She says she needs it. This is not her parroting a phrase I have commanded her to repeat. She offers this out of her own demented, hungry volition.
“I really need a spanking.”
There’s that tone again. She asks where I want her: At the end of the bed, standing, legs spread, holding onto the frame. Skirt raised over her hips.
I examine her delicate ass, each geodetic cheek tensely held at attention. I do not forget the voyage it took to get her here. How three years ago, she’d never once been swatted, even by her own parents. How she blushed from her southern to her northern pole when I first positioned myself behind her, slowly pulling her frilly underthings down around her knees. How numerous stern corrections were uttered, directing her to “stick it out”, “point it at me”, “bend it upward”, until she knew exactly how I wanted it displayed. How on those days where she could not maintain position, I would have to pause to bind her hands to the frame and lock a spreader bar on her ankles. I don’t forget any of this. I merely proceed to act as one who’s made careful modifications on the proper behavior of his toy, and worship her ass.
I rub my hand over her satiny skin, noting to occasionally scrape across her flesh with my blunt thumbnail. I pull apart the two backside mounds, and look at her hidden, violet bud. Coming to one knee, I kiss her right cheek, taking in the perfume of her freshly cleaned body as if it were the original purpose of my sense of smell.
Sweat, the kind found behind skin that lays against skin.
Warmth, epidermis heated by her response to this attention.
Sweetness, her unique offering that titillates the taste buds on the tip of my tongue.
I linger here. Instead of following the protocol that one does at a busy art museum, I stand right in front of the object and stare, hogging the best view for myself. I suddenly notice her breath. It comes in stutters. I touch her right cheek with my palm, then swiftly pull it off, throwing it back into the air behind me. She winces. Her ass clenches, revealing the dimples on the inner, lower half of each side. I slap my hand hard against her backside, splashing heat across her skin. I wait, making no noise, in order to hear her groaning surrender.
I then continue with fulfilling her need.
*this continues on here