#140) My Last Punishment Deconstructed – mild sexual content

#140) My Last Punishment Deconstructed – mild sexual content

This piece will take up where my piece, “That Moment Before All Hell Breaks Loose” ends. Read that one first if you want a chronological evolution.
He doesn’t put me across his knee. He bends me over the living room coffee table. He’s telling me several messages non-verbally (but very clearly, nonetheless) by this. First, you’re not getting a warm-up, little lady, so this punishment is going to leave bruises. Second, this whipping is going to be memorable. But there will be evidence across your ass for a week or so, just to be sure. Third, I don’t want to give you the small measure of pleasure from the intimacy that an over-the-knee, bared-bottom-with-a-bare-hand spanking would convey. And fourth, I want you positioned so that I can put my whole body into the lashes you’re about to receive.
I’m nude from the waist down. My body vibrates with anticipation. I’m not chilled, but flocks of goosebumps take flight across my entire epidermis anyway. I close my legs, wanting to protect my pussy, which I can feel getting swollen. But I’m ordered to spread my thighs wide, wider than is natural, so that my charms will be on full display. I trust my Top not to let any lashes stray down across my engorged labia. He just wants to watch it, see my pussy pulse and smolder and start to leak its molten lava. Such is not the case with my exposed rosebud. I know my Top, I know he’ll whip me hard enough for the implement to curve into my curves, to whip my delicate anus, nestled but exposed between my fleshy hillocks.
I turn my face to the side and rest it on the smooth surface of the table. It’s uncomfortable, but nothing compared to what’s in store. I don’t look backward over my shoulder, I don’t want to see what implement he’s chosen for this punishment session. All is silent except for my labored breathing. I try to calm myself.
Whh-Crack! “Mmmm!” I hear the implement whistle through the air, land with a resounding wallop across my bum, and an involuntary moan escapes my mouth. I think that’s the Scottish tawse. It burns even worse than the thick razor strap.
Whh-Crack! Another lash catches me before I’ve absorbed the first, confirming that the burn from the first stroke was no fluke. It really hurts that bad. Oh, fuck! That really hurts! I feel my defenses fall, I feel vulnerable and afraid. I’m bare-assed and turned-up for a whipping and I’ve got a doozie of a whipping in store, something that empirically excites me, but in reality makes this thirty-two year old woman feel like a cowering little girl. The pain comes to the surface in the form of a little mew from my mouth. I feel the edges of this implement cut into me; it’s like a razor strop that’s been cut lengthwise into four separate ribbons of leather, each one feels like it’s cutting me to ribbons.
Whh-Crack! “Argh!” I wish he’d give me just a little more time to digest each lash before administering the next. It’s breaking me. That’s his intent. I feel the urge to cry rise up out of my chest. The “boo-hoo’s” sound like little chortles, like I’m laughing at what’s happening to my poor butt, but such is not the case.
Whh-Crack! And the tears start to flow, with accompanying blubbering sound effects. Let yourself go, I tell myself. You can’t fight it, so give yourself over to it. The pain is too much, have a good cry about it. And the flood gates open. I’m balling. I’m self-aware enough not to let this affect my posture. I keep my thighs splayed wide, my butt arched up, my hands on the edge of the table instead of following the instinct to reach back and protect my wounded rump.
Whh-Crack! And then it’s just more of the same, Hard and fast strap strokes, telling me that it’s both a sprint, and strokes that go on and on for an eternity, telling me it’s a marathon. Crack! More blinding pain, so intense that you’d think I’d get numb or go into shock. Crack! But I stay aware of my chastisement. And a deeper dive into my sub-space. I tell myself sad truths, you were naughty, you deserve this. Crack! You’ve gotten away with things that went unpunished, you deserve this and more. Crack! He’s going to ravish your pretty ass, chew it up and spit it out. Crack! You won’t be able to sit comfortably for days, you’ll be marked with bruises for a lot longer. Crack! Everyone will know that this naughty little girl got her butt bared and beaten. Crack! Down and down I plunge, telling myself worse things all the while. Crack! You don’t deserve this man’s love, just his scorn and scourge. Crack! You are merely a pain-whore to him. Take the bitter medicine he wants to dish out, no matter that it’s a huge dose. Crack! Stick your ass out and take what you have coming. Crack! Until I feel empty, overloaded by the pain. Crack… Crack… Crack! I sprawl across the table top, no longer able to flinch, no longer crying out. My body language says emphatically that I’m all in, I’m tapped out. As if on cue, my Top stops thrashing me. He puts the tawse down on the table and lifts me up. He holds me in his arms. We’re back to silence punctuated by my heavy breathing. But now there’s a white hot pain burning my lower extremities. I’m trembling, the muscles fatigued, the flesh worn out.
I sob the last of my tears out. He caresses my quivering bum and holds me close and smooths my hair and kisses my mouth. And I hiccup my appreciation and abiding love. I have no answers, only questions. Seeing the smear of jism on the table’s edge, where my pussy rode out the whipping, will he take that as the invitation it is? Or will he turn me back over the table, part my red ass-cheeks, and take me where I’m tightest, where it’s dirtier, and therefore, more appealing? When I’m at this nadir of my sub-space, as I am after this exhaustive strapping, I actually prefer intercourse here. Besides being more orgasmic at this moment, when I’m just a blank slate, it’s difficult to put into words, other than to say it just feels right to do it where it feels forbidden and wrong.
His erection presses against his tight-fitting pants. I reach down and release it from these constraints, then press my naked hip against his hardness. I look up at him, wondering which way he’ll flip the coin, heads or tails? Or in this case, my vag or tail?

5 responses to “#140) My Last Punishment Deconstructed – mild sexual content”

  1. You describe this spanking so brilliantly. It makes you want to do it, even if you don’t like the pain.
    Combined with the humiliating ass fucking it is just wonderfully stimulating.
    Thank you Jean Marie

    Liked by 2 people

  2. The story didn’t reveal if the decision was bag or tail but the above comment implied tail. Is there a part three or has the decision now revealed? A very good story,! Thanks!

    Liked by 2 people

    • I liked leaving it ambiguous, as it often is in life. I don’t foresee a continuation, but you never can tell… I DO think I’ll revisit some previous pieces (like Traditional Girl & a Birdfish portrait piece) sometime soon. Thanks for asking!

      Like

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