This video is a snippet from my 41st birthday spanking, just last week! Not the same spanking as below, but is close enough, as it includes a hand spanking with a sjambok balanced on my bum.
I'd already left a creamy ring around the base of his cock by the time he moved me to the armchair with the intention of punishing me. I'd known it was coming, had tried to be ready for it, had tried since he'd texted me of my transgression the day before.
I'd been sitting at my desk at work when the message came through: "I need to have the kitchen wench severely whipped for forgetting my morning coffee!"
Alas, I was the kitchen wench in question, and I truly had forgotten his coffee! As I'd run around the house doing my usual 6 a.m. morning routine, I'd been distracted by Twitter, of all things. I proceeded to send a series of apologies and emojis, knowing two things for certain. One, he wasn't at all mad at me, and two, I definitely had that punishment coming anyway. Sure enough, he followed up with "It's really ok! I just wanted something fun to whip you for, and you provided!" Kissy lips. Mmm, a weekend whipping was on its way.
I climbed onto the chair, pressing the outside of each knee into the sides of the seat. I crossed my arms and rested them on the back of the chair, settling my chin into the backs of my hands. I arched, presenting my bottom.
He already had the sjambok in hand, the braided whip that alternately thuds into the muscle or stings across the surface of the flesh, depending on how he wields it. He has coaxed both low, rumbling waves of pleasure from my body with this leather beast, as well as weeping and welts. I'd been looking forward to this moment but suddenly wasn't sure if I had it in me to take a full punishment whipping, even for fun. My whisper hoarse, I told him, "I don't know if... I don't know what I'm up for."
"I know," he said. Without saying anything more, I knew he'd already taken my position, my trembling, and my wetness into account. I wasn't ready to say I was ready, but he knew I was without my saying it and I could sense his arm pull the whip back. A small nod of my head into my hands. The crack of the leather braid cut across the air sharply, breaking the silence, followed by a quick snap as the whip just barely flicked the naked skin of my ass.
It wasn't enough to howl about but I wanted to howl. Mr. W began a light but steady rhythm, the heavy braid landing at times more like a flexible cane when he choked up on his hold. The blows weren't hard, only consistent, only warming my backside from sit-spot to top-of-the-crack one stroke at a time. Despite the gentler strokes, it was hurting more than my birthday whipping. Maybe I just wasn't warmed up yet. Frustrated with myself, I tried to signal that I was ready for more.
He began to mix harder strokes into the mix, whippy strokes that cut into the inner curve of my ass cheek. They bit, and with those strokes I did begin to call out my pain. Each "Oh!" or "Ah!" seemed only to encourage the steadiness of Mr. W's lashes. Soon it felt as if the whip was dancing from cheek to cheek with quick sharp snaps, stinging and biting and inciting me to tears.
I was having trouble holding position and my body was doing a spastic twerk. I couldn't maintain the arch in my back and soon found myself free of the whip, collapsed over the back of the chair despite the punishment being quite minimal. Mr. W was giving me space to breathe.
"How are you doing?" he asked once I'd caught my breath. I shook my head. "Not great. Not as good as I want to be doing," I told him.
He stroked my back, my bottom. "You were doing great for long spaces and then it was like your body would give up. Then you were back at it, ready to go. What can I do for you?"
I didn't have to think. I knew I needed something to get over the hump in my own head, and I knew we were going to have to get closer than the sjambok allowed. "I need to cry. Will you spank me with your hand, Sir?" I asked. I wanted it. I wanted his hand burning my bottom, close, hot, and hard. I wanted it to hurt and I wanted to get past whatever was keeping me from fully enjoying the punishment up to now.
I was already in the mindset that my spanking was causing me pain. As his hand began to smack me, quick sharp spanks back and forth, I found my tears quickly.
What was bothering me? Smack, slap, smack, smack - I could feel my cheeks wobbling in time with the spanking. I did so well for my birthday spanking. Why couldn't I do it now? "Ow!" Sob. "Ow!" More sobbing. "Owwwwww!" All the tears burst forth.
