She stood before him, her posture perfect , hands placed just so. She was acutely aware of what he expected of her. She kept her eyes down, focused on his feet. She loved his feet. They usually focused on hers, he loves that they are curvy and feminine, but she felt her insides thrum at the thought of kneeling down and kissing his strong masculine feet and running her tongue between his toes.
She brought her thoughts back to the present and returned her attention to her breathing, as she’d been trained to do. He demanded a mindful sub.
She calmed her thoughts and focused on what she could hear. The ceiling fans rhythmic ticking, the distant sound of a train miles away, the sound of of his jeans shuffling against the carpet as he steps towards her. He waits until her breathing is even, and gives her a chance to center herself and find her place here in front of her owner. Loved.
“Turn around, bend over and get comfortable,” he growled gently into her ear. He said this every week, and every week it made her involuntarily shiver. Very aware of her senses, she could feel the different textures on various parts of her body. The soft blanket folded under her knees, her breasts and face pressed against the couch, its leather surface softened by wear and passing time.
This was her favorite part. Being on display for him. His focused, intense attention thrilled her. He slowly pulled up her silky black dress, taking a moment to run his hands over her panty-clad curves. Without warning he yanked the white panties down to her knees in one graceful swoop. She gasped as she felt her scalding pussy meet the cold air, cooling the wetness already pooling at her entrance. She was at his mercy. Exposed for his pleasure.
He took his time, quietly circling her, appreciating the way her back arched so artfully with her plump round ass presented almost as if it were custom made for him. Her eyes, covered by her dress couldn’t see him, but she could feel his restraint building. Teasing her with his power and strength.
Rubbing and scratching her bottom and her thighs, he was preparing them for what was about to come.
Her breath quickened, she knew the routine and ritual. She took a deep breath, and on the long exhale, he landed the first solid slap on her ass. The scalding heat of his hand against her skin radiated throughout her entire body, warming her core.
Over the years she has practiced visualizing the strikes against her skin leaving a slight pink glow behind, a light conceived of love and lust. He transfers it to her, a gift with every blow.
Her skin gets increasingly more tender with every effortless thwack. Silently screaming and begging him to both stop and to continue, torn equally between the two. Knowing it was out of her control was part of the appeal. She was doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing, right now. Offering herself, sharing her pain with her partner. Her lover. Her Daddy.
She can’t stop the tears from falling as she breaks through to her space. The space where only the pain exists. It is a glowing, consuming space. One of warmth and safety. He is the only one who can guide her there. Her ferryman to bliss and release.
He gently helps her up and pulls her close as she sobs into his shoulder. Useless stress, insecurities and worries soaking and staining his dress shirt. Holding her close, he strokes her hair, pets her back and praises her for receiving his blessing.
As she walked back to the bedroom with her wet panties held between her fingers in one hand, she smiled and stroked the welts forming on her thighs with the other. She was overwhelmed with gratitude and appreciation that she received such a wondrous gift, even though it was his birthday.