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His palms caress my still-smarting skin. “I usually warm the skin up before I start.” He rubs the already hot skin back and forth, circling over and over. “I apologize.”
I really don’t care that he smacked me cold. In fact, I want him to keep smacking me. This warming circular motion over my skin is just making me ache even more for a good smack. He squeezes, I purr. He pauses, there’s a rustling of fabric behind me but I can’t twist to look back to see what the hell is going on.
When his naked, stiff cock presses against my ass cheeks, it clicks that he’s stripped off. Wiggling my hips only makes him take it away from me, so I still.
“You still want to be spanked, Adi?”
“I do.” I’m purring again, and I kind of hate myself for it. But it seems to do something for him. He glides his thumbs between my ass cheeks, pausing at my ass hole exerting just enough pressure to give me pause. I tense, not ready for where that path leads.
“Shhhhh. Easy, Red. I won’t be going here today.”
Is that disappointment stirring in my stomach?
There’s no time to analyze before I get another ass cheek squeeze. “I’m going to slap you eight times on each side. One slap on each side for each second you fingered yourself without my permission.”
I bite my lip.
“I’m going to slap you with the same intensity each time, unless you tell me to go harder. I’ll slap once, and that will be ‘one.’ If you want me to increase to two, you say two. If you want to stay on one, you repeat one. Understand?”
“Yes. It’s like turning up the volume on the radio. Each number makes it louder.”
“Exactly. Each number will make the slap harder, hurt more, mark more.” He pulls his hands off my skin. “Are you okay with being marked?”
I can’t help laughing. “If you don’t mark me, did you even try?”
He growls, it vibrates so low I feel it rumbling in my g-spot. The first smack lands without warning, shunting me forward and making me yelp. “One.”
“Two.” I counter.
He slaps the same cheek, harder, the bite of pain quickly giving into warmth that radiates out from the impact. “Two.”
“Three.”
“Check in.”
“I said three.”
“Check in, Addison.” His teeth are gritted, so I answer quickly.
“Green. Th—” The third smack rings out around the room before I can finish my thought knocking the air out of my lungs. I haven’t had much experience with spanking, but it gets me wet as fuck. I don’t even really know why. It just does. Isn’t that enough of a reason to do something?
“Three,” he snaps.
“Four.” Gritting my teeth, I prepare for the impact. There’s no way I’m leaving here without bruises on my ass, and to do that, I’ll need him to hit me harder. I want to see what the deal is with getting marked. There’s a tiny voice in my head screaming that I want him to mark me. I want to see his marks in a few days. A secret way to relive the experience I had. It doesn’t matter if it’s from someone I’m deeply connected to, or if it’s a brand new play partner I may never play with again, I want that thrill every time I see the mottled skin.
His hand rubs at the space where he’s been slapping me before he unleashes a smack that stops my breath in my chest. “Four.”
“Five.”
“Addison.”
“Five,” I repeat.
“Check in.”
“Green. Five.” I wiggle my hips, desperate for another slap, aching for the sting, the burn, the rush of adrenaline that comes from the smack of his hand against my skin.
Another crack. This one makes me scream. I’m probably dripping arousal onto his expensive sheets. My eyes roll back in my head, and I’ve found my happy place.
