Sometimes, I think he really, truly does understand how to handle me- how to keep our relationship in line the best he can. I've tried to explain the overwhelming need to submit, to be controlled, to be HIS- and he tells me he knows, has always known, what makes me tick. This makes me question why he doesn't employ it more often, take the authority that I am happy to hand him, but too often, we are at odds instead. Nearly every time I have finally given up on his dominant side, he turns around and shocks hell out of me again...
This phase of our life together has been incredibly stressful for the both of us, with multiple unavoidable factors limiting our time together, sexual or otherwise. All told, it had been months since we had been in bed, for vanilla sex OR playtime, aside from one early morning quickie this previous week. It was quickly interrupted by screaming toddlers- not living up to my fantasies of a much anticipated encounter. Not a word had been uttered about giving it another try, and I was getting frustrated. I was singlehandedly managing 60-hour work weeks in a busy ICU, the house, the kids... and I needed something, ANYTHING! Instead of talking about this in a reasonable manner, I had become intolerable- bitchy and impatient every time I felt slighted, unable to see the effort he was making to help.
When I arrived home from work that night, I was exhausted and drained. I settled the children in for the night, and came into our room to find him already in our gigantic bed. I changed into sweatpants and a tank top, and snuggled in to sleep, only to find he had other ideas. He began gently stroking my back and neck, soothing the ever-present tension there. I spooned into him, as he kissed and nibbled his way up my neck, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine- he has ALWAYS been able to come up behind me, lift my hair, nuzzle my neck and make me instantly ready for him. I sighed with mingled relaxation and arousal, settling further back into him, and he slid his hands around to cup my breasts, gently stroking and teasing my nipples. My brain was already screaming, "Yes! This! I need THIS!", hoping the foreplay would have us reconnecting in a meaningful way. His hands moved lower, slipping my sweats down my legs and drifting across my hips and thighs, and around to my sensitive pearl to play and rub there. I was suspended somewhere in an erotic haze, focused only on the sensations, when I heard a familiar, well remembered sound- the jingle of his belt buckle.
I started, pulled out of my reverie, my heart pounding in my ears. Just the sound was Pavlovian for me- I instantly was drawn back to memories of long ago nights and their after-effects, and my bottom tingled instinctively.
"What are you doing?" I asked, tentatively. He rarely, if EVER, initiated anything but playful spanking on his own. Most often, he simply swats me a few times during foreplay, to be able to say that he actually spanked me. I've tried hinting, asking directly and even leaving out the wooden backed hairbrush I impulsively bought for this purpose, to no result- but then, if you are not predisposed to thinking about spanking like I do, it likely meant nothing to him.
"Do you want a spanking?" he breathed in my ear, retrieving the imposing strap from his discarded jeans. My mouth was suddenly dry- did I? It had been so, SO long; did I still have the mental and physical endurance for an encounter with his thick leather belt? We used to play heavily with a flat wooden spoon and his hands, with an occasional dose of his belt thrown in, but that was back in the apartment, before we were engaged, even. Once we were married, things slowed down a bit, but I do remember a few times in our previous house that things got serious. It had been over a year since I was spanked hard enough to count, because it had never happened in this home- actually, I'm not certain it has happened since the birth of our twins.
Just as quickly, I forced down my apprehension. OF COURSE I wanted a spanking- this is what I had been asking for since the start of our relationship. I didn't know whether this was foreplay or punishment for my attitude lately, but decided it made no difference. He was dominating and offering me the chance to relinquish control, arousing me completely.
"Yes..." I whispered back, swallowing hard.
"Go shut the door," he commanded, and I quickly obeyed, locking it for good measure, as if someone was going to disturb us. I was filled with that brief terror of knowing one is about to be spanked- despite the fact that you fantasize about it almost every day, when presented with the actuality, you question your sanity for at least a moment. I quelled it the best I could, remembering that the apprehension and anticipation is part of WHY this is arousing, and my implicit trust in him. I removed my clothes completely, and upon returning to bed, I positioned myself over the pillows pulled down towards the center.
