Spanking Good Fun

JACKIE MARTISE

My husband likes to surprise me with new playthings. Recently, Will spilled his potato chips all over the floor and then asked me if I’d mind grabbing the broom. Tucked inside the closet, in front of the broom and the mop, was a riding crop.

As I stood, gaping, he came up behind me, gripped my hips and rubbed himself against me. “I bought it yesterday. I thought we’d take advantage of having the house to ourselves today.”

He took my long blonde braid in his hand and tugged gently. “Bring it to the living room, so we can give it a go.” He led me by my hair as I tried to focus on him and the crop—and not the pounding of desire in my cunt. “How about if you get on the ottoman?” he asked, tapping the back of my leg with the leather tip of the crop. As he pulled the implement back, I noticed the keeper was in the shape of a hand. A jaunty little leather hand just over the moon about smacking red marks up the backs of my thighs, along my flanks and across my ass.

I draped myself over the ottoman, my belly flat against its top. My head hung over one side, my vulnerable ass at the other. He hiked up my denim skirt and started dragging the tip of the crop over the soft silk of my panties.

“Mmm,” he said. “I like these. These are soft. And very orange.”

I chuckled. They were very orange. I’d bought them on my last lingerie-shopping trip. I’d been amused by their brightness. I’d bought two similar pairs in shocking yellow and bright magenta. The colors reminded me of sherbet.

My laugh wasn’t welcome, though; it earned me a good, quick blow from the crop. I yelped, my body bowing, my head flying back. My braid, thick and smooth, slid across my back.

“Focus on what we’re doing,” he said.

“Yes, Will,” I responded breathlessly, but it was difficult for me.

I could feel a craving deep inside me, the wet, greedy pound of need in my pussy. My clit thrummed as if electric currents were moving across my flesh. I prayed for him to touch me, Christ, anywhere—even the soles of my feet. I felt as if stimulation anywhere would bring me to orgasm.

“Your mind’s wandering,” he said, and the crop came down across the meatiest part of my bottom. The blow stung both asscheeks and settled deep in my slit. I clenched my internal muscles to eke out some pleasure, which was cheating, and I knew it. Will caught me, like he always does. Three fast blows landed against the backs of my thighs. Arousal beat insanely beneath my skin.

I hung my head and longed for a finger, a tongue, a cock— anything to satisfy my hunger.

“You’re free to beg off. Just say the word, and I’ll stop,” he said, squatting down to talk right into my ear.

I shook my head, braid flying. I’d say my safeword when hell froze over. All the heady discomfort he delivered morphed quickly into an addictive pleasure that my whole body seemed to reach for.

I pushed my ass back, and his hand moved to slide gently along the swell of each buttock. Will traced his finger down the crack of my ass, pausing to press a fingertip to my asshole through my panties. Then he scooted the panties down slowly, so I could feel the glide of luxurious fabric over crop-warmed skin.

“Now be a good girl…” He went for the left first. The pain was smart and fast. Before I could recover, he’d moved to the right. I felt heat blossom in my skin, and I wiggled because somehow it was easy to think in that moment that if I moved the crop would hurt less.

Not true.

Side to side, he alternated, not too hard but definitely not soft. Will whipped me until I was practically fucking the ottoman. Sobs and moans slipped out of me, and when he stopped, I inhaled a great, shuddery breath.

His fingers drove into me, and I almost came. I bit my lip to hang on. I counted in my head. I prayed. Then I felt him get down behind me. He blew softly against me from behind. Coolness erupted along my nether lips; my clitoris seemed to pulse.

“Help me,” I managed to utter.

He knew what I meant. His zipper sounded immensely loud in the small room as he lowered his fly. His cock dragged along my soaking-wet split, teasing me. He dragged it down to kiss my clitoris, the tip wet with my juices. He brought me to my first orgasm that way, stroking my clit with his smooth cockhead.

I shuddered, able to breathe again.

“Please,” I gasped, one last shuddery plea.

And then he was in me, sliding one arm beneath my belly, holding me to him while driving deep inside me. He bucked his hips, and my body arched in response. I moved back to take him. I met every thrust with eager abandon. And finally, I put my head down and let him hold me and take me.

I came again, my body gripping tight around his pistoning cock. When he withdrew, I shivered. But I knew what was coming from our previous play sessions, and excitement unfurled in me.

Will moved to the front of the ottoman and jammed his cock— wet from my cunt—into my mouth. From his new position, he was able to fuck my mouth while smacking my ass with the crop. When I sucked deep, the blows were lighter; when I backed off, the blows were harder. I kept him off balance as much as I was able, until he grunted, “You’re a slutty girl. I shouldn’t reward you. But touch yourself. I want you to come with me.”

It was a magical moment of synchronicity. He drove into my mouth as I sucked him off, my fingers sliding—slippery and shaky— over my clit, the crop keeping time on my flesh.

When he broke our rhythm and came, painting my lips and chin with his cream, I climaxed. My mouth popped open, and I tasted the last drops of him on my tongue.

He stroked my cheek and bent down to kiss me, which turned me on all over again. “I have bad news,” he said.

“What?”

“We still need that broom,” Will said, laughing.

I nodded. “Well worth it,” I whispered, still trying to catch my breath. “Well, well worth it.”