Beneath the Surface(48)

Sheryl let the paddle come down again, a little lighter this time, but only to fool Kristin, by no means to give her any respite. The next round of strikes was so hard and merciless Sheryl felt the blowback reverberate in her muscles. She brought her free hand between Kristin’s legs and found her as aroused as her cheeks were colored pink. Her lips were swollen and wet. Sheryl dragged a finger along her opening and smeared the wetness onto the dildo.

“You’re so wet,” she growled. “So horny and wet.” She could feel her own wetness moisten the panties she was wearing.

At this, Kristin did groan, and Sheryl couldn’t wait to see her tear-stained face. Kristin could sometimes be so stoic, so composed and in need of control of every single process in her body, and it took all of Sheryl’s willpower to continue until the tears came.

Sheryl blasted another round of blows on her ass, then slowed her pace. She let long, silent seconds go by before landing another hit, and listened carefully in between for signs of Kristin’s distress. Nothing.

She delved her fingers deeper in between Kristin’s folds, sensing her increasing wetness, and again, transported the moisture to her toy—not that she would need that much of it later. Kristin was already soaking wet.

It had been a long time since they’d done this, and while Sheryl was surprised how easily she’d found her groove again, that dominant streak that flourished in situations like this, she had to do her best to remember the boundaries they’d once set.

Kristin could take the pain. She relished it. That part hadn’t changed. But Sheryl was more worried about what she could say. She used to spout the nastiest language, calling Kristin much fouler things than the requisite bad girl. It seemed a good place to start for now.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” she hummed, but the words felt wrong as they tumbled from her lips. Kristin was pushing fifty, she was hardly a girl. Despite it being part of the fantasy they had once created, that part of it didn’t seem to work for Sheryl anymore. She believed she was still in tune enough with her partner to know that merely calling her a bad girl wouldn’t influence her level of arousal at all, perhaps even take away from it.

Sheryl folded her body over Kristin, making sure she could feel the heft of the dildo against her inner thigh, and half-whispered, “You’ve been a filthy slut again, haven’t you?” She waited a beat for Kristin’s reaction, which came in a low-pitched moan, confirming that Sheryl was on the right track. “I’ll fuck the sluttiness right out of you.”

A rush of lust sped up her spine as she pulled back. She let the tip of the dildo slide into Kristin’s pussy a tiny bit, and retreated, before starting on another round of controlled but ruthless spanking. How easy, she thought, as the paddle rained blows on Kristin’s ever-reddening butt cheeks, for us to pick this up again where we left it years ago. And in that thought, she concluded, lay the essence of their happiness. Their success as a couple. Because they might not do this every week or every month—or even once a year—anymore, but they would always have it to return to. This intimacy that was uniquely theirs, the products of their personalities and proclivities and, as a result, something that could never be recreated with anyone else. This was them—at their best and most sleazy.

Sheryl threw the paddle on the bed, and it was the first time Kristin raised her head. Sheryl realized she should have just let it fall to the floor to maximize the effect of the dildo brusquely breaching the rim of her pussy, and burrowing deep inside from the get-go.

Sheryl thrust deep, and even though it was the dildo sinking inside of Kristin, not any direct part of her own anatomy, it felt like coming home after a long, exhausting journey. She put her hands on Kristin’s blemished behind—the paddle would leave its mark for a few days—and lost herself in the motion, in the intoxicating sensation of claiming Kristin in this way. She couldn’t see her face, yet she felt more connected to her than she had in a long time.

Sheryl put everything else out of her mind, everything that had built up since the last time they’d done this—with the old set of sex toys. As though the purchases they had made held much more than just hygienic value; they held a symbolic one as well. New toys, new ideas, renewed intimacy.

The thought Sheryl had had when standing in front of the mirror earlier came full circle. Yes, she—they—had changed. The rapport between them had changed, had grown deeper in some areas and more flimsy in others. But no matter what—no matter her flaws, or Kristin’s—they had this between them. They had love. A past and a future. And an exquisite present.