Posted at 16:16 on 13 Apr 2012 by Pandora / Blake
Earlier this week, I posted the following to Twitter:
The spanking I'm craving today is a hand spanking. Starting gentle, firm but not too stingy; building relentlessly to deeper impacts.
The beating D gave me on Sunday was necessary, valuable. It kept me sane for a couple of days at least. But my tension levels quickly crept up again. By Tuesday I was shifting in my chair, cursing myself for being so high maintenance as to need several spankings a week to manage my emotional state.
On Wednesday, this was on my mind:
Shift in my fantasies: today, I want to be caned. Slowly, hard, with intimacy and affection. I want to enjoy my top's faith in my strength.
On Thursday, Tom came to visit.
Tom's and my relationship is not perfect. The last couple of times we've seen each other have contained their own stresses. I didn't want to put too much pressure on him by relying on him to fix me.
But I'll say this about dating a spanko: you can usually rely on them to want to spank you. Not as a favour, to indulge my whims; not because I need it or want it (although that helps) but because spanking is what he, like me, dreams about when he's alone. I'd started to feel so embarrassed about the strength of my craving that it was deeply reassuring to spend time with someone who felt the same way.
Of course harmony isn't inevitable. At times, for whatever reason, we have each been unable to fulfil the other's fantasies. But this time, it clicked.
"So the question is," he says, "in the wake of your recent tweets: what sort of spanking are you craving today?"
"Well, you're the boss, boss," I grin. "Warm me up with your hand first and I expect you can do pretty much anything."
So he does. But first he tells me to fetch out my hairbrush. He lays it beside him on the bed, just sitting there in the background. Innocent-like.
The warm up is lovely and slow, as requested. It hurts but I try to remind myself how much I have been wanting this. Consciously, I lift my hips to meet his hand. When he pauses for a rub I sneak peeks back at him over my shoulder. We smile at each other.
My bottom is already glowing by the time he reaches for the hairbush. The first smacks with it are slow. Tantalisingly slow. He grips me around the middle, his left arm wrapping almost all the way round my waist. I feel little, held, secure. I quickly want him to speed up the brush strokes, make me struggle, make my legs flail. Instead he smacks my thighs with the brush, slowly. I know better than to complain.
Somehow, my breasts have worked their way out of my low cut top. During a pause his hand reaches round and fondles them. I gasp with arousal. "Oh, please," I beg.
"Please do that while you spank me."
He obliges me, one hand roughly kneading my dangling breasts, pulling at my nipples, circling them with his rough palm. His other hand holds the brush and spanks me hard. The sensations combine, so overwhelming I think I might come. I don't, but it's close. After a few minutes of exquisite pleasure/pain/pleasure he stops, puts down the brush, and his fingers finish what he's started. I writhe in his lap. Between ragged breaths I kiss him like I'm coming up for air.
He holds me as I subside. I am aware of a growing ache inside me. I've been spanked: now I want to be fucked. But he's not done with me yet. "First," he murmurs in response to my pleas, stroking my face, "I think there should be some belting. I intend to make you wait a little longer."
I kneel with my hands on the head board and arch my back for the belt. Each stroke is a lick of fire across my sensitised skin. My hips twitch under every impact and I have to consciously tilt them back again to present my bottom for the next. As he finds his stride, harder strokes on my thighs make me twist and cry out.
He pauses, but only long enough to lie me down over pillows. Supported, I can relax, no longer distracted by having to keep in position. The strokes of the belt fall rhythmically, one every 3-4 seconds, and hard. Getting harder. I start to worry about being bruised for our playdate tomorrrow. Then I stop worrying and let the sensations roll over me. I'm sobbing.
Finally, he puts down the belt and fulfils my other need.
Afterwards, sated, it felt like the unspanked girl crying last weekend was someone else entirely. Clearly I need regular top-ups. Twice a week would do nicely.
One of the advantages of poly is that with two spankers, I feel less like I'm being too demanding - and plus, I get the benefit of each of their distinctive styles. It's not always easy, but right now, all the complications seem worth it. Right now, with my needs thoroughly tended, I feel like the luckiest girl alive. Here's hoping it lasts a little longer this time.