Redheaded Stepchild

I lay quietly on my right side, my right middle finger rubbing my enflamed clit, my left hand gently tracing the welt on my ass. He had come to me again tonight, providing what I craved. Replaying the evening in my minds-eye, I smile and carry myself to the orgasm I denied myself during our play, screaming into my pillow as the tidal wave of release engulfs me.

As always, the children were in bed when he arrived, simply walking through an intentionally unlocked door. His presence is so commanding, so domineering. I see him as soon as he comes in, chills racing up and down my spine. Walking towards me, he smiles knowingly. Standing before me, he leans in to kiss me. I turn my head away in defiance, challenging him. He grasps my chin and again tries to kiss me, but again, I turn my head to resist. A devilish grin forms on his face, and then he releases my chin and in the same move, slaps my face, stinging my cheek and sending electric shocks through my body.

I love the way he is treating (mistreating?) me, this is what I long for, what I crave, what I desperately need! His hand is quickly on my throat, pinning me against the doorframe, applying sufficient pressure to make breathing difficult. My hands are on his hand, not really trying to pull it off of my throat. His other hand reaches for the button on my shorts, deftly undoing it and then running the zipper down. He applies more pressure to the constriction, raising his hand a bit higher, forcing me to my tiptoes. Before long my face is flushed, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I continue to be defiant, glaring at him as he slowly increases the pressure on my throat, soon cutting off all airflow. I drop my hands from his, giving in a little to his authority over me. His eyes are boring into mine, gauging my discomfort, and establishing himself as the one in charge. In one swift motion, his hand is off of my throat and wrapped in my long, red hair, jerking my head back. He leans in and forces a kiss on my stung cheek, chuckling softly, breathing in the scent of me.

Still holding my head back, he guides me to the living room. On the way, my unbuttoned shorts start to run down my hips. Stopping behind the armchair, he reaches down and forces my shorts to my ankles, lifting the hand wrapped in my hair to indicate for me to step out of them. Not a single word has been spoken since he came in. Having gotten myself free of my shorts, he jerks my panties down, and again I step out of them. Using his hips, he pins my lower body to the back of the chair and forces me to bend over it. I catch the arms of the chair to support myself as I feel him pull my legs apart with his feet. He then releases my hair and holds his hand in the small of my back, securing me to the chair. I look over my left shoulder, watching him with my green eyes, wanting him to quit teasing me. He rubs his hand across my ass cheek, getting a feel for the sensitivity of my flesh. Looking directly into my eyes, he continues to tease me, seeing the need in my eyes. Suddenly, the first strike is applied, right in the middle of the fleshy part of the cheek. I close my eyes and breathe in sharply through my teeth.

Finally! He continues to apply strokes to my ass, moving his hand around to fully flush the skin, god, I am in Heaven! The strikes get harder, he is exerting his will on me and I love it. One lick is low enough on my ass for his fingers to hit my pussy lips, sending more electric jolts through my body, wetting me thoroughly. Still, I make no sounds, my prideful bitch persona coming out. His goal is to make me squeal, my goal is to be quiet while I get beaten like a redheaded stepchild. Finally sensing that I will not be making any sounds, he applies a series of licks of increasingly firmer pressure to the same place, the final stroke really opening my eyes, making me suck my breathe in and squeezing the arms of the chair until my knuckles are white. The welt is rising on my ass, stinging as he touches the edges with his fingertips, and tracing the outline of his hand.

Reaching down, he places his hand on my throat again and raises me to a standing position. He stares into my eyes, squeezing my breath out, and then leans in to lightly kiss my lips. I let him, but do not kiss him back, my defiance still showing. Smiling, he releases me and walks out, leaving me breathless, my body glistening with a sheen of sweat, my pussy dripping.

I drift off to sleep, smiling contentedly. I awake before the children, walking to the bathroom and turning to look at my ass in the mirror. What a beautiful site! I have hand prints welted on my ass and other smaller bruises from my punishment. I grab my digital camera and get some pictures for my Internet acquaintances, knowing that they will get a turn-on from them. Stepping into the shower, the warm water cascades down my body and stings the welts, what a glorious feeling! I lift my leg onto the molded seat of the shower and run my hand between my legs, jumping as my fingers find my clit. I place my other hand on my nipple, firmly grasping it between my fingers. I strum my clit hard thinking of my beating, again bringing myself to a crushing orgasm, crying out in pleasure under the running water.

Sitting in my kitchen nursing a cup of coffee, I reflect back to my first encounter with him. He and my husband work for the same company, in fact, he used to be my husband's supervisor, until he transferred to another department. My husband is away on a yearlong contract for the company, leaving myself and the children behind due to the nature of the work. Since we live in the same neighborhood, we see one another often. I thought he was attractive from the moment I met him, his eyes and voice having an unspeakable intensity, which I find very arousing. I thought he may have the same thoughts, seeing as how he hand delivered a piece of mail from the neighborhood watch group.

