Pleasure In Your Hands

Dear Lover,

Our most recent chat session has my pulse quickened, my breath short and irregular, and my nerves standing at attention. As usual, you have “seen” me through my stories and my chatting with your uncanny ability to identify exactly what arouses me most in any situation. How do you do it? I shake my head in wonder. Certainly, none of us are born with a manual that offers instructions as to our care and feeding; yet, in your own disarmingly confident way, you seem to be patching mine together with the greatest of ease. Appreciation for your insights has inspired me to add a commentary of my own to what is becoming a sort of operator’s guide to my sensual delight.

With the awareness that is often only afforded us with maturity and in hindsight, I now realize that my desire to be spanked may have been first set in my mind at a very young age. The children in my neighborhood played the proverbial games of “doctor” to satisfy curiosity about the differences in male and female anatomy. I don’t recall how the notion of spanking crept into those games, but I now believe that spanking represented a sort of instrumental control to us in those days, control generally held only by adults. So, by playing at spanking one another, we were playing at having control. This was when I was quite young, probably ages 5-8.

By the time we were about 8 years old, we had stopped playing “doctor,” but I recall having dreams in which I was spanked by an unknown person. I loved these dreams but, at the same time, perceived that they were somehow inappropriate. These dreams recurred with some regularity for a few years, but the details are quite vague in my memory now.

To my awareness, I didn’t give spanking another thought until after I had my first experience with anal sex about a year ago. I was in an exclusive relationship with a man who had helped me to become more open-minded about my own sexuality. My first (and only) experience with anal sex was very positive, albeit a bit difficult. Afterwards, I frequently found myself willing my partner’s caresses to focus on my ass, and realized that I often hoped he would find some cause to spank me. That relationship ended before these desires of mine were fully explored. So, with the exception of a few poetic leaps in time, this brings me to my present desire to receive a proper spanking.

The circumstances that lead to the spanking aren’t meaningful here. My fantasy always begins with some impish comment of mine that tempts you into asserting some control in our playful dance of relating to one another. While I’m still silently congratulating myself on my latest clever comment, you place one hand on my waist and the other on my shoulder. I find myself being pulled down and across your knees, a glint in your eyes as you tell me that the time has come for me to be taught a lesson for my sharp tongue. You take in my curves, and the way my clothing accentuates them, particularly when I’m spread across your lap like this. The plunging v-neck of my halter top hides very little at this precarious angle, and my sheer, flirty skirt is suggestive of a loose fitting wrapper on a piece of favorite candy – something that only heightens your temptation to open the package and experience its contents.

You maintain a steady monologue of admonishment for my perennial sarcasm. Your words are stern, but your tone of voice reveals more sultry motives. For what seems like an eternity, you’re all talk, without any acknowledgement of my vulnerable position. The suspense is excruciating, and my mind races through the scenarios you might have in mind. At last, you show a sign of your awareness of my body strewn across your lap. You begin to caress the back of my neck with the hand resting there, and I feel the other hand at my waist, sliding over the smooth fabric of my skirt. You’re outlining the shape of my ass with your fingertips, titillating me with anticipation of what your hand might do next. Your hand slides past the hem of my skirt, onto the back of my leg, and you trail your fingertips down to the backs of my knees and back up the other leg. As you reach the hem of my skirt, your hand pauses in its journey upwards…and then slides under the skirt to caress my ass. You discover that I’m wearing a thong, and I feel you tracing the edges of the thong in a repetitive motion. Another pause, and I suddenly feel a rush of cool air on my skin as my skirt is lifted up and draped across my back, exposing my ass to your gaze.

You don’t touch me at first; instead, you focus on describing to me what you see: my firm, round ass, the snug thong separating the cheeks of my ass. I hear you asking me if I’m enjoying this attention, and I feel the first wave of juices from my pussy begin to moisten my thong. You remind me of how vulnerable I actually am right now, and as I squirm in secret delight, I feel your hand strike my ass, fast and without warning. I gasp in surprise just in time for another slap. You tenderly caress my ass, the backs of my thighs, and my pussy through the thong, telling me how much you hope I learn to enjoy the delicious exposure of my position. You spank me again, three slaps this time, and describe the red flush beginning to spread across my ass. Just as I’m bracing for a fourth slap, I feel your finger hook the back of the thong and pull up, a move that tightens the thong’s fabric against my pussy and actually separates my lips with the fabric. Your finger slides down the thong, and you eventually reach the portion of the thong that has absorbed the now steady supply of moisture from me.

