Counting Out All the Spanks

Image via Pixabay

To say the weekend was a whirlwind is an understatement. Lots of laughter, plenty of cuteness, but (believe it or not) very little kinky fuckery.

My birthday was Monday (October 30), and we didn’t even have time for birthday spanks until today!

“It’s too cold to get naked!”

A 50 degree day in Florida is cold. I won’t be told different.

“You don’t have to get undressed, babygirl. But get that ass over here.”

I flopped down over John Brownstone’s knees in a total pout and funk. I’d already whined about the paddle he pulled out. In my defense, it was a playful whine.

I wanted my spankings but I also didn’t want cold toes or goosebumps. Yep, definite funk.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Three quick blows to my butt, and whatever I felt, it wasn’t cold.

“Are you ready to count, babygirl?”

I’m 38 now…and of course, one to grow on. So…39 spanks. With the paddle. Fuck.

“Yes, Daddy.” A polite babygirl is a happy babygirl.

I’m also not an idiot. Give too much ‘tude and either I’d lose the spanking completely or he’d go harder on my ass.

It was only his demo paddle, thankfully. Made of a light pine that leaves a sting once he puts a little muscle behind it instead of the heavier woods he usually uses.

SMACK!

“One!” Not too bad.

SMACK! SMACK!

“Two, three, ouch!” Stinging but not enough to make me pull away.

I know him. He likes to create a pattern. What I never know until he starts is what it will be.

The first nine were bearable, and then…

SMACK! 

“Ten, oooooowwwwwww!” This time I pulled away.

His arm rested over my back, holding me in place. Gawd, I love it when he holds me down.

He kneaded my ass, a firm but gentle touch.

“Ready for more?”

“I think so.” Maybe.

The next set were progressively harder and faster. I breathed deep through each one. After the nineteenth one, I knew 20 would be rough.

SMACK!

“Twenty! Dadddeeeeeeeeee!!!” I twisted out of position. His grip tightened.

He drew out the next few. On the approach to 30, I began to squirm. This would be worse than 20, no doubt.

And it was.

Fake tears. Pure babygirl. Pretending to hate it. Secretly melting from the intensity of the burn in my skin.

“That was thirty. Only nine more to go, babygirl.” Did he have to sound so gleeful?

“And these are gonna be worse!” I didn’t even pretend to hold back the whine.

Each one, from 31 to 38 burned through my entire body, leaving a trail of fire that lead to my cunt.

I howled through each smack, not caring who heard us, grateful for the freedom to yell.

He chuckled, likely watching my ass tense and relax. Each time I thought of my “one to grow on,” my muscles tightened with anticipation. Then I’d remember that tight muscles make a spanking hurt more, so I’d relax again.

Sadist that he is, he took his time. Rubbing his palm across my ass. Gripping my flesh in cruel fingers.

“Ready?”

“No.” No.

I heard the air whoosh around the paddle as it came down.

THWAP!

I howled and rolled in his arms, thinking I could somehow escape the burning pain. And the burning desire.

The paddle landed on the bed with a gentle thud. I inhaled and exhaled like a runner after a sprint.

“It’s okay, babygirl. You did well. I’m so proud of you.”

I preened under the gentle attention and words. As he soothed my tender skin with a gentle touch, I wiggled my ass. The birthday spanking might be over, but I wanted more…no matter what my whining babygirl self said.

Welcome to Masturbation Monday and for those reading the day I publish, yes, I know, it’s a Tuesday. Proving that the best day of the week is meant to be celebrated any day of the week! Not very smutty unless you’re a big ole spanko like me. You know where to go for the good stuff!