1000 Strokes Ch. 08-09

800

The next morning she said, "I'm going to give you a break tonight, because I'm a little worried honestly."

She wasn't actually worried, but she liked the concern this brought to his face. "We have to get to eight hundred tonight. You almost didn't make it to seven hundred last night."

"Well you started the night by tying me up, giving me a blowjob and then fucking me," he said.

"Are you saying your lack of control is somehow my fault?" she said. Really hamming it up. She smiled at her own ridiculousness, now, but she was getting into it.

"No, of course not," he said. He sounded defensive. Was he playing too?

"Ok, so here's my deal for you. I just don't think you're going to get to eight hundred, especially if I decide to put that butt plug in your ass like I promised I would."

She saw his face catch. He must have thought she'd just been teasing him.

"So here's my deal for you. Tonight you can trade some of your strokes for a spanking. I'm going to spank your ass, and each one will reduce your count. Would you like that?"

His eyes went dreamy. It made her want to do him right there at the breakfast table. She wanted to press his face in between her legs and hold his head there until she came. She wanted to squeeze her thighs around his ears and hold his head until he was gasping for breath. But she resisted. She could control herself too. There would be time for that later. So much time. This thought brought her to a stop. Was she starting to enjoy the tease as well?

***

During the day, she texted him. I'm thinking about your exchange rate.

Exchange rate? he texted back.

Spanks to strokes.

Oh god.

Later, she texted him: 2:1

She liked the idea that he was imagining replacing eight hundred strokes with 400 Blows. Maybe he wouldn't get it.

Do you want me to take

that literally, or is that like

a Truffaut joke or something?

She loved this man.

Both.

In the afternoon, he sent this:

5:1 please?

She considered. That would be 20 spanks for 100 strokes. It seemed almost reasonable.

Depends on what else you're

prepared to give me.

She would leave it there.

At the end of the day, she couldn't wait to get home herself. She texted him:

Have a snack on the way home, we're skipping dinner.

***

When he got home, she was waiting for him. She had decided to dress up a little, black bra and panties, nothing else. Cliché, but he would like it. What the fuck, some heels too.

He came in the door to see her standing there, waiting.

"Clothes off," she said. "You're getting a spanking, then going down on me. After that, if you're very good, I might help you get to eight hundred... or whatever's left after your spanking. Now, hands and knees!"

She had him on his hands and knees, naked in the living room when she said, "4:1. Now count out loud," and she began.

She went gently at first, then harder and harder until at twenty-five, he called out, "Yellow!"

She pulled him into her arms. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"I love this so much," he said, "but I'm freaking out because there's no way I can get to eight hundred this way!"

Oh, she felt terrible at that moment. She had already decided to stop at twenty-five. She couldn't imagine spanking him, what was it? oh my god two hundred times! But she hadn't told him that.

She stroked his head, told him her plan. "We're going to trade up to one hundred strokes for spanks. No more."

He exhaled. Paused, looked at her. "So we're done?" he asked, and she nodded. He seemed almost disappointed. "I could probably take a little more," he said.

She laughed. But his face was serious. "Push me harder," he said.

And she did, but with stroking, not spanking. Somehow, they made it to eight hundred.

900

She woke up the next day in the morning sunlight. He was sleeping peacefully next to her, finally. She had been aware of him tossing and turning in his arousal—it seemed like all night long, but she had slept well, so maybe she imagined it.

He was facing away from her, his ass pressed into her thigh. She traced her fingers over his skin, remembering the night before, spanking until his cheeks were hot and red. And then the long journey to eight hundred strokes. She remembered when they'd started this game, what she liked most was stopping him while he stroked. That look of disapointment on his face—he wanted more, just like he had wanted more spanking last night even after using his safeword.

The game had changed now though. Now, he was almost continuously begging to stop. He was so precariously close to spilling over. Almost any stimulation was too much. They had managed to get his quota in, but it felt like it took forever. She had put him to bed quivering, shaking, kissing her face, thanking her for taking him to that place.

