You give me a command, a rule, a formula. A nod to nostalgia, simple words, humming with old stories. Your voice calm, low, drawing my focus.
I always become earnest then. I always accept. I always sink deeper.
More commands, more direction. I move. My hands go here, my feet apart, my body bent and balanced, open. Sometimes you correct my posture, an adjustment with a tender hand or some rough kicks with impatient boots.
When I’m set, you take a step back. Mutual desire and a silent pause pour into the space between us. I wait. Breathe. Open myself to your gaze behind my back. Hope you want what you see.
You slide a thin, cool line across my ass. A little tap. Then slicing pain, a forward force, I shout; a rush, a giggle, my return. You pause. The memory: This is where I say something.
“One, Sir. Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?”
You growl your appreciation, hit me again, harder, a precise parallel to the first line of heat laying across my body. I relish in the pain you gift me. The sequence repeats. And repeats. I’m already floating in rolling waves of gooey-brained delight, fiery stripes burning deep within my flesh, arousal oozing between my legs. What were the words again?
“Three, Sir.” I briefly check in with myself. Definitely grateful. “Thank you, Sir.” Absolutely wanting more. “May I please have another?”
My obedient, if choppy request is granted. And again. My breath comes in hard gasps now, my cunt is straining, clenching, I’m very close to coming from nothing but your fierce cane and this pattern of gratitude, request, fulfillment. It takes an effort to retrieve any words at all from the depths of this slow flood. So when I say them, for the last time in this set of six of your best, I make sure I put my whole heart into every single one of them. No hiding, no hesitation.
“Five, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” I shudder with desire and my voice breaks. “May I have another?”
Your final blow crashes into me, a wave pulling me in, under. I swim in its sensation until I’m slowly washed back to the shore, breathless, grinning, content.
“Six, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
Today’s #Kinktober prompt was “begging.”