I'm Clair, and this story really begins some months ago when my partner Owen and I were making love, this time with me crouching over him with his cock buried deep in my bouncing pussy. Now that was unusual in itself, because I have always been much more passive than Owen and it was a big change for me to be taking the lead. In fact I got to feel guilty for taking over his role and all of a sudden that guilt translated into a need to be chastised for my presumption. I've never wanted to be spanked before, but I suddenly felt I should have my rear smacked because I was fucking him instead of the other way around.
'Smack my bottom.' I demanded abruptly. 'Slap it hard.'
I felt Owen suddenly go rigid beneath me and I thought for a moment that I'd killed his passion, but what I didn't know was that I'd just asked him to fulfil a long held fantasy of his own. With a quick grin of pleasure he released my hips, wrapped one arm around my back to pull me down against his chest and smacked me as hard as he could with the other on my upturned rear. I must admit it hurt more than I had expected, but it also worked better than I had expected too. The thrill that passed through me was out of this world, and I just wanted it again and again. I never thought hurting could be described as delicious β but it can.
'Keep doing it.' I groaned, ramming myself down on him even harder.
He did exactly that and even from the awkward angle of being underneath me he managed to work it so that each time I raised my bottom, his hand came down on it with surprising force. I gasped aloud with each smack and rode him harder and faster, my orgasm rapidly creeping up on me. At the time I wasn't certain (although I am now), but it seemed to me that his cock got harder and longer as he smacked me as if it was getting to him too. As for me, I loved it, every hot, throbbing, stinging second of it, and when I came I thought I was going to pass out it was that good, especially when I felt him come inside me as well, his cock jerking repeatedly and sending spurt after spurt of cum into my womb.
Afterwards, as we lay in each other's arms in our customary post-coital embrace he asked. 'You liked being spanked, didn't you?'
'I loved it.' I felt delightfully embarrassed to admit it, but I couldn't deny it. 'And you enjoyed doing it, didn't you?'
'Yes.' He answered simply, waiting silently for a while before adding. 'I think we'll be doing it again. You'd like that, wouldn't you?'
I smiled and hid my embarrassment by nuzzling into his neck. 'Yes please.'
That was the beginning of it. It soon became a regular part of our sex life for him to spank me as we played together. Not too much early on, but enough to make me squirm and gasp - and to redden my skin. We enjoyed it, of course we did, both of us, and it tended to become more intense as time went on. At first I would bend over his knee or a chair and he would spank me with his hand before fucking me, usually still bent over. But then we began using other things, like a belt or the back of a hairbrush. That was fine until we realised we'd get an even bigger thrill from using things made for the job. So first we bought a spanking paddle, then a couple of multi-tailed floggers of different designs, and a riding crop, and one or two other bits as well. We moved on to them, and I loved all of it. I know it sounds unlikely, but it is so empowering to have someone trying to hurt you and only succeeding in bringing you pleasure. I'm not sure Owen understood that, but he liked doing it for his own reasons and the main thing is that we both enjoyed it.
The only trouble was that sometimes I would instinctively try and mitigate the force of his smacks by flinching away so that he missed his target. One day he shouted in exasperation that if I didn't keep bent over the damn chair he'd tie me over it so I'd have to. That was the second defining moment. The idea of being tied over the chair and made helpless made my pussy just about flood and my next climax was my biggest ever. I loved the idea that he could spank or fuck me and I couldn't prevent it - not that I wanted to, because by doing that he could make me come by simply spanking me.
From then on the direction of our experimentation changed and we began to try different ways of immobilising me, making it so that there was no way for me to avoid whatever he wanted to do to me. I did trust him, but we instigated a safe word system just to be sure, because then I could happily let him do pretty much anything, safe in the knowledge that I could always stop him if it ever went too far. So far it never has, but the fact that we have a safety net has given me the confidence to submit completely.
Sometimes Owen would simply spank me for no other reason than he wanted to, and sometimes he would play with me, making me squirm and beg for a climax, and then he would spank me for begging. Then on other occasions he would masturbate me by hand until he made me come and then discipline me for being a slut, and then do it all over again. We did all sorts of stuff in all sorts of positions, but my favourite thing by far was when Owen handcuffed my wrists to a couple of rings that he had screwed about three feet apart into a beam in our bedroom ceiling, and then held my legs open with a spreader bar. Then he really could do anything he wanted, because every little bit of me was available to him and deliciously defenceless. He could stroke and fondle me, touch my breasts, play with my pussy, finger me, and do anything else he might think of. It was absolutely glorious. I found everything like that a fantastic turn on and we used it as a kind of foreplay, something that would give me a climax or two before taking us into making love properly. It was never an end in itself, just an erotic lead up to more conventional sex.
Then came another defining moment, the one that took our sex lives down a totally unexpected and far more exciting path. It happened when someone caught us at play. I was bent over the back of a chair with my rear obliquely facing the dining room window when Haydn, one of our friends, peered in and was rewarded by the sight of my naked backside. It was just one of those things, we'd been careless and probably a little bit blasΓ© and we'd not drawn the curtains as we usually did. Owen quickly went to the door and steered Haydn into another room while I made myself decent before joining them. Haydn said he'd knocked on the door and received no reply and that's why he looked in through the windows, and who am I to refute that?
I can't be sure about Owen's, but afterwards my thoughts were continually going back to that episode and wondering just how much of me Haydn had seen and, perhaps more importantly, how much of the scene he had understood. Bizarrely I hoped he had seen and understood everything, as we found out later, he had. I didn't know why, but being seen like that made me feel as randy as hell every time I thought about it and I almost wished Owen had brought him through to see me in the flesh, so to speak. After all, Haydn is an extremely good looking man. It was not so much because I was an outright exhibitionist, but because of the embarrassment of it. The truth was that the thought of anyone knowing how Owen used me was really exciting, and the humiliation of being caught in such a vulnerable and exposed position was wonderful. I even fantasized about someone being there watching during a whole session, right up to me getting fucked. I couldn't get it out of my head and I just knew that I was going to have to talk to Owen about it, and hope he'd understand.
When I did tell him he frowned and went quiet for short while, but then he nodded and smiled. It had, he admitted, been a turn on for him too. He liked the idea that he had inadvertently shown me to another man.
'What would you want to do if it happened again?' I asked cautiously, the implications raised by the way the conversation was heading sparking all sorts of erotic ideas in my head.
'Why, would you like it to happen again, deliberately?' He tossed it right back at me.
I took the bull by the horns. 'Yes, and I think you would too. You'd get a buzz from me exposing myself like that to someone, wouldn't you?'
He looked taken aback for a minute by that assertion, but then he had to acknowledge the truth of it. 'Yes, I think I would.' He paused. 'In fact I know I would. But truthfully, would you really like anyone to see you like that, you know, showing everything?'
'Why not?' I grinned. 'There are worse things to see.'
Owen just chuckled at that and went into the kitchen, the subject clearly being put in abeyance. It wasn't mentioned again until about a week later and then Owen brought it up with a sudden question.
'You remember talking about someone watching you?'
'Yes, I remember.' Of course I did, I'd thought of little else since and the fact that he had brought the subject up again immediately sent adrenalin rushing through my veins.
'What if he wanted to do more than just watch?'
I gasped with surprise at that. 'You mean what if he wanted to touch me as well?'
'Yes.' He answered simply. 'Would you like that?'
'I don't know.' I answered, feeling a little scared. 'How far would you want him to go?'
'As far as you're prepared to let him.' He replied, his eyes trying to read my thoughts, wondering perhaps what my reaction would be.
'How far do you want me to let him?' I threw it back just as he had earlier.