After so many orgasms and a pain/pleasure predicament, he told me nonchalantly, “go get the brush.” Apparently our new thing is I fetch what he wants me to. I groaned, turned around, probably rolled my eyes but was smart enough to turn away from him first, and went to get the brush like the obedient person I am…at least try to be…whatever, it’s a fleeting thing.
I handed him the brush and he pulled me over his knee where he sat on a bench at the end of the bed, my hands clenched the end of the mattress. The first few strokes were soft and I moaned more in pleasure at the contact, but they quickly became harder and I balked at the sting. I squirmed enough that my tiptoes hit the floor and I pushed off for all I was worth, instinctively trying to escape the sting.
Mentally I cringed at how wimpy I was at sting. Couldn’t handle even a little bit, I inwardly criticized, and tried to will my body to be still and take it – because I could.
Still, in a power dynamic of this nature: brain versus body, my body overrides.
“Oh no you don’t,” he insisted as he grabbed at my hip and wrapped a leg around my now futile legs.
Helpless again, and it was needed as I could handle the assault on my rear end, even though I cried out such nonsense as “ow” and “it hurts” – which it did, but I was being terribly dramatic.
Right when it began to feel good, it began to really sting again. He swatted constantly and consistently at a fast pace and somehow even with my legs rendered useless I managed to twist and turn around his body, wedging myself between him and the bed for protection.
He simply laughed at me and wrapped a solid arm around my waist, continuing his sting assault as he shifted his own body off of the the bench.
I clung to the bench as if it would save my overly dramatic life, pressed my breasts and belly and thighs into it, willing myself to meld into hiding.
He shifted tactics and used thuds – it was probably from his palms but it felt like his fists. My body tensed at the onslaught and I began to clench. More tension and suddenly my body released and surrendered at the pain, creating a pleasurable orgasm in the wake.
His fingers soon plundered into my wet depths and granted multiple orgasms; not kind in the pressure or hardness of movement, and another tensioned orgasm after orgasm happened.
I was sweaty and stuck to the bench but he positioned me up on hands and knees and swatted at my reddened cheeks, thighs, and vulva. I came from his drenched hand consistently making contact with my lips.
Another finger fucking and then I sank into the bench, hugging it for comfort and gasping for breath. He settled onto the end of the bed beside me and piled rope on my body.
In my confused, overwrought state if felt like a blanket at first, but a strand slipped between my thighs and rested between my lips teasingly.
As he slid and caressed with more rope around my reddened ass, I felt the strands so much more prominently. He unhurriedly coiled it, stretching out the tensioned reverberations and sliding of the rope on skin.
*As a special treat, if you want to read his perspective and to see who The Wanderer is, click here.