This is a post I wrote in 2013. I’m not sure why I never posted it. And, to be honest, I only barely remember H. I suppose I could go back to my e-mails and see what I might be able to learn. But the main thing is, what a glutton for punishment I always have been.
She’s a terrorist. I’ve never met H, and she won’t send me any more pictures – of her sweet ass, her enormous aureolae (atop her full breasts), her tantalizing pussy – until I post these words. And while, lately, I’ve been busy with Véronique, I value H (and the one other distant buddy, of recent vintage, and about whom more anon, with whom I’ve been talking lately) and the words and pictures she sends, the fantasy she represents. I am, however, getting tired of my game with H. It’s high time we meet, that we take our flirtation from the crass realm in which it resides (she insults my writing, though it’s what drew her to me; I lament her bratty resistance, and suddenly, she complies exquisitely) to the realm of, well, to the realm of spanking.
H’s ass is what a spanking artist would most crave: big, pale, round, firm. She wants to be bent over my knee; I think I’d prefer her up against a wall, or bent over a bed, or otherwise in a position that would allow me to stand, to use the full force of my upper body AND my hips to deliver the blows to her ass she so craves. With my hand? Perhaps. With a paddle? More likely. She’s never had that done to her. And though I’m no spanking expert, I know the ins and outs of a good spanking.
Here’s one thing about H: I do believe she would like an audience. She’s read my posts on Le Trapeze, and while I don’t know that she’s ready for full-on group sex, or sex with strangers, she is ready to have her ass, my beating of her ass, admired by strangers.
So I think that’s what we’ll do.
We’ll meet for a drink. None of the usual preamble stuff, just straight to sex talk. I’ll praise her body, she’ll try her best to muster appropriate appreciation of the praise and, no doubt, fail. There’s something in the vulnerability of delivering a compliment or request, or of appreciating one, that is threatening to her. But I’ll tell her: her face is pretty, her breasts, remarkable, her ass everything I imagined. We’ll drink a drink. We’ll stand to leave. She’ll walk ahead of me, so I can suitably admire her ass. Which I’ll do.
As we walk down the street, I’ll playfully pat it. She won’t like this. Public displays of affection – hell, any displays of affection – aren’t her thing, I’d wager.
Once in the club, we’ll lose our clothes, and I’ll set her up against a mirrored wall in the biggest room. I’ll blindfold her. I’ll spread her legs. And I’ll announce to all present, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is my friend, H. She cordially invites you to thwack her ass. I must ask that you restrain yourself, that you spank her for no more than five minutes, and that you not, under any circumstances, touch her pussy. That is reserved for me. I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness.”
I expect I’ll get the games started, and alternately spank and caress her ass for the first five minutes. During the breaks, the moments between spankings, I’ll caress her ass, gather what’s dripped from her cunt, lick it up. I’ll slide my fingers deep inside of her, kiss her full lips hard.
And then I’ll turn her back over to the throng.
When the spankings are through, when her ass is red, bruised, welted, I’ll lie back, my head on the purple pillows, and invite her to feast on my cock.
And if she’s a very good girl? I’ll give her the fucking she deserves.