Spanked By Her Best Friend – P2

Posted by Editor - October 3rd, 2020

That night, after we’d sealed our intimate bargain with a long, deep kiss, he maneuvered me into his bedroom, pushed me back onto his bed and slowly – giving me every opportunity to call it off or just cry scared, which would have been no lie – folded my skirt up onto my tummy. My lacy bikini panties were carefully removed and dropped to the floor while a possessive hand tapped my thighs apart. A strong male finger flicked between my naked folds for just the barest of seconds – coming away quite drenched with welcome juice, I was sure, as the conversation about expectations and rules had been more than enough for my body to begin to overflow and dribble onto my panties – before a hot, wet mouth claimed my already perked and aching clit. I arched and bucked, but he rode me out, never missing a beat of rubbing his broad, insistent tongue over that pulsing spot.

A shamefully scant few minutes later, John had brought me to such a crashing high that I couldn’t form a coherent sentence . . . my eyes were out of focus and there was a buzzing in my ears. I had come so hard my teeth were tingling from lack of oxygen, and the fingertips I dragged lazily down his broad back as he settled into me for the first time were dark-tipped and slightly numb.

But my pussy certainly wasn’t numb as it fought the need to yield to him in its acutely sensitive state. John caught my eye and penetrated me fully in one quick thrust, bringing us closer than we had ever been physically – and for me, I knew, emotionally and spiritually. “Finally,” I heard him groan. It seemed to slip out of him sharply, almost reluctantly, as he began to move within me.

As he took me for the first time, our eyes remained locked together, and John repeated just one word over and over. “Mine.”

Now, lying over a hubby in the middle of our big bed, my butt hanging out there as if I was offering myself up to that God-awful, intrinsically evil strip of rubber, I had been his for nearly five years. Five stingingly blissful years of being almost embarrasingly indulged and spoiled and scrupulously looked after, as well as blistered black and blue on more than an occasional, completely consistent basis – but always, always with love. Never, ever in those over eighteen hundred sometimes very hard, sometimes very easy days had I ever felt anything less than completely loved and adored.

Even at moments like this, when the count was only a quarter of the way through the hundred lashes he’d promised . . . and would – with no doubt at all – end up delivering to my quivering hind end.

“A- a h-hunnerd,” I trembled back at him, broken voice wavering badly.

Without another word, he stepped back into place to one side of me, drawing back the fish-tailed strap and letting it fly.

As the next in what was to become a long series of screams was torn violently from my throat, I knew that all would be right with my world as long as this man loved me.