You describe the fabric’s wetness, staring intently at the way it separates my lips and pulling back and forth on the fabric to indirectly stimulate me. I’m squirming on your lap, but your firm hand on my neck conveys your desire for me to remain in this position. You tell me that you want to be able not just to feel my moisture on the thong’s fabric but also to see it, and you begin to pull the thong down. Sliding your hand from side to side, you work the thong over my hips and down my thighs, leaving it bunched up at my lower thighs. You tell me that you’re not going to remove the thong completely, because you want it to serve as a reminder that I’ve been undressed by you. Your hand begins to guide my legs apart, stretching the thong across my thighs and exposing my pussy to you.

You resume your ministrations, alternating between slapping my ass cheeks and tender caresses of them, with just enough regularity to assure me that the slaps will, in fact, be followed by caresses, but without enough regularity for me to know what will happen next. Every so often, your finger tips graze my pussy, so I’m certain you are aware of how wet I’ve become. Each time I feel you explore me with your finger tips and then withdraw them just as suddenly as you began, I moan in frustration over the way you continue to postpone the release that I so desperately need.

I’m suspended in a haze of arousal when I feel you pulling me off your lap and into a standing position. I move to step out of the thong or pull it back up, and you stop me, your mouth at my ear, telling me in a low, firm voice that you’re not ready to remove this palpable reminder of how I’ve been unwrapped by you. You lead me into the bedroom and guide me onto the bed, removing all of my clothing except the thong before you position me on my stomach in a prone position. You tell me not to move, and I sense you standing back, watching me, and calculating your next move.

Then, with obvious decisiveness, you’re at the head of the bed, wrapping my wrists in one of the silk scarves from my closet and securing them to my wrought iron headboard. Later, when I’m absentmindedly fingering this same scarf in an important business meeting, I’ll temporarily lose my concentration as I recall the way this scarf has served as more than a fashion accessory. You roll me to one side to position pillows under my hips and guide my legs apart. Standing back again to consider the scene – me lying prone naked except for the thong stretched at mid-thigh across my spread legs, arms stretched above my head and tied to the headboard, hips supported by pillows that leave my ass entirely exposed. I hear you sigh, and realize that seeing me like this is fanning the flames of your desire more than you’d care to admit. Appreciating the ironic power afforded to me by your smoldering delight in my present defenselessness, I smile and roll my hips slightly, listening for any trace of response. I am rewarded by the sound of you catching your breath and a low, barely audible moan. When I turn my head to meet your gaze, I discover that you are unequivocally devouring me, fucking me with your eyes, and I tremble with anticipation.

You close the distance between us, place one hand on each side of the thong, and make fast work of it, adding it to the pile of discarded clothing on the floor. I quickly discover your motives, as you place one hand on each thigh and guide my legs even farther apart. I register the feeling of your breath on my pussy and nearly cry out in ecstasy when your tongue makes its first pass along my slit. I’m writhing with abandon, but my arms are tied and your hands have moved to hold my ass firmly, so my pussy is entirely at the mercy of your undeniable expertise. Time ceases to exist, as my pussy is attended to by your mouth in every imaginable way: licking, sucking, probing, nibbling, even biting. I experience wave after incessant wave of pleasure, losing all ability to identify where one orgasm ends and the next begins. My hips buck wildly against the pillows, and my moans have become imploring cries, thick with pleas for you to fill me with your cock.

I’m not sure whether it is your own desire for release or your empathy for my plight that finally gets to you, but I am finally comforted by the feeling of your body sliding up mine. The roar of our passion prevails over any sort of warm up, and at last I am deeply filled with your throbbing cock in one powerful stroke. The walls of my pussy mold themselves to your shaft, milking it, begging for your white hot cum. Our unrestrained thrusts against one another make for a speedy crescendo, and we cum in unison, the room filled with a harmony of animal-like screams.

Entirely spent, we fall asleep in exactly this position, your cock softer but still inside me, me still tied to the bed. When I have to wake you the next morning and ask you to untie me, the sparks exchanged in our glances at one another enough to assure me that this scene will be played out again! I can’t wait!