URGES – needy

It’s an urge – it comes on me from time to time, creeps into my mind via the door at the back and just stands there watching me. I try to ignore it and carry on with my life, deliberately looking the other way, hoping that when I eventually turn round it will be gone.

But it never is.

Once the bloody thing has wormed its way in, it’s there to stay; there that is until I satisfy it, until I feed its insistent longing.

What is it, this urge that won’t go away? Readers of my blog might assume it’s a need to feel pain, to be beaten by the Mistress until I’m a sweaty mess, or perhaps to have her sit on my chest tugging on the harsh nipple clips then slapping my face till it’s raw.

No. Not this time.

The urge that has me in its grip is to put someone over my knee and spank them.

God, I love spanking.

The sight of a beautiful, smooth-skinned bottom over my knee, perhaps outlined by a thong or some pretty lace panties that I’ll pull down later; the way the bottom starts suddenly at the thigh, rises up and out, curving over and round before merging smoothly into the back; the back itself; I have almost as big a thing for a nice back as I do for a well shaped bottom. I’ll run a finger down it slowly, feeling the ridges of bone under the skin in the otherwise smooth cleft, before letting the same finger circle the target area on each cheek.

I’ll let the tension mount, feeling her breathing quicken in response, while my own slows, slows like that of a marksman preparing to take his shot.

God, I love spanking.

After the first dozen or so smacks, I’ll pause; let her catch her breath. I might let my right hand lie lightly on the place I’ve just slapped, perhaps stroking it in an almost absent minded way. My left hand might rest in the cleft of her back ; letting her know I’m there, that I’m not some fiendish spanking machine but a warm blooded human whom she knows well and trusts. It’ll let her know she’s safe.

After the next dozen or so – perhaps even twenty because progression is everything – I might use both hands to pull her closer to me, holding her body tight into mine, waiting for her breathing to slow, waiting for her to calm while I admire the red skinned, already warming, curves of her newly smacked bottom.

This is when I’ll pull her panties down, removing the last vestige of protection. I won’t just slide them off her bottom but pull them roughly all the way down, slipping them over her bare feet to leave her naked and exposed. I won’t need to tell her how the next set are going to be; my brief pause, collecting myself, focussing my energy, will send enough of a shiver through her. By the end I’ll have grabbed her arm and held it tight against her back to stop her protecting herself, simultaneously pushing her down onto my knee to hold her still as she desperately tries to wriggle away from my punishing hand.

This time it will take longer for her to settle but I’ll slowly, very very slowly, draw my finger through the warm, wet folds of her pussy. Just once. Just enough contact for her to focus on her growing need, desperation almost, to be touched. Just enough for her to feel that there might be a reward if she stays with me for the final beating.

At the end she’ll be crying; perhaps she’ll cry wracking sobs of shock at the viciousness of the final spanking, my hand hard and heavy like a paddle, remorselessly slapping her bottom again and again; perhaps she’ll cry soft tears of carthartic, emotional release; or tears that come from knowing that it’s over.

I’ll seek out her clitoris while she’s still crying, still over my knee, holding her tight while I stroke her to a shaking, gasping orgasm. And afterwards we’ll lie together on the bed, touching softly, kissing, coming down slowly; close and at peace with each other.

God, I love spanking.