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It needs to stop.
I smack her ass one more time and she sucks in a gasp of air, but says nothing. “I know it hurts. You’re allowed to moan or cry.”
“I’m not going to cry.”
“OK.” I uncap the bottle of soothing lotion and drip it across the bright pink handprint left over from the last slap. This makes Grace sigh and relax. “You like that?”
“Yes, Master,” she says obediently.
I rub it in a little harder, squeezing the round globes of her ass. And after a few minutes of this seemingly innocuous rubbing, when she is good and relaxed, when she’s breathing deep and even, almost content, I give her five more quick, hard slaps to wake her back up.
She shoots up off the back of the couch for this, but my hand is there on her back, gently pushing her down. “Be still,” I tell her softly.
She relaxes again and my punishment repeats.
“Goddammit!” she squeals. This time she doesn’t take my direction, and instead of relaxing, she struggles against me.
“Tell me to stop if you want it to stop, Grace.”
“No,” she says defiantly. “I’m not gonna tell you to stop so you can blame this on me. But I’m sure as fuck not going to let you hit me for no good reason!”
“OK, that’s fair. How about I tell you why you’re being punished.”
“That would be a good start,” she hisses up at me.
I smack her hard again, this time across the back of her thighs. She squirms and twists, but the spreader bar prevents her from taking a necessary step to balance herself, and she falls right into my arms. “Don’t struggle, sweets. It’s a losing battle.” She growls out her protest, but since she can’t walk and her hands are bound, she is forced to lean into my chest.
Her soft hot breath travels across my skin and brings my cock to life. “That last slap was for being sarcastic.”
“And the others?” she asks, risking more punishment.
“Those were owed to you from our fun first night on the beach. Satisfied?” I grab her by the elbows and lift so she can regain her balance, and then I scoop her up in my arms. Her legs are still spread open as I carry her around to the front side of the couch and take a seat. “For the rest of your punishment, you have two choices because I’d like to sit down and enjoy my view of your beautiful pussy. Would you like to bend over the coffee table or lie across my lap?”
“Your lap, please.” She hesitates for a moment and then adds, ”Master,” to the end of her sentence.
I urge her to flip over so her stomach is across my thighs and then I lean down and whisper, “I love you, Grace.”
“I hope so.”
“Don’t doubt me.”
“Why do you want me to cry?”
“Because you need to let it out.”
“I did let it out. Back at the hospital.”
“Grace, five minutes of tears is not crying. You refuse to give in to therapy, fine. I’m not going to insist on anything.”
“But you insist that I cry here tonight. Because you’re hitting me.”
“I’m spanking you, Grace. Something that turns you on. It’s erotic. It’s not about hurting you. And this is not about making you cry. You will cry because it’s natural.”
She stills. Perhaps to think about this. “Do you want to know what I did in Colorado?”
“No.”
She stays silent for almost a minute after that answer. “Why not?”
“Because if you wanted me to know, you’d have told me before I left for work.” I trace a fingertip down the backside of her thigh, into the soft cavity behind her knee—this makes her stifle a giggle—and then continue down her calf where I squeeze and knead the muscles there until she moans. “Feel good?”
“Yes. So good.”
I smack the back of her thigh. A quick downward motion, barely touching her skin, and then a retreat.
It stings my hand so I know it stings her thigh worse. She wails a complaint, but I immediately slip my fingers between the open folds of her pussy and stroke her gently there. “Better?”
She makes a sound that is halfway between a moan and a growl and I smile because she has no idea whether she should cry or come.
But then she sniffles and I know I’m on the right track.
My fingers leave the warmth of her pussy and trace a wet trail up her spine. She bucks a little, but tries her best to be still. “You’re perfect, Mrs. Asher. And if you only take one thing away from tonight, let it be this. The spankings are about trust.”
She takes a breath like she wants to say something, but then she stops.
“Tell me, Grace. If you have something to say, tell me.”
“I’m not very good at this.”
“Neither am I.”
Her head turns and she relaxes. Her face pressed into the cushions of the couch. “That’s funny. You’re the one with all the experience.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never done this with a woman I cared about before. It’s new for me too. Before you, Grace, this domination stuff was about sexual release and satisfaction.”
She lifts her head from the cushions and tries to look at me. “And now?”
“I told you. Trust. You don’t trust me. And to be quite honest, I don’t trust you either. I feel like you’re perpetually on the verge of walking out. I can’t live like this, Grace. I can’t. I need to know if you’re in or not.”