Smutathon Guest post from The Wragger 2: Her spanking

[Note: This was written for Smutathon by The Wragger. He doesn’t have a blog, so I’ve posted it here.] 

At no point did he ever wish her to know what was happening next. Every step had to be a surprise, a new experience. Each breath the start of an adventure which knew no end. He wanted to own her very being, ensure that she felt totally in his command, under his leadership and guidance. He wanted that more than hed ever wanted anything in his life before. And he always made sure he got what he wanted. He got it through application, attention to detail and utter dedication to his cause.

He tightened the cuffs around her wrists and secured them to her ankles, hogtied, face down , behind in the air, ready for what was to come. The necktie was secured around her eyes, blindfolding her and focussing her attentions on the sensations and not on the surroundings. The senses are what feed the imagination and our animal instincts use them to prepare our bodies for what we expect. By harnessing the power of those senses he knew he could intoxicate her mind with conflicting messages, cause the adrenalin to pump through her veins in a fight or flee mode, just as easily as he could calm her and arouse her with soft gentleness and caresses.

She said she wanted rules and routine, that they made her feel safe. He wanted to break her habits, renew her beliefs and make him central to all she did. Rules will come but first she needed to learn to tear down those old walls so the new ones could be erected. And those new walls would be built with his own bare hands. Her panties were tugged down, not gently, making her feel the rush of air and the sense of exposure to her most intimate areas.

Despite her adventurous nature he new that her strict early upbringing still left her feeling embarrassed and vulnerable when put in compromising situations. It was as if her fantasies were safe in her mind but when taken out in the public domain they resurrected her fears, her nightmares of the past come back to haunt her. It was then that she needed absolution the most, to purge her of her black desires and guilt from having them.

He was her high priest of the dark domain ready to deliver her welcome into the light. He liked to build up her senses , turn her imagination in a whirl, have her smell the leather of the crop, make her feel the fronds of the flogger on her skin- or indeed as he was about to do, heighten her humiliation by making her taste her own wetness which he had on his fingers after he had felt her between her legs.

She sucked on his fingers greedily as he whispered her degradation in her ears. He knew she would be wetter now. Letting her catch her breath he quickly gripped the back of the rigid ring of solid steel that collared her neck, tugging on it lightly knowing it made her breathing more difficult. He heard her rasping in air as she knew he liked to hold her like this as his ministrations began. He saw her toes curl in anticipation of the oncoming pain. He waited a few seconds her body now heaving as it sucked in air waiting for his strike.

Then he let go of the collar and she filled her lungs heavily and rapidly, almost hyperventilating giving her a heady rush. He knew her body was pumping adrenalin and endorphins, as it waited for the onslaught, focussing her nerves in the area she expected it so making her feel even more lightheaded. Yet he hadn’t even begun.

The first strike of his open hand on her exposed buttock left a broad red mark which her gasp and light cry acknowledged. He waited no more than a few seconds for her to get used to the pain searing through her before he started on a series of spanks to the same spot, deliberately to that area which was now glowing red. Having her repeat her humiliating confessions in time to the beats would deepen her submission as well as oxygenate the blood with quick shallow breaths further fuzzing her mind to any ability to conscious thought of what was happening anywhere other than right at this moment and right at this place of her punishment.

He would occasionally leave her side. He knew she couldn’t see him but would sense it. He wanted her to be wondering what he’d come back with. It could be seconds later or even a couple of minutes. He‘d sometimes gently stroke her hair or soothe her redness causing her heart rate to settle, or just as likely grip the collar again readying her for another strike. He quickly gripped one of her buttocks, squeezing to produce a mound of flesh in his fist and then rapidly spanked that spot hard several times, watching her squirm in discomfort trying to push away but failing. Her squeals and breathing were laboured.

Then more rest. He knew these highs and lows of activity would be having a thrilling effect on her and he absorbed all her bodily reactions to every thing he did and just as importantly to those things he didn’t do watching her body at all times for signs of her state of pleasure.

As her breathing began to settle again he gently stroked her bare skin massaging it sensually moving down between her legs till he felt her wetness as if it was seeping from her aroused slit. Her neediness and lust were literally oozing from her and he knew he’d take full advantage of her in this willing and defenceless state before they fell into each others’ arms with a deepened love, a trusted bond that grew stronger with each minute and with a destiny that was etched into their souls.

1 thought on “Smutathon Guest post from The Wragger 2: Her spanking

  1. Pingback: Smutathon 2017: Where to find the contributors | Jerusalem Mortimer: Between the Lines

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