I stopped tonguing. Sa’afia made a little sound of protest, so I clambered up till I was on my knees between her spread thighs. I pulled up her right thigh, looking down at her, and smacked the underside, as high as I could reach.
Sa’afia said, “Oh.” As though she’d just understood something. She didn’t struggle, but watched me intently, as I brought my hand down again. Cool, her thigh was, and firm. I smacked her again, just as hard. My palm on her thigh was loud. Sa’afia was silent.
She bit her lip, still staring into my eyes. This was what a man looked like when he spanked her. She hadn’t been able to watch my face before. I suppose I looked fierce, and single-minded.
After another four hard smacks her skin was less cool to my touch. She was finding it hard to keep still when every instinct made her want to wriggle away. After the seventh smack she made her little sound, a sorrowful-sounding “oooh”, sweet, low and similar to the sounds she made when she was about to come. It was her pained, pleasured noise, and there was no sorrow in it. I already knew that I loved that sound, and it would always be hard for me to stop while she was making it.
Eventually we both lost count, somewhere after the fortieth smack. Her right thigh burned to the touch. I’d left her left thigh alone. I smiled down at Sa’afia, because she was beautiful and, just then, entirely, utterly, mine. She smiled uncertainly back. She was wet, glazed and shiny wet, wetter than she’d been while I was tonguing her. But my hand was really hurting her.
She kissed my palm, then put her tongue out and licked it.