, Sweetheart," you breathe, and a shiver darts uncontrollably over my exposed skin at the sound. Your hands brush lightly over the orbs of my bottom and easily part my legs further to explore my warm moist folds and expose me even more. You step away from me to reach up and take a box from the shelf that spans the wall above your clothes. Even in that moment, I feel bereft, abandoned, and I shiver again.
Then, as you shake out the item you've removed to hang full length in front of you, the fleeting trembling comes to stay and I cannot control the tears that spring to my eyes. It feels as if this must be a nightmare, how could I ever have thought I wanted this... How will I ever even take this? A thin cord of braided leather snaps when you flex your wrist quickly, and I am jump at the sharpness of the sound. But even amidst the terror that twists my stomach and makes me clench my still-white cheeks in fear, I am aware of a familiar rushing, arcing shock of warmth between my legs as my lower lips engorge and become wet with an my arousal. I know you cannot help but see, exposed as you have made me, and this only adds to the aching I feel. Ahhh Matt, how I want you.
"Ten strokes now," you tell me with no room for negotiation or plea, "five straight up and down each side, all within a handspan of the cleft between your cheeks." I swallow convulsively even as you continue, "Reach your hands back to the sides and pull your cheeks apart. I want some of these stripes down the sides of the cleft."
I can hear a smile in your voice as you explain, "You'll feel those even as you stand and talk to people for the rest of the night, baby." Ahhh, my breath is unsteady but I marvel even now at how thorough you are, how completely you've thought this out, how well you know me. In feeling this later, I will come to fever pitch. There is no pain in the aftereffects for me, only bright, hot intensity of passion.
But the getting there... Ahh, the getting there is painful and all I feel right now is fear. You come around to stand in front of the chair and though I do not move, my eyes follow the leather strand in horror and fascination. The first stroke falls along the inside crest of my left cheek, burning sharper and sharper as the seconds build, straight down into the tender flesh near the curve to the inside of my thigh. I want to tell you that it will lick the entire length of my sex with ribbons of fire on the inside strokes at that length, but I am struck dumb. And so the stripes march on, closer and closer, biting more excruciatingly into the velvet softness of my inner thigh with each one and getting closer to my core. I am whimpering and breathing as hard and fast as when I am about to come, but still I cannot speak. Then, on the fifth stroke, the lash does exactly what I knew it must and I keen, a high pitched note of fear, of pain, of awakening.
"Shhh, sweetheart, shhh," you sooth me, your other hand warm and solid on my back, my side, my shoulder, "Half-way done." You begin the laddered stripes on the inner crest of my right cheek, and I feel myself jump in response. Again, you settle me, and the lash works its way in, inexorably, in identical mirror image, first to the tender flesh at the top of my inner thigh giving me the closest reminder of what I will feel when, once again it sears its way along the whole length of my swollen inner lips. And then, with the tenth falling, it is there again and nothing has prepared me. The noise bursts from my lips again, but once again you are there, with me in every move.
"Stand up, now" you say, and I hurry to obey, though it is almost mindless. I want your arms. I want your strength. I want the closeness and comfort of your body. You pull me against you and I am soothed. While my heart and breathing slow to normal rates, however, my cheeks are clenching rhythmically in an effort to still the burning left in the wake of your lash. But the clenching only intensifies the feelings, so I must force myself to stop the nearly involuntary reaction. There is no movement to still the awareness, nowhere to go to escape it.
You reach for my dress and ease it over my head, smoothing it into place over my hips. A full body tremor shakes me as you deliberately brush the fabric over the newly forming welts. I bend to pull up the panties that remain around my knees, but you shake your head. "Leave them off, my sweet," you tell me in a voice that, again, leaves no room for query or debate, but holds infinite love in its depths. Ahhh, what an uncontrollable passion I will be in, by the time our guests depart. Once again I marvel at your knowledge of me.
And then, before love, before worship, I know you will spank me again. I tremble, in anticipation this time, a sensation at the center of my being reminding me of the feel of your hand, cupped just enough to match my own curves and impart the fullest smack and yet hold me in a momentary caress at the same time. You are caressing those same curves now, keeping me under your hand as we turn to go and rejoin all those who know us, yet know nothing at all. The sensory input is overpowering. My sex is on fire; the lips so fully pouting I can feel a tangible difference, and my arousal so intense that my thighs feel slick to my stocking tops.
Suddenly I realize that in the silence that overtakes me in the nearness of a spanking, I haven't told you. I turn back eagerly. "It caught my, um, pussy," I stumble over the uncomfortable word, but feel a new surge of arousal in the acknowledgment. You smile and kiss me, deeply, tenderly, before turning me back toward the door and I wonder at your lack of surprise.
"Yessss," you say softly, your voice near my ear. "Number five and number ten... all the way along the length of your lips to your clit, I should think." I breathe in sharply the shock of your assurance, but then in the next moment a warm comfort settles over me. And with it, comes the familiar, nearly consuming, wave of adoration. Of course... how could it be otherwise? As with everything about me -- you knew.
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