What Are You?

I looked up at my hand, poised above my head, coiled force, ready to come striking down on the bare ass laid out over my lap.

"So, are you going to do it this time?" Almost taunting, from Amanda, who didn't seem overly concerned despite her rather exposed position. This time. Maybe she was right not to be concerned. I thought back to the last time we were in this situation a few days ago . . .

*************

It was mid-afternoon, and I was walking back from my car with food from the grocery store. I was going to make a fresh lunch for myself and Amanda. I was a little surprised to see the Grub-hub delivery guy leaving the building. After I climbed the stairs and disinfected the containers (wiping down groceries were still among the COVID protocols at the time, and we were following all of them!) and disposed of my latex gloves . . . it was such a process just to do simple things I used to take for granted . . . I was almost floored to see Amanda at the kitchen table eating the delivery food.

"You ordered out?" I was almost incredulous. "The whole reason I went out was so that I could make us something fresh today."

"Oh, you were saying something about that, but I didn't realize it was for today. I must not have been listening." Truth be told, the making of the lunch today verses tomorrow wasn't that much of a big deal, but I was a little frustrated that she hadn't been paying attention to me. I mean there was some level of mutual respect necessary to make this whole sheltering-in-place thing work.

"Awwww, you're upset," she looked across the kitchen to me, as I stood there with an armful of groceries.

"No, it's just that . . ." I hesitated, I really didn't want to make this into a big thing.

"I'm sorry," she said with a little pout on her lips, "I was a bad girl. I want to be a good girl." She was toying with me.

"Well, good girls should listen." I tried to play along. This bad girl, good girl thing was new, and I fumbled around a bit in my head and blurted out the first thing that came into my head without really thinking about it, "Maybe you need a spanking."

It hung there.

What an odd concept. Me, talking about spanking Her.

Her eyebrows shot up and she cocked her head to the side, surprised, "Oh, really?" A wry grin spread across her face. She stood up abruptly, turned away from me, hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her yoga pants and shimmied them down to her keens. She turned back to me and looked down at the empty chair suggestively."

"Really?" I questioned, uncertain.

"Better act fast," she said, "might not get this chance again. I sighed and placed the groceries down on the counter. Then I walked over and took my spot on the chair, taking her wrist and gently pulling her down on to my lap. The weight of her, hanging over me like this, was so strange, not at all how I was used to being close to her. I positioned my hand over her ass and paused. I saw her look back over her shoulder. Once I started the swat, I felt the restraint in my shoulder. I couldn't just let go. I couldn't bring myself to strike her. I held up, and my palm ultimately met the soft flesh of her ass with an unsatisfying pat.

"I . . ." my voice fell off. It just felt wrong, " . . . I can't. I can't hurt you." I helped her up. "Sorry," I said as she slid her pants back up over her hips.

"Awww," it's OK, she stroked my cheek," my gentle boy. It's not for everyone." And then the situation felt even more wrong. The little scene happened so fast that I just didn't have time to process. Off balance, I just retreated to my usual, submissive role. It felt like an erotic kinky version of that feeling when the perfect, funny, witty comment hits you just a second too late and the conversation has already moved on.

The context for our kitchen episode, the fun of a role reversal, the excitement of a playful erotic spanking, that fact that it was *OK* to step out of our customary roles for a few minutes . . . it all hit me a few moments too late. I wanted a do-over, but the moment had dissipated. I noticed her looking down at me as I stared off into the wall, processing.

"Don't worry," she said, leaning down to peck at my cheek, "it's fine. And I'm sorry I forgot you were making lunch today." She understood me. She let me save face, but I wished my face hadn't needed saving.

*************

And here I was again, hand poised over her bare ass.

The offending infraction this time was similarly minor. I think what I felt like was a shortcoming from the kitchen a few days before had been weighing on me, and I had been looking for another chance, another opportunity, to prove myself that I could be the person that Amanda wanted me to be at various times. Her transgression didn't really matter. It had led to the same statement as before, "Maybe you need a spanking."

This time I had said it with more purpose, more conviction, not a playful throwaway. Her response had been a little less playful too. I think she had seen the struggle that I grappled with after I broke off our last attempt at corporal punishment. When she slipped her pants down this time, it was more solemn than whimsical. She stared into me the whole time as the lowered her pants, and panties, down to her ankles. She was purposeful. As she did, I took a seat on the center of the couch, ready for her, waiting, instead of needing to be prompted to take a seat. She stood before me, naked from the waist down, and I turned my palm up, motioning to my lap.

