Tell Me What You Want Ch. 02 - Sex Stories

Tell Me What You Want Ch. 02

... had been one of the most painful and erotic experiences of his life.

Now, she was hitting without the sensual interludes, administering punishment rather than playing a game. Hector's choices were stark: could he carry on, absorbing the pain, taking his beating, because that's what he'd signed his rights away for? The six strokes for talking back to her were undeserved, but to top it up to twenty because of some imagined ingratitude was crossing the line. Should he endure, keep his head down, take his licks and get to the end?

Or should he stop it? The pain seared across his flesh again, his bottom raw with punishment, throbbing and red. He heard his wife count off sixteen, but he was detached from it now, in a world of his own.

The first time they'd experimented with beating had been Lotte's suggestion. She'd had him tied face down on the bed, his bottom on full display, and she'd mentioned it almost in passing. She had confessed to wanting to try it, like it was her dirty little secret, nothing too severe, just slapping him with her hand. Hector had managed to turn enough to see the look on his wife's face, the flush in her cheeks, and realise how much the idea turned her on.

He'd said okay, and she'd slapped him immediately, a stinging swipe across his rear that made him yelp. Lotte had pulled back, worried about his pain, but he'd seen the smouldering look in her eyes and asked to be smacked again. Lotte had given him six of her best, Hector grinning and ...

... bearing it, hamming it up a little because it seemed to give her a kick. It didn't do anything for him, but he was fine with that. A red bottom was a small price to pay for the epic lovemaking that happened immediately afterwards.

Even as they progressed with it, Hector bore it with good grace, letting her bend him over a chair, or the bed, or the last time, across the island bench. That had been the cane, and twelve strokes, each time with an interstitial of touching and stroking, so that even after twelve, he'd wanted to slide into her, filling her, slaking his need.

Hector could see it now, from the other side, how his wife had been paying very close attention to his responses, detecting his forbearance, going away and reading up on the subject, coming back with a new plan. The dozen strokes had been much harsher than anything before, but the relentless teasing had driven Hector wild. Lotte could easily have taken it as her husband's conversion to masochism rather than his simple need to fuck her regardless of what she was putting him through.

"Eighteen."

The word penetrated his haze, his body shuddering, his knees weak. It was too late to stop her now, pointless, having taken almost all of the punishment. He swallowed, his throat raw, his cheek wet where it was pressed against the cool surface. He was crying and howling, reduced to a mess, wailing as his buttocks were wracked once again with fire.

"Nineteen."

He balled his hands into fists, feeling his nails ...