The paddle lands, hard and firm and sharp across my already sensitive buttocks. My flesh feels to be on fire again. This is agony—I know I can’t bear twenty strokes of this thing. I tell myself to absorb the blows, ride this pain as I did the other. The paddle continues to fall, one stroke after the other, merciless. Relaxation is beyond me and I tense, my whole body a rigid knot of endurance. Somehow managing to detach myself from the pain, if only slightly, I count the blows, my misery piling up until I am overwhelmed by it. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
“Yellow,” I whisper. “Oh, God, yellow.” And it stops.
“I think you mean ‘red’, don’t you love?” The soft voice is gentle now, the hand once more on my bottom, caressing, soothing. I lie still, waiting for the remaining blows to fall after my brief respite. They don’t. The pain recedes, and I find myself lifted up, to be held in his arms. I feel secure, protected, comforted.
“We’re done, love. You’re fine, we’re fine.” He kisses my mouth and I reach up, snaking my arm around his neck. I cling on, my rock in a sea of pain. He holds me, tenderly nibbling my ears, my neck, my shoulders before kissing me deeply again. After long moments he stands with me in his arms, and turns to lay me on the table. He grasps for a couple of cushions from the floor then arranges them under me, taking care to raise my bum up from the hard surface, providing relief for my red, still smarting flesh. He pulls me to one end of the table and sits back down in his chair, this time turned to face me. He spreads my legs wide, firmly placing my heels on the edge of the table, and I know what’s coming.
His head dips between my spread thighs and he draws his tongue along my cleft, from my tight little anus, around my quivering vagina and up to my swollen clitoris. One long, sensuous stroke.
“How many of these strokes would you like, sweetheart?” He dips his head to do it all again.
“Oh my God. That’s so good…” I groan, rolling my head from side to side, my eyes clamped shut to better savour the exquisite pleasure.
“Not sure? Let’s see how many you can take then, before you come.”
Seven. As the seventh stroke of his wonderful clever tongue slides across my clit I lose it and go off like a firecracker. He knows the instant I come apart and takes the throbbing peak in his mouth to suck on it until I am spent. Which is not for some time. The ripples of delight and release roll on and on and I lie there, legs spread wide under his warm mouth, drowning in uninhibited bliss.
Only when I am finally still, sated, does he stand and unzip his jeans. He leans over me, and I look at him through half-closed eyes as he slips into me, inch by inch, so gently I could weep. He is buried deep within me, stretching me tight around his thick shaft, and I have never felt so good in my entire life. This beats all the academic success, all the degrees and doctorates, everything up to now. This is what love’s like.