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| Blogs > brianJcr > My Blog |
Sometimes she cries
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Sometimes she cries "Do you own a cane?" she texted. The question surprised him a little. But he responded. "For walking... or?" He did have one. For walking. A few years ago he had suffered a leg injury, and bought a hand carved one, imported from Kenya. It was red and black, hand stained, with a gazelle at the top, the curving oversized horns forming a circular handgrip on top. "No, for other." she replied. He smiled, liking where this might be heading. They'd had dinner a few times, and he'd grown greatly fond of her company. She'd led a rich and interesting life, and the conversation was always fascinating to him. He'd found the time was never enough, and left him wishing that it didn't pass so quickly in her presence. Sometimes he even found himself losing his place in the conversation, distracted for a moment by just watching her mouth move. Her red lipstick had always made him wonder what it would be like to kiss her, until one night after dinner, as he had walked her to her car, he had wrapped his arms around her in a friendly hug, and feeling the moment was right, held her tight against him, and asked her with his lips if she was as interested in him as he was in her. The way her lips had answered back had caused a fair amount of blood to leave his brain and head for parts south. As their bodies had continued silently communicating with one another, he had pressed her backwards until she was forced against the car door, his hands exploring her body both over and under her dress, finding her nipples responding, and her legs parting at the brush of his hand. His fingers had taken the temperature of her passion in a most lewd and intrusive manner, and as he had swallowed her moans, her small hands had caressed the front of his dress pants, affirming that his desire for her was as substantial as concrete. He shook himself from his reverie, shifted in his chair to accomodate the quickly disappearing space in his trousers, reminding himself that she was waiting for his response. He had sent her home after kissing her that night, telling himself to stay in control, that he was not so young anymore to need to rush things. "I've always preferred to use my hand. It's more intimate. Although I do have a couple other things with me." Her response came quickly. "Are you hungry? We can meet for dinner. I can pick you up." This was new. They had always met somewhere before. She hadn't been to his place. He didn't want to seem too eager, but he was hoping he was reading her right. "Let's meet for dinner as usual. Your choice." he texted. When she replied, he said "See you there," and then he called a cab, hoping they wouldn't leave separately. Dinner was as pleasant as ever. She was stunning, wearing a short black dress with a V-neck, black open-toed heels showing shimmering teal toenails, her French manicure was impecable, and with her customary scarlet lipstick, he knew he'd have trouble focusing. They talked politics, and religion, and topics that you would usually shy away from, except with a close friend that you could count on to try to understand or at least respect your opinion, even if they disagreed with you. After dinner, they took a short walk to her car, still chatting, his hand resting a few inches too low on the small of her back. He liked the way he could feel her ass sway as she moved. She drove, and so with nothing else to do but talk for the ride, he thought nothing of stealing glances at her thighs as her dress hem shifted while she smoothly shifted the manual transmission. When they arrived at his place, she dropped her purse on the table, and put her arms around him. Encircling her in his, he kissed her to remind her just how much he liked her. When their lips finally parted, he looked in her eyes, and asked her directly, "Why were you asking about a cane?" Her demeanor changed. She suddenly seemed smaller, less mature, uncertain. Had she been a , he could imagine her fidgeting. It made him regret asking such a direct question, and he started to take her in his arms again. She raised a tentative hand, palm out, stopping him, looking to organize her thoughts. He waited. "As you know, there's been a lot of shit happening in my life lately." she spoke frankly. "There's too many thoughts and too many voices in my head. I need to quiet them, to refocus. And I think once that happens, I might even cry, and I need to be with someone I trust to have that happen in front of them." There was her burning need, her desire. It wasn't lust that motivated her. It was help. Needing help. Help from someone who wouldn't judge her, who would give her what she needed, someone she could trust. "I need you to spank me until I cry," she said finally, "and then don't stop." He smiled at her, reached out, and rested a hand on her shoulder. "OK." He stepped back. "I'm going to step into the restroom and wash up after dinner. Go into the bedroom. Take a few minutes to compose yourself. Wear as much or as little clothing as you feel comfortable." He idled in the restroom for a few minutes, slowly washing his hands, giving her time. When he emerged from the restroom, he stopped in mid stride. She had undressed, and was laying on her stomach on the bed, head in her hands, facing away from him, wearing nothing but her bra, her black dress and matching panties thrown onto the bed near her, as if shucked off quickly. He wasn't sure if she had done it out of haste to proceed, or in a dashing moment of courage, but he didn't think about it long. She was gorgeous to behold, the curve of her shoulder to the small of back, the rise of her ass and the tapering profile of her thighs. Her legs were held tightly together, and she appeared slightly apprehensive still. Crossing the room, he very gently placed his hands on her calves, slowly massaging his way to her thighs, then gradually around the outside of her hips, before moving them onto her ass, careful not to make her feel exposed. She laid her head down and relaxed at his touch, and he was glad to see the tension in her shoulders fade. When he had run his hands over her body several times, he laid down on one elbow next to her, and asked her, "Are you ready?" She smiled and nodded. He suddenly grabbed her around the waist, lifting her up, and sitting up with his legs off the bed, he upended her over his knee. Her hands flailed out in front her, reaching desperately for the floor, her legs kicked in surprise at losing her balance, but more important to him, her bare ass was positioned squarely over his lap. He pinned her down with one hand, and spoke before he began. "This is going to hurt." The first swat wasn't that hard, placed squarely in the middle of one ass cheek, but she gasped. Without giving her time to