Please Sir, I want some more

Two weekends ago I was lying across Ron's lap and he was energetically applying the riding crop to my bared bottom. As he spanked, I mused. (I'm good at multi-tasking.) It was funny, I thought, that the last time he had used it, he had switched to a different implement because I hadn't been reacting to it much. I had been disappointed with it too.

How different things were this time. The little hand on the end of the crop was making its presence known. Had Ron been practising? Or was he simply giving me harder strokes?

Then the swats stopped as Ron paused to admire his handiwork and to see what effect it was having on me. His hand gently rubbed my hot cheeks, then slipped in between them to rub even more gently. The rubbing became a little firmer and more rhythmic, and I realized we had moved on to the next phase. That was fine.


Or was it? The riding crop had felt good. I wanted more. When he continued his ministrations I weighed the odds. I knew where this was headed - where I was headed - and that was nice too, but first, I had to feel the crop sear my buttocks again. Should I speak up? Or should I go with the flow?

I made up my rapidly-dissolving mind.

"May I have a little more?" I whispered. Ron immediately withdrew his hand, and in a heartbeat I felt the welcome, rhythmic pain once more. He kept it up until I stopped squirming and ow-ing and settled into it. Then he put down the crop and picked up from where he had left off. This time I didn't stop him and, well, you'll just have to imagine the rest

"Do I have lots of little handprints on my bum?" I asked later, as we cuddled together.

"Dozens," Ron affirmed, and I couldn't wait to see them for myself.



The following weekend found me on my elbows and knees on the bed after Ron had decided that the belt hadn't been taken out of the drawer for quite a while. He made that implement hurt a lot more than I remembered, but it was such a good hurt.

Sets of whacks with the belt alternated with periods of caresses on my sore posterior. Each time the belt resumed its task, I felt it less and less, although I could tell that Ron was using more force. When he finally put the belt down, I sighed and started to roll onto my side. Ron put a hand on my back to stop me and asked, "Enough?"

I was thrilled at his considerate question. "You've never asked me that before," I replied, somewhat flustered. Should I ask for more? I thought it was over, and was okay with that. But this might be my chance to go for the hour-long spanking. Should I? Shouldn't I?

I lay back, then pulled Ron down beside me.

What a gentleman! In future I won't hesitate to ask for what I need, but then again, I may never have to ask.