I feel I have so much to write and I need to sort it in my head. Life has been hectic, my husband unwell. I resent these times I am ashamed to say. I try to survive with yoga and time alone in my head. I am torn between wanting to run and needing to stay..but all that aside, that is just life isn't it?
Sometimes all I feel I need is a man to take charge of me and bend me over his knee.
That's it, just my whinge, now on with the business at hand.
She lay on the bed on her stomach. She lay breathing deeply, where she had landed after their evening out where they took food and wine. Her head was spinning a little as she slipped further into sleep.
Her dress had ridden up, her panties on display and her red patent strappy sandals on her feet.
He looked at her lying silently on his bed. He was still hard from the drive home where he enjoyed her playfulness as she hooked her red heels up on the dash, legs splayed, her hand massaging his groin, bringing him to life. Such a delicious little slut. He raised his fingers to smell her on them. Her scent lingered. He had impaled her on the drive home, her pelvis moved forward encouraging him deeper. She was his good lil slut.
His belt slid from its belt hoops. He undressed. His eyes not leaving his sleeping whore. Her blond locks curled around her naturally full lips.
He laid his belt next to her on the bed. His hand slid up her thighs..Damn she was sexy...and she knew it. She knew He would be aroused, the heels, the panties. She was a tease. He loved that about His slut.
His fingers hooked around her sleeping arse and slid her panties down removing them completely.
He picked up his belt dragged it over her naked bottom. He raised his arm and brought it down hard and sharp. The sting made her scream in surprise and pain all at once. He did it again, and again. Her hands shot back to cover and protect her bottom. The belt stung the palms of her hands.
"Move your hands. Do I really need to tell you this girl?"
Her wits returning as sleep slid away, she took her hands from her bottom.
Tears wet her cheeks and juices wet her thighs. Begging him to stop. He brought his hands to her hips and pulled her to him. Pushing himself inside her, her tears making him harder still. She was his, her slickness told him so. He pulled away to admire her glowing arse, the welts, the marks that she had given to him in her submission.