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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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10
Alan circled me before whipping off the blindfold. I quickly became accustomed to the fading light that entered the room via the patio doors.
“Pink tits, nice!
“Your arse needs reddening, girl!”.
Alan tugged at the kimono bunched around my hands, without exact instruction I had dared not adjust it to wear or let it slip from my arms as I had stood. Before the kimono reached the rug and me re-interlocking my fingers, my Master walloped my buttock. The surprise jolted me into inhaling a short, high-pitched breath.
“Nervous, girl?”.
Alan switched off the Dyson tower and strode over to the chaise longue. As he sat, he demanded I turn and face him. He was the very essence of authority all 77 inches of him, sat there semi-suited, having draped his jacket over the back of one of the twin sofas earlier in the evening, legs apart. Of course, I was nervous, this was new terrain for the pair of us; when was I to be his good girl again? And, standing there almost naked with dusk preparing to give way to nightfall in about an hour or so, I felt the hair on my arms rise and goosebumps make a re-appearance.
“Come!”
My footsteps were soft and delicate as I inched towards my Master and stood before him between his legs. Deftly he manoeuvred me over his right leg and ensured my legs could not move with his left. He clamped me into his lower abdomen and right side with his right arm, and although my arms were free to lie in front of my body on the chaise longue, they were inhibited by his body and elbow.
“Have you been a bad girl, NVC?”
“I… I”,
The first strike came diagonally and a little too high to cause a ripple of flesh. I yelped.
“I did not give permission for you to speak,
“You let a stranger fuck you, did you not?”
“I…”,
The second strike matched the first but the impact on previously traumatised skin stung further.
“It is rhetorical girl,
“Not only did the stranger fuck you, he fucked the most intimate part of you that belongs to me!”
I did not try to respond; I was purely concentrating on my breathing to lessen the pain and this was only two spanks in. Would my Master tell me how many spanks I was to receive, and would I have to count? And as if he could read my mind,
“You will count these spanks to ten while apologising to me for being a wanton slut!”
The third strike suggested a pattern as was comparable to the first two.
“Owwwww, threeeee,
“Sorry, sorry Sir for
“For being a slut”.
The fourth strike came from above and although it made contact with unblemished skin it felt like a plank of wood had whacked me. I shrieked so loud and whimpered before a version of the number four was forced through gritted teeth. Alan withdrew something from a pocket in his trousers, reached around to my mouth and stuffed the material into it. Lace is a conspicuous material and so I deduced I was to be silenced by the panties I had earlier declined to wear. My Master was not averse to testing the panties’ gagging qualities with strikes five, six and seven in rapid succession. I howled through the material and, try as I might, could not wriggle free or use any limb to protect myself. I sobbed silently. Alan began caressing my bottom.
“Hushhhhhhh, just three more, NVC, just three more, good girl”.
My Master adjusted his right leg slightly which raised my bottom allowing the slow strikes of eight, nine and ten to be implemented from a lower angle. They came direct from our mock discipline handbook. My flesh still smarted but also jiggled and deep within me a small fire of desire was being lit.
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. Here goes...
*
1
It was happening.
Out of the blue my partner had rung me with a set of instructions to follow “to the letter”. Here I was, the supplicant finalising the preparations to please my Master and his guest this clammy June evening. A Dyson tower silently kept the circulating air of the lounge cool while Pink was blaring out hits from her 2019 Beautiful Trauma tour. The volume was set high to prevent me from discerning a key in the lock and footsteps on the Italian flagstones leading to tonight’s inner chamber of debauchery. As I knelt upon our 18th century reproduction of a Renaissance rug an erotic thought caused me to ponder if I would be joining a long succession of women who, through the centuries, had obediently kowtowed to their masters. I wondered if they too, had been almost naked. I was kneeling, knees hip width apart, facing away from the lounge door and bowed my upper body until my forehead touched the aging maroon textile. I smoothed my silk, midnight-black kimono over the curves of my bottom leaving my stocking feet peeping through. I adjusted the blindfold before stretching my arms in front of me, causing a shift of the silk. Goosebumps appeared as my buttocks were partially exposed. Was it the effect of the artificially cooled air kissing my English Rose complexion, a stark contrast to my attire, or anticipation of what was to unfold? By my side was the kimono tie, latex-free condoms and a bottle of lubricant.
And thank you for the compliments. 
Although I did notice I forgot to close quotation marks on last part. Probably cos originally I had simply started a new line of speech, then added description, oops.