After she stepped over to my side and started to lower herself to bend over my leg, I seized the initiative, grabbing her wrist and pulling her forward. In somewhat of a lucky coincidence, when she pitched forward and threw her arms out for balance, I had instinctively reached out to grab her and wound up with a hand around her forearm that was farthest out from the couch. It had been natural to shift her wrist behind her back over to my other hand, and just like that I had found I had her pretty well held down over my lap, her arm pinned high behind her back . . . and my free hand poised to strike.

I forced the thought of going easy, of worrying, out of my head, and just let myself . . . hit. The slap of my palm on her ass cracked through the room and I watched the impact ripple across her flesh. My own palm stung. It was harder than I had intended. I held my breath for a moment, not sure if I had started this off right. After a drawn-out silence, I heard her exhale, "whhheeeeeewwwww." She didn't cry out. She didn't look back. She just let out a breath, one that I recognized. Calming. Balancing. It was a breath that I usually heard when she was steadying herself meting out some punishment on me. It was okay for me to continue.

I knew better than to launch in with too many strikes right away that were as hard as the first, so I backed off a bit. I leaned in and tightened my grip on her wrist, holding her down fast and started slapping at her ass in earnest. Not quite as hard, but substantial, with purpose. She would feel me.

I thought of the things I had read, had seen, had felt myself and carefully laid down a methodical pattern of slaps, layering her soft flesh from the crease where her ass met her leg up to where her cheek tapered off to her lower back, taking care not to go too high. I made one pass around the entirely of her beautifully rounded ass, firm but not too hard, until she was pink all over, and then made another pass, harder, random, making sure I revisited every square inch at least once more. When I started to feel a sight burn of lactic acid in my arm and realized I was starting to breathe a little heavily, from both the spanking and holding her down, I paused and took stock.

She was taking in deep breaths, I heard that. I saw her back rising with her inhale and then fall again, and then I heard . . . a sigh? a moan? I slapped again, first one side and then the other. Definitely a moan.

I leaned down into her back with my "non-spanking" shoulder, and tried to pin her arm in place. She didn't really struggle against me much, so I was able wrap my free arm around her side, further pressing her arm into place in the middle of her back. More importantly, I was able to slide my upturned palm down her ribcage, reaching back past her belly, over the ridge above her pussy and then . . . wet. She was wet. My middle finger slid between her lips easily, and I pressed its length firmly against her clit. She moaned again and shifted her hips.

Encouraged now, I leaned into her back a little more heavily, trying to pin her in place like a vice. Feeling her arousal caused a shift in this whole experience. I had started just wanting to steel myself and prove, both to me and to Amanda, that I could mete out a good spanking, that I could hold firm, that I could be tough in a way, that I could punish. Now though, feeling her heat, feeling her yearning, a new dimension opened up. I had been worried about her pain and simply blind to the pleasure that could reside in this experience for her. She was the sadist. She was the one that usually dealt out the pain. I simply never considered her reaction to receiving it.

It shouldn't have been surprising. I had felt it. I *knew* it . . .and when *that* dawned on me, that I knew the space she was in, my confidence skyrocketed. As I felt her wetness and arousal, I felt like I held the entire dynamic between the two of in the palm of my hand. I settled in for the duration.

I bent forward to press my chest tightly down onto Amanda's back, her arms pinned in my hold on her, I flattened my hand against her pussy and proceeded to see how many patterns, how much variety, how much range in force I could bring to bear on her perfect, gorgeous and increasingly crimson ass. I started with a round of quick, crisp, but not-too-hard slaps, methodically proceeding up and down one cheek and then the other. About halfway through one side, I felt her grinding her hips into me, trying gain purchase against my hand pressed against her. I allowed it at first. I knew the need to let the desire build, to try and get close to relief. When I felt her breaths getting deeper and her thrusting become more earnest, I pulled my hand back with each grind and thrust, just barely maintaining contact with her sex but not allowing her to press into me. I broke into a huge grin when I heard her frustrated groan. "Oh, come ooonnnnnnnnn," she spoke out from over my lap.

