Until the last strike (smut ive written!)
“P – p – please…” you beg, your voice shaky with a mix of aniticaption, desire, and fear. You know exactly what you did to deserve this, how your innocent eyes now well up with tears every time my belt comes down across your ass.
“Please what? I couldn’t hear you” I growl back, readying my arm for another strike. Swinging down hard, an audible crack jolts through the room as the cold leather connects with your hot skin. Within moments yet another bright red mark appears. How pretty you look standing there, your bare ass red and hot, legs spread so gently; how your hair falls and tumbles across your shoulders as you glance around trying to find my new position in the room.
“Please… I can’t take any more” you cry out. You’re practically begging already. It’s hardly been what, 5 strikes of my belt and you already want to tap out? Or at least, you are acting like you want to. I know you well enough that you want me to keep going. You want to feel each lash of the belt against your skin. You want to cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure each time.
“I don’t think so. After all, I'm just getting warmed up...” I say, leaning in you so feel my breath against the nape of your neck. I run my free hand along your side, feeling your skin tighten and prickle at the unexpected gingerness of the touch. I give you a small squeeze of encouragement, reminding you that no matter what; I'm in your corner. Then take a step back, and I bring the belt down again.
Over, and over, and over again the belt comes down. Your cries of pain are only weakened by the grin on your face that uncontrollably appears every so often. It hurts so bad, but it must feel so good as well. I lose track of time, the rhythmic ticking of the clockhand replaced by the slow beat of the belt.
“I think we’re nearly done here. Five more to go babygirl. You can handle that for me, can’t you?” You simply nod in response, your legs shaking and exhausted. I don’t think you could speak even if you wanted to, your mind as foggy and thoughtless as it is right now.
“Five” I say, the crack of the belt echoing throughout the room. Your ass is all shades of reds and pinks now, the thin outlines of the edges of the leather belt still visible and bright from each precise strike.
“Four” The belt comes down again, accompanied by a moan escaping from your mouth.
“Three” and another crack echoes across the room. I see your legs shaking, your arms, which have helped prop you up all this time, close to failing.
“Two” as the belt hits; you nearly buckle and fall. Yet, you’re a trooper. A fighter. You don’t give up that easily. You know there’s only one more to go. And I’ll be so proud if you can hold out.
“One” I yell, putting everything into this last lash of the belt. The moan that escapes your mouth is glorious and wonderful, an explosion of ecstasy and a culmination of all the pain and pleasure that you’ve endured today. As the belt lingers on your skin, I let go, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.
I come up behind you, one arm slipping under the back of your knee and the other your armpits. Gently, carefully, affectionately I scoop you up, lifting you off the ground, and I feel your body turn to jelly. You gave me all the strength you had, and now I give you all the gentleness and affection that I could ever possibly provide you. Looking down at your exhausted, flushed face I can’t help but give you a quick peck on the cheek, and whisper in your ear; “you did so well baby. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
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