When does the spanking become punitive? When does it cease to serve as pure pleasure? These are questions that i ponder only after i've put away the shackles, the rope, the cane and the cuffs. One dramatic indicator has provided clarity to the question, yet not in the typical ways we might expect.
The male erection, a safe barometer of one member's arousal, has indicated for centuries when a man has enjoyed a particular spectacle he's witnessed. I have no problems launching the flagship of my sexual fleet, but it begs repeating that there are times when my dick isn't the central focus of my sadistic extracurricular activities.
When i first position her so that her backside is pointed my direction, the bulb of her ass lobbed up towards me, i can already feel the rush of fresh blood to my groin. Once i begin swatting the flesh of her ass, my penis has fully engorged, throbbing into the air as if to ask for some of this heat generated mere inches from it. With careful study, i can maintain this erection by abiding the cadence against her skin already established. Stray from it even slightly, as i am often wont to do when overcome with a hunger to really, just, without hesitation, inflict pain, and the formerly blood-engorged cock inexplicably begins to grow flaccid.
It's at this point, coital thoughts leave my mind, and all i want to do is see streaks of sanguine violet scorched across the canvass of her buttocks. Her cries elicit little sympathy from me, the twists of her body away from the waiting implement in my hand do nothing to turn my focus from the bludgeoning. I've bottled up the day's frustrations, the week's letdowns, the season's confounding mysteries, only to release them upon this gorgeous girly roundness held tensely and uncertainly aloft before me.
Sometimes, the evidence of my arousal returns. Other times, i needn't display a calling card to show how stimulated i am.