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Anatomy of a Spanking

by | erotica | 0 comments

The struggle ended at the couch. She whined and flailed as I dragged her across the apartment by her arm, but when I sat down and pulled her onto their lap, she was suddenly still and quiet.

My hand naturally went to her hair. No matter how she laid, her posture could always be improved. I moved under her and guided her by the hair until she was in the ideal position. Her waist directly over my lap, her chest and arms leaning on the couch cushion next to me, and her knees resting on the other side of me. This pushed her ass high enough for me to get a good angle and made sure that as much of our bodies were touching as possible.

In that position, with my hand in her hair, I was in control of her body, but I was also hyper-aware of it. I could feel every move she made, pressing against me or shifting away from me.

She looked back at me over her shoulder, her hair covering most of her face, but her eyes still visible as she narrowed them at me and pouted. Her attitude only made me smile. I pulled her head back into position by her hair, hard enough that she said, “ouch!”

I liked hearing her say, “ouch.” I liked ouch followed by my name even more, but we would have a talk about that. We had a lot to talk about. This was, after all, her first time over my lap.

Her skirt was already a mess, wrinkled and pulled up so that her thighs were exposed. Continuing to hold her hair in one hand, I moved my other up her legs, up her thighs, then pushing her skirt up father until it was flipped over her back. She started to squirm again, and I tugged on her hair once more. When I pulled down her panties, she stopped squirming and tensed. The room was quiet except for her labored breathing.

Her ass was a pretty round canvas. Her pink panties around her knees and her dress pulled up made everything look dirtier. As her back arched, the half peach of her pussy was just barely visible between her thick thighs.

Want flooded my veins, but I held it in check. I let the want transform into something else, something like cruelty. Then my hand smoothed over her ass, slowly my fingers closing, squeezing her cheek, leaving little red trails where my nails scratched.

Then I gave her the first smack. Her body jumped, I felt her against my hardening cock. I slap again. I was getting the feel of her skin, seeing how she reacted, seeing how much she could take and how far I could push her.

The rhythm took over a little then, slow and steady smacks on her ass, each one as close to the last as possible.

I could see the side of her face, her eyes closed, her jaw clenched. She wanted to take it for me. She wants to make me proud. That meant I had to find out how much she could take and dance on the edge of that line.

I mix up the strokes, letting the slaps get slightly softer and go very hard. From then on, each strike was a little harder, with a pause in-between to let her process the feeling. Her skin was red from my hand, her face was red from exertion and desire and shame. It was shame that made me smile the most and made me even harder.

The smacks echo through the room. Slow and hard. She grunted with each and let out a little shuddering whimper. She rose up with each slap, too, her knees pressed against the couch cushions so that her ass was even higher.

When I paused again, she took the moment to rest, settling down. I was sure she could feel my hard cock pressing against her hip.

I took a minute to smooth her skin over with my hand. I let go of her hair and rub her back.

When I start again, it was on the other cheek, the same building. It was a faster cycle, though, since her body was primed.

When I got to the hardest strikes, she was gritting her teeth and bracing for impact. My hand was throbbing and stinging. My arm was burning from the constant motion. Her ass was crimson with raised marks and a hundred imprints of my hand.

When I paused, my fingers rested on her thigh. I could see her pussy again, the lips wet. Her things were wet too. As my fingers moved in-between her legs, she tensed again as if I were going to hit her. I traced the little space between her thighs and her cunt. Her breath caught. My fingers slipped against her lips, and she moaned, “please?”

Then the spanking started again. The warmup was over. My arm went high up in the air and came down fast. Each hit pushing her body down and forward as she cried out.

I knew the vibrations of these hits were all pointing right to her cunt. Through the pain, her ass was pushing farther up, hoping my fingers would show mercy and slip between her legs again.

My hand was steadying me on the couch. She had moved and embraced my arm, hiding her face near my hand, eventually sucking on two of my fingers either to pull my concentration away or just to take solace in some kinder physical connection.

The last few hits were so hard I felt like my palms would split. She was wailing with each smack. Finally, she turned her body so that she was facing me. She curled into a ball on my lap, and I hugged her.

“Shh, that was very good,” I whispered, and she looked up at me with wet red-rimmed eyes.

“My good girl,” I said, kissing her tears.

She said nothing. She just sobbed and shook.

I comforted her. I held her. Eventually, my hand slipped back to her ass, to feel the fever hot skin. Then my fingers moved between her legs, and although she squirmed a little at first, when my fingers finally slipped between her thighs, she clutched my arm and let out an animal moan.

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