Cotton Panties & Paddles

The rain hammered against the windows of the country club, a relentless percussion that mirrored the insistent throb in my own body. Ben was late, of course. Always late. He’d gotten pulled over, a reckless sprint through a residential zone, a consequence of his impulsive nature that both infuriated and thrilled me. The thought of that speeding ticket, the shame of a ruined evening, and the simmering tension between us had finally broken something loose. The arrangement, the one we’d made in the dark, fueled by alcohol and a shared desire for transgression, had become a desperate craving.

As the limousine pulled up, the rain seemed to intensify, a fitting soundtrack to the anticipation building within me. Ben emerged, looking rumpled and slightly pale, the remnants of his frustration clinging to him like damp wool. He brushed rain from his tailored suit, a weary smile playing on his lips as he noticed my waiting form. The air between us crackled with unspoken desires, the memory of our earlier conversation echoing in the quiet confines of the car.

“You’re going to do this, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, laced with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

I met his gaze, my own eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight from the dining room, and offered a slow, deliberate nod. “I’ve been looking forward to it all evening.”

The house felt opulent, filled with the shallow chatter and perfume-heavy breaths of the social elite. But tonight, the glittering chandeliers and expensive artwork held no appeal. My focus was entirely on Ben, on the raw, animalistic pleasure that lay ahead. The memory of his muscular physique, toned by countless hours at the gym, flashed through my mind, fueling my desire. He’d earned this, deserved this, and I was more than happy to deliver it.

Once inside, we shed our formal attire, exchanging silk shirts and velvet gowns for comfortable pajamas. The plush king-sized bed in our suite seemed to stretch on forever, an invitation to indulge in our shared fantasies. I retrieved a thick, supple leather belt from the closet, the scent of tanned leather filling the air. It felt heavy in my hands, a tangible symbol of the power I was about to wield.

“You’ve got a good grip,” Ben observed, his voice laced with a nervous tremor. He lay on his back, his pajama pants pulled down low, exposing a generous expanse of pale flesh. The sight of his erect manhood, hard and throbbing, sent a shiver down my spine. It was a primal display of arousal, a testament to the pleasure we were about to share.

Taking a deep breath, I positioned myself above him, my fingers tracing the outline of his glans. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the sweat slicking my palms. I began with gentle taps, light swats across his cheeks, testing the limits of his endurance. Ben flinched, a small moan escaping his lips. It was a good start.

As I increased the force, the leather belt found its rhythm, connecting with his flesh with increasing intensity. Each impact sent a jolt through my body, a delicious shock that intensified my own arousal. The rhythmic swats echoed in the room, a primal soundtrack to our forbidden encounter.

“Don’t be so rough,” Ben gasped, his body arching slightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. “You’ll hurt me.”

“Pain is a necessary component of pleasure,” I replied, my voice low and husky. “And I intend to give you plenty of it.”

I continued my assault, alternating between his cheeks and his backside, never letting up on the pressure. The scent of his arousal intensified, mingling with the lingering fragrance of the expensive cologne he wore. His skin turned a vibrant crimson, a clear indication of the punishment he was enduring. The throbbing in his muscles grew stronger, a tangible sign of his discomfort.

As I moved down his body, I noticed the increasing frequency of his involuntary spasms, the desperate attempts to control his arousal. The sight of his raw, vulnerable flesh filled me with a sense of both satisfaction and guilt. This was an act of dominance, a reclamation of control, but it also felt undeniably carnal, primal, and deeply satisfying.

With a final, decisive swipe, I brought the belt to a complete stop. Ben let out a strangled cry, his body writhing in agony. I lowered myself onto his rear end, pinning him beneath my weight. The sensation was exquisite, a blend of pain and pleasure that left me breathless.

“That’s enough,” I whispered, my voice thick with desire. “Let’s continue where we left off.”

I proceeded to mount him, my weight pressing down on his hips, driving the pleasure deeper into his core. The rain continued its relentless assault on the windows, a constant reminder of the world outside, of the lives we were disrupting with our forbidden passion. But inside this opulent suite, we were lost in our own private world, consumed by the intoxicating power of our shared transgression.

After what felt like an eternity, I dismounted, my body trembling with exhaustion and exhilaration. Ben lay panting on his back, his body covered in a dark red sheen, a testament to the intensity of our encounter. I gently applied a soothing lotion to his bruised backside, easing the pain and soothing his raw nerves.

“You’re quite skilled,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I wasn’t expecting such a thorough spanking.”

“It’s a talent I’ve honed over time,” I replied, my eyes locked on his. “Now, let’s see if you can handle what comes next.”

And so, we continued our wild sex, indulging in a frenzy of passion that left us both breathless and completely spent. The arrangement had been fulfilled, but the desire lingered, a potent reminder of the pleasure we had shared. As I lay beside him in the aftermath, I couldn’t help but wonder when it would be my turn to experience the thrill of the lash, the exquisite agony and unparalleled satisfaction of administering the punishment. The thought left me both eager and apprehensive, a delicious blend of anticipation and fear.

I think I’ll screw up on purpose to get it over with. It’s time I experienced the forbidden fruit, the sweet taste of transgression. And as I drifted off to sleep, the rain continued its relentless drumming, a constant reminder of the storm raging within me.

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