"What?" I teased. *slap* "Come on what? Is there something" *slap* "you want?" *slap*

"OK, OK, you did it. You gave a good spanking" she said over her shoulder, "Make me cum. Make me cum."

I squeezed my trapping hug tighter *slap* *slap* *slap*. "I don't think you're in a position to make demands right now." *slap* *slap* This time with a firm rub against her cunt, stroking the ridge of my finger back and forth along her clit, I could feel its hood slide back revealing the sensitive flesh beneath. I knew it couldn't be all denial, there had to be some tease too. I slide my finger back and forth along her again. She gasped. And I stopped, holding my hand, just barely in contact with her again.

"Ooohhhhh, fuck. No. Don't stop don't stop," she panted.

"I wasn't planning on it." I started again with the spanking, this time random, both in placement and force. After a minute, she started trying to throw her hips more aggressively, either trying to meet my hand or escape my lap, but I had her tight. She wasn't going anywhere. The harder the buck by her was met with a slap with more force from me. Before long, she was making the most wonderful noises. If I just focused on her sounds, I would have thought she was fucking, not getting spanked. So, naturally, while I slapped with one hand, I did my best to fuck with the other.

I felt that she was quickly barreling right to the edge, and I just didn't want it to end yet. So I backed off, again. This time, she almost seemed angry. "No!" she squirmed against me and tried to arch her back up, "enough, enough. Let me cum. Let me cum." It was subtle, but something in the way she said it. It was just a feeling, but I didn't think she was done yet.

As her submissive, it took all of the self-control I could muster to override her direction to stop and let her come. I rubbed at her a few more times. She sagged back into my lap, but when I started spanking again, her back arched up. She started to protest. It was just instinct, but I bounced her a little with my legs and shifted her weight to lay just over my back leg. I threw my front leg over her back to hold down even harder, and before I even had a chance to think about it, her neck was under my foot. I felt the delicacy of the position, and held just enough force to hold her in place. She stilled immediately. The room was silent as I held her in about as stringent a position of bondage as a body could muster over another body.

"Do you want to cum?" I whispered.

She just breathed.

"Do you want to cum?" I said softly, rubbing her. Her hips came to life.

"Yes," she moaned. I rubbed her more, and she ground more.

"What are you?" I asked, not really knowing what I'd hear. It was just fun to ask, I felt like she was more stripped down than I had ever seen her, more vulnerable.

"Unnnnnh, just let me cum."

I stopped rubbing again. "What are you?"

A pause. A long pause. I held her there.

"I'm a slut." My eyebrows shot up. I rubbed her again.

"What are you?"

"I'm a slut. I'm a slut. Let me cum." Again, the 'let me cum', suggesting that her relief was something I still has some control over. I felt like the tease wasn't quite over yet. I held my hand steady over her and started spanking again.

"Oh god!!" She called out. I followed each slap with a thrust up with my hand, sliding first one and then two fingers into her, sliding the curve between my index finger and thumb against her clit. The top of each thrust with my hand was met with a slap from the other. "Oh, fuck!" She repeated, getting into the rhythm. Slap, grind down, thrust up with my hand and rub against her. Slap, repeat.

"What are you?" The spanking and hand-fucking was almost happening on its own now, and I just wanted to hear her.

"A slut. I'm a slut."

I slapped harder and ground up into her pussy. "Is that all you are?"

"I'm a pain slut. I'm a slut, A pain slut." Bucking against my hand. I allowed her movement now. I even helped her with little bounces from my leg. She was getting close.

"What do you need?" I just couldn't bring myself to say "slut", to call her that.

"I need to cum, I need to cum, I need to. uuunnnnnnnhhhh ahhhhh." I had stopped the spanking and clutched and a handful of flesh on her ass, grinding her hips down onto my hand, sliding and pressing into her, as I brought her over the edge. She thrust. I rubbed. We moved against one another in every which way that let her feel her orgasm and stretch it out.

I gingerly lifted my foot from behind her head and moved my leg back under to support her. I released my grasp around her torso and slid my hand out from under her, pulling her up as gently as I could.

I drew her into my lap and cradled her in my arms. "You're not a slut. You're my goddess." I stood up from the couch. She was light in my arms, and she laid her head against my shoulder.

"You're my goddess," I repeated, and I carried her back to the bedroom to lay her in bed.