Smack!
"Eleven..." her voice, quavering and muffled, counted.
Smack!
"Ten-"
"Ten, what?"
"Ten... Sir?"
"Better, now keep counting down."
My pretense for "punishing her," being slow to retrieve the wine bottle, was completely bogus, of course, but transitioning to a scene sometimes needs a catalyst.
And I love administering bare-handed spankings.
It was a good choice. Though older, she had a playful, childlike demeanor I found both charming and arousing. Not a "little." Not a "brat." And certainly not an idiot, but an "innocent" little tart without the slightest shame and delighting in being treated as such.
The redder her cute little apple ass got, the more she wiggled and cooed. I began to notice the black denim-clad knee I had put her over to spank her was developing a wet spot. She was dripping on me.
I slipped a quick finger insider her, got a gasp in return, withdrew it and continued with alternating strokes on each cheek while she counted down.
Always make them count backward, whether spankings or strikes with a flogger or singletail. Counting backward is more disorienting, takes them out of themselves a bit more, a bit faster. Sets up an expectation that you can either fulfill - or completely contradict.
Sometimes I have them go into negative numbers.
But not this time. Having told her to count back from thirty, she'd gotten fifteen good, solid strokes on both sides. That velvety backside was red as an iron skillet and trembling. She tried to get up, but I held her down, gently rubbing her ass gently - more for My pleasure than for hers, absolutely - but I made soothing noises in her ear just the same, intuiting that she was in this for the attention and the aftercare as much or more than for the impact play itself.
After a moment, I let her up and ordered her into a standing inspection pose, eyes down, fingers interlaced behind her head, feet shoulder width apart.
My earlier inspection had been mostly visual. This time, I let my hands explore every square inch as if making a purchasing decision. She hadn't flinched or objected when I'd entered her before, so, fingers explored here and there. Grabbed ass, squeezed titty, pinched nipple. Slipped a thumb into her pouty little mouth. She began sucking on it wildly. I withdrew it.
"None of that," I snapped. "Not yet, anyway."
Restraining others is fun, but a scene like this, self-restraint is very rewarding. No rush. Build up to it.
I pointed to the cuffs hanging from chains nearby.
"Can you put yourself in those?" I demanded.
"One, Sir." She said. "You would have to lock the other."
"Let's see you try."
I sat back down on the bench and watched her struggle to fasten the black leather cuff at her left wrist, having easily placed the right one on herself. I had guesstimated, and was proven correct, that the chains they hung from were almost but not quite close enough.
After five minutes, her frustration was plain, as was her genuine desire to please me. I stepped over and fastened the left cuff.
"You did your best, Little One," I said. "As your reward I'll use the big leather flogger instead of that little horsehair job. That thing looks like it stings."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"Good girl. Now, count down from 50."
I took a sip of wine, put down the glass and began.
[The Conclusion, coming soon.]
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