The spanking didn't stop as I relived the last two days. We'd laughed about forgetting the coffee; the pain and tears were not contrition, it wasn't that. Work had ended on a positive note on Friday, I wasn't processing any stress there. For our primary weekend activity, we'd been working on the Etsy store, setting up naughty books for our smut shop. Visions of extreme sexual scenarios danced through my head, and yet I was still crying and he was still spanking me and I was still trying to find a way to enjoy it.
His hand was firm, his palm curved to the shape of my ass cheek. Grabbing, slapping, smacking, turning me tender, each smack landing with a fire brighter than the last, his full attention on giving me what I'd asked for. Giving me the spanking I'd craved, the spanking I hadn't had to beg for, but would have. Then -
That's it, that's it. More please. Closer, faster, harder, I don't want the whip or the strap or the paddle or the cane, just your hand, Sir, just your hand, Daddy, yes please keep spanking me don't let me go don't turn away just you and my bottom, please, Sir -
I felt the arch return to my back vertebrae by vertebrae. My ass pushed back, greeting Mr. W's hand with greed. "Ooh, yes please Daddy, please spank me," I whispered, all my flirty filthiness back in force.
Later, Mr. W would tell me that it was a visible process that began in my shoulders and worked its way down my body, releasing the tension and unlocking my head. From the inside, it was a distinct shift, a place of pain turned quite literally to pleasure as the realization came to me that I'd been missing Mr. W. We'd been working together all day but not fully interacting. Sharing surface thoughts but not digging deep. We'd been so busy that even though we'd spent the day together, I hadn't felt him with me until he'd taken my hand-spanking to heart and let me have it. Connected, our skin warmed to the same heat, here he was with me. The shift in my head was from loneliness to feeling loved.
Fortunately for Mr. W, I don't get romantic when I feel loved. I get dirty.
The tears disappeared without my trying to end them. The sobbing became sighs of encouragement. "Yes, yes," I whispered, in case he hadn't noticed the shift. I arched deeper, presenting my body for whatever might be next on the agenda. I knew what I wanted, though. One of the books I'd been reviewing had an especially naughty scene that had stuck with me. All I had to do was say one particular magic word one more time so he'd know what I wanted, too.
Thank god he saw how wet I was again. I was clearly ready to move on from the spanking and so was he. With his hands on my hips, my lower back, he held me in place as he rested the head of his cock just at the dripping opening of my pussy. "I feel so little beneath you," I said, keeping my voice as small as I wanted to feel. "Daddy."
"Yeah?" His breath was rough. I was too wet. He was slipping inside me.
My voice even smaller: "Oh. Oh! Daddy..."
He knew what I wanted. He held tightly to my hips and pulled me back onto him like a glove he wanted to ruin. "Yeah, that's it, baby,"he growled close to my ear. "Take it for Daddy. That's it."
Scene-wise, that was all we needed. I bit the back of the leather chair and he let me have it, a pounding for my pussy but a salve for my mind. I was at peace in this place of being possessed. Throbbing waves threatened to break the spell and return me to womanhood, but:
"Oh, Sir. Oh Daddy! I feel like my tight little hole is going to burst all over you. Oh! Please, please. It's so much!"
We came together, collapsing in a gasping pile of trembling limbs. "Dear god you are incredible," Mr. W sighed into my skin. "Mmmmm, thank you Daddy," I purred, snuggling back against him. "Thank you for my spanking. My fucking. I needed you."
He helped me stand and held me steady. I looked down and saw the creamy emulsion my body had left on his. I grinned, remembering what was in the kitchen, feeling like a little girl all over again. "We have lemon cream pie!"
Mr. W's blue eyes sparkled. "Go get me some pie, little girl," he laughed.
"Yes, Sir!" Naked, sated, barely dripping any longer, I skipped off to the kitchen for pie.
I hope you're following me on Twitter! I'm on there daily and am generally happy to interact. Plus I post pics of my butt there ALL the time. @AbbyW2007
