(Continuing that excerpt from “Between the Lines”: thoughts about pleasure, while delivering my second-ever successful spanking.) 

I cupped Maureen’s left buttock with my hand, drawing a pleasurable sigh from her. She was cool to the touch. I cupped the other cheek, squeezed and patted her, and then stroked the sensitive skin in the cleft between. When my fingertips touched, lightly, against her cunt Maureen opened her thighs, releasing me.

She bowed her head, probably more in concentration than in submission, and closed her eyes. So we had begun.

I smacked her lightly, closely observing my hand’s impact against her flesh. I knew I would want to remember each detail. What was this? Why did I like this so much?

There were visual pleasures, the sight of Maureen’s flesh rippling and firming as each smack landed. Her face frowned in concentration, a slight pursing of her mouth with each blow. I watched these things with absorption, and wondered at their beauty.

Hand reared girl

When I made the smacks harder I could watch the changes in her skin, the instant of pallor directly under my hand at the instant of contact, blushing to pink as the blood rushed to the assaulted skin.

At first I could see individual prints, my palm, fingers and thumb marked on her like the paint hands on Palaeolithic cave walls, but these soon merged into one large red blotch covering her buttocks and upper thighs. 

[To be continued]