Lydia moved from sensual pleasure to sensual pleasure mixed with sharp sting. She began to flinch and twitch under the inexorable fall of his palm, though she tried her hardest to maintain her position the way he liked her to. Her breath escaped her in little gasps. In amongst the struggle to take her spanking like a good girl, she noticed people drifting towards them in ones and twos—curious observers. She screwed her eyes shut, holding on to her safeword in her mind, even though the pain was nowhere near her threshold.
It was so hot, though. She almost thought she might scorch a hole in the shining blackness so that patches of scarlet skin would show through.
Before this could happen, von Ritter paused and lowered the knickers, exposing her bare bottom to the room.
There was a collective murmur as the onlookers took in her rounded, reddened curves.
“Nice work,” said a female voice.
Lydia swallowed and clenched her pussy. It was like a dream, but it wasn’t. She was really here, getting her bum smacked good and hard in a public place. What a bad, bad girl she was. She deserved all of this and more.
She kept her bottom obediently pushed out, wanting to feel von Ritter’s hand on her again, no matter how hard he laid it on her. She felt a little drunk with the power of the experience, the depth of her submission. She was crossing a line, moving to another level of intimacy with von Ritter. She was making him proud of her.
He recommenced the spanking, the slap of his hand on her skin echoing around the chamber, drowning out the music and the grunts and groans of the copulating couples. Now there were people commenting on the scene, egging von Ritter on with words of admiration and encouragement, talking about Lydia as if she weren’t there. The exquisite humiliation turned her on all the more.
“She’s getting nice and red.”
“Is it hurting you, sweetie? Poor thing.” A tinkly laugh, devoid of real sympathy.
“She’s very good, not to move at all. You’ve trained her well, Karl-Heinz.”
“Does she take anything harder? Paddles? Whips?”
“Yes,” said Karl-Heinz, still spanking hard and fast.
Lydia began to whimper and make the smallest of squirms.
“But, as this is her first time, we thought a hand spanking only.”
Only, thought Lydia ruefully. This was worse than the strapping he’d given her the other day. His hand could be the most fiendish weapon in his entire spanking armament, when the mood took him.
“Fair enough. Oh, she’s starting to struggle. Look at that little face. Aww.”
Laughter.
“I’m very proud of you,” said von Ritter. “If you need to use your safeword, use it. Don’t worry. Nobody will judge you.”
I will. I will judge myself.
He began to spank her thighs instead, all the way down to the lace tops of her stockings. She was gasping now and flexing her ankles and clinging to a cushion, determined to make it to the end. When would it end? Oh, please, could i
t end?
It ended.
The crowd—considerable in number now—applauded and uttered congratulatory phrases.
Lydia glowed, weirdly feeling the way she had when she’d won first prize at a music festival. She basked in their approval, though she still couldn’t look at them.
“Lucky man, Karl-Heinz,” said somebody.
Karl-Heinz’s face appeared at her shoulder, his voice in her ear.
“You are wonderful,” he whispered. “So wonderful. You make me very happy. Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Would you like these people to go?”