Bedroom eyes 19

I raised the belt. Stephanie, over my knee, raised her arse to meet it. Her head was down, hair hanging over her face while she stared at the carpet and her hands, touching the carpet. 

I put my hand back on the small of her back to hold her in place. “This’ll be the first time you’ve ever felt my belt. I think I should make it memorable. Do you agree?”

“Get on with it please, Sir. Before I lose my nerve.”

So I transferred the belt to the hand holding her down and smacked the back if her right thigh, then the left, with my hand. Two loud claps, and one long squeal from Stephanie.

“I was saying I think your first stroke of the belt should be a stinger. So you remember it. Do you agree?” 

There was silence. Then Stephanie said, still addressing the carpet, “Yes, Sir, I agree.” 

“Good girl. Now, keep your arse up. You look just perfect, not that I need to tell you that. And count down, aloud from five.”

“Oh. I see. Five.”

“Good girl. Clever girl.”

“Four… Three… Two…” There was a pause. Stephanie was very still. “One.” 

I said, “Zero,” and brought the belt down, across the pink crown of her bottom. The crack of leather and flesh impacting filled the room, and Stephanie jolted down onto my lap, her hip hard against my cock, also hard.

“Yeeoww!”

She danced horizontally on my lap, her legs up and kicking, thighs spread as if she was swimming. “”Yeeeee-oww! Yeeosh! Yosh!” 

I said, “Good girl, little love. That one had to be memorable. It had to mean something.”

“Yow! Oh Sir you bastard! That’s memorable! Do I count down again?”

“No love. Just for the first. Now relax. We’re going on a little ride together.” I swung the belt again, catching her just a little lower, about half as hard. The sound of impact was still impressive, and I heard Stephanie’s squeals again, though not quite as loud or as anguished. I was falling in love, or lust, with that sound. 

I gave her the remaining four at the same intensity, and by the sixth stroke Stephanie had relaxed. No more jolting and no more squeals. I judged that she was back to enjoying herself. I put my hand on that hot, red skin and rubbed, then squeezed her and pressed my thumb into her anus.

Her movements slowed, and she tightened on my fingers and sighed. I smacked her lightly with my holding-her-down hand. “Ready for your second six?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes. And Sir?”

“Little Steph?”

“That first one was a bastard. I’ll remember that, long as I live. But … the others: you can go a little harder, Sir.” 

“Do I need your permission, Stephanie?”

Actually I did, since certain agreements hadn’t been made. But she shook her head. I had to imagine her facial expression: I was sure she was being minxish again. “No Sir, you do not.”

“That’s right,” I lied.

I gave her the next five, making each just a little harder than the one before. There was no more squealing: her reaction was slower, her breathing more languorous. She was drifting into that mental space where I could keep belting her for hours and not hurt her at all. We’d do that one day, I thought. Then I thought, We’ll do it soon.

But I said, “Last stroke. The last one is usually memorable too.” 

I’m not sure if she heard me, or if she was listening to words. But I raised the belt a little higher than before, and swung it harder. The impact sound was, well, there’s beauty in these things, but Stephanie only said, “Hahh!” 

I held the belt to her mouth. “That’s all for now. You’re a brave, good and deeply fuckable woman. Hold this.” 

Stephanie nodded at me. There were tears on her eyes and on her eyebrows, which is what comes of crying when your face is upside down. She smiled, pleased to see me, then opened her mouth so I could stow the belt. I sat up straight then, and lifted her with one arm under her thighs, the other under her belly, and kissed her blazing hot bottom.

Kisses have magic curative powers, my mother had always taught me. 

Monica’s knees

Monica undid my pants, and pulled them and my underpants down below my knees. My cock flicked free, bobbing about near her mouth. She touched the head with her tongue and of course it flicked higher. She had to reach and take it firmly in her left hand, so she could kiss the end, her lips wonderfully soft, without it leaping out of range.  I helpfully pulled her t-shirt off, so she was naked on her knees to a clothed man. It seemed right. 

When her arms were free of the t-shirt she said, “Nice cock.” Then she moved forward and took the glans into her mouth.