Thinking about it was making her wet. She put one hand between her legs, sliding her fingers up and down her lips. Normally, she wouldn't do this with him there, but the game was making her bold. It would turn him on if he caught her, and it turned her on thinking he might.She started stroking herself in earnest.She idly wondered how many strokes it would take before she came, but she didn't count.

She thought about how hard his dick was each night when she turned off the light and kissed him goodnight. The image sent a wave of heat through her belly.

Push me harder, he had said. She was honestly not sure how much harder she could go. Nine days of this, god. She was seriously worried about the crescendo she was supposed to deliver at they approached one thousand. This had been her idea, but she felt now like she didn't really have a plan, like she actually had no clue what she was doing. And yet, she was also seriously turned on all the time.

She felt herself drawing closer as she alternated her fingers inside her, then on her clit, then inside her. She reached her free hand up to stroke her nipple and then she came hard, oh pressing her forehead into his back, trying to stay quiet even as she was aware that she'd woken him, her eyes closed, her thighs slammed tight on her hand. She was holding her breath.

She exhaled, opened her eyes.

"Good morning," she said.

***

She decided today she would tease him with text messages. He liked rules, she knew he did, so her plan was to send rules. And tasks. Tasks that would get him hot.

Mid-morning, she sent this:

New exchange rates coming today.

Just before lunch, she texted:

Go to the toy store on the way home and buy something new for me to spank you with. Authorities still formulating today's exchange rates.

Mid afternoon, she texted:

Exchange rates for today:

Hand spanking = 2 strokes.

Crop = 4 strokes.

Paddle = 5 strokes.

She imagined his dick getting hard at work. She didn't have to imagine her pussy getting wet, she could feel it between her legs.

At 4pm:

Maximum trade in, regardless of instrument, 100 strokes.

At 5pm:

Tell the shop girl or boy that the toy is for your wife to use on you.

***

When he got home, she was in the kitchen. What did you bring me, she asked?

"I uh..." The embarassment washed across his face.

She waited, letting him stay in that moment. She was a little worried too—would he call her bluff? Would he up the ante by bringing home something unexpected. He wouldn't do that, she thought. He was too invested in following her instructions.

He opened his bag, took out a paddle. It was short, made of black rubber, with holes in the business end. The handle looked like a cock.

She tried to stay in character, but that ridiculous handle make it hard for her. She said, "Does that paddle have a cock-handle?"

He nodded, embarassed.

"And that cock is for whom?" she asked.

He squirmed. "Um... I don't know?"

"Say it!" she said. "If you don't say it, I'm going to spank you with that damn thing but you'll earn no credit towards your nine hundred today."

"I told the girl in the store it was for my wife to use on me..." he said quietly. "Does that count for anything?"

"Oh my god are you going to get it!" She had been standing at the counter, looking through the mail. She said, "Into the living room, now." But she was smiling. She felt like this was what he wanted. She knew it was what she wanted.

"Go!" she said. "Take off your pants. Leave your shirt on." She followed him in. "Over the ottoman!" She started with her hand. "Count!" she said.

She gave him twenty-five with her hand, then stopped. "Give me the paddle." He'd been holding it in his hand while he bent over to take her spanking. She started carressing his ass with the flat end. She had the cock-handle in her hand.

"I'm holding this cock-handle that you bought for me," she said.

He groaned.

"It's ridiculous, you know," she said.

"Yes, I know," he said.

"What did you think I was going to do with it?"

He didn't say anything.

"Well?" she said.

"I hoped you would spank me with it."

"You mean like this?" she said, bringing the paddle down on his right cheek. She should have probably tested it out first, but she was a little bit lost in the moment. She was surprised at how loud a crack it made. At how much he jumped.

"Oh god!" he exclaimed.

She turned it around, took the tip of that ridiculous cock-handle and passed it gently back and forth over his tender little asshole. She never thought she'd think that phrase, but here she was.

"Did you think I was going to fuck you with this?"

"No!" he said, perhaps too strenuously. "I thought you'd want to fuck yourself with it while I stroked."

She turned the paddle around and gave him three hard slaps. "No. You. Didn't, you liar. You wanted me to fuck your ass with it. And I'm going to keep paddling you until you admit it." And that's what she did. Again, and again. Left, right, left, right. His ass getting redder and redder.