One day, the weather was terrible, stormy and windy. I am scared that there will be a tornado. Knowing that I am nervous about this, he calls me and starts harassing me about my fear (all in jest, of course). To take my mind off of the weather, I had been cleaning my house and started to cook dinner. While on the phone, I realize I have no butter, so he graciously offers to bring some over (his wife is out of town on business).

I figured, 'Why not, I could certainly use some adult company after having nothing but the kids all day'.

We sat and talked for a long time, something that he missed because of his wife's busy schedule and her volunteering for different things. As day progressed to evening, and evening to night, I started picking up on his body language. He would rest his hand on my leg as we were sitting on the couch; follow me around when I did something, standing close. The experience was making me very nervous. During our conversations, the subject turned to sex, which I am very open about and will speak of frankly. We spoke of sex in general, foreplay and finally some kinky stuff. That is when I found out that he likes to spank women and something definitely clicked.

He eventually said he had to go, so I showed him to the door. My lips were trembling as we stood at the door. I was leaning against the doorframe and he just stared at me. He smiled and asked me if I wanted to kiss him. I smiled and looked away, and he left. I got about putting the kids to bed and when I came back downstairs, he was at the door again, saying something about the butter. I told him it was in the refrigerator. He went to get it, but said he couldn't see it. I went in and helped him retrieve it. Trying to leave again, I showed him the door, and this time, there was a kiss.

With my husband gone on the contract, it had been about six months since I had physical contact with a man, and I got aggressive, shoving him against the wall. This was very out of character for me, because I am the one who wants to be shoved around. He finally calmed me down and explained that this could not happen because of circumstances and he is my husband's friend and co-worker, etc, etc, etc. While he was calming me down, his hands rested on my shoulders and made their way to my throat. Wanting to feel him choke me, I pushed against his hand to create the feeling I craved.

Noticing this, he smiled and then walked into the laundry room.

"Come here," he said.

Smiling, I replied, "No".

Looking at me, he repeated, forcefully, "Come here!"

Still smiling, I again said, "No".

He strode out of the laundry room as I steeled myself. In a flash, his hand was in my hair, pulling me forward as I planted my feet to resist. He finally forced me into the laundry room, unbuttoning my shorts and pulling them to the ground. He then bent me over the washing machine, holding me down. I stood very still, knowing what was about to happen.

He started to lightly hit my ass with the palm of his hand, warming the skin. After this, the strikes became progressively harder, alternating sides and changing in rhythm and force. He did this for a good 15 to 20 minutes, getting me sopping wet.

Occasionally, one of his strikes would my catch the back of pussy, jolting me with the feeling. When he was finished, he turned and walked away, leaving me there, trying to catch my breath and come back down to reality.

During our next few encounters, he introduces me to leather straps and paddles, fulfilling my need, my craving. On one particular instance, he used a leather belt that belongs to my husband. I had again intentionally left the door unlocked, anticipating his appearance. He did not fail me, appearing before me the way he had many times before.

I walked to my bedroom and he followed, looking for the kiss that always eludes him. As always, he tries to kiss me and I refuse, beginning the session. As in our other sessions, I am warmed up with some slaps and some delicious choking, leading to him placing me over his knee and some open-handed strikes. He sees the belt that is lying on the bed and has me bend over and place my hands on a wooden bench.

He taps my ankles to signal me to spread my legs, placing my ass invitingly in the air, and exposing my pussy to him. Even in this position, he does not make any sexual advances on me, knowing that our arrangement is for him to satisfy his desire to spank a woman and my desire to be spanked.

He positions himself behind me as I look at him over my shoulder. Our eyes meet, challenging him. I trust this man implicitly, knowing he will satisfy my needs as I satisfy his. His right hand rises above his head; I flex my ass muscles, readying myself. The belt whistles through air in an arc, reaching maximum velocity a millisecond before leather meets flesh in exquisite exchange of energy.

I close my eyes and relish the feeling, willing more strokes from my trusted punisher. He does not disappoint. He deftly moves the leather around my ass, reddening and bruising as he goes. My breath comes in hisses each time he strikes me. The flexed muscles do much to deflect the pain; my own mind does the rest.

Finally, the leather curls around and strikes my pussy, almost sending me into orgasm, forcing me to exert 'my prideful bitch, tough Texas girl' will not to give him the satisfaction.

He stops and looks down at me, saying, "Do you want some licks hard enough to make you cry out?"

Hesitating, I look back at him and say, "Yes."

I see his hand rise and I flex my ass again, anticipating the feeling. The strike is very hard, harder than anything he has ever delivered to me. He wants to hear me cry out, but my only sound is a sharp intake of breath every time he hits me. Having hit me enough, he finishes, telling me he has never seen a woman take punishment like this with so much passion. Immediately after he leaves, I give myself the orgasm I held off during our play, screaming with delight into my pillow. The next morning, feeling a bit tender, I inspect myself in the mirror. There are four large bruises and some smaller ones on my right ass cheek, and a large 'L' shaped one on my left. I again photograph myself for the benefit of my online acquaintances. My mind wanders back to my tormenter, who promised to introduce me to the cane, but that is another story.