presumably-in-no-kuntrol: “Can we make a deal?” He had chuckled, openly when she
presumably-in-no-kuntrol: “Can we make a deal?” He had chuckled, openly when she approached him. He could tell by the tone that she was trying to barter for something and although he rarely accepted such a proposition, he had a feeling he might this time, even before he heard what she had to say. “I feel a well of expression just under the surface. I want to say things and yet it feels inappropriate to do so. If I offer my flesh to redden my Owner, would you allow me to speak whatever, in however tone, I desire. Without consequences?” He knew from how she had lowered herself to her knees, how she kept her eyes directed at the floor, that this offer was exceptionally challenging yet overwhelming as though she needed it like oxygen. She was vulnerable in her position and that warmed him, which is why it was easy to say yes. Without hesitating he lifted her chin, bringing her gaze to his, offering her a reassuring smile. They spoke not a word more, instead finding their way to the thick black leather bench where he strapped her thighs, torso and arms, ensuring she would not reach behind her to try to protect, what would become, a rather heated, painful, red bottom. Her skin, being as pale as it was, took little time to colour and the harder he hit, the more vulgar she became. Soon she would be growling, telling him to stop, saying she was wrong but he knew better. He knew not to stop until she was sobbing, until her convulsions seized in her lungs, until she thanked him between gulps and gasps. Only then would she find her calm, only then would he have tamed her. Mmmmm -- source link
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