Tableau 3: Sa’afia lay on her belly, hands still tied, cunt still stressed, just inside her lips, by two tight strips of soaked silk. I had three fingers in that silk-lined and sensitive cunt, while with my other hand I spanked her, quite hard, in time with the movement of her hips. Her bottom rose to meet my hand, and, freshly stung, fell again to stretch the silk and press herself onto that glistening knot just below her clitoris.
She was working on her orgasm, and we both knew that she was one movement, or at most three or four, from going over. Her breathing was fierce and fast. But the instant I remember is the second before she came.
The orgasm she was building was too big. It was like surfing and finding, just as the wave was going to break, that it was as high as an office block.
I know that a second after I’d seen her fear I’d said to her something like, “I’m holding you, love. You’ll be fine.”
After I’d spoken, Sa’afia screamed and came. Not because of what I’d said.But she screamed again, and her contractions felt like they were going to break my fingers.
But the vivid memory isn’t her orgasm. it’s that look of fear and amazement at her own sensations, and her nervousness about letting go as hard as she wanted to.
That moment stuck, with the sounds and smells, and the discomfort of my left hand cramped wetly in her cunt, and my right hand warm from smacking her.
But it’s that terrified look that fixed that instant in time. The eyes have it.