Monday, October 1, 2007

Ouvert le genou

It is a beautiful autumn Sunday morning. The outside atmosphere rings with the church bells and the crisp fall air. I let her sleep in a little longer than usual. These are the sort of days where sleeping-in deserves special consideration.

At breakfast, i tell her that at some point in the day she will be put over my knee. I mention this to her at all because i want to glean her general attitude and emotional station, knowing that we have just broken our slumber-induced fast. I inquire as to when she thinks she would be most receptive. She gives it some thought, then states after her shower.

Later on, i'm working on the computer. Off in the distance, i hear the cascade of water cease in the bathroom. The sound of a door opening splits into the air from down the hallway, and i sit, waiting for her to soon come into my bureau. For whatever reason, i do not anticipate that she will crawl into my den. On all fours she scampers in along the floor, pulling her completely naked body, dripping with fresh, clean wetness right up to my chair.

I ask her why she came crawling.

"Because i knew i was to be spanked."

"And why are you to be spanked?"

"Because that is what you have decided."

"Is there any reason you deserve to be spanked?"

She doesn't respond.

"You have been especially bratty this week."

"When?" she asks.

"The other morning, you showed a great deal of irritation for no good reason, and were awfully short in your answers. You were being quite the little brat."

"Yes. Yes i was."

"Now do you think a spanking will do you good?"

"Yes. It will do me good for awhile, and then, i'll eventually need another."

I guide her nude frame to lie across my lap as i sit in my chaise lounge. I stroke my hand the full length of her backside. From the base of her thin neck, to the ample curvature of her round feminine hips, i explore the corpuscle terrain glowing up at me. i kiss the convex indentations of her spine, then move my embrace to her newly cleaned ass cheeks. My hand interrupts this fleshy love affair with a thwap into her right buttocks. Her muscles leap in a tense tour jeté, quickly consuming the altered rhythm of our exchange. Suddenly, i view her epidermal frontier of delicate peach and pink tones and decide they are in need of an acceleration to bright red inflammation. I slap three strokes hard into her skin.

She yelps.

I brush my hand across the newly irritated flesh, and move to the other cheek.

Three more strokes. Her body has come alive with stimulation. Her muscles pulse with fresh blood pumped through them. Small droplets of sweat pool in the concavity of her lower back. The rounded mounds of her ass cheeks throb a gravitating heat that feels so comforting to my flattened palm. I patter her butt with a quick resonance of slaps, finding a pattern that satisfies my inner hunger but does not yet push her to the limit of seeking mercy. I alternate between her right and left cheeks. Right, then left, then right, then left. I bring her pain receptors just to the edge, teasing them, hording my command over this physical domain, never quite pushing her beyond the edge. This continues for another seven minutes.

At a certain point, i work out the kink in my shoulder, arm, psyche that dictated to me that i would need this sort of expression. My girl has extracted herself from the corporal impact slapped into her body, and hovering above it, has found a clear, explicit euphoria. I can feel the visceral, ectoplasmic possession of it glistening the folds of her yet unattended cunt. I pull her up into my lap, and hold her close to my body.

I visit her silent, now suddenly-smaller-than-normal frame with tender kisses and continued strokes with my hand, perched upon my reclined legs. I give us a few tender moments in the silent stasis of this pose before i move on to the completion of our intimate moment.


Séverine said...

Boy, Deity, you continue to write so well! Aside from a few posts that perhaps push beyond my personal hard limits, your writing style and the subject continues to be such a treat for me, honestly.

milla said...

Even if he writes past one's hard limits, the writing is still a treat, surely.


oatmeal girl said...

but i treasure those posts that push beyond my limits, that challenge my fears, and that show how i am changing.. isn't that a dom's job?

Deity said...

it's interesting to ponder someone experiencing hard limits through text and not through physical in person situations. i hadn't thought of it like that before.

that is certainly good to know, because i do admit to sometimes not broadcasting all of my desires out of fear of chasing my much appreciated readers away.

that's a very kind and open thing to admit to.