#129) Digesting My Just Desserts – SEXUAL CONTENT

I received a thorough spanking last night.
Normally, I’d punctuate that statement with an exclamation point. Normally that statement would fill me with satisfaction, sometimes even joy. Nothing about last night’s spanking was normal.
I try to be nakedly honest with my writing; it’s kind of a therapy for me. But I’m having a difficult time digesting last night’s punishment. I’m hoping that writing about it here will help that process.
It was a punishment spanking. I purposefully did something (I’d prefer not to say exactly what) that I knew would piss my Dom off, that was breaking the rules. It had been a long time since I received a really sound, full-out punishment. Sometimes the role-playing and made-up stuff just doesn’t satisfy my needs. I expected to be found out, pulled across my lover’s lap, lectured as I was bared, spanked hard, made to fetch an implement, receive more punishment with that, spend some time displaying my whipped ass from the corner, and finally, when John felt I’d suffered enough, he’d soften and cuddle me. I’d apologize, and we’d make passionate love. None of it happened that way.
Do you know the term, a heavy heart? I felt like that when I confessed my wrong-doing to John. I knew I’d been bad, I knew the consequences. Or so I thought. And because spankings, no matter how severe, turn me on as a devout spanko, I also felt a heavy vagina. It felt sodden, nearly-overflowing with jism. I was looking forward to his spanking, and then our love-making.
“Take off all your clothes. Lie on the bed on your back,” John said tersely. As I confessed, I’d watched John’s face grow harder. I knew he was mad at me, disappointed in me. However, I was puzzled by this directive. He normally likes to yank my panties down, making my trembling conscience mirror my trembling butt cheeks. He always assists me in laying across his lap. His stern countenance kept me from voicing my questions. I obeyed. “No, the other way,” he added, so I moved until my lower half hung off the bed. I cocked my legs in the air. I was positioned to make love, he could see my engorged pussy. He must have been able to smell my arousal.
My questions were answered when John seized both my ankles in his left hand and lifted my straightened legs high over my head. Oh, no! He was putting me in the diapering position. I had never been spanked in this diapering position before. No, I thought, please no! I love the over-the-knee position, it figured prominently in my fantasies even before I got my first spanking, it’s been a part of every spanking I’ve received since. It’s the single thing two people can do in this iconic and awkward position; one can only spank the other’s bottom. When I’m put over my lover’s knee, I feel like that cartoon ostrich in the “Fantasia” movie, with its head hidden in the sand and its big white ass proffered. My pale ass is right out there, do with it what you will, my posture proclaims. My face is hidden, I have some privacy while I’m spanked, to crawl deep into my sub-space, to cry in private. I feel the blood rushing to my head and the cool air caressing my rump, followed by my Top’s hand, just before I’m punished. I know that soon the blood will be rushing to my bottom, which is now upper-most. John’s eyes went from my stretched-open ass to lock on my eyes with just the slightest flicker of movement. I felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Instead of seeing the carpet filling my field of view, I saw John raise his right hand. I couldn’t hide. For the first time, I was going to watch as my butt got blistered.
The spanking itself felt different. In this position, my cheeks were stretched taut. I knew that my vulva and anus were on complete display. He brought his hand down, walloping my near, right orb. He did it again, stinging my left orb. Tears welled immediately in my eyes. More pain rained down. I closed my eyes and began to sob.
“Open your eyes. Watch your punishment,” he commanded, and I obeyed. I trusted him not to strike my exposed pussy, and he deserved that trust, but not so with my delicate rosebud. He spanked me there, too, because there really wasn’t a crevice between my cheeks in this position. It was all right there, as if served up on a platter. John spanked me very hard, for a very long time. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun, like some intense thunder shower, leaving me drenched with sweat and tears, and ringing wet with arousal, exhausted and spent. I must have brightened, hopeful that it was all over, like the sun coming out from the clouds. “Go get me your hairbrush,” he instructed, “bring it back to me.”
I rushed to obey, while wishing he’d rescind this order. Not the hairbrush! I hate the hairbrush! I thought as I ran. My buttocks ached in a way they never had before, the diapering position is a motherfucker, I thought. I still held a slim hope as I retrieved the dreaded hairbrush. I handed it to my lover, that slim hope in my eyes as I looked up at him.
“Back on the bed, as you were,” he said. Crestfallen, I obeyed, thinking to myself, this is really going to hurt. “You’ve got this coming,” John said, as if in reply.
