His hand torments between my thighs. He releases his grip from my mane and follows the line of my spine with his fingers, all the way down to my tailbone, then back up the center of my back, dragging the hem of my blouse with him.
I know what’s coming. At least I hope I do. I steady myself, tensing my muscles, as he pulls his hand away from between my thighs.
When the first crisp slap comes, it’s so fast, so sharp; I don’t have time to make a sound. Instinct locks my hips so my knees won’t give out and my jaw clenches tight with devilish delight.
His hand is wet with my juice, the sting of his slap ignites me. Patiently he pauses, watching my tender turned-on skin turn crimson. And only when it does, does he spank me again.
The second spank is harder than the first, and this time I yelp, but not in pain. And I know how much my groaning arouses him, because as I grind back against him I can feel his cock throbbing through his jeans, and pressing so hard up against me.
A few more firm spanks and the tears start, hot and wet, on my cheeks. Not tears of pain, but tears of relief, the unlocking of emotions clenched inside, now being freed from within.
I don’t hold back, I beg for more attention, and as I give in and let go, so the sobs ascend from some riotous place in my belly.
At first the sensations seem confused, hesitant, like something shut up in a closed place for too long, and suddenly set free. But then they emerge, growing louder and freer with each successive spank. My eyes roll up into my head and I slip inside a vision:
I see the vines of his tattooed arms climbing over me and weaving with mine, our limbs binding inside a single woven skin of inked Ivy. A fresh fantasy twists and rips through me, my woodsman, splitting me open with his axe, cutting me down and burning me on his fire, my sap sizzling inside me as my roots sink into the soil.
I am reborn, I am the Ash, the Elm, the Oak and the Beech, my long legs stretching down into the earth, my arms are my branches reaching up into the sky. Inside me, my rings grow. Outside I am lush with fresh foliage. I am his enchanted forest and I swallow him whole.
His palm strikes again, my cries cresting, rising higher with the punishing pleasure of his defiant spanking. I need this, I want this,
I need seeing to, and my god he’s taking ever deeper control of me, his hands, his very fingerprints, imprinting on my bones.
The air inside the warehouse space is filled with raw sexual energy, passion and emotion. There’s a cloak of light that pours out of us and when he senses the space is filled to full, he stops.