Jul 282016

So The Wanderer and I were in a suite that became a gigantic playground, full of possibilities. There was the wall that was a window overlooking large crowds of people. A purple couch that I immediately fell in love with. Gorgeous colored paintings. More couches and chairs – seriously, there were three couches in this place.

1IMG_2251I was bent over two of them for our first scene, after the windowed spectators below us terrified me while my bottom became pinkened, after a few orgasms that began to rise in volume and increase in intensity, he sat down and pulled me over his knees.

An over the knee spanking (and all three that I’ve ever had have only been with him), is unique. He says it may be because of my size, that I have absolutely no purchase on the ground so that I am completely at his mercy, but I feel very vulnerable. I love that feeling even if it’s unsettling. My toes barely touched the ground, my fingertips only grazed, I relied on his grip on my hip and his lap to keep me stable. He started playfully (he claims he kept it there, but I disagree…mostly because I’m a wimp), and I saw only his feet and ankles. That in itself is a bit of a mind game.

And as his hand came down harder and the sting settled into muscles, one of my hands gripped his closest thigh. I don’t know whether I wanted to caress him or hurt him, my touch was somewhere in between or a bit of both.

He stood me up and pulled my arms behind my back in a hug, told me to keep my arms there. Pinched my nipples and watched me gasp and squirm standing and not stopping him – controlled by mental bondage.  Positioned me in front of a painting and took a picture. Spun me around and held me against his chest, my arms instinctively wrapping around him.

Wrong instinct.

“Did I tell you to move your arms?” he questioned, a sadistic sparkle in his eye.

Ugh. “No,” I replied honestly, opting to not be the brat at that moment.

1IMG_2267“I think you need to learn a lesson,” he told me as he pulled my arms back and propelled me towards the next room with another couch. When we were against the back of the couch in the middle of the room, he told me to take off his belt.

A belt?

A first, well kind of. David, a friend of mine, had once taken a belt and demonstrated one smack with his play partner and she encouraged me to feel the impact of one smack.

So yes, a first in my mind. I took off his belt – hesitantly though I was hoping that wasn’t conveyed and it just seemed slowly, and I’m sure he touched me, whether it was pinching my nipples or softly brushing my hair back from my face, I can’t honestly say.

Do I present it?

Hell no, that would seem eager, and I was nervous…and a bit intimidated. I wadded it up and brought my fist up so he could take it. He walked me around the couch unhurriedly, and standing bent me over the couch cushions.

Whack. Oh gosh a belt stings! I didn’t like it, yelped and whimpered. Whack. Why couldn’t I settle into stinging sensations? Such an utter wimp with impact.

“How many is that?”

He couldn’t be serious?! He didn’t tell me to keep track.

“So many!” I exclaimed, hoping the point was coming across that it hurt.

…though I didn’t try to stop him, it was a pain I could handle.

“Seven,” or maybe he said eight, and I wondered what number he was going to. “One more,” after a couple more, and this time the belt smacked at the line between cheeks and thighs and this time it felt good.

Hmm, maybe I could like a belt? Only if it felt like that single solitary slap.

He pulled me up to standing by my hair and ordered my arms back. I assumed the position. He tweaked my nipples a bit and then ordered me to bring him rope and the crop.

I was excited about the rope, nervous about the crop.

*To be continued.


  One Response to “Couch Surfing”

  1. What an evil an cruel man. Unless of course unless you liked it then good for you.

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