In the early morning hours, she woke. It was hot and stuffy. The air weighed down on her like a hundred heavy wet blankets. She needed him. What she felt wasn’t going away. It felt hot and heavy in her belly, like someone had transported a large lump of hot black coal that weighed ten times its mass.
All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball. Let her tears roll down her cheeks and sob so hard her throat would ache for days. But… she knew she couldn’t. She could never let go like that. Not, without him here. Not when she was on her own. Not when she was with anyone else. Only when he was with her.
And only when he tied her down, and took her with the crop or leather belt. When he applied them to the pale flesh of her bottom, tops of her thighs, and lower back. The most sensitive part of her body, except for that one small button hidden away in her moist folds. She couldn’t let go of the tears until her release was near and he made her hold back until her body shook with the power behind his arm and the pain and pleasure that took her beyond the world that sometimes hurt more than the belt or crop upon her already red flesh.
He never had to ask her if she wanted more. Or if she had enough. He knew always knew how far she needed to go. Tonight, she knew he would have to take her farther than he ever had before.
She sent him a text, “I need you.”
Those three words were all he needed to know what she meant. He would come prepared. And she would have everything all laid out for him. The wrist and ankle cuffs, the straps that would be needed to keep her in place so she wouldn’t accidentally move and be injured, and the collar. There would be no blindfold, he wanted, needed to see her eyes from time to time between the striping of her behind. He wouldn’t gag her either, for he knew she needed to find her voice and release it. It was a good thing her neighbors did not live on top of each other like they did closer to town. No one would hear her scream. Not here.
She was already in position when she heard him walk through the door. The room was shadowed in darkness except for a light that shown down on her.
He took his time with the collar placing it on first, then the cuffs, making sure they were secure but not too tight. Then securing them with the straps, so she was bent over appropriately and exposed. He caressed her softly over her white ass as if he wanted to remember how it looked now so he would be able see in his mind a before and after shot once he was done.
There was no talking. He didn’t ask if she was ready. He saw it in her eyes. He saw the torment, the darkness that demanded release and then to be tempered. He loved that darkness, loved how it drove her to this, to need him like this, and no one else. He loved how her darkness called to him. Needed him like a storm needed the wind.
She turned her head back around so it was aligned with her body, signalling she was ready. Oh God, how she needed this. She almost moaned in relief that he was here. That he would do what she needed.
She heard him pick up the first instrument he would use this night. Hearing the whistling of it through the air before the fiery bite across her ass. He hadn’t held back an ounce. He knew what she needed. He knew what she craved. She already tasted blood from the bite on her lip which kept her from screaming. The first was always the worst.
With each WHACK she swallowed her voice, she fought against its release. It was always this way. WHACK – WHACK – WHACK, he pounded out a rhythm never hitting the same place twice until her whole bottom turned a cherry red. She fought against the release of her voice as if it were life itself, as if she would die if it came forth. With each WHACK she fought and fought again as the next WHACK flooded her. He barely hesitated between each, barely giving time for the pain to relinquish to pleasure, for he knew it wasn’t the pleasure she sought, not yet at least.
They never counted. They never knew how many. Even if they did try to count they always lost track. Him because of the view of her body, so beautiful in her surrender and complete trust in him. She because the pain, took her mind, and the fight had what was left. The crop landed again and again until he could tell by her body it was time.
He stopped, walked around to face her. Her eyes told him all he needed to know. No fear, just pain, but not from his crop. Her darkness held it tight.
He walked behind her, ran his hand down over the curve of her reddened bottom, slid his fingers between her thighs, feeling her hot fluids coat his long fingers as he slid them inside her. She moaned and he withdrew his fingers, then slapped her bottom with the flat of his hand. She knew she had lost the pleasure of his fingers with that one little moan. But she had been unable to help it, the feeling of pleasure with all the pain was exquisite.
He picked up the wide leather belt, returning, CRACK – CRACK – CRACK she felt its sting on her thighs, and lower back. Her body jerked, her ass raised, back arched, her tears came. But her voice remained the same. Hidden. Closed. Unreachable. With each successive CRACK. She lost track of how many. He didn’t stop until he saw her legs trembling.
When he looked at her this time. He smiled an evil smile. Looking in her eyes was like looking into his own soul. Anger hard and deep, harsh like the frozen winter, and once loosed will be as powerful as a hurricane sweeping down everything in its path.
It wouldn’t be long now. He walked behind her again, caressed his hand down the other cheek, sliding his fingers between her thighs feeling the hardness of her clit. He only touched it once, it was all she needed, to make her moan which made him withdraw his fingers yet again. Slapping her bottom again with the flat of his hand. She jerked and arched, thrusting her bottom back seeking his hand, but the straps kept her in place.
He picked up the next instrument. A thin wooden paddle slightly bigger but in the same shape as a ping pong paddle. In three swift SWACKS across her reddened bottom, he heard the moan that was the sign he knew so well. It was different from the moan when he had slid his fingers inside her. He was sure three more and she would not be able to hold back any more.
Right on cue after three hard SMACK – SMACK – SMACK, he never held back once as he watched her body rock with each one. From deep inside her, as if it had been buried for ages, came a groan so mournful it carried with it a thousand more, grating across the ages.
Like the breaking of a dam, like the final release of an avalanche, like a slowly moving mud slide, the hard heavy lump burst forth… AAAUUUHHHHHHHHH… with it the tears flowed, and the sobs finally broke forth.
He put down the paddle, walked around releasing the straps, not bothering with the cuffs, he lifted her pulling her against him. He rocked her and held her as the anguish inside her burst forth, and her darkness retreated to the hidden corners.
She clung to him like he was her lifeline, the only thing keeping her rooted to this earth. And he held her just as tightly.
As her sobs, slowly ground down, and only her tears flowed, he spread her legs, slid his fingers through her wetness, rubbing her clit, two or three times, as he watched her body arch and her face come alive. Her body shook with the power of her orgasm as he held her tightly on his lap. As she calmed he lifted her, placing her on her bed, turned out the light, he undressed, laid down and pulled her into his arms, pulling the blanket up over them. He kissed her forehead, and whispered good night. She was already drifting into sleep as she snuggled against him. Her darkness would always call to him, and his would always answer.
© Kate Spyder