I haven’t been able to write in days. It’s like the stories are stuck. Stories on the train has been brewing, but I’ve been distracted. My hope is it’ll bubble up soon. Here’s just something short and unedited to loosen the cobwebs. A pic is up on twitter to accompany this.
I sit in the chair and barely suppress a groan at the twinge of pain. My sigh as I remember why I ache is harder to keep in.
Being spanked seems to keep me level and I crave the sting, the fall of a hand, the arm across my waist, and the incredible high.
There are moments where I wonder what I look like over someone’s knee. I can’t say my body is flawless, but I’ve felt the erections pushing into my side as I jolt and moan after a smack. So what do I look like to them?
I imagine myself face down across their lap, my panties hiding nothing. Then naked skin as my panties end up around my ankles, my ass lifting to receiving and jiggling with each smack. I imagine eyes, lustful eyes, watching as a hand smooths along my hot flesh. I imagine the need as it grows, ready to explode the moment they encounter wetness between my parted thighs. It would coat seeking digits, telling how much I liked and wanted what was done to me. Telling how I want more.
Watching my ass get red, listening to my whimpers, feeling me writhe.
Would I look appealing? Sexy? Would my hips moving invite a deeper exploration of my need? Do I look delicious then as I slip into bliss from the pleasure I get from pain?
I don’t know, but I love to contemplate being taken just then in that moment of high delight.