think, he continued with another, in the middle of the other cheek. Neither cheek was showing any effect yet, and he planned to build up gradually. He proceeded to deliver each of the next eight swats in a circle, covering the upper, outer, and lower parts of each cheek, before returning to the middle of each, distributing them evenly, but not pausing in between each. With each, she gasped anew. After those first ten, he paused, blowing cooling air across each ass cheek, and he heard her sigh with relief. He then rubbed a hand gently over each cheek. When she had calmed, he began again. Ten more swats, distributed across her ass cheeks, this time with more force, and he felt her start to squirm a bit under the hand pinning her down. She whimpered a little this time with each. After, the same blowing of cooling air and the same gentle rubbing. A slight pink color had started to appear. The third set of ten, he started to really bear down. The blows were harder. His hand fell heavier, rocking her with each blow. He hit her especially hard where her ass cheeks met her thighs, where she would have to sit the next day. She cried out and struggled with each slap, and he had to hold her down. When he finished, her ass was red now. But she still hadn't shed a tear. He ran his finger nails over her red ass, making her cry out again, and continued. No soothing relief now. On the fourth set, two things happened. As he caught the bottom of one cheek near her thigh, she squirmed, and his fingertips caught her between the legs, landing on her pussy, making her scream. He held down tighter to keep her from squirming. He felt fine that she wanted to struggle. It was good for her to exercise those natural reactions. But if she was going to scream, it would be when he desired. The other remarkable thing was that at the end of the set she was no longer crying out, and when he stopped and rested his hand on her now dark red ass, he heard that she was sobbing. But he wasn't finished with her. She had said "and don't stop", and he had agreed. He began to spank her in earnest, not bothering to keep count, still spreading the blows around, but doubling down near the bottom of her ass. She wailed, choking wet cries, trying to get away, trying to roll off his lap. At one point she surprised him, bucking upwards with enough force to slide free and fall onto her knees, but he capitalized on the act, grabbing her by the neck and waist, and lifting her fast enough to give her vertigo. Throwing her down on the bed, her face cheek to cheek with the coverlet, he raised his arm and slapped her ass with a full arm swing, and said "Get it in the air." "No, no!" she pleaded. But when he slapped her the second time that way she complied, raising her bottom half up onto her knees, exposing her pussy along with her ass. He lifted his foot up onto the bed, and placed it on the side of her face, pinning her head down. Now he had a completely different angle on her ass. He laid into her again, speaking every second swat. Crack, crack. "You wanted this." Crack, crack. "You asked for this." Crack, crack. "You need this." Crack, crack. "You deserve this." Crack, crack. Looking down, he could see purple splotches now, and even striped purple marks left by his individual fingers. Her chest was heaving, animalistic cries still spilling from her mouth along with the tears raining down. He saw her thighs trembling, and reach down to steady one. Her hips undulated wantonly, her legs shifted farther apart, and he could see the wetness on the inside of her thighs, droplets still leaking from her pink and slick pussy lips. She had gone past just a tearful release. She was fully aroused, a live wire of feeling. While her mind had opened up and shed her pent up frustrations, her body had become a raw nerve of sexual heat, and every blow he landed had coaxed more evidence of it, which even now started to drip onto the bed. Realizing her need for pain had been met, he set about responding to this new unspoken need. He slowly stroked her pussy lips, and as he did he noticed for the first time he was rock hard. And still fully clothed. No sense breaking the rhythm of things. There was time to take care of that later. Right then, he was focused on drawing out of her the mewling wildcat that was waiting to be unleashed now that her pathos was satisfied. He slid a finger inside of her, and she pushed back against his hand, for the first time that night moaning in pleasure, a sound that came from deep in her chest, but seemed to him to roll downwards, not towards her throat. He cupped a second finger down under her, and his hand moved back and forth, slick with her need, one finger opening her with each push, the other sliding up through her pussy lips to tease at her clit. Her hips bucked backwards again, and he took his foot off her head, repositioning himself so he leaned over her ass. As her hip movements became more frantic, he slid both fingers inside her, each stroke inward ending with him rolling her cervix between them, and curling his fingers on the way out each time to press against the front wall of her pussy and her g-spot, preventing them from every exiting fully and leaving her empty. She moaned as loudly as she had cried before, raspy moans like the tail end of a breath, each one coinciding with a thrust of her hips at his hand. When he saw the shiver start to begin in her hips, and knew she was getting close to orgasm, he began to spank her ass again, listening as she intensified her moans, submersing herself in the twin tidal waves of pleasure and pain. He slid his thumb quickly into her ass, his fingers still moving in and out of her, his other hand still raining down onto her purple buttocks. When he felt her inner muscles clamp down, he gripped her from the inside, his thumb and fingers making a vice between her pussy and ass on the thin wall in between. And wrapping his arm around her waist, he lifted her upright onto her knees. He grabbed her throat, cutting of the sounds of her heady raw desire, and ratchet his other hand in and out of her. She convulsed, and thrashed against him, and to his surprise he felt her orgasm spatter all over his hand, overflowing his hand, onto the bed, and even flecks onto his pants. She moved like a marionette in a windstorm as she came. She went limp, still twitching, and started to collapse. He grabbed her, one arm around her shoulders, the other around her waist, and sitting down, nestled her onto his lap. She laid her head against his chest, and the tears started to fall again. She managed to choke out two words, as she wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you." Holding her to him around her shoulders, he gently stroked her hair with one hand, kissing the top of her head. "I've got you." he said. "I get you. I get it. Just let it all out." |
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