Ana had cushions under her hips, keeping her ass in the air. Her hands were tied behind her back, with my belt. She could probably get out of that, if she tried. It was the position she’d been in when we’d last fucked. That was about midnight. It was one in the morning.
I was feeding her strawberries and ice-cream – with my hands – and she was hungry, so she had no reason to try to move. All good things were coming to her.
We hadn’t stopped to have dinner, and now we weren’t going to. Eventually she finished the plate I’d brought her. I said, “good girl.” I’d checked with her, that she liked being told she was good, when she was. She was good, when she wanted to be, and she liked my approval.
I held her wineglass – filled with water, now – to her lips and tilted. Ana drank. Eventually she nodded her head, so that water spilled down over the pillow. I smacked her bottom, because of the spillage, and then gave her my hand to lick clean.
She spent a long time on my fingers, once she’d got the white mess of my palm. There was symbolism going on there. Ana was demonstrating a skill.
I said, “All right.” I reached over and undid the belt, freeing her hands. Ana made a small protesting noise. She’d liked being tied. I said, “you’ll need your hands.”
I put my knees on the pillow, on either side of Ana’s face. I took a handful of hair and pulled her head up. Ana opened wide, without being told. But I smacked her bottom with the belt anyway. Hard enough to fill the room with impact noise and make her left buttock shake.