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Spanking 101 [MMF]

spanking handprint on an ass

Smack.

It’s times like these that I don’t know whether to hide my smile in the coverlet or to laugh aloud. The childlike look of wonder on his face – the way his mouth hands open ever so slightly as he watches the impact from the blow ripple over my supple flesh.

Smack.

He’s always had a bit of an obsession with my ass. Hell, every man has. I’ve come to think the damn thing has its own presence far before people actually notice me. Can I really blame him for being a little absorbed?

He rubs his hand over the highest point of a pert, generous globe before raising it again

Smack.

The impact echoes through the room and I sigh, lowering my head to rest my chin on my arms as my eyes slide closed.

“How’s that, babe?”

I bite my lip, worrying it’s glossed surface for a moment before I stage my reply carefully. “Good. Nice.” Almost like a massage, really. I could drift off to this. Craning my neck, I look back at him, my smile sweet and encouraging. “Maybe a little harder?”

Maybe a lot harder. With all my gifts, he’s going to have to put some real mettle into his swing for me to feel it, no matter how pretty it might sound.

He frowns. “Harder? Won’t that hurt you?”

My heart stutters in my chest. He’s sweet. So endearingly sweet. “It won’t. I’ll be fine, I promise. Reaching up, I brush a thumb over the worried catch at the edge of his mouth. “Harder.”

“…If you say so.”

Smack.

The next blow is more powerful in minute increments, perhaps. A testament to his anxiety. He doesn’t want to leave marks – doesn’t want to enter the realm of anything that I can’t handle.

Which is exactly where the problem lies.

At the low sound of a throat clearing, he jumps slightly and my attention swings over my opposite shoulder.

“If I may?”

The new voice sends shivers down my spine. It was I who asked for this – a little lesson of sorts, from a man far more versed in the baser side of my desires. My boyfriend was, of course, hesitant at first, but ultimately we had worked our way up to this point: He perched on the edge of the bed. Me, utterly bare, lounging across his lap with my ass perked high.

And him, in the corner.

I always told my boyfriend playfully how much I adored being spanked, and he was eager to comply…so why not show him the ropes?

The figure lounging in the corner chair stands. He’s the polar opposite of the man beneath me. Taller, broader, older, more serious – and one hell of a disciplinarian. This I learned over months of personal experience.

He advances on the bed to stand over us, his mere presence making every muscle in my body quiver with anticipation. “May I?” He repeats, low and firm. He’s asking my lover’s permission out of courtesy to him alone. If it were just he and I, there would be no asking. Only telling.

“Um…Yeah.” With no small amount of hesitation, my lover raises his hand from my behind. The moment he does, the man above us reaches down to lift me. He yanks me upward swiftly, tossing me onto my stomach on the bed. When I try to raise my head, a hand fists in my hair, fingers pulling taut against my scalp.

“Turn your head.” His command is low, booking absolutely no argument. “Look at him.”

There’s just enough leeway in his grip to allow me just that – to turn my head and take in my boyfriend’s stunned expression as my dominant’s knee dips the mattress. The bed takes the weight of one knee, while his opposite shin lies across the backs of my calves, effectively pinning my legs to the bed.

And leaving my ass deliciously exposed.

My predicament is only further evident when I wriggle in an attempt to get more comfortable. I’m immediately rewarded with an open-handed blow across the lower curve of my cheeks, the sound a hollow clap.

It hurts.

Oh does it hurt. A delicious, buzzing sting that sings down my nerve endings, curling my toes. The second blow is even harder, drawing a breathless yelp from me as I writhe, trying to escape.

Fuck, you’re hurting her.” My boyfriend makes a move towards us.

“Don’t!” The word escapes me, half-shriek, have gasp. The third blow is the hardest of all. I can feel the imprint of it throbbing with fresh heat.

He freezes.

I know how this must seem to him. Me, glassy-eyed, panting and trembling. It’s frightening, and it terrified me upon my first encounter.

