“You’re such a brat,” said Mr Biter. “Whatever should I do with you?”
I looked at him and grinned. “Kiss me.”
“I will. But other things first…”
He sat on the bed, legs outstretched, leaning back on the headboard and pulled me over his knee.
“You won’t need these.” He pulled my pyjama bottoms off, and grabbing my ankles, tied them together with the pyjama legs.
“So, about this brattishness…”
“You’re never going to stop are you..?”
“So, I guess this is more about controlling your behaviour…”
He spanked me until I wriggled, easing back when it was too much, keeping a consistent rhythm.
“I think you should count.”
Ten slaps on one butt cheek, then ten on the other. And again.
“Are you wet yet, slut?”
He pushed my knees apart, despite my restraint, and I balanced awkwardly across him as he ran his fingers across my cunt, and pushed them into me.
“Of course you are. Keep your thighs parted.”
He massaged my clit a few times before withdrawing to carry on his spanking. And then he reached for the paddle.
He still made me count. The final few strokes of each round as hard as I could take them. He started with ten per round. I thought it was enough.
“Shall we see if you can manage twelve?”
I did. Fifteen? Just.
Twenty. I was ready to swear.
All the while, he teased my clit, me writhing beneath his hands.
My bottom was hot, the flesh solid where he’d struck me and I was horny as hell. Thankfully, so was he.
He pulled me on top of him, his hands grabbing at my bruised arse until I moaned. He gripped at my thighs, pushed his thumb against my clit as I rode him. Layer of sensation building.
Somehow, from somewhere, I felt an orgasm starting to bubble. And then he interupted the magic by coming himself, in a hard, growling release.
I didn’t mind; the fact that I felt able to come in that position was enough.
After Mr Biter left, I had a brief reprieve and then Sir came round to continue our discussion about the D/s; it’s mainly how to work a dynamic into existing relationships… He has His wife/sub. I have TSH and Mr Biter. And we need to ensure that whatever we do doesn’t interrupt other relationship dynamics.
We’re also at a weird point where I’ve accepted His rules in principle, but we’re not yet fully in the dynamic. I’m following certain protocol… daily photo tasks, for example. But we’ve not yet scened.
One of His rules is about not wearing knickers when we’re together. Without the definition of what “together” meant in the context of Him visiting whilst we negotiate, I’d pulled on knickers, jeans and a hoodie.
We re-iterated over His rules.
“Stand up,” he said.
I did. And He unfastened my jeans, pulling them down to my ankles. My knickers ending up at my knees. He bent me over and administered ten slaps in quick succession. Thankfully, they were manageable, particularly as He didn’t know I’d already been spanked and paddled that morning. Not that it would have made any difference to Him, other than amusing Him more.
I knew I had to thank Him for my punishment but He wanted an acknowledgement of why I’d been punished and what would change. My brain had already left the building in a swirl of nerves and emotion, and after I’d thanked Him, it took quite some prompting from Him before I managed to get the right words out.
I know it wasn’t a hard punishment by any stretch; it wasn’t intended to be. It was a reinforcement of expectations, and a warning of what would happen if I did break the rules. Now, I know what the boundaries on that issue are, I have no desire to incur an actual punishment.