We were both correct. I took the paddling, but not stoically. I balled. When all my tears were gone, I had dry sobs. I gripped the edge of the mattress as my Dominant wore me out with the brush. I desperately wanted to reach out and protect my tenderized tush, but didn’t dare. So I just flexed my hands on the edge of the bed. He paddled the backs of my thighs just as mercilessly as he did my cheeks, and he concentrated on my anus. By the time he was finished, I felt well and truly punished, the sorry state of my magenta-stained ass reflected my soul. I was an empty vessel. I needed my Dominant to refill me with his aftercare, with his caress of my hair and kind words and kisses and massage of my wounded rump, and then the grazing touch of my sex and tentative fingers touching my holes, gaining admittance and…
“You’ll sleep in here by yourself tonight. I’ll be in the guest room. But I’ll be checking on you; you are not to masturbate. I will cane you if you do. Do you understand?”
Tears returned to brim in my eyes, I don’t know where they came from. My voice only squeaked. I nodded my head, aching to apologize, aching to hold him in my arms, aching to have him fill my need as he filled my aching pussy. I turned away from him as John tucked me into the bed and turned out the light.
But then it was miraculously all better, like a heavy weight was lifted off of me, both my leaden conscience and my mortal coil. I felt free and floaty and so fine. I was holding John close and he was kissing me lovingly, and his fingers opened me, and his erection filled me and… I woke up with a start. The first thing I felt was the pain in my bottom, the second thing was the warm wetness of my loins. I tossed the bedclothes back to see a massive wet-spot. The bedroom lights stabbed my eyes as they came on. John looked at me accusingly.
“It wasn’t my fault! It was a wet dream! I didn’t touch myself… at least, not on purpose!”
I watched helplessly as that hard look came over my lover’s face. “What did I say I would do if you masturbated?”
“Cane me…” I whimpered, but then yelled, “…But it wasn’t my fault!”
John seized my right hand, the fingers of which were slicky with my nectar.
“I was deep asleep!” I continued to protest, as he took me by that wrist and pulled me out of the soiled bed. I resisted like a naughty little girl, leaning back, trying to pull away. With his right hand he grabbed me by the ear, with his left he grabbed me by the nipple. He marched me downstairs. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!” I muttered, but no longer showed any other recalcitrance. As we passed by the front door, he paused at the umbrella stand.
“Take out the thinnest cane,” he ordered. I obeyed. He redoubled his grip on my two handles and took me into the kitchen. The lights blazed on. He released me and opened the fridge. “Bend over the counter,” he told me.
From the refrigerator, John withdrew a large ginger root. From a drawer he got out a paring knife. With the latter, he whittled an organic butt plug from the former. I was submissively bent over the granite counter, with both hands he parted my buttocks further. I thought of how wonderful it felt when he pushed his cock up my tooter, as he now inserted this ginger root up my patootie. It felt warm right away and steadily grew hotter. Soon it was singing the tender orifice, making me squirm. I’ve never been too skilled at standing still for a cane whipping, this figging made it impossible.
“Hold still!”
“I can’t!”
Swish! Thwack!
“Yeow! Please, no more! I didn’t mean to cum!”
“Stick your bottom out!”
“Please let that be enough; I’ve learned my lesson!”
Swish! Thwack!
“Yeow!”
John put the cane on the counter, and I breathed an audible sigh of relief. He took me by the ear and nip, and I hissed at the pain. He quick-marched me back upstairs to our bedroom.
“How much longer should we keep the ginger up your ass?” he demanded.
“Two minutes ago!” I retorted loudly, and got a slap across my butt for it. “I’m sorry! It just burns so! Please, let me remove it…?”
“Bend over the bed.” He put his face so far into my crack that I could feel his breath on my lady parts. He twisted the root in place, which made it burn even more. I whimpered. He slowly extracted it. Then replaced it with his playful tongue. I whimpered more. He covered my body with his, we melted down onto the mattress, I cuddled into the cavity his body formed. He was thoughtfully smacking his lips.
“Did it taste good back there?” I tried to keep the impertinence out of my voice.
“You always taste peppery, I definitely can taste the ginger.”
“It still burns. Want to lick me some more?” John laughed, breaking the tension. “You were very hard on me!” I pouted.
“You were a very bad girl.”
“Is all forgiven now?”
“If you think you can behave.”
I kissed him. I could taste the ginger from my anus on his lips. For some reason, I found this sexy, probably because I wasn’t used to be denied in my desires ever before. The kiss was reciprocated and tongues got involved. I pressed my pubis against my lover.
“Make love with me…” escaped my lips, the naked need an expression coming straight from my hungry sex, never being processed by my brain. I knew that I was in trouble when I heard myself say it.
A millisecond after I did, John pulled away from our embrace, seized me by the shoulders, and shook me.
“Didn’t you listen? I said you’d sleep alone tonight. No sex. Is that clear?” As he lectured me in no-uncertain-terms, he turned me over his knee and rested his hand on my abused bottom. He didn’t rub, he didn’t swat, he just laid it there threateningly. I think he planned to spank me, but when he saw the condition of my butt, it gave him pause.
