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The Highlighter

Category: BDMS
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Here’s another memory, this one more recent than the last.

A woman I used to see (out of town now) interested me initially because it was obvious she really, really liked spanking. The subject came up innocently in conversation once, and she couldn’t sit still. This story is about a later meeting with her.

That day I happened to be in a mood. She could tell — and herself seemed a little more contrary than usual. When I told her to fetch her belt, which I’d used as an impromptu leash before, she refused petulantly. I was used to a little bit of this; I grabbed her hair, planning to slap her ass a few times and send her for the belt, but she kept getting out of the way, and not in a half-playful way, either.

After much jockeying, I ended up having to push her to the ground and put a knee in her back before I could keep her still enough to administer the spanking I’d planned, so I took out a little frustration in the process. As I said, just talking about being spanked excited her almost involuntarily, so an actual spanking, especially an energetic one, completely changed her demeanor. She got the belt.

When she returned, rather than putting it around her neck the way she liked, I used the free end to swat at her, telling her to take off any piece of clothing it touched. When she was naked, I made a loop in the belt, but again disappointed her — pulling not her neck, but one of her breasts through it, tightening enough to hurt, then making her hold the free end of the belt taut.

Enter the highlighting pen, a bright pink one, which caught my eye on her table. Its cap was very rounded and smooth, so I took it in one hand and had her hand me the belt end and get on her hands and knees, then put her face to the floor. I tugged a bit on the belt, just hard enough to make her yelp and then backing off, then put it under my foot to keep a little pressure on. I leaned over her, slapped her once on each haunch, hard; she moaned. I slapped her again, harder and more centered. I probably added a few more, enjoying myself.

Then, I pushed the smooth pen end inside her.

The spankings I’d given her had warmed her up quite a bit, so not only did it slip in easily, but she squirmed back against it as I pressed it in. She was grunting, as I recall.

About a third or so of it protruded, bright pink and slick with her. I slapped her ass again, told her what I had just shoved inside her, then slapped her some more while she thought about it, occasionally stopping to wiggle the pen or push it to and fro, then resuming again. The way I knew her, enough slaps to her rear put her into a lust fugue state, and I felt like getting her there.

When I was pretty certain there was nothing rational in her mind any more, I stopped spanking. unfastened the belt from her breast, and put it around her neck. Then I slid the pen out — almost dripping — kicked her knees a little further apart, and pushed it slowly up her ass.

She liked that, a lot, but wasn’t really forming words any more. Taking the end of the belt, I walked her on hands and knees over to her dressing mirror, and had her look back at herself as I eased the pen in and out slowly.

While that’s not the end, that moment of making her look at what I was doing to her was probably the high point for me that afternoon. The denouement was fun enough, but is less entertaining for a third party hearing about it, I think.

In any case, I’d pushed her perilously close to the edge at that point. So, I slid the pen out slowly, took the belt off, had her prop herself up on her elbows, and had her lick me with only her tongue, no lips or mouth. I figured she’d have to concentrate, moderating her rush, and I knew I’d enjoy it.

After she calmed a bit, I started slapping her ass with the doubled belt while she licked me, ’til she was having trouble concentrating again. At this point she was begging to be allowed to come, but as was her habit she didn’t like to speak the words. Just lots of moaning and ‘please’. naturally, I wanted her to admit to what she was feeling.

I pulled away from her tongue and got next to her, then alternated smacks to her ass with the doubled belt with my right hand and rough caresses between her legs with my left hand, avoiding her clit, while telling her that good girls didn’t like this sort of thing. That elicited more inchoate noise and ‘please, you know what I want.’ I told her she’d have to say it, or would get none.

Slap, slap. Rub.

Though she kept mewling little ‘please’ noises, I refused to let her come until she begged me specifically for an orgasm. Eventually, though not ’til she was at the point of having trouble keeping her balance on her elbows, she finally said more than ‘please.’ In fact, once she started, she started in earnest. ‘Please make me come,’ ‘I’ll come so hard for you,’ ‘make me scream, oh please oh please.’ She was a lovely sight, ass red, lips trembling a little as she mouthed her desperation.

I had her turn over on her back and pull her knees back with her hands, then slapped quickly but ever-so-lightly at her clit with three fingers held together flat, and counted down from ten. She knew what that meant; she also knew I had a habit of pausing between numbers at times, just to watch. Eventually I got to ‘one,’ then paused again, then gave her a little one-two-three slap, and said quietly, ‘come now.’

She did, not quite on cue. Very nicely, enough so that I forgave her for that and for letting go her knees as she did. Not that she had much choice, given the intensity with which she usually climaxed, but I had told her to hold them and not said she could release them.

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