I said, as men will under those conditions, “Ah.” I tried and mostly managed not to move. Partly that was because I didn’t want to seem rude, and discourage her from sucking my cock at all, and partly because I liked the idea of her doing all the work. At this stage.

I thought, as she moved forward and took more of me into her mouth, still tonguing and licking me, more than sucking, about her saying my cock was nice. I’ve always been puzzled by that, when women say it to me.

A cock is a cock, if you ask me, and I can’t see how one is nicer than another, though it might be bigger or smaller than average. Maybe there’s something loveable about mine, or maybe it’s just something that some women say to all guys, once cock becomes an issue at all.

I don’t know, and I’ve never queried it. 

I swung the belt down, not hard, so it slapped her bottom, vertically, and wrapped down the underbum to her left thigh. She made a noise of surprise rather than pain, and I did it again, but on her right. She said, round the cock in her mouth, “Why you whipping me?”

“Make you feel good. You’re not just serving me, you’re under my discipline. And the belt helps you know that. Feel it.”

Monica licked the underside of my cock. “Interesting.”

Then she took me deep, all the way into her mouth, so it was jammed into her throat. I said nothing, but my legs were shaking. I reached down at last and took a handful of her hair and pulled. She made a sound of acknowledgement: that was right, and expected.

I began to control her movements, moving her forward and back while I thrust in her, fucking her mouth and throat. I gave her two more strokes with the belt, and she took that as encouragement, sucking harder and moving her head faster, only partly under my direction. So I gave her two more. Her mouth opened a little at each impact, as she gasped lightly, then resumed her task.

Monica put her hands on the backs of my thighs, and sucked hard. She wanted to show she was good at this, and she was. I looked down at her striped backside.

Vertical stripes crossed the earlier horizontal ones, so that her ass was marked out like a noughts and crosses game. Or two.

Danny the cat was watching this, the human female apparently serving the male, receiving pain as her reward and apparently enjoying that. He might remember that scenario, from the days he still had his balls. He moved, ignoring hs mistress, and began wrapping his body round my feet and ankles. Monica and I both noticed. She did eye contact and I shook my head. I had no idea what he was up to either. Cats are weird.

Monica said urgently, while my cock pistoned in her, “Belt!”

I’d forgotten my duty. I laid down four more strokes, while she took me deep and hard. And, of course, the force both of her service and her submission was too much for me.

I started to say, “I think I’m about -” And then I came, body shaking with the sugary sweetness of it, and thrust and spurted into her mouth, while she sucked hard, urgently trying to take it all, and not spill. I thought she’d expect to be punished if she let a drop escape. She was probably right.

I released Monica’s hair and caressed her face. She had her head down now, focussed on sucking and licking my cock clean. She smiled up at me at last, and put her tongue out, so I could see my come on it. I said, “Swallow.”

She did. “Yes, sir.” Then returned to nuzzling my cock, now going soft in her mouth. 

I said, “Well, bed, I suppose. Though I’m not going to be able to fuck you for at least an hour.”

Monica released my cock at last, and shooed Danny. He made his way to the top of the fridge so he could glare down at us. “We’ll be able to pass that hour pleasantly enough. Anyway, sir, I think I know how I can get you hard, whenever I like.” 

I helped her up, then held her to me while I smacked her bottom, six times, with my hand. Monica made no complaint, and didn’t squirm. She just arched her bottom out to make a better target for me. They weren’t light spanks but she was laughing. And she was right. I could feel signs of returning penile interest, a little flow of blood. Though I still couldn’t manage an erection just yet. It had been years since  I’d been a teenager.

I looked around her kitchen and saw a wooden spoon on the shelf with eggbeater and the grater.I took it in the same hand that held her belt. I looked at her. She smiled, knowing what the spoon was for. 

So I said, “Yeah. Have you ever had this used on your perfect little ass?”

“You’re my first pervert. Sir.” She grinned. Calling me ‘sir’ was silly. As well as hot. “So, no. I’m a wooden spoon virgin.”

“Lovely! Well, I think I’ll give you a hundred strokes with this.”

“And then you’ll be hard enough to fuck me, won’t you? Sir.”

“I expect so, Monica. Bed.”