It still scares me now – but for different reasons entirely.

“You have to understand.” My Dominant’s voice is low and methodical as he massages the sting of his blows firmly into the hot flesh of my behind. “She wants you to hurt her. Needs it. Like a drug.” The next blow is backhanded, brutal against the ridge where my back transitions to my posterior, and a guttural moan escapes me as I shudder.

Slick, sticky wetness has already begun to seep from the core of me, the musky scent coloring the air…and it only took four strikes. “If you know this,” He takes a handful of my ass to squeeze so hard the imprints of his fingers are left, red and vivid, against my skin, “Then you know just how much it can take. Make her feelit. Make her remember it.”

Three swats in quick succession and I’m whining, tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. My boyfriend’s jaw is on the bedspread and and I’m fairly certain my nipples are hard enough to rend the bedspread beneath me. If the man pinning me spanks me anymore, I won’t be able to sit at my desk the next day, and the prospect has me dripping onto the coverlet.

His grip on my scalp pulls my neck taut as his eyes meet mine – both hard and carefully assessing at once. “Do you need your word?”

I shake my head – at least, my head bobs through the air slightly, the angle of my neck taxing my shoulders and nape.

“Good.”

He proceeds to rain blows over my vulnerable, already seared behind. The angle of every strike is different, toasting another few millimeters of skin and further intensifying the sensation of each additional smack. The pain is unbelievable – nigh unbearable, and I’m sure the neighbors will complain about the racket I’m making tomorrow morning. Moreover, my abuser won’t let me muffle my screams in the coverlet.

He wants to hear them.

As caught up as I am in the moment, a small, sequestered part of my mind wonders if this is too much, too fast.

And then I see it…the huge erection tenting my boyfriend’s pants as he watches another man reduce me to the sum of my most primal needs.

A sob escapes me as my thighs quiver, my hands gripping at the sheets for purchase. Tears course down my face to drip onto my wrists and arms and I’m so overstimulated that, incredibly, I’m only moments from what promises to be a mind-blowing orgasm.

But I need more. Just a little more. I gasp – a sharp, hitching breath, as my Dominant shifts, snaking an arm beneath me to jerk me upwards onto my knees so my ass, brilliantly red and smarting with obscene heat, is displayed even more prominently. His cups the slick sex between my legs roughly and I cry out at the contact, flinching away.

It earns me another punishing set of blows that has me pleading for mercy after mere seconds.

I’m a trembling, whimpering mess of nerve endings by the time he’s through – and my boyfriend’s ragged, tense breathing is music to my ears.

“Above all,” The man above me might have been giving a lecture to a full classroom. The only thing that gives away his obvious proclivity for flaying my behind is his erection, pressing flush against my aching hip. “Don’t neglect this.” The flat of his hand strokes over the wet seam of me once, agonizingly, and I groan. “Attention where attention is due.”

He hits me – there.

A stinging swat of his fingertips right against the engorged, tight bud of my clit.

Sensation explodes through me. I am not eased into my orgasm – rather, ensnared by a thousand greedy tendrils of charged sexual tension and yanked over the edge into ecstatic oblivion.

I scream. Shudder. Quiver. Muscles cramp and I’m not quite sure I can breathe. The knowledge that my lover is watching only enhances the sharp, unrelenting stab of pleasure through my system.

My Dominant does not release me until my entire body has gone completely lax, the last, delicious spasms of my orgasm faded to nothing. Then, and only then, does he lower me to the bed with the utmost care. His hand finds the aching nape of my neck and massages in deep, long strokes that soon have me purring in bliss.

And then he’s gone.

When I raise my head, heavy with lazy, post-orgasmic bliss, to stare up at my boyfriend, I find him staring at me as if he’s seen the pearly gates in all their golden glory.

“Now,” The leather of the corner chair creaks as our teacher re-settles. “Yourturn.”

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