A Valentine’s Day Thrashing

keep-calm-and-brace-yourself-140I am bent over the arm of the sofa. I haven’t been bad; He promised me a thrashing for Valentine’s day. And now, here I am, waiting to receive my gift; shivering in anticipation as I await the kiss of His belt.

He takes His time; He knows how much I love/hate the suspense of waiting. I can hear him slowly pull the belt from the stays of His slacks.

“Are you ready, little one?” He asks softly, tenderly, lovingly.

“I am, Master. Oh yes, I am,” I reply, trying to keep my voice level, not wanting to show Him just how eager I am to feel that particular stinging heat across my backside.

And yet, while I just about manage to stop my voice from betraying my excitement, a part of me over which I have no control reveals my secret. He runs a hand up the inside of my thigh; His fingers slip between my folds; letting Him feel how wet I’ve become.

#WickedWednesday“Naughty girl! You really want this, don’t you?” He teases.

“Yes, Master, I really do. I really want to feel your belt on my skin.”

“Very well,” He says, “But you must mount each stroke.”

“Yes, Master.”

Anticipation builds.

I hear a crack and a swish as He prepares. A shiver runs through me. My cunt aches; a hot, wet ache of anticipation.

***SwwiisshhSLAP!***

The first delicious stroke. “Ohhhh… One!” I moan.

“Good girl,” he chuckles. His belt rains down again.

“T… Two!” I sob.

Again and again, the beautiful pain intensifying with every lick of the leather on my skin. I choke out the numbers as hot tears stream down my cheeks.

I love/hate how it hurts. Each stroke adds to and intensifies the burning pain, multiplying it, not adding to it.

“Nine…”

“T… Oh… Ten!” I cry. Simultaneously longing for Him to stop and continue. Wondering how many more I can take, how many more He will make me endure.

“El…Ele… Eleven…” My voice is hoarse, I can barely force the word out. Lights flash behind tear-strained eyes.

“Twe… Twe… Twe…lve… Twelve!” I gasp. Can I  take any more.

Suddenly He is before me. He takes my face in His hands, holding me tenderly. A soft, loving kiss as He runs his fingers through my hair and wipes then tears from my eyes.

“My good girl,” He says softly, “My wonderful good little girl.”

My heart almost explodes just hearing His words.

“Are you ready for your next present?” He asks.

I nod, managing to smile despite the searing pain in my buttocks; which I know must now be redder than the hair on my head. “Oh yes, Master!” I respond eagerly, “Yes, I am ready.”

Chloë

4 thoughts on “A Valentine’s Day Thrashing

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