Then a third.
And a fourth.
He changes sides, and repeats.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the cushion.
My knees squirm against the rug.
I take sharp inhalations of air between every few strikes and groan through the exhale.
And Carey doesn’t let up. He returns to my right cheek and spanks me harder.
There’s no time for reprieve.
All the blood that has rushed to the site makes it so much worse the second time around.
It’s fucking horrible.
I can feel tears building behind my clenched eyes.
I’m not sure how long I endure it, but I know I’m not at my limit yet.
A tear rolls from my eye, over the bridge of my nose and down the other cheek.
Carey releases my neck to wipe it away. "Are you okay?"
I nod. "Please, Sir… Give me more.”
Carey shuffles somewhere off to the side, then I hear it, the sweet sound of his belt sliding out of the loops of his pants.
Without the barrier of his leg holding me in place, he strikes the top of my thighs instead.
The lash of the leather is brutal and heavy and so much deeper, but it shoots a lightning bolt of hot pleasure right to my core.
He does it again, then I feel his hand, like ice against my burning flesh.
His fingertips circle.
His palm massages.
Then the leather strikes again.
My hips jerk forward.
Brutal, then tender.
Brutal, then tender.
Over, and over.
Continual jolts of fiery agony temporarily ebbed by a caring hand.
I slip, sinking into the haze.
He sighs, “So fucking beautiful.”
I don’t react because the words sound sour in my ear, but as I look at Carey through hooded eyes I see him looking down at me. Not at my face, but at his work. At how perfectly crimson he’s made me. And the praise suddenly has something new blooming in my stomach.
