Harder The air crackled as his hand sped through it, coming down to land hard against her arched rea
Harder The air crackled as his hand sped through it, coming down to land hard against her arched rear, those plump cheeks shuddering with delight at the blow. It was like lightning dancing down her spine, and she squirmed accordingly, dancing on the sensation until it started to ebb away. Only it wasn’t enough. She glanced over her shoulder, and watched the red start to fade into pink, an accelerated sunburn that had barely stung. She wanted it to leave a mark, something that would take her days, not hours, to recover from. He saw the disappointment on her face, and, for a moment, was surprised by it. “What’s wrong?” It cut through the scene like a clapperboard, but the concern in his face only made her smile and writhe a little more. “It’s not hard enough… I want a bruise.” His fingers trailed over that inflamed flesh, making her tingle, but she knew it would recover in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. “I’m hitting you pretty hard…” He trailed off, making it sound halfway between a warning and an excuse, but she really didn’t care. She was too close to feeling what she wanted to feel, and she wasn’t going to be demure about it right now. “I want harder.” For a moment, he hesitated. She watched him do it, watched him hang in the cusp of a decision, figuring out whether to cut and run, or forge ahead without paying any heed to his gut. In that moment, she knew it would decide, for her, whether this was going to be a one time occurrence, some fun little fling, or the man she would come back to for bruise after bruise. His hand cracked through the air like a whip, only the sound only erupted when his hand met her flesh, and the sudden impact of it, the desperate increase in power, shook her. She didn’t squirm. She just tensed, pinned down by the force of it. Her whole body throbbed. But no part more than the heat resting between her legs. That was it, the power she craved. Unadulterated, untethered by any trappings of philosophy or psychology. Just power in his hand, delivered onto her body. She’d call it beautiful if she wasn’t so fucking turned on. -- source link
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