Her skin was marked. Hot lines, angry lines; such a contrast from the pale, soft white skin between them. They were the lingering evidence of the belt’s kiss.
In her mind, she relived the thrashing; feeling the hot tears on her face as she was made to count each stinging lash. Just as it had when the leather had bit, she felt her cunt grow moist as she remembered each impact.
The anticipation, the sound of the belt as it swished through the air, followed by the crack of contact on her backside had an almost comfortable familiarity; a pace and rhythm that repetition did not dull. The crisp sharpness of each lash delivered a measured dose of pain and pleasure, each one building on the last.
She had maintained a determined silence at first, uttering only the count of each stroke through clenched teeth. His delivery was, however, as merciless as it was precise. The pain intensified with each caress until each count was punctuated with sobs.
Lost within that place to which she went, she barely noticed when the thrashing ended. Her body responded of its own volition as he took her; his body colliding with hers, the air now filled with sound of skin slapping against skin.
Her climax had grown quickly within her; engulfing and consuming her as he body reacted to him. She barely heard him moan her name, calling her his “good girl” as he too came.
As she lay there, recovering, feeling his strong arms around her, the bruises left by his belt slowly turned a deeper purple.
©Kilted Wookie October 2018