“I heard you! I just… it’s cruel and unusual punishment to deny me sex and love after a spanking! I need you!”
I think I talked him out of spanking me some more. He chortled.
“You really think it’s cruel of me to deny you sex after…?”
“YES!” I interrupted. He seemed unconvinced, so I continued just as passionately, “I willing give myself to you to do with however you wish, I love being dominated by you, being spanked by you! When you don’t give it to me hard enough, I misbehave, so as to share that special bond with you! I only ask that you love me afterward, not just emotional love, but actual, meaningful fuck-love! And if you don’t, it crushes me, it hurts me so much more than any beating!” By the time I finished, I was trying not to sob.
John couldn’t ignore the sincerity of what I’d shouted. He started to lay me down on the bed, noticed its condition.
“This bed’s still wet, come on,” he led me (by the hand, no longer like a bad girl) to the guest bedroom. I didn’t fully notice, it looked like he didn’t have a good footing with his first step away from the bed. It looked like he did a little dip. Once on the fresh bed, John put me on the mattress just like I’d been positioned before. Tears welled in my eyes before he parted my legs and penetrated my ravenous, randy pussy hanging off the edge of the bed. It was like he was making-up for making me assume this position earlier. Now I loved looking him in the eyes, now I loved assuming this pose. Then, quick as a flash, he reached down, parted my butt cheeks, and reinserted the ginger root. That’s what he dipped down to pick up off the floor in the other boudoir. It burned my butt hole, it made me buck. Maybe because the root had dried somewhat, maybe because I was used to it, but it wasn’t as intense this go-round. It was a seven on a scale of ten, whereas it’d been off the chart the first time. It inspired an especially vigorous fuck.
John’s well known for being able to hold off his orgasm until I’ve had a ton of them. But this time, as I slammed my sex into him, I willed the cum out of him, I psychically pulled the climax from my lover. I’m proud to say that I drained his balls dry. Before I’d let John cuddle me in the spoon position, I reached back and wrenched the ginger root out of my bum hole.
“This was devious!” I declared, brandishing the root in his face. John smiled devilishly. “When you first put it in, it burned like hell! The second insertion was sexy. I’ve never played with electricity, but it felt like I imagine a low-voltage zap up the butt would feel like.”
“We’ll have to try it again sometime soon,” John replied.
“We’ll have to leave it, let it dry a bit after you first peel it, before it goes anywhere near my poor rosebud ever again!”
John smiled and nodded, like a potentate granting my wish.
“I detest the diapering position!” I proclaimed. “Please never put me in that position again!”
“Until the next time you willfully disobey,” he stated.
I switched to pleading, “I hate it! It makes me feel so vulnerable, so naked and exposed, and at the same time, I feel robbed of the positioning that gives me comfort. So I feel stripped twice!”
“Sounds perfect for correcting an errant young lady.” And I knew that he was right. I hate when my best arguments can’t counter his effectively!
I cuddled close and whispered confidentially to my lover, determined to make this important point clear, “But please, please, never deny me aftercare after a hard punishment! That hurt me so much!” I looked up at him imploringly.
“You’re right. Agreed.” We snuggled into one another.
I think I love these moments most of all, the shared time after my lover has punished my wrongs and made love with me. My sex never feels as radiant and happy as after a good fucking, my bottom never feels as complete an erogenous zone as when it’s just been sounding spanked. My butt hole even glowed, as if it’d just been fucked without the stretching. The juices were still at work on me. I reached back and scratched my butt hole uninhibitedly.
I assumed that little girl voice, “My rosebud has just been deflowered for the first time by that mean old ginger root suppository,” I wheedled. “It’s itchy…”
John took the hint and parted me, tongued me there. I sighed at the pleasurable intrusion. After a full moment of licking, I sighed with arousal. Giving me a thorough tongue-bath inside and out of this most private but most highly-charged area, I started to rhapsodize near deliriously.
“Ooooh! The first person… who licked their lover… there… ought to be memorialized! Can you imagine… the nerve it took… the mind-blowing reaction…? Why don’t we… know their name, erect statues… in their honor… Ooooh, just like that, get in there deep, I’m gonna…”
And I came, and I squirted, as I can only do when my pump has been primed and my engine is firing on all cylinders. I’ve only done it a few times in my life. I don’t even realize I’m doing it. I just feel this euphoric release, like an orgasm with twice the explosiveness. I looked up right afterward to find the bedclothes drenched and my lover’s face dripping.
“Who almost broke my nose, you clenched your cheeks so hard!” he chided with a smirk.
He took me by the hand, snagged the still-dry blanket, and led me to the living room, where we slept on the couch in one another’s arms.

3 responses to “#129) Digesting My Just Desserts – SEXUAL CONTENT”

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