Monday, 31 October 2016

Riders

Thwack.

It wasn't the first time that I wondered if it had, in fact, been fifteen pounds well-spent. While finding an affordable, non-leather spanking paddle seems like a nigh-on impossible feat, we had chanced upon a riding crop with a rubber tip earlier on. In a fit of something between madness and brilliance, she'd bought it. While I'm not the best wielder of a crop by any means, at least the tip was wide enough to be a spanking implement.

Thwack.

I went in for surgery last week to have a cyst on my head removed. Thread stitches are holding my skin together. Hurts when I touch it, hurts when I lie on it. Hurts when I lie down, hurts when I scratch my head. I'm due to have the stitches removed in just over a week; I can deal with everything else afterwards.

Thwack.

It's red. It's very red. The other cheek is. Both cheeks are red. This is how it's supposed to look, right? I mean, it looks like it hurts. I used to get bullied like this. But then, maybe it's supposed to hurt. That's kind of the point, right?

Thwack.

"Hang on... no... I need to stop."
"Why are you stopping?"
"Just for a second. My arm's really hurting. And my head wound is throbbing."

"And...?"
"And you're really red. It's a bit too much for me right now. Just..."


Thwack.

I dragged the head of the crop upwards, from her perineum up to her clit, tracing the line over her pussy lips. On her back, the red marks of sin concealed, she looked a lot more relaxed. The slightly muffled squeals she'd let out while I spanked her were replaced by lower, more sultry moans and sighs of pleasure. Stress relief. She certainly needed it, and even if I was tired, finding that I could bring her that relief by gently rubbing her up and down with the soft end of a riding crop was quite a discovery indeed.

Thwack.

I massaged my aching arm, withdrew the crop from my warm, post-orgasmic girlfriend, raised the tip and pressed it to my cheek.

Breathe.

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