SPANKING MISS HARDY

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Not on a first date. Not with someone whose website doesn’t  identify them as a masochistically inclined submissive. Or as any kind of submissive at all. I should be taking baby steps; a little light spanking, a tap or two with the small crop she brought with her. Yet there she is, lying naked over the long bench, hands cuffed behind her, looking back at me as she waits for my heavy, leather belt to land again. How on earth did we get here in only an hour?

The first thing to say (without descending to PunterNet type escort review jargon) is that Donna was lovely. Attractive and fine featured; with her fetching, new, Audrey Hepburn style hair, she looked wonderful. She uses the word “Geek” a lot in her media; I know Geek isn’t a look but I was still taken aback by her casual beauty.

Her eyes though. I wasn’t ready for her eyes. I’m not sure you could be. Some green in them, sparkling, direct.

She seemed slightly nervous when we met in the bar of the hotel, but I was too. We’d emailed backwards and forwards a few times setting up this first meeting and agreed this would be an introductory D/s session with me taking the lead. I asked her to go upstairs, pour herself a glass from the already opened champagne and prepare. I was very specific about what was to go where, and how she was to be seated. I like to start this way, letting the escort take her time to get changed and acclimatise to the surroundings without me hovering around ogling at her. It also allows the dominant/submissive vibe to be set the moment I walk into the room.

As she sits on the low stool I walk round her, slowly trailing a finger over her smooth skin, feeling the rise and fall of her, tracing a tattoo, brushing over a shoulder blade. I finish with my hand on her cheek and she leans into it slightly, looking up at me. Nice. I fasten a leather collar loosely around her neck.

“Will you be mine, Donna? Will you be mine for a while?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be yours.”

The pace is slow at first; touching, kissing, mild spanking, her nipples; my nipples also. I feel the wetness of her anticipation. Then she’s up against the wall. This is a thing for me right now. I ask her to slip her heels off first, her 5’1″ up against my 6’2″. I hold both her hands in one of mine and stretch her upwards, facing the wall so I can spank her, then facing me so I can bite her nipples and make her come, stretching her up onto her tiptoes and pushing her hard against the wall with my body as the orgasm approaches. Yeah. This is a thing for me right now. 

Donna’s responses were wonderful, especially when I spanked her. Twenty percent pain and eighty percent sex. We spent some time on the bed; more orgasms.

“Donna? Do you see my belt over the back of the chair?” This was a rhetorical question; it had been there when she walked in, redolent with passive intent and unavoidably central in her field of view from where I had told her to sit. (Little happens by accident when you play with me). “How would you like to feel my belt?” She looked straight into my eyes, took a slow, deep breath and said “Yes.”

I put her over the long, stylised bench with a pillow under her, and clipped her wrists together behind her back. She looked wonderful like this: exposed, nervous, excited, submissive, mine.

But how did we get from there to the picture below?

I spank her again, but with more intent now, a preparation for the belt. I pick it up and she shivers in anticipation. I put it down again, taking instead her small riding crop. I use it all over her body: taptaptap, SMACK; taptaptap, SMACK; taptaptap, SMACK; especially at the top of her back and her shoulders, reddening her skin slightly. Her yelps are still more sex than pain. She squirms, not away from the crop but towards it. Oh, Donna we may not be talking but you’re telling me so much.

The belt. It’s got a bit of weight to it. I’ve had it a long time and it’s supple from use. I’ve been beaten with this belt, really properly beaten with it. It is absolutely not a toy. “Beating” is a harsh, hard-edged word, not one that speaks of sexy, playful fun. And yet it’s the right word here because I did beat Donna with my belt. I beat her two strokes at a time, not hard at first but then harder and, at the end, really, properly hard.

But I beat her with care and tenderness, stepping back often to look into her eyes and listen to her breathing, whispering praise and admiration and wonder into her ears; stroking the sensitised skin of her bottom softly between blows, and reaching between her legs to stroke her clitoris. At six, I told her she was becoming marked and asked if she wanted to stop. At ten, I handed over control to her (though, in truth, she always had it) promising her two more strokes every time she said “Thank you, Sir.” At fourteen, the belt lifted high now, her legs started shaking from the intensity of it all; had she been standing, her knees would have buckled. I might have stopped then, but her “Thank you, Sir”s rang out clear and firm. Insistent even. I loved how insistent they were.

We stopped at around 20 or 22. I don’t think she particularly stopped it; I think we both knew that was the right point. I love how she curled into me on the bed afterwards. We kissed and touched a lot, each making the other come, the orgasm a cathartic, ecstatic release from the incredible tension of the beating.

We had known each other for just two short hours.

To me, a beating like this is not something you do to someone, it’s something you do WITH them. The beauty of it comes from the intimacy and the connection and the contrast between that and the violence.

And there can be real beauty in it, there really can; however strange that seems.

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 “Good morning B. My bum is very sore, but that’s a sign of a good afternoon! I really enjoyed your style of domination, you were very attentive and mindful of my wellbeing. I had a lovely time. I would absolutely like to meet you again and explore further! xxx”

So, yes. I gave an escort a beating on a first date. It’s not normal to do that and I would absolutely NOT advise other clients to do the same, however empathetic they believe themselves to be.

But I gave Miss Donna Hardy a beating.

And she loved it and wants to see me again.

That pleases me greatly. It really does

 

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