Of Being Yours[another way 2] by Anna Martin Page A

push myself, I couldn’t serve him in the way I wanted to if I wasn’t completely physically and mentally there.
    “A light one?” I asked.
    “Sure.”
    He had me kneel for him in the bedroom and didn’t bother to collar me. I didn’t need the weight of my leather collar or the familiar surroundings of his playroom to be able to find my subspace anymore. It had taken a long time to get to this stage, but now that we’d achieved it, I relished the freedom it gave us.
    We’d already locked up the house and turned off our phones—there would be no distractions. The carpet was softer under my knees than the hard wood of the playroom a floor above me, and it was slightly cooler down here too, making goose bumps rise on my arms.
    My Master had me wait for him, my fingers linked behind my neck, arms braced, knees slightly apart, as he showered in our adjoining bathroom. When he returned to me wearing only loose pajama pants, I could smell his preferred shower gel on his skin and almost feel the warmth radiating from it.
    “Good boy,” he murmured as he towel dried his hair.
    He sat—when he was ready, of course—on the edge of the bed and dragged a pillow down to his side.
    “Come here.”
    When I arranged myself over his thighs for a spanking in the playroom, it was usually while he sat on his high-backed armless chair, meaning my hands and feet were all that balanced me on either side. Because he was on the bed tonight, it meant I could lie out flat, my head on the pillow and my arms wrapped around it, and my feet propped up too.
    He rubbed his hand across the swell of my ass, softly at first, slow circles that helped me to relax. I knew what was coming, of course, but still jumped a little as he swatted me for the first time. He hummed low in his throat, and I decided he wasn’t happy with something. Then his other arm came to anchor me around my waist and hold me to him.
    He started off with a light series of smacks that covered my ass and the tops of my thighs, warming the skin so I wouldn’t bruise from the harder strokes I was sure would come. I sighed and snuggled further into my pillow, lifting my ass to him a little bit for better access.
    There was always a consistency to how he spanked me, meaning I didn’t have to work hard to find the right headspace for it. Stroke, circle, lift, smack. Stroke, circle, lift, smack. He worked up to the heavier thudding spanks that rocked my body and forced little grunts and whimpers from the back of my throat.
    To finish, Will discarded the stroke, circle, lift, smack routine as he rained a series of lighter smacks down all over my ass and thighs, then finished with a heavy and painful full-palmed wallop right across the fleshiest part of my ass.
    “Thank you,” I gasped, and he let me have a few moments before he scooted back on the bed and swung his legs out from under mine. Then he disappeared into the bathroom.
    When he came back, he had a tube of arnica gel with him, which he smoothed over my hot red skin to take out the sting and hopefully prevent too much bruising.
    “How are you doing?” he said softly.
    “Good,” I told him. Turning my head on the pillow, I reached out for him. “Can I do anything for you?”
    Will shook his head. “I’m fine.” He leaned in and kissed me on the forehead, then turned off the lamp on his nightstand and pulled the duvet back so I could crawl in next to him.
    In the darkness we were pulled together as if by magnets, our hands grasping for purchase on hips and sore thighs and the back of his neck and the curve of my shoulder. He kissed me so sweetly and with so much raw want and love, flicking his tongue against mine and then sucking it into his mouth.
    I cupped his cheek in the palm of my hand and angled our faces together for more soft kisses, gently pressing our lips together over and over. Will reached for me again, drawing my body to his with his hand on my lower back, his thumb stroking back and forth over my