I will be over his knee, my bottom upturned towards him.
He is going to spank me pink. I feel silly laying over him like that. I am a grown woman and yet there I am laying like a child across the lap of my husband, waiting for him to spank me. If I think about it too much it makes me feel funny. How did I get here? How did we end up doing this as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. And yet that is where we are and, however it came about, now we are here we love it and there is no turning back.
He talks to me differently.
He is more dominant. More assertive. Still caring of course, but there is an edge to the way he is. I like it. There is no question of the power exchange. It is evident in the way the whole thing is staged. I feel small and vulnerable. He seems strong and in control. It is loving and sexy but there is also something businesslike about it too. I am his. He will do this because he wants to and because he can.
He tells me to get over his knee.
It starts from then. That feeling takes over. I am pushed straight into submissive mode because it is what the situation demands. What he demands. Sometimes he will tell me to undress so that I am naked. Other times he will leave my skirt on and I will have to lift it up for him. He might leave my knickers on, pulling them to one side or pulling them down to expose my bottom part way through. Each situation adds something at the time. More control for him, more humiliation to me.
I wriggle myself into position.
I feel my own subordination. I am embarrassed. Facially my cheeks turn pink as I catch his eye and I think about how he will pink my bum cheeks too. Sometimes he will say this out loud and other times he won’t be so direct, but I always think it and he knows I do. He uses words that way to read my thoughts, stating what is on my mind in throwaway comments and statements. Again, this adds to his control and my submission. He knows my body. He knows my mind. He plays with both.
He directs my body.
He positions me so that I can feel his cock hard against my tummy. The physical connection is part of what makes over the knee my favourite position. I am aware of my body in a very physical sense as he directs it to the way he wants it. Open my legs, push my bottom up, let him look at me. I am face down so I can see but I can feel him watching, taking me in. It feels excruciating at times, the silence as I wait, my body slowly burning under his gaze.
He claims me gently as his.
He strokes and presses and touches. Then his fingers go further, opening me up and pinching me with sharp nips as he tenderly rubs his hands across my skin. He might comment on what he sees in terms of how I respond, or he might state how wet I am already. Then it starts, the spanking with his hand, getting a rhythm going so that I can feel my skin start to heat in response.
He layers it up.
He builds things to a point where I start to wince and brace, then he pulls back a bit. This allows me to adjust to the sting and the impact and so each time, he is able to add to it, becoming harder and faster as he goes. He will pepper me with quick fire shots then relax back into a more rhythmic tap. He will focus on one side and then the other, hitting one place until it becomes almost raw and then switching sides.
He throws in some much harder ones.
Sometimes there is warning and sometimes there is not. He catches me each time, the shock and the anticipation different but both equally as effective. He will stop sometimes and comment on how much he has pinked up my cheeks, rubbing them and placing the backs of his hands across them. He will blow on them to illustrate how hot they have become as the cool air passes over the skin and is instantly lost.
He plays with me too.
His fingers toy with my clit, or press against my arsehole or suddenly thrust into me. He does this long enough to add a distraction and a reprieve, always returning to spank my cheeks again. He confuses my body with the pleasure and the pain until I am just a response to his touch, unable to really discern one thing from another. I begin to drift in the way that I feel, never wanting it to end as all else seems to melt away.
I become more and more relaxed.
He is able to slip his fingers easily into any part of me he wants to put them. I have no resistance. He delights in telling me this too as I become more and more lost in him and in how this feels. I care little about how I look. I am no longer concerned with whether or not I seem ridiculous, a grown woman over the knee of her husband as she moans and pushes herself into whatever he wants to give and nears orgasm. All I want is to float along as I let him spank me pink.
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