touches, and his
warm fingers stray into my already sticky pussy, and flicker up my bottom cleft.
I try not to moan, but when he reaches under me and pinches my clit, I gasp and
jerk, struggling hard against the cuffs.
“Careful. Keep still. Behave yourself.” His hands withdraw and
he strides purposefully away to the drawer in which he’s stowed our treasures. I
hardly dare look, but I still do. With a dramatic flourish, he pulls out an old
favorite, a red leather slapper, one he bought as another special gift, to match
our red leather upholstered chairs.
It’ll probably also match my bottom before long too.
“I’ll just warm you up a bit, my love.” He trails the leather
across the crown of my bottom, tickling both cheeks. “You’ll enjoy your dinner
all the more with a glowing bum.”
I’m not sure that’s the case at all, but I’ve no doubt it’ll
increase his appetite, the wretch.
From where I am, I can see him only in the mirror, but I watch
as he removes his jacket, carefully sets it aside and rolls up his pristine
shirtsleeves. Ah, the ritual. He loves that, as do I. I’m rapt as he takes his
position, so elegant and lean in his dark trousers and dazzling white shirt.
Soft light glints on his angelic blond hair.
Then, before I’ve had time even to properly register the
movement, his arm rises and falls, bringing down the red slapper.
“Ow...ow! Ow! Ow!” It’s just one blow, but it’s fierce, hard,
relentless. Flaming heat blossoms in a fat wedge across my right bum cheek, and
while I’m still absorbing it, its mate blooms just as fiery in my left.
“Be quiet and stop showing off.” Simon affects the tones of a
weary schoolmaster, even though I know inside he’s laughing as he punctuates
each word with another volley of slaps. It’s hard to distinguish each impact
when more than one or two have fallen, but I guess he’s trying to make a pattern
of uniform heat across my bottom.
Without realizing it, I’ve started moaning. So much for his
instruction. I am putting on a show, and in the
mirror, I see him narrow his fine blue eyes again and square his shoulders. He
knows I like the idea of an audience, and as if he’s performing for them too,
the slapper comes down harder and faster, and makes my flesh bounce like elastic
with each blow. I’m wriggling too, rubbing my body against the white upholstery,
trying to work my aching crotch and my tingling nipples and get some relief,
wishing I could reach down and pleasure myself, desperately.
“If you don’t behave yourself, I’ll leave you here and go down
to dinner alone. Then I’ll beat you again when I come back, and twice as
hard.”
Now, the staff and the other guests might think that’s rather
odd, given what we are...but then again, perhaps not. This is a very particular
hotel, with unusual services and activities. Not many places would have a mirror
on the ceiling over the bed, a basket of complimentary dildos and vibrators and
love-eggs available, and thoughtfully placed shackles exactly where adventurous
guests might need to find them.
More blows land. Another two. Another two. My bottom’s
agonized, but my pussy is suffering harder. It’s almost screaming for a touch or
a stroke or maybe the long, lingering lick of a loving tongue?
Then as abruptly as he began, Simon stops, stands still and
surveys his handiwork. I grit my teeth when he rubs his fingertips over the
extensively red area. “I think that’ll do...for now.”
A finger slips into my vagina from behind and I make a
determined effort to clasp it with my inner muscles and work myself on it. But
Simon makes a sound of warning and I fall still, my heart thudding in time to
the pulsing of blood in my punished bottom. His slender digit inside me feels
massive, and out of all proportion, like the very center of my world. He
scratches the nails of his other hand over my tenderized rear and a single tear
trickles from the corner of my eye.
Uh-oh, I’ll have to
warm fingers stray into my already sticky pussy, and flicker up my bottom cleft.
I try not to moan, but when he reaches under me and pinches my clit, I gasp and
jerk, struggling hard against the cuffs.
“Careful. Keep still. Behave yourself.” His hands withdraw and
he strides purposefully away to the drawer in which he’s stowed our treasures. I
hardly dare look, but I still do. With a dramatic flourish, he pulls out an old
favorite, a red leather slapper, one he bought as another special gift, to match
our red leather upholstered chairs.
It’ll probably also match my bottom before long too.
“I’ll just warm you up a bit, my love.” He trails the leather
across the crown of my bottom, tickling both cheeks. “You’ll enjoy your dinner
all the more with a glowing bum.”
I’m not sure that’s the case at all, but I’ve no doubt it’ll
increase his appetite, the wretch.
From where I am, I can see him only in the mirror, but I watch
as he removes his jacket, carefully sets it aside and rolls up his pristine
shirtsleeves. Ah, the ritual. He loves that, as do I. I’m rapt as he takes his
position, so elegant and lean in his dark trousers and dazzling white shirt.
Soft light glints on his angelic blond hair.
Then, before I’ve had time even to properly register the
movement, his arm rises and falls, bringing down the red slapper.
“Ow...ow! Ow! Ow!” It’s just one blow, but it’s fierce, hard,
relentless. Flaming heat blossoms in a fat wedge across my right bum cheek, and
while I’m still absorbing it, its mate blooms just as fiery in my left.
“Be quiet and stop showing off.” Simon affects the tones of a
weary schoolmaster, even though I know inside he’s laughing as he punctuates
each word with another volley of slaps. It’s hard to distinguish each impact
when more than one or two have fallen, but I guess he’s trying to make a pattern
of uniform heat across my bottom.
Without realizing it, I’ve started moaning. So much for his
instruction. I am putting on a show, and in the
mirror, I see him narrow his fine blue eyes again and square his shoulders. He
knows I like the idea of an audience, and as if he’s performing for them too,
the slapper comes down harder and faster, and makes my flesh bounce like elastic
with each blow. I’m wriggling too, rubbing my body against the white upholstery,
trying to work my aching crotch and my tingling nipples and get some relief,
wishing I could reach down and pleasure myself, desperately.
“If you don’t behave yourself, I’ll leave you here and go down
to dinner alone. Then I’ll beat you again when I come back, and twice as
hard.”
Now, the staff and the other guests might think that’s rather
odd, given what we are...but then again, perhaps not. This is a very particular
hotel, with unusual services and activities. Not many places would have a mirror
on the ceiling over the bed, a basket of complimentary dildos and vibrators and
love-eggs available, and thoughtfully placed shackles exactly where adventurous
guests might need to find them.
More blows land. Another two. Another two. My bottom’s
agonized, but my pussy is suffering harder. It’s almost screaming for a touch or
a stroke or maybe the long, lingering lick of a loving tongue?
Then as abruptly as he began, Simon stops, stands still and
surveys his handiwork. I grit my teeth when he rubs his fingertips over the
extensively red area. “I think that’ll do...for now.”
A finger slips into my vagina from behind and I make a
determined effort to clasp it with my inner muscles and work myself on it. But
Simon makes a sound of warning and I fall still, my heart thudding in time to
the pulsing of blood in my punished bottom. His slender digit inside me feels
massive, and out of all proportion, like the very center of my world. He
scratches the nails of his other hand over my tenderized rear and a single tear
trickles from the corner of my eye.
Uh-oh, I’ll have to
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