She paused. He was panting. Anything you want to tell me?

"OK, ok, you were right," he said.

"About what?"

"I thought maybe if we got into it enough you'd want to use that on me or I'd be brave enough to ask for it."

She swatted him again. "Use it on me? I'm using it on you now. Is that what you hoped?" She swatted again for emphasis. She'd completely lost count. She was panting now too. They both were.

"No," he said. "I thought that you might..." He could barely get the words out. He whispered, "fuck me with it."

She gave him a last smack across the ass, as hard as she could. "Ahhhhggghhh." He was beyond words.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked.

She lay back, tossed the paddle across the room, spread her legs and said, "Maybe I will fuck you with it later, or tomorrow or something. For now, I need your head between my legs, mister."

***

It was late when they made it to bed. He had tended to her with enthusiasm and energy, and then made them both dinner. She insisted that he cook and eat without pants, and couldn't resist smacking his bare and very red ass from time to time. But she limited her attention to his back side. His front side would just have to wait. They watched TV on the couch under a blanket after dinner, and she resisted the urge to stroke his bare hard-on, but she kissed his ear and neck. Tweaked his nipples. Pinched his ass, squeezed his balls. Anything to keep him hard.

Then, at 11, she sent him upstairs to get ready for bed. She delayed, making up things to do in the kitchen, then delaying in the bathroom, taking a longer shower than she needed.

She came out of the bathroom drying her hair, and said, "Now, what's our target again today, nine hundred is it?" She knew exactly where they had to go. "Are you too tired poor thing?" she asked. "Maybe we should put this off til tomorrow?"

"No!" he almost shouted. "Please..."

"Ok," she said. She took up the massage oil, rubbing some slowly into her hands. "I'll give you one hundred strokes credit for that spanking, because it turned me on so much. So we only have eight hundred to go."

And with that, she got down to work. "One-hundred and one," she moved up and down once, as slowly as possible. "One-hunred and two." She saw him turn to look at the bedside clock. "Are you worried about something?" she asked innocently.

"I'm worried about finishing before midnight."

What do you want me to do?

"I think you have to go faster," he said. There was some desperation in his voice.

"I'm not sure. She said. I'm afraid you won't be able to take it. I think you'll spill."

"I can take it. Just please don't make me go back to one hundred. Please."

He was so cute, so desperate. She said, "OK, you asked for it."

She started stroking hard and fast. One hundred-twenty five. One-fifty. One-seventy five. "Stop!" he cried.

She stopped, but leaned in, took his nipple in her teeth, whispering, "OK, tell me when your're ready."

It wasn't fair. She knew it wasn't fair. She was going to to let him succeed, at least she thought she was, but she wanted it to be close. Very close.

"OK," he said and she resumed without giving him a moment to catch his breath. Two hundred. Two fifty.

"Stop!"

Again his nipple in her mouth. Sucking. Biting. Sucking. She looked up. "Is this helping?" she asked.

"No, it's not," he said, looking at the clock.

"I wonder if we do this long enough, if I can get you to come simply by licking your nipples."

"Oh god," he said. Then, "Go!"

Three hundred. Stop. Four hundred. Stop. Wait. Pant. Five hundred. Stop. Breathe. Sigh. Six hundred. Stop. Seven hundred. Stop! Eight hundred! Stop! Stop! It was 11:55.

"I have to get you one hundred more in the next five minutes. Can you hold it for me?" She looked him right in the eyes, held his attention.

He met her there, looked at her, trembling. "I can hold it. I will hold it for you," he said, almost under his breath.

This time, she moved slowly, firmly, stroke, twist, stroke, twist. She brought her head down so she was breathing on his poor tortured cock.

"You're going to spill," she said. "Don't you want to spill in my mouth? On my face? All over my lips. One hundred more. I'm going going to make you spill.

"Oh god! Oh god, please stop, please stop, please stop."

Oh the way his chest was rising and falling. The way his head fell back onto the pillow. She would get him there. She would get him there.

She didn't stop. And he didn't spill. And that's how they made it to nine hundred.

She was so very proud of him.