Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Worshipping post-erior

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


DL's said...

Whoa... who couldn't not need after reading something as stunningly proliferating and intoxicating as this? What a lucky, lucky girl you own and what a delicious set of words to honor & celebrate your union.

His pet said...

Oh. my. god.

i have to go read that again (and again and again). That was incredibly well written and so very hot.

Amber said...

well, we know all about that need :)

Anonymous said...

i think i'm a little woozy from this post. would you write about spanking a little more please? :)

Deity said...

I've shared your compliments with my girl and she appreciates your kind words. She's lucky, and so am i.

how many times did you make it through?

Is it that universal?

I hope woozy in a good way. More spanking...hmmm, i could be persuaded.

Amber said...

Well, I've had this need since I remember myself, I don't know how about the rest of you ladies. Don't even ask me how I played enema game with another girl on a datcha, where the enema was represented by the grass leaf. My idea...

By the way, Deity, I thought you'd love this picture of another kinky blogger Catalina of Catalina Loves Her Collar.

Deity said...

loved the photo. Thank you. Such craftmanship tightly packaging the female form.

Amber said...

Yeah, I'd love a pricey corset like that, but you need to spend between 80 and 300 on it, and I can't spend this much on a single play item - not like buying a weed whip (trimmer), for instance, or a drill set, or a food processor - so that and anal hook are, alas, for now out of my range. And then even if I did, J's going to think that this is quite a foolish thing to acquire at that price. So you ask if I don't have an outlet for some of those things - the only think I don't have an outlet for is the acquisition of fetish items whose appeal is hard to explain to lay people.

Amber said...

It's like Douglas Spalding trying to explain why he needed new tennis shoes with the new summer.