#253) Two Journeys Under One Roof

Ironically, they share a duplex. They have a wall in common between their two living spaces. They share much more in common, but don’t know it. As is common in today’s fast-paced world, the two women know each other’s names, greet each other in passing, but that’s about all. If they could just slow down, talk, perhaps share a bottle of wine after work some Friday evening, they’d discover that they follow the same singularly unusual path, but are at different places along their respective journeys. It’s a sexual similarity. They are each confirmed heterosexual; they wouldn’t be sharing more than that hypothetical bottle of wine. They are both sexually submissive with their boyfriends.
Leslie, pictured above, takes her subservience to Rob seriously. She awakes this spring Saturday morning and leaps out of bed. There’s a chill in the air, so she pulls a knit top on over her bra, as she simultaneously pulls down her flannel jammie bottoms and underpants. This activity wakes Rob.
“I had a wet dream last night,” she says to her lover while facing away from him. “It was very vivid. I was with… another man. I want to train my subconsciousness that that’s not okay. I want to be yours every moment of my life, waking or sleeping. Punish me, please, Robbie, for enjoying that wet dream…”
Groggily, her boyfriend gets out of bed, picks up her hairbrush on his way to standing behind her. He doesn’t go to the bathroom, even though he needs to. Being the Top to this sweet stickler of a submissive is a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. He runs his left hand across the smooth, cool expanse of Leslie’s unblemished, round bottom. He loves that ass. He worships it. But he’ll blemish it with bruises, mark it as his with a sound spanking because she needs it.
She tries to take the paddling stoically, but the pain soon breaks down Leslie’s reserve, and she’s crying and confessing, “I’m so sorry! Thank you, sir! I’m so, so sorry!”
Later that same day, Laura (pictured below), Leslie’s right-next-door neighbor, has misbehaved. She attended a party with her boyfriend, Rick. At the home of a friend, she had too much drink. In that inebriated condition, she flirted with another guy. As Rick drove Laura home, he told her that he felt disrespected. It hurt Laura’s heart to think that she’d publicly humiliated her lover with her insensitive actions. She couldn’t find the words to apologize right away, either in the car, or in their apartment. But the offense weighs heavily on her. She knows that she can’t go to sleep with this problem between them. Laura can’t look Rick in the eye, but she stands in the middle of their living room with her head hung in shame. She unbuttons her jeans and yanks them down to her knees. Her panties come down with the outer garment. She throws herself over the arm of their couch. With her guilt ridden face obscured by the curtain of her hair, Laura says all she can say.
“I was wrong, Rickie. Make me sorry…”
Such a cute butt, Rick thinks to himself as he crosses the room to stand behind it. And such a headstrong girl attached to it! He caresses the round mounds of fleshiness, appreciates their paleness, their coolness, the peaches and cream complexion, all the things he’ll change with this punishment. He takes his belt off. Laura can’t see what he’s doing, but hears the tell-tale sounds, knows what’s in store.
Laura is drunk, her mental processes are unmasked and right out there for all to see. Her feelings, however, are always more guarded. It takes a long belt whipping to bring Laura to a place where she can confront her poor behavioral choices, longer to be truly sorry, longer still to be contrite. Then it all pours out of her.
“I’ll never drink again, I can’t handle it! …I need you to punish me more, more frequently, harder when you do! …I’m willful, break me of that, please, lover! …You can’t punish me too hard! Ow! …I’m sorry!”
The duplex is well built. Neither couple hears the other, even when the respective whippings reach their crescendo. Even when the make-up sex does.

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