Spanked Because You Want It
You’re only ever spanked because you want it.
Even if you’re wriggling and squealing and begging for clemency
It’s all because you want it.
It’s because you need to feel that hard thigh beneath your hips, firm when you dip and buck against it.
The sting rising to a crescendo that makes you squeak at such a high pitch only dogs can hear it.
It sinks through your flesh, finding its way to the places that tingle for all the right reasons.
And you’re held firm, an arm wrapped around your waist trapping you in what has become
The battlefield of contrition.
But it’s not me you’re fighting. It’s not me you fight when your toes drum against the carpet and you bite
your lip to stop yourself from whimpering out loud.
Because you want this. You want this heat. You want this hard line
Cracking against your cheeks with a sharp report that echoes around the room.
The spanking doesn’t end when you submit to me.
It ends when you submit to you.