This is another post from perhaps a month back that I’ve been waiting for the right time to post, so excuse me if some of the timeframes are a little off. Hope you enjoy it!
♦ “How many pounds is it?” he said, his hand hovering over my exposed rump, his voice tinged with an unusual quality that rippled on it like oil on water.
He was talking about spanking me, of course, but any other meaning than that escaped me. How many? I hadn’t done anything! We still hadn’t settled on a daily number that fit us both and I couldn’t think of anything else of significance. Why did he think I ought to know how many I should get?
“I don’t know.” I said, perhaps more petulantly than I should. Horny though I’d been all day and despite a little idle fantasising about whips earlier, I wasn’t in the mood to be spanked.
He asked again, but with context. “How many pounds is it you’ve lost?”
I’ve been counting my calories since the end of September in an effort to lose weight. I didn’t really bother over Christmas, because I’m not that much of a masochist, and since then it’d been hard to get into a routine. I hadn’t weighed myself since the end of December, over five weeks ago. I was sure I’d gained weight.
He promised to give me a spank for each pound I was over my last weight.
But I was under by seven pounds. In fact, I’d lost 24.8lbs since I started.
So that’s what I told him. It didn’t let me off.
“How am I going to do 0.8 of a spank?” He said.
“You could round up,” I replied.
“OK,” he said, adjusting his grip to hold me firmly, “248 spanks…”
“What?!” I replied, but they started nonetheless.
That bastard, that delicious bastard. He’s a mathematician, so he knows damn well that’s not how you round up. He just thought he’d play cleverpants and move the decimal point.
But, oh, they were stingy and they were thuddy and he counted each of them out in a glorious measured metre. Slow enough for each pound of his palm to register, fast enough to leave me breathless.
By one hundred I had asked for harder, by two hundred I was screaming with each stroke for harder and faster and stronger and MORE.
I was counting too now and I found that saying the numbers out loud with him was adding to my wriggling, raging excitement. I made a mental note to count along from the beginning next time.
He finished with a flourish. 248 pounds of skin upon skin, 248 strikes of his will into my flesh. 248 individual kisses from him to me.
He turned me over and towered above me grinning as I lay with my clothes all askew and my body flushed.
“I think you’re starting to like this.”
“What gave you that impression?” He smiled. ♦