And so Diane was tied. Her legs splayed like a frog’s, and her hips were pushed up by the pillows, so her cunt was well presented. I was behind her, and she could not turn her head to look back, so the finger I ran lightly, just inside her lips, was a shock to her. She was wet.
My finger was gone before she could relax and enjoy the touch. Her hips juddered, almost imperceptibly. I was certain that she wanted to beg, to plead for me to stroke her cunt again. But she’d learned enough to know it would do no good. I put my hand on her ass, my forefinger near her asshole. She held herself still, absolutely still, her ass up as far as she could hold it.
She was like a puppy hoping for a biscuit. She posed and waited. Hoping.
I smiled, which she couldn’t see, and smacked her bottom, twice. She held the pose. “Good girl,” I said.
Diane breathed out. Disappointed and obscurely happy not to have her own way. I felt very tender, very fond of her at that moment. It was time to birch her.