EmilyMiller
May be triggering
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2022
- Posts
- 17,498
Interpret this how you will - mantis-shrimp porn is apparently a thing 
- but I’d be grateful if we could stick to scenarios where the person (or thing, or inanimate object) being slapped (regardless of where they are slapped, regardless of what is slapping them, regardless of gender) has actively consented, or it’s obvious that such a thing is customary in their relationship.
Please be creative. But me? I’m gonna stick to the classics.
Please try to be less than 500 words!
Other writing prompts here.
—
There is a perfect moment. A moment of almost stillness. A moment when even the knowledge of what is to come, the anticipation - or even longing - for what is to come, can weirdly morph into a calm, Zen-like state.
I feel like that now. Lying face down on the couch, my middle across his lap. His feelings are obvious from the hardness pushing against my stomach. My eyes are open right now, I’m staring at my hands. My fingers are spread on the leather surface. Its smell and its crinkles are familiar. I’ve stared at them in this position so many times. At least until I’ve had to scrunch my eyes tight shut in an effort to cope.
I’m already prepared. My skirt has been lifted and the material now lies over my blouse, I can feel its slight weight against my back. My panties have been pulled down to around my knees. The crotch was sticky, maybe he’ll put them in my mouth later if I’m a good girl.
Calmness, serenity, centeredness. And yet my heart is racing. And yet my nerves are in an elevated state. And yet my breathing is deep. I’m a ball of contradictions; body expectant, mind accepting.
It’s beginning. Soft caresses first. His palm traces the contours of my butt. His fingertips trail lightly over my skin, making me tingle. I move my knees a little further apart and he takes the hint. His digits stroke my outer lips. I want them to part my inner ones. I want them thrust inside me. But there is an order to things, a protocol to be followed.
Again he strokes my ass-cheeks. I murmur as electricity races through me. I know the routine, I know the sweet transition from gentle to severe is approaching. It’s going to be soon.
“You ready, honey?” he whispers quietly.
He’s such a sweetie. And I know this is for me much more than for him. It’s him indulging me, a treasured tribute for his princess. I know he’d do anything for me. I nod, and with that movement suddenly my calm is displaced by surging arousal and tremulous desire. It’s going to be now. Now.
I close my eyes. I hold my breath. I fancy I can feel the breeze of his arm swinging before the crack of impact. Before the jolt of pain that makes me gasp. Before the shock that makes me flinch. Before the ache that thrills me and never gets old. Before that first, heavy, stinging, loving slap. A slap that has me craving more.
A slap that has me saying, once I get my breath back, “You can go harder, darling.”
He never goes hard enough at first!
- but I’d be grateful if we could stick to scenarios where the person (or thing, or inanimate object) being slapped (regardless of where they are slapped, regardless of what is slapping them, regardless of gender) has actively consented, or it’s obvious that such a thing is customary in their relationship. Please be creative. But me? I’m gonna stick to the classics.
Please try to be less than 500 words!
Other writing prompts here.
—
There is a perfect moment. A moment of almost stillness. A moment when even the knowledge of what is to come, the anticipation - or even longing - for what is to come, can weirdly morph into a calm, Zen-like state.
I feel like that now. Lying face down on the couch, my middle across his lap. His feelings are obvious from the hardness pushing against my stomach. My eyes are open right now, I’m staring at my hands. My fingers are spread on the leather surface. Its smell and its crinkles are familiar. I’ve stared at them in this position so many times. At least until I’ve had to scrunch my eyes tight shut in an effort to cope.
I’m already prepared. My skirt has been lifted and the material now lies over my blouse, I can feel its slight weight against my back. My panties have been pulled down to around my knees. The crotch was sticky, maybe he’ll put them in my mouth later if I’m a good girl.
Calmness, serenity, centeredness. And yet my heart is racing. And yet my nerves are in an elevated state. And yet my breathing is deep. I’m a ball of contradictions; body expectant, mind accepting.
It’s beginning. Soft caresses first. His palm traces the contours of my butt. His fingertips trail lightly over my skin, making me tingle. I move my knees a little further apart and he takes the hint. His digits stroke my outer lips. I want them to part my inner ones. I want them thrust inside me. But there is an order to things, a protocol to be followed.
Again he strokes my ass-cheeks. I murmur as electricity races through me. I know the routine, I know the sweet transition from gentle to severe is approaching. It’s going to be soon.
“You ready, honey?” he whispers quietly.
He’s such a sweetie. And I know this is for me much more than for him. It’s him indulging me, a treasured tribute for his princess. I know he’d do anything for me. I nod, and with that movement suddenly my calm is displaced by surging arousal and tremulous desire. It’s going to be now. Now.
I close my eyes. I hold my breath. I fancy I can feel the breeze of his arm swinging before the crack of impact. Before the jolt of pain that makes me gasp. Before the shock that makes me flinch. Before the ache that thrills me and never gets old. Before that first, heavy, stinging, loving slap. A slap that has me craving more.
A slap that has me saying, once I get my breath back, “You can go harder, darling.”
He never goes hard enough at first!
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