He spoke no words, but instead began by stroking my bottom gently with his hand. I relaxed slightly, and was rewarded with a slap of the belt. It was not hard, but he smoothed over the spot with his hand afterward, soothing the sting. A pattern emerged- a pause, a light stroke of leather, a soft caress-creating a tingling warmth and focusing me intensely on my ass, but not causing any distress. I began to think I had been concerned about my tolerance for nothing. Sure, this was his belt, but he could and HAD made more of an impact with a single resounding crack of his hand. I was easily matching my breathing with the strokes, sinking into the comfortable warmth building on my bottom, when suddenly things began in earnest.
I found myself gasping and writhing, struggling for the control to accept the intensity of the experience, grasping onto the pillow beneath me to prevent myself from reaching back. He had not doubled the belt, but instead was using a tail of about 10 or 12 inches on me, and it gave him more control of the areas he was striking. He scattered the strokes across both buttocks and my thighs, varying their intensity from a soft tap to a searing crack, giving me no way to predict or prepare for the next. They fell rapidly, and I soon lost count around 20, despite my resolve to remember the number. I was panting, but holding on, still "with myself" in my brain- not yet at the point where the pain floats away and transforms into subliminal submission. I had no idea if I could even still get there, after all this time away...
He paused, and I rolled into his embrace, my throbbing bottom pressed against him... Were we done? He was still holding the belt... He began to touch my breasts, teasing my nipples with his fingers, making them erect. I rolled onto my back, giving him freer access. As if suspended in time, I watched as he raised the tail of the belt and quickly, sharply stroked it down on my left nipple. Electricity shot through me from breast to clit and I cried out softly. He administered similar treatment to my right, and I whimpered at the mingled pain/pleasure wave that overtook me.
"OK?" he inquired, as we had never played like this before, stopping short in the realm of bruising bites and improvised nipple clamps.
"Oh, yes," I gasped out, unable to deny the utter eroticism of submitting myself to him in that manner. To open one's most sensitive areas to the threat of pain, to see it and know it is coming- it was insanely arousing and terrifying all at the same time. I had only been asked to submit like this once before in my life, by another lover who was certainly a dominant, and I can remember it implicitly to this day. I never expected this from him!
"Hold my hands," I pleaded, wanting him to take away the option for me to cover myself, and he obliged, tucking his right arm under my head and restraining my right wrist while applying his body weight to my left wrist, leaving a hand free for him to tease and strike me. He played for a few minutes, rubbing and manipulating my breasts, intermingling licks of the belt on my sensitive nipples. I was straining against his confinement, unconsciously trying to protect myself despite being desperately excited. Each direct hit was like a bolt of lightning, painful but arousing- he had always played with some relentlessness when it came to my breasts, as I can practically achieve orgasm from nipple stimulation alone.
As I twisted in his grasp, my bottom felt swollen and tight, and each movement across the sheets caused me to gasp with the sensitivity there, the 500 thread count feeling like sandpaper to my abused skin. He kissed me, laying the belt aside, bruising my lips as he ravaged my mouth, releasing my hands. I twined my fingers in his hair, holding him to me, feeling his tongue tease mine as he gentled the brutal kiss before deepening it again. He trailed his fingers down to the juncture of my thighs, testing the readiness he felt there. I was more than ready, my arousal evident- as was his- but as I pushed back against his hardness, I knew we weren't finished yet.
He rolled me back onto my stomach over the pillows, tucking my hands beneath them again, and began with the threatening strap almost instantly. We had reached the part where he wasn't playing, wasn't worrying about my pain anymore, and hard, serious strokes on the already reddened skin required all my concentration. They caused me to cry out into the bed, holding onto the comforter tightly and praying incoherently- for more or the end, I wasn't certain. I could feel the welts rising, a mental picture of my ass forming before my tightly closed eyes- knowing I would bruise and mark- how badly?!?
My brain was screaming, "WHY? Why are we doing this? I don't remember how to submit to this, it HURTS!"- but no one had told my body, which was practically vibrating with excitement. I was so wet I was soaking the bed, and I could feel his fingers searching, testing me, as he continued my punishment. Several times I briefly shifted, turning against him, halting things temporarily to catch my breath and regain my composure, but always returning to the position next to him, offering myself for however long he intended. Soon (finally??) he slowed his strokes, landing a few final ones on the undercurve of my bottom, as I gasped and shuddered, floating on the high of my submission to him. His hands immediately calmed and stroked softly down my back and over my bottom.
