Resounding New Year's Countdown

Clumsily opening my front door, I stumble inside and unceremoniously drop my high heels where I stand. Feeling the grain of the wood floors beneath my bare feet, I take in the familiar surrounds of

home

. Exhaling slowly and deliberately, I try to quiet the chaotic, restless energy that seems to course through my body, and yet a frenzied jumble of thoughts continues to run unchecked.

I startle at the sound of the door closing behind me and sense him approaching, before he places his hands on my shoulders. "

You should have told me you were feeling overwhelmed earlier

", he says, "

There was no need for you to endure that; you know I have no particular desire to see out the year surrounded by hundreds of revellers.

" Lowering my gaze, I mumble, "

I'm sorry we had to leave the party before midnight, it's just that there were so many people, so many disjointed conversations, and I couldn't shut it out. I thought you might want to celebrate the new year in some grand, meaningful way, and I didn't want to ruin that so...

"

"

Oh, I intend to celebrate the new year in a meaningful way

," he interjects simply, silencing my rambling. I'm suddenly spun about to face him, and he takes pause to consider me. He briefly checks his watch and then decisively crosses the room to sit in a large armchair. I hesitantly follow, stopping short of the armchair, unsure of where to place myself. At my puzzled expression, he smirks and commands, "

Dress off, I think.

" A blush warms my face as I shift the straps of my dark, silk dress off my shoulders and allow it to slip from my frame, pooling at my feet. Hands clasped behind my back in an effort to refrain from fidgeting, I stand exposed, save for a pair of black panties.

I look up and find him taking me in, his eyes devouring. As the subject of his appraisal, my mind becomes increasingly quiet, as I preen under his attention and keenly await further guidance. With a decisive jerk of his chin, he beckons me to approach and I perch on my knees on the seat next to him. Following a moment of him seemingly examining my demeanour, he appears satisfied and gestures for me to climb over his lap. I crawl forward, settling myself across his knees, feeling his hands immediately smoothing over my lower back and thighs, before settling on my backside.

Pulling my panties out the way, his hands begin exploring in earnest. Rough, calloused palms warm my skin with gentle, reassuring strokes, before teasingly dipping to trace between my thighs. A small sigh escapes my throat as I relax into the sensation and find myself increasingly regaining a hold over the deafening thoughts and emotions that had overcome me during the evening's earlier activities. Finally, I am capable of distancing myself from the riotous New Years' merrymaking that had overstimulated my senses; instead I hone those senses in on his instructions and on the sure, steadfast feel of his body.

After glancing down at his watch once more, he refocuses and prompts, "

Remember to count out loud for me. Down from ten.

" About to respond in the affirmative, my answer is interrupted by the grip of his arm secured around my hips and then ... the palm of his hand connects sharply and repeatedly with the flesh of my backside. "

Ten ... nine ... eight ...

", I shakily count, reeling from the impact and yet desperate to be good for him. With no respite from the continued assault, his stinging strikes grow in intensity and I choke out, "

Seven ... six ... five ...

"

The almost metronomic sound of his palm connecting with my skin resonates throughout the room, never seeming to falter, notwithstanding the rapidly escalating pain that captures my attention, screaming for relief. I push past the instinctual need to evade, to run, and instead count, "

Four ... three ... two ...

" A final, resounding strike of his palm makes me bite back a yelp, before I conclude with a strangled, "

One.

" Without hesitation, I'm pulled up into his arms, hands soothing my inflamed skin. "

Happy New Year, sweetheart

", he murmurs in my ear.

I vaguely register the far-off sound of fireworks and revellers hooting in delight, but it is as if I'm cocooned in cotton wool, my experience of the world soft, cushioned and out of focus. Happily disconnected from the hard edges of reality, I feel only contentment and closeness; the borders of our bodies rendered hazy, indistinct, overlapping. Following an immeasurable interlude of euphoric stillness, I unconsciously, instinctively seek out more.

After impishly looking up to seek permission, my hands eagerly press against his hard length before pulling it free of his trousers and I sink to my knees in front of him, indulging in him until I can no longer withstand temptation to satisfy the growing sense of incompleteness. As I straddle his thighs, he presses himself into me and I begin fucking myself up and down on his length. Every moan, every quickening breath, every skin-on-skin staccato orchestrates a symphony of depraved sounds until our bodies hum with exquisite tension and we rise, we rise to new crescendos as the new year awakens.