We developed a rhythm, Chloe and I, the swing and thwap of the strap, her cry and the new stripe, or, once the strap had already reached most of her skin, the deepening of an existing pink-red area, her frantic dance, and, when she raised her hips again, the swing of the strap. I think the strokes were about twenty to thirty seconds apart.But we were dancing, not thinking, or counting time.

This was very different from the spankings I’d given her. I missed the tactile pleasure of my hand on her heated skin, but there were compensations. Her posture was so blatantly submissive, and because the strap required me to stand a little further back, I had distance and time to study her.

I stopped the strapping twice, at intervals of about ten minutes, to stroke her cunt. The first time I was still reassuring myself that she loved this. That first time I used my fingers, because it was important to know she was wet.

The second time, I pleasured her cunt with the strap itself. I didn’t need to know she was happy; of course she was. And I thought she’d like the symbolism of being pleasured with the leather that I was using to hurting her. We breathed together while she devoted herself, all of her awareness, to the slow rubbing of girlskin against that old belt. 

When she was nearly ready to come, I stepped back and resumed the strapping.

Neither of us knew how many strokes I gave her. By the latter stages Chloe’s skin glowed dark pink from the upper slopes of her buttocks to about two inches down her thighs, with strips of brighter red where the leather had landed on earlier stripes, and only isolated glimpses of white skin.

Chloe danced and bucked without pausing, and I’d stopped waiting for her to keep still and present herself. I just waited till her hips were at the lowest point in her dance and swung the leather to impact on her bottom as it rose.

I couldn’t aim with any great accuracy, but at least I could judge the timing. The strapping lasted about half an hour. Chloe glowed, not only with sweat.