“How long do we have to do this,” I sputter between spanks. My gosh, why isn’t his hand ready to fall off? My bottom is becoming an inferno and he’s still smacking it.
“Until you’re finished,” he replies, giving me three good hard smacks on each cheek making me lurch forward. Amazingly, I purposely slide myself back on his lap and lift my bottom for him to continue.
“Am I somewhere near done?” I ask over some smacks, each word revealing the strain in my voice as I try not to let it show this is getting to me. “I feel pretty roasted.”
“Oh trust me, Julia,” Mark says cordially then lays another eight or ten wallops right on the soft spot. “When you’re done, you’ll know. We’ll both know.”
He stops for a second and gives me more mercy rubbing, his hand managing to wander into my cleft and feel the wetness there as well. He leans over and picks up the wooden hair brush from the nightstand. Taking some Kleenex out of the box, he places them near my hands.
“No, please,” I whimper. I already have a painful stinging blaze back there and I can’t imagine the unforgiving flat surface of that brush is going to make it feel better. He just pats my rump.
“This will speed things up a bit,” he says in a soft kind voice. I want to sit in his lap and hug him. “The best I advice I can give you is to feel it, and then when you’re ready, let it go. Let everything go.”
I have no idea what that really means. He starts with small little pops on each cheek and I can already feel the difference. The swats increase, faster and harder. I give up trying to control my bottom or legs; they are both swinging and moving. I grip the bedspread and put my head down, feeling the first tears start to form. I can’t fight this anymore; I let them roll down my cheek gasping as the fire burns.
This is so embarrassing. At my age, lying over a man’s lap having my bare bottom spanked with a hairbrush like a small child. But, this is par for the course. I’ve been embarrassed about a lot of my behavior lately–screaming at Blake, lying to Mark, mistreating employees, ignoring my dad to get more articles by deadline, pushing myself to the point of exhaustion and pushing away anyone who couldn’t keep up with my pace. I’ve been such a bitch to so many people for so long.
Mark somehow senses my introspection. No more mercy rubs, he starts wailing away with that brush hitting the same spot over and over. My bottom is bouncing off his lap and I hear a sound, a wail before I realize it is coming out of me.
All the times I took people for granted. All the ways I fought and pushed against my mom and then she was gone. She was gone and I hadn’t even said goodbye. And now, what did I do with my dad? I put him in the specialty center and threw as much money as I could at it to save his life but I spent all my time at Lynx. It was all about me, my career, and my stubborn selfish way.
My sobbing grows loud as gobs of snot and tears run down my face. I don’t even bother with the Kleenex because the boiling on my bottom has released a flood out of me. Again and again that brush comes down and so many images start flooding my mind and I remember what Mark said. I stop fighting them and let them go, grasping, screaming and convulsing over his lap.
I think of my dad and all the times I put him off, and Greg. Greg cheated on me and I was right to break off the engagement. But I also treated him like a coin I could carry in my pocket. Everything in our relationship rotated around me, around my career. We ate at places I wanted to review. We saw movies of issues I wanted to write about. Me, me, me. And when he didn’t please me or when he needed me to please him–I was unavailable. I didn’t make him cheat but I sure as hell didn’t encourage him to stay.
As a writer, I have used the word “breakthrough” my entire career, but I never had any idea what that word really meant until this minute. I feel the pain, the grief, the regret and the pressure building inside of me. Under this relentless barrage of feelings, I emotionally explode over Mark’s lap. My sobs soak the bedspread. I let out a long howl that carries all the sound of all my pain. I go on in this state of suspended animation, crying and out of control, my body bouncing on the bed as I drive my fists down over and over into the mattress.
I feel something lifting me, almost like an angel, and the solidness of Mark’s arms as he puts my head on his chest and lets me cry into him. I slowly regain my ability to breathe and speak normally.
“You’re not spanking me anymore?” I say, unsure how he got from under me to holding me so quickly.
“I quit about ten minutes ago. This has all been you.”
“I… I… ”
“Shhh,” he consoles me. He whispers softly, “You did well, Julia. You did so well.”
I stay there in his arms for a while feeling spent, empty. Then longing takes the place of the pain and I begin kissing him. First I plant small kisses on his chest and then lean up to kiss him, my hand reaching down to find his member and rub it through his pants.
“I need you,” I say urgently. Suddenly the fire from my behind has moved between my legs and tripled.
“I’m here,” he says, still in his soothing, consoling tone.
“I need you in me,” I growl seductively. He smiles and begins to undo his pants, eventually standing up to remove them, knowing every second without his touch was like torture. I confessed, “I feel so empty.”
“You’ve just lost a lot of emotional weight,” he advises as he gets back into bed. I turned over to embrace him and land on my red, sore rear. He rubs my bottom and then turns me to the side. Kissing me and running his c**k up and down the inside of my lips, he can see me trying to draw him into my body.
“Please,” I say again, kissing him deeply.
“There’s no way to do this that isn’t going to feel like I’m spanking you again,” he tells me, trying to gently enter.
“Then spank me, spank me hard and fast and… oh… just… do it!” I laugh, wrapping my arms around him. With that, he plunges into me like a wild caged animal, his c**k diving into my ready and needing center. He pushes and surges in me, the spanking having prolonged his arousal as well.
At first his thrusts are measured, a gentle push in and quick pull out. But his lust overcomes his concern and soon his balls are slapping against my red backside. I remember the secure feeling of being over his lap, the thrusts repeating that experience only so much more intense and internal. My body grips and pulls at him urging him on, wanting him all the way in me.