“Did you bring the spanker with you?” he asked her as his hands ran their way through her tangled hair.
“You didn’t ask for it,” she answered in a soft vacant way.
“Humm. That’s too bad then,” he replied, giving her cheek a tender kiss. “I’ll have to use the other things.”
“What other things?” she wondered, still a little too dreamy to make any sense of words and meaning.
“Don’t play coy, my dear, I already told you.”
She was waking slowly. “But I thought you wanted to make love to me? You said you wanted to be gentle.”
“And that I’ve done,” he reminded her. “Now I want to punish you. It’s at my discretion, you know.” His loving gestures laced with caressing tones, did little to convey his meaning, though the words sufficed. She squirmed against him trying to love him more.
“Have I done something?” she asked in innocence.
“Oh, yes,” he replied gladly. “You’ve pissed me off a dozen times, and I’ll get it all back.”
“But you said . . .”
“I’ve changed my mind. That’s my prerogative as a man, just as yours as a woman is to be as puzzling as a spring breeze.”
Michael moved away from her, watching her all the way to his bedroom door, as the reclining figure of ribald sexual glamour teased him from the couch. Legs open, she appeared to be luring him away from his purpose, but he wasn’t moved enough to change his mind.
Leaving the wrappings from the parcel of implements strewn on the bedroom floor, he brought the paddle and baton with him back to the living room.
“On you’re belly,” he ordered her, “unless of course, you want it on your puss.”
Hastily scooting about, Savannah complied without a second thought, anxious to bury her tender skinned limbs and chest into the comfort of Michael’s thick couch. But her ass end shamelessly bared took a bevy of smacks from the black lacquered paddle as Michael knelt at her side on one knee, and used it for more than mere love pats. Even in the dim light, he could see the color of her bottom change. The milk-white hue of her skin went from a faint blush, to pink, to a second shade of rose, the color of an old tea-rose past its prime. Though she was hardly wilting like a flower.
Savannah didn’t like the strike of the paddle as well as she’d liked the leather spanker. This so unforgiving made her think more of being punished than having sex. But Michael was unabashedly ruthless laying the thing against her cheeks. She rocked back and forth, though that was a foolish move when she was suddenly struck in places that weren’t as amply padded as her ass.
“You must really be angry with me,” she sobbed, when he stopped.
“Something I’m only beginning to admit,” he said. “But that’s only half of it.”
“The other half? “ she asked peeking out through her muddied eyes.
He handed her a handkerchief. “No mascara on the couch,” he informed her. “The other half, I’m thoroughly enjoying it as much as you are.” He watched her wipe away the messy make-up.
She wouldn’t deny the pleasure, the fact that at that instant, after having cried for him to stop because it hurt so badly, she was feeling the distinguishing warmth of her hot ass begin to radiate outward in such a pleasant way that in secret she was wanting more. Either Michael read her mind or simply desired to continue for himself. This time, lifting her from the couch, he sat himself down. In an old fashioned gesture he then drew his crying brat over his lap so he’d have easier access to her lush punished mounds and the passionate heat they gave off. He spanked her more. The black paddle took her fading cheeks and raised the rosy glow again to its most vibrant color. Then, exchanging the paddle for the baton, he let the thin reed fly against the red, leaving marks with each nasty crack.
“Michael nooooo,” she roared from her gut.
The cane struck again. “These are for Guillaume. (her other lover). I’m sure he’d approve,” he remarked, before he let the second one land. That cut hotly on both cheeks, leaving a burn to linger when the blush died off.
“Oh gawd,” the low mellow protest filled him with woe, but it wasn’t enough to deter the third, the fourth or the fifth sharp cut. “Oh, noooooooo,” were the final forlorn words before the last strike hit.
“Just one more, for Guillaume,” Michael announced.
Savannah knew it wasn’t for Guillaume at all, but himself. At least it was the last one. And because he turned her over and held her close to him, as soon as he was finished, she allowed the hurt and even the pain to die quickly away. The punishment over, Savannah drifted passionately in his Michael’s arms enjoying what his ferocity created in erotic heat.
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