Monica lay over my lap, bottom up. I kissed two fingers and help them to her mouth, and she kissed them. Then I kissed the fingers again and pressed them against her left buttock, o she understood. My current state of mind was very pro-Monica.
Monica had turned her head to watch me while I spanked her. She smiled at me, then made a kiss shape with her lips. I smiled back, and then let my fingers trail down between her buttocks, and stroke the sweet wet fruit of her cunt.
She closed her eyes then and sighed, and she started to rock on my lap, starting to work towards that orgasm that we’d agreed would be the only thing that stopped this spanking. Eventually I raised my hand, three fingers wet all the way to the soft tissue connecting the metacarpalphalangeal joints, which deserve a more familiar name, don’t they?
Anyway, I removed thoroughly wet fingers, and gave Monica her first over-the-knee spank. I made it hard, because my experience is that a submitting girl gets more pleasure from a hard spank, and that means, paradoxically, that it hurts less than a softer or more hesitant slap. Monica sucked in a breath and her bottom clenched.
She wasn’t experienced enough yet to be doing that as deliberate disobedience, but I spanked the backs of her thighs, four hard smacks. Till then they’d been left relatively pale; now they bloomed in dark pink. I put my left hand on the small of her back to hold her down. “You stay relaxed while I spank you, girl. Clench your bottom again and I’ll give you ten with the wooden spoon.”
I don’t think she was pretending to look alarmed at that. “Yes, Master. Sorry.”
“Good girl. Now stay in position. Just relax and ride, Monica.” I spanked her right cheek this time, then settled down for a long series, left then right, while Monica sighed, and occasionally made sweet moan. After about twenty or thirty spanks – I wasn’t counting; the number was irrelevant – I pressed two fingers onto her hot and brightly crimson left cheek, so she understood she’d just been kissed again, at least symbolically, and then stroked her cunt.
Monica sighed, and moved in response to my hand. She wanted faster stroking, so she got it. After a couple of minutes her moans got higher and more flustered, and she said, “Oh.” She froze suddenly.
It wasn’t an orgasm. It was a kind of plateau, a little stop on the way. I resumed her spanking, a little harder than before, because I don’t think she was capable of feeling it as pain. When I’d used my belt and the wooden spoon before, she’d writhed and struggled. But now she lay quietly as I smacked her over and over, breathing slow and soft, still rocking rhythmically on my lap, with my cock pressed hard against her flank. She would accept whatever I gave her. We were, in a complicated sense, fucking.
I resumed the spanking, faster now, and harder; she was working her way to that orgasm, sure enough.
At last, when she was riding high, squeaking and muttering unintelligibly, I moved the hand I’d been holding her down with and reached under her to pinch her left nipple. Monica screamed, not because it hurt. Though I hoped it did. Then she screamed again, and her legs parted wide, and she flopped on my lap, grunting and squealing. She sounded wonderful. She was happy. And triumphant. I stopped her spanking and held her arse tight with both hands. “Good girl, good girl, good girl.” I said it over and over.
At last she rolled over, and held my hard cock. She kissed it, but I pulled her up so I could look into her eyes and kiss her mouth. Only one woman had managed that before, at least with me, but I didn’t want to say to Monica that she wasn’t the first. So I said, “You’re amazing. Little horny girl. Can I keep you?”
“Do that again, then maybe. Actually, it’s not up to me any more. Master.”
“Good. So will you.” We could have stayed like that for hours, just cuddling and praising each other, but I had urgencies of my own, now. “Get the lube.”
She’d demanded a two-part ‘punishment’, with this spanking, then getting anally fucked again. “Oh yes.”
“I want to watch you lube yourself, little one. So I can fuck you. While your arse is still nice and toasty. Now!”
Monica hummed two rising notes, and rummaged in her bedside drawer.