By the next set of smacks, I was gritting my teeth. Dylan was determined to do this, and I was equally determined not to complain. With everything he gave me, if he got something out of spanking me, I could learn to deal with it. At least, I hoped I could. But I really didn’t get it. Taking a break, he smoothed his hand over my ass again.
“You’re so red, sweetheart. You’re going to feel this for the rest of the day. Probably into tomorrow. You’re almost there.”
Almost where? Almost done? I sighed in relief. I was ready to be finished with this. I braced for the next hit, prepared to weather the pain.
It never came. The smack did, striking the fullest part of my ass with restrained power. It should have hurt. I guess it did, in a way. All I really felt was heat. A weird, prickling heat that was frighteningly close to pleasure. What the hell?
The next smack was more intense. Harder. I shifted into it, the strike of his hand bringing more of that new sensation. How did this feel good? He was still spanking me. Harder than before. I squirmed, brushing my nipples against the fabric of the couch. They were beaded tight with arousal. My body was spinning out of my control.
At the next smack, I arched my back, raising my ass to his hand. It fell, sending hot flares of pleasure everywhere it touched. When I felt the brush of his fingers between my legs, I gasped, this time in shock at how wet I was. When had that happened? One long finger pushed inside and I thrust back onto it.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low.
“No,” I moaned, wiggling to get more of his finger. My whole body throbbed for more. More of the spanking, more of his finger. More of everything.
“At least a few more of these,” he said, withdrawing his finger and laying another smack on my rear end.
This time, I rocked up into it, asking for it with every inch of my body. I took the next one the same way. And the next. My head was in the clouds, drifting in hot, dreamy, pain-sharpened pleasure, wanting only more of whatever he would to give me.
This was it. This was what Dylan meant by trust. And I’d almost walked away from it. The last smack was harder than the rest, a flare of pain and pleasure so acute, it drove me to the edge of orgasm. Writhing over his legs, I heard myself moaning and gasping. He stroked his hand over my red ass with reverent care.
“I think a little more and you’ll come for me,” he said. I quivered under his soothing touch. I would. I knew I would. “Maybe next time we’ll try that. I bet if I clamped these luscious nipples and spanked you, you’d come so fast your head would be spinning.”
I shivered, knowing he was right. I would. I was close as it was, teetering on the edge of release, my body both wound tight and floating in space. Feeling myself move, I realized Dylan was turning me, lifting me into his arms. He carried me through the penthouse and a few seconds later he lay me down in the bed, positioning my bandaged arm out to the side. The soft sheets were cool on my heated backside, a momentary distraction before his body came over mine, his hard cock pressing into me in a long, slow thrust that stretched me open.
Just minutes ago, I’d wanted to run from the way Dylan overwhelmed me. Now it was everything, his body over me, his cock inside me. Everything I could touch, hear, smell, was all Dylan. I raised my legs around his hips, clamping my thighs tight, rocking up into him. If he’d gone a little faster, I would have come right away. As it was, I didn’t last more than a few minutes, driving my fingernails into his shoulders as I came. Dylan kept going in the same steady pace, his mouth on mine as pleasure rose again.
Each time my hips rolled down, the tender, pink skin on my ass burned. Dylan’s sheets couldn’t have been any softer, but my ass was too tender from the spanking. The sparks of pain made the pleasure sharper, more acute. The second orgasm grew slowly, the stretch of Dylan’s cock inside me a fraction better each time he filled me, until I was again on the edge of coming. This time, he was with me. Tearing his mouth from mine, he called out my name as he came, his pounding cock taking me along with him.
Before I could get my bearings, he was up, disappearing into the bathroom. He came out a few seconds later holding a wet washcloth. Careful of my arm, Dylan grabbed my legs and slid me to the side of the bed, spreading my legs wide. He couldn’t possibly be ready again. I could barely move.
The warm, damp cloth pressed between my legs, stroking my still sensitive flesh. I tried to slam my legs closed, the intimacy too much. I already felt vulnerable. Dylan blocked me with his body. Before I could form a verbal protest, he was done. Tossing the washcloth back onto the bathroom floor, he picked